Does anyone have a dinghy?

With 2020 being a little unique to say the least and racing opportunities being limited somewhat, when the opportunity to race again came, the opportunity was jumped upon.  Tom suggested an ultra along the North Devon Coastal Path, and initially I was a little reticent, but it did not take long for me to come round and the North Coast 110 km ultra was entered.

During lockdown I had been training reasonably well and, seemingly bucking the national trend, managed to shift a bit of timber so despite only having a month between entering and race day I was positive that the step up in distance wasn’t an idiots folly.  That’s not to say that I was confident, just not entirely negative – I like to operate in the grey area of uncertainty with regards to whether I can finish or not.

Logistically its decided it will be easier to catch the train to the start line in Barnstaple, giving us two and a half hours to nibble nuts and for me to fret after a morning of kit packing anxiety.  There is something about a late race start to ramp up the pre-race tension.  We arrive in Barnstaple with the weather exactly as forecasted – wet, really wet – and make our way to the Italian restaurant we have booked for dinner.  We had decided to travel up and eat in some old clothes which could be dumped at the start of the race – which meant dodgy jumpers and my wife’s old, ready for the bin jeans. The wonderful thing about going out for a meal before a long race is that when the bowl of pasta you’ve just hoovered up doesn’t seem to touch the sides you can suggest ordering a pizza to share and not be called a fat bastard.  The rain hasn’t abated by the time we leave, and we trudge across town to the start at the rugby club.

Due to the current ‘Miley Cyrus’ restrictions there is no mass start, its’ a case of turn up at the start between 7 and 9pm, get your shit together and go (the team record your leave time and work out your race time from there).  Tom and I had planned to head off at around 8, giving us a little more wriggle room in the – what appears to be – generous cut off times.  However, second dinner took longer than we anticipated to come out and we end up heading out just after half eight. 

We head of into the darkness in the pouring rain, with full waterproofs on.  The start of the race feels a little bit weird, it feels like we are just popping out for a run while on holiday with the families, and as a result we constantly have to check our pace and reign it in a little.  As we make our way along a dual use, traffic free path I have to stop to adjust my laces – at this point I realise we have knocked off 5 km (only 105 to go).

While I am sorting my laces we are passed by another runner, and once I’ve got myself sorted we have to make a conscious effort not to chase after her.  Ominously we miss a tuning and if it wasn’t for a guy running out of a café and shouting at us we could have ended up Christ knows where.  We retrace the 50m and run along the road, before getting off the hard top and on to the trail.  Along here we catch the runner who had passed us earlier – as she stops to make sure she was on the right route.  We run together for about 5 km before she runs ahead.  I feel absolutely no shame in being ‘chicked’ and was delighted to find out she was the second female finisher. 

Running in the dark is a strange experience when its somewhere unfamiliar, and I only seem to remember strange little snippets of the night that don’t appear to knit together, mostly involving missed turns.  Before I know it, we are over 20 km in and I have forgotten to eat, so I force down a burrito.  I’m convinced it’s too late and whether its in my head or not my legs begin to feel a little heavy.  I try to push this to the back of my mind and keep on keeping on.  For the majority of the night I couldn’t tell you if we ran along cliff tops or fields, all I remember is following a letterbox of light through the darkness – wearing a cap and hood only adds to the feeling of peering out of the cupboard under the stairs.

We get to the first checkpoint which is in the salubrious surroundings of a bus stop in an eerily quiet Woolacombe – all the checkpoints had to be moved to outdoor locations due to current COVID guidelines.  Not really feeling the food on offer I have a cup of tea and a glass of cola; which hits me like I imagine a few lines of coke and an E chased by a pint of Red Bull would.  We consciously try not to waste too much time in the checkpoints – once bitten, having previously wasted too many hours in previous ultra checkpoints – so we are off on our way before too long.

At some point in the dead of night – before 40km I think– I begin to feel my left knee.  I was expecting to get some sort of knee pain, but much, much later.  This compounded by the dark and the weather made for some tough going and mentally it begins to feel like a grind.  This isn’t helped by the shitty coastal path signs which are incredibly easy to miss – and we do miss them more than once.  One detour which has been engrained permanently into the recesses of my soul involved going down several flights of stairs to a beach, only to find no way off other than those same sets of steps.  We trudge back up them again to find the coastal path sign perfectly camouflaged with its environment.  Remind me never to play hide and seek with a south west coastal path sign, and certainly not in the dark.

As we approach the second checkpoint at 55km both my knees are now hurting, and it is really beginning to play on my mind.  We stop and the checkpoint for another cup of tea – this time with sugar – and a cola.  Double sugar kick.  Once again, we try to keep our stay to a minimum and are on our way.  Halfway up the first climb from the checkpoint I decide that I’m going to have to take some painkillers. By dawn the painkillers had kicked in and I felt like a new man, and not just physically.  The heady combination of daylight and pain relief has me feeling like I’m floating on air.

With dawn comes the views and they are certainly worth the hours of darkness.  The scale of the landscape comes into stark focus as we trundle along.  The rocky path clinging to the edge of the cliffs with the sea whipping itself into a froth at the bottom far below.  For hours we make our way along the cliff tops, dropping down and climbing back up again.  At some point during the night the rain stopped and for the first few hours of Saturday morning the weather is almost kind – the wind never subsides but for a heady while there was no rain. 

The rain more than makes up for the short hiatus and by the time we reach the fourth checkpoint at Lynmouth the rain is coming down hard enough to convince a bloke called Noah to build a boat.  Once our checkpoint ritual is done – more tea and cola – we battle the elements along the sea front before making our way back up onto the cliffs.  Despite the weather it really is amazing up there, but mentally I can feel it all beginning to slide.

By now both my knees are hurting, and my left Achilles Tendon now aches too from stomping up hills – if I was a horse I’d have been shot.  As a result, I cant run down steep or technical descents, being reduced to a geriatric shuffle.  This progresses from being a frustration to just plain fucking annoying, and as a result of this Tom is getting noticeably cold having to wait for me and I feel increasingly guilty.  The weather is showing no signs of abating and as we get closer to the last checkpoint Tom runs ahead so as not to get too cold.

Mentally, I think the stretch to the last checkpoint is the hardest.  I’m tired, my knees feel like someone has a screwdriver in behind the kneecap and is trying to pop them off, and the trail down through Embelle and Culbone Woods are delightful.  Delightful trails may seem like a strange reason to be struggling mentally, but allow me to explain; under normal circumstances I would have loved it through here, and taken the opportunity to let the hand break off a little.  I love running in the woods and always feel a little psychological and physical boost when a race or training run enters the woods – no matter how far I have run.  Not today, today it was like torture.  I wanted to run, not even quickly just consistently.  It feels like I have a certain stride length that I find comfortable but anything outside that and the pain intensifies and I have to stop.

I reach the final checkpoint, and its great to see Tom.  I had convinced myself that he’d have gone on towards Minehead – and I wouldn’t have blamed him, I would probably cried but wouldn’t have blamed him.  I try to be as quick as I can – conscious that Tom has been standing around for a while – as I drink a tea, top up my water and have a cup of cola.  

Its only 9 miles to Minehead, but unfortunately it’s not an easy 9 miles. Back out again we run along the road for a short section before we drop down onto the beach.  When I say beach don’t think of of golden sands think more gravel pit.  I spend the next however long – felt like it could have been days – trying to find veins of smaller pebbles to run along.  After a few hundred metres, where we should have turned off the beach, we commit to wading across a knee deep stream.  Once across we realise we have missed a turn, but as much as I have hated the beach I was lucky not to take a plunge the first time crossing the water and don’t really want to cross it again.  Luckily Tom happened to have visited this beach a few months ago and knew the exit at the far (far, far, far) side of the beach met the path so we trundled on.

Gradually tom worked up a bit of a gap, and I then notice him spring up the pebble bank and disappear down the other side.  As I get close he warns me not to follow him, and the stench confirms that would be a bad idea.  I get out the wind, and out of range, while he finishes his dirty business.

Finally off the beach, we follow a wide muddy trail past a couple of houses, then it’s a right and over a great big bloody river.  Luckily this time there is a bridge, once over the river its through a gate and off towards Bossington Hill.

Bossington Hill had been haunting my dreams ever since I made the mistake of looking at the elevation profile of the race weeks before.  Rising from sea level to over 275 metres in a couple of kilometres, its an absolute brute of a climb.  It’s every man for themselves as we haul our way up the side of the hill.  Its steep at the bottom, steep in the middle and steep at what you initially think is the top.  Once at the first top the gradient eases and it becomes runnable for sections.  Up here the weather feels like it has gone into overdrive with most of the path under several centimetres of water at least.  Initially I try to weave from side to side to follow the driest path, but soon give up and just trudge along regardless of the water depth.  There has been so much rain up here that I’m sure in places it was running up hill to weir off the track.

As the route plateaus I catch up with Tom – by catch up I mean he has stopped, put on his waterproof trousers and essentially waited for me – and we run together for the few kilometres along the top.  After a while we turn right and begin to drop down towards Minehead.  Just before the turn Tom is about 15 metres ahead of me and as we begin to drop down he begins to pull away from me and I don’t see him again until the finish line.  After an initial rocky section where I struggle, I enter another wood and this time it is perfect for my dodgy knees.  For a while I am actually enjoying it, its not technical nor too steep its just lovely.  That is until I reach the switchbacks.  These kill me, the varying gradients, the steps.  Its fucking torturous.

 Thankfully the switchbacks don’t last long and come out onto a road for a while.  Within a few hundred metres along the road its back off it again.  At this point I notice I have about 1 kilometre to go, at almost exactly the same time my guts drop and I have to stop immediately.  Panicked, I try to find somewhere to hide, and somewhat typically there isn’t anywhere.  The best I can do is a tree barely any wider than a telegraph pole, but with no other option I take a cursory glance to make sure no one is coming and bare my arse to the elements.  As I finish I spot someone coming my way and I hurriedly manoeuvre myself so I can pretend I’m having a wee, and then as I squat down to get the shit kit (tissues and poo bags for soiled paper) from my bag – there was no time to do this before the act – someone else comes down the trail.  This time I have no way to reposition myself, so I just have to stay where I am and hope they don’t notice my ghostly white, bare arse sticking out the back.   I don’t know if they noticed, but they had the decency not to say anything.  Paperwork swiftly completed and stowed in a poo bag, and I’m up and running – hoping to run passed a bin in the not too distant future.  The final kilometre goes without a hitch, and thankfully the finish line isn’t on the far side of town – don’t think there is much worse than realising you have to run all the way through town at the end of a race.   

Crossing the finishing line is a weird feeling; there is no elation, nor initially a sense of achievement.  Just a sense of job done and feeling cold.  It always feels like this, but this time it just felt more stark, maybe that was due to COVID restrictions meaning there weren’t many people milling about (the rain could have had a hand in that too) or just sheer exhaustion. Once across the finish line, there is time for a quick photo and then its off to the car to get dry and changed.  When it comes to describing my experiences at the race it’s quite difficult but, there is a school of thought that suggests that if someone has done something well then copy them.  With that in mind its over to you Charles Dickens, it was the best of times; it was the worst of times.  With the focus of time, I am pleased with how I got on and a great day out, but it was undoubtedly the hardest thing I have ever done – especially mentally.  I finished in 18 hours 55 minutes, which is good enough for 14^th position (out of 37 finishers)  which I am as happy as I am ever going to be – although I am mildly frustrated that I was an emergency poo away from 13^th position (2 minutes quicker).  Tom came in in 12^th (over 10 minutes quicker than me, but that should and could have been much more), mate I couldn’t have done it without you

Although ‘only’ 30 km further than the Gower 50 ultra, this was by far the hardest thing I have ever undertaken. The combination of sleep deprivation, the amount of climbing, and the weather combined to make this race a go to for running anecdotes for years to come. My poor wife, she’ll be hearing about this for years to come. Time to cure the post race blues by booking another one!

Biting off more than I can chew

At the turn of the year there were two races high on my agenda. Man V Horse and Hope24. One has been my ‘to run list’ since I DNS’ed years back and the other was my running highlight of 2018. The fact that the two are a week apart didn’t really phase me. I believe I may have said something along the lines of treating Man V Horse as a long (hilly) training run with a medal. I was expecting to have heavy legs, but I wasn’t expecting was a mental fatigue hangover.

I had grand ideas about beating last years distance (by some margin), however the writing was on the wall before we even set foot at Hope24. It came about halfway around Man v Horse when, while suffering in the welsh hills, we began to make excuses for our performance a week later. We arrived at Hope24 knowing that a big improvement on the 55 miles we (Tom and I) ran last year was unlikely but we both wanted to try and get past it.

The weekend starts reasonably well, as we set up basecamp the legs feel good. Camp is constructed and we head over and collect our numbers. Once back we get changed and pin on our numbers ready for battle. After a quick warm up (by warm up I mean jog over to the portaloos for a pre-race poo). Once the load is lightened, we head over to the start line – for the purpose of clarity Tom did not accompany me in the portaloo.

As we get near the buzzer goes, we dive under the tape into the crowd of runners and cross the line, Hope24 2019 is a go. The course is different this year, and we cross the line going in the other direction. The course still loops around the camping field, just without the little dogleg to start. once past the camping area we cross the stream over the same bridge but turn right then left up a grassy bank – no more tarmac trudge – once up the grassy bank we enter a section of single track through some woods. After running this section a few times, it finally dawned on me we ran this section last year and I can confirm its was more fun running down it last year.

At the top we come out into a grass field before dropping along a gravelly double track along the near side (which we ran up last year to the wooded trail). We follow this all the way to the bottom corner of the field before running up the far side. Just before we do a complete lap of the field, we enter another wooded area via a little section of single track, before climbing up onto a gravel track. we weave through the woods for a while before taking a left and settle into in the same general direction for about a kilometre as the trail goes from gravel, to grass to ankle deep slime. We leave the woods then take a long, tightening right hander and drop back down into the woods. We follow a wide muddy path along side of Troy Brook for what feels like an age. The track rises and falls – while drying out gradually until we are running on gravel again.

We follow the same path for just over half a kilometre – it always feels further than that and by the end it feels a lot further – before we cross the brook on a single file bridge and continue in the same direction. We turn away from the brook and hit the last climb of the lap, which kicks off with a sharp ramp before easing in the middle section before rising again as you reach the top. As we round the corner at the bottom of the hill I notice a photographer at the top of the first ramp. I politely inform Tom he should continue running – resulting in the first race picture of me that I don’t actually hate! I am eternally grateful to the photographer for not staying there, as any further pictures would have made for grim viewing.  Once at the top of the hill we go through a gate and out onto the top of a grass bank. We contour along it, gradually dropping down, until we get to the road.

Once at the road we cross it and enter the camping area, unlike last year there is no Prick’s Parade and we turn right and head straight to the finish line. Once the finish line is in sight both Tom and I begin to speed up. I don’t know who surged first, but once one of us did the other responded and so on until we are in a fully-fledged – all be it fucking slow – sprint for the line. Guess the legs must be feeling ok.

We adopt the same strategy as last year and pit in for a cup of coffee and a little to eat. We continue this for the rest of the afternoon; however, I find that as the day goes on my legs become less and less responsive. By the time we stop for dinner – after 5 laps – I have spent more time following Tom (and staring at his heels) than I ever have before. That’s not to say that I usually run in the front (but I like to think I do but Tom no doubt will passionately disagree), but we do tend to share the load on the front.

After dinner we head out for another lap with our head torches – my one regret from last year is not getting a lap in in the dark. This time its Tom’s time to suffer as we pick our way through the darkness. We finish the day on 30 miles – the same as last year, just finishing a bit later. After a beer and synchronization of alarms we retire for the night.

After a restless night the annoying buzz from my phone drags me from my slumber. I snooze the annoyance and lye for a moment – stuck between sleep and awake. Noise outside my tent startles me from my twilight zone and I poke my head out the tent to assess the days weather. I am greeted with rain that wouldn’t look out of place in an environmental disaster movie. I dart across to the group shelter we have been using as our kitchen/dining room/race nerve centre and put on the kettle while I get my running stuff on. Just as the coffee is made Tom joins me – weary eyed – and we have a cup and a bowl of muesli while waiting for the rain to pass, or even ease. The rain doesn’t usually stop us going out for a run – even if one of us has reservations the other is always on hand to offer the time-honoured advice to ‘dig a little deeper for a bigger pair of balls’. Not today, however. Today we had another cup of coffee.

After some time and a fair bit of coffee – by now its light and the wives have awoken – we notice the rain has eased to a drizzle. Me mobilise ourselves and, with a little nudge from the afore mentioned wives we are finally out for our first lap of the day. The lap goes by with no drama, or niggles, and we return to camp for yet more coffee. By now we have accepted that any chance of getting to our distance from last year is over – and as a result all urgency, although there was little to begin with – has gone.

After a bit more sitting, chatting and coffee consumption we head out for our final lap of the 24 hours. This time Sian and Hannah – who have both entered the hope5 – join us. It doesn’t go unnoticed that after a day of warm sunny weather they end up deciding to do their lap in the rain. The four of us walk over to the start line, where I am asked to get a few pictures of them starting. But before I can get my phone out they are off and running. I have to put on a bit of a dart to get ahead of them for long enough to get a photo. Once the photographer duties are out the way, Tom and I plod at our pace leaving the girls to run at theirs. I thoroughly enjoyed our last lap as we stopped to take photos, chat and enjoy the route without the pressure of trying to get another lap in, or the endless ticking of the clock.

We finished with 8 laps – 40 miles – which is a fair distance less than we covered last year. As much as the preparation wasn’t as solid as it was the year before – no spring marathon and a few niggly little injuries – I genuinely feel that mental fatigue had a bigger part to play. Last year Hope24 was the only target of the early Summer. Once Boston Marathon was done it was only Hope24. Trying to mentally peak again a week after Man V Horse was never going to be easy, and I knew I had to dip into my mental reserves to get around the Welsh hills. What I didn’t realise was how deep into these reserves I would need to go, nor that they wouldn’t be there when I needed them again the following week. The surprising thing was that it wasn’t the running that I struggled with, once out on course even on Saturday afternoon when my legs didn’t seem to want to play ball I could keep myself going. The issue came in getting to that point. Get out – especially in the rain of Sunday morning.

I certainly hope to return next year. It remains to be seen if any lessons have been learnt.

I’m Running How Far?

If all goes to plan a new milestone will be reached before the end of the year.  Although specific training for it hasn’t actually started, I have started trying to work out how it’s going to work – especially as I would like my wife and kids to still recognise me when it’s all done.

Back tracking slightly.  Last year was my first soiree into the somewhat daunting world of ultra-marathons.  It started with a 24 hour race a few months after running Boston (UK) Marathon, and rounded my racing year out with the Gower Ultra 50.  This year I hope to go a bit bigger – and it’s bloody terrifying just writing it – but hopefully a 100 mile ultra will be ticked off.  ‘Ticked off’ makes it sound so easy; not a 30 hour sleep deprived, quad destroying grind.

I don’t have – nor do I plan to get – a coach, and you can’t seem to get generic training plans in the same way you can for a marathon; so it’s time to research.  My Christmas book haul was comprised entirely of running books ranging from autobiographical (Scott Jurek’s Eat and Run, and Finding Gobi by Dion Leonard (which, while not entirely a running book it is well worth a read)) to more ultra-running manual type books (Byron Powell’s Relentless Forward Progress and Jason Robillard’s Never Wipe Your Ass With A Squirrel).  I am hoping that I can use these books to freelance my way into shape to run a 100 mile ultra. 

In addition to being inspirational, Scott Jurek’s book offered up a few pearls of training advice, but more importantly he offers a huge amount of nutritional advice including a whole host of recipes for trail food which I am looking forward to trying while the training ramps up.  To be honest you would hope to gleam some tips from the best ultra-runner of his (or any) generation.

Relentless forward progress has a training plan for a 100 mile ultra in it which will be great to use as a template – one thing I have learnt from using generic marathon plans is that if you don’t tailor them to the race you’re training for you will suffer for it.  On top of this there is also a load of bits on things that I hadn’t even considered.  One of the things I noticed while thumbing though was the section on aid stations, and specifically how not to lose a bucket load of time at them.  I have no concrete way of knowing – as I didn’t pause my Garmin – but I think Tom and I probably lost over an hour and a half at the checkpoints and aid stations on the Gower Ultra 50 (and there were only 7 of them), at that rate we could lose over 10% of the time limit stood around at aid stations.  

Never Wipe Your Ass With A Squirrel also covers aspects of ultra-running that I hadn’t considered, such as whether to shave my balls or not – I really didn’t think that needed consideration.   As well as how to get rid of an annoying training partner – which I don’t think I will need, but it’s always good to have a game plan.  While this book seams a little more tongue in cheek at times, I still think it will offer a myriad of helpful advice and its format – almost like a reference book – means I can use it to supplement anything I read elsewhere.

So, I hopefully have all the information I need at my fingertips. All I need to do now is do a little reading, take a few notes, and do some running. When I say some running, I mean a lot of running.

But Why?

Since telling friends and family I had entered an ultra I’ve been asked the same few questions – over and over in some cases – and it’s was getting tedious. So, here are the questions I keep getting asked, and the answers – as honestly as I can.

• But Why?
Because I can; because it’s there; why not? These are my go to, if slightly flippant, responses to the why question.  While that is the bare bones of it, it’s not just that. There is more. It’s about finding where the limits are in the distances I can cover – both physically and mentally. I still like to run fast (a relative term) and I would still love to run a sub 90 minute half marathon, but at the moment I think I am more interested in far rather than fast. I may live to regret that decision when fast is no longer an option. Even if fast is a relative term.

• Isn’t it just a form of sadomasochism?
Well, yes I guess it is; just without the inconvenience of needing whips, ball gags and a sex dungeon. I know it sounds weird, but there is a cleansing from the suffering. It resets the stresses and tensions of modern life – whatever modern life is, it’s just life isn’t it? I honestly feel like I’m a better person, but more specifically a better parent and husband, when I run on a regular basis. So I really feel for my wife and kids when I’m injured, I must be a nightmare to live with – even more than usual.

• You must run a lot!
Well I should, but I don’t. Not really. Not compared to proper runners. I ran much further while training for Boston Marathon (still not that Boston Marathon). This is mainly because for the marathon I had a ‘proper’ target to aim for, where as for the Gower 50 and Hope24 it was all about the distance rather than time. However when I return to the distance, and I am sure I will, I guess the time might become more important. Might? Will

• You ran 50 miles?

Yes! Well no; sort of. I ran some, maybe even most of it, but I certainly didn’t run all of it. But even the guy who won it must have walked some of it. Well I bloody hope so anyway.

• Didn’t it hurt?
Well, yes it did. At times it was grim, but all races are grim at times. I maintain that 5km is the most disgusting distance to race, it’s essentially 2km at full gas then 3km of just clinging on hoping for it to finish before you see your breakfast again. It might only last 20 minutes or so, but its bloody horrible.  The Gower 50 might have been grim at times, but there were also huge swathes of enjoyment. Running at a comfortable pace, taking in the vistas, chatting and eating. What’s not to like?

• So, what next?
I don’t know actually (other than a couple of shorter races before the end of the year), but I think I want to race ultras again. In fact I know I want to. On the Monday night after Gower 50, Tom and I were sending links to 100 milers to each other like naughty schoolboys passing pornos around at the back of the bus. Hope24 is on the radar for next year too, but this year I can see a distance target being laid down to gun for (100km, 80 miles, something like that). If it fits in to the grand scheme I would love to finally run the full Man Vs Horse route, but it’s the week before Hope24.
So what’s next? *subject to approval*
o Spring Marathon/shorter ultra (30ish miles)
o Man Vs Horse
o Hope24
o 100 miler

• Have you always been a runner?
Hell no. I don’t really consider myself to be a runner now. I run, but I’m not necessarily a runner.

50 f**king miles!

Some races you enter with great expectations on your performance, and you build up your training over the preceding weeks and months building up to the event. Other races – although still important – you never really get going and its race day before you even settle into training. This was one of those races, except it wasn’t it was a 50-mile ultra-marathon.

We (as in Tom and myself – the way things are going this blog may need to be renamed “Ross and Tom do increasingly stupid shit”) arrived at Gower Cricket Club at half five, and I am so undercooked I am barely even defrosted. After a few nervous poos and a last-minute bag repack its time for the race brief – which barely registers – and time to get going. We leave the warmth of the clubhouse and enter the cold, wet darkness. As the rain teems down we are sent on our merry way out into the inky unknown. Almost as soon as we start the nerves dissipate and my bowels feel a little more secure. I promise this will be the last reference to my bowels/movements. Definitely, maybe.

The route is split into two distinctive sections. The first is mainly on tarmac, and the second mainly trail – and conveniently there is a bag drop at the checkpoint between the two sections.

The race starts with 500 metres of meandering single track before hitting a made path along the coast, after a short distance we cut off down a path and down a series of steps and behind a block of garages before coming out on to the main road through Mumbles. As we make our way through the Mumbles the lights from the shops and bars dances off the wet surfaces and puddles, its almost beautiful. Actually, it is beautiful; but I am slightly preoccupied by what is in store.

After about 6km, we turn off the road and join a cycle route that will take us up to the northern side of the Gower. As we gently climb we begin to try and incorporate a few walking breaks as we try to manage our early efforts. At this point I try to eat one of my breakfast burritos (which consist of banana, Nutella and peanut butter – it seemed like a good idea while I was making them), but after one bite I had to put it away again; it just wouldn’t go down, even after excessive chewing. Over the next few km I try to finish the burrito one bite at a time. I don’t even entertain the second one.

After an hour or so of tree lined cycle path – in the rain – we come out into a housing estate to find a group of runners waiting for checkpoint 1 to open, and after a short wait we give our number over to a marshal and make our way along the road. By this time the sun has begun to push away the gloom and we are treated to the kind of wonderful glow that you can only really appreciate when you get up disgustingly early in the morning – it is however still raining!Once out of the housing estate (think new build rather than Trainspotting) we spend a bit of time running along what I imagine what might be a main road at a more civilized time of day. I won’t lie, I found this section far tougher than I thought I would. Having not managed to eat much – neither before starting nor while running to this point – and knowing there was still 60km to go didn’t really help that matter. Most of the remaining stretch to checkpoint 2 is a montage of snippets. Quiet village here, another tree lined cycle path somewhere else and a long coastal road somewhere near the end.

I am relieved to reach checkpoint 2, if you ignore the hike-a-hill to get to it. Not only are my (well broken in – at that perfect balance between done miles but have miles left in them) trail shoes waiting for me, but also food. After changing shoes and socks I pack all the new food and grab a few Jaffa cakes and a fist full of frazzles on my way out. Once out of the checkpoint and onto the trails I feel much better. I’m still not sure what was the cause of the improvements. Shoes, terrain, the recently erupting sunshine or the frazzles; or just rose-tinted glasses. However, from where I’m sitting now this is the point where I begin to feel like I’m comfortable with what I’ve let myself in for. After a short stretch of wonderful single track and a bit of country lane we start to climb through some woods, before taking a spur into an open grassy field. Once across we go through a gate into a second field. This one seems to have been churned up by a battalion of cattle on special manoeuvres. It’s along here I brave my fist savory burrito, and I can’t relay how relieved I was that it went down like a dream. Happy days. We continue to pass fields and thickets before coming out on a lane. We climb along the lane before dropping down to the salt marshes alongside the estuary.

Once alongside the estuary the route seems to flatten out for a while, with a series of paths running alongside each other with the odd path spurring off towards the estuary. It’s along this section that we are passed by the first of the late starters – making an hour and a half in 30-35 km. it’s easy to tell that they are the quicker runners from behind rather than someone from our start time having a good few minutes. It’s the way they glide, as smooth as butter hardly looking like they are having to work. Its sickening, they could at least pretend to be trying. I was feeling good (read not dying) at this point, but Tom later tells me he really struggled with this section.

Its not long before we reach picture postcard Gower, as we come to the end of the marshes we take a hard right through a gate (with the help of a rambler who has watched several runners pass it and come back) and up a climb steep enough to make

your eyelids fill with lactic acid. We top out and pass through another gate – where there is a miscommunication with a runner behind us and he nearly poleaxes himself by running straight into it. After a little plateau we climb again, coming out at the coffee shop in Llanmadoc. It takes a large amount of will power to run past the coffee shop -and associated cakes – and on to checkpoint 3 a few corners away. This checkpoint stop is probably our quickest; Electronic dib, top up drinks, bit of coke, handful of Frazzles and off we pop down the hill and off to the land of imposing sea cliffs and surf beaches.

This is the Gower’s money shot. We start running along a glorious stretch of single track atop of the cliffs. By now the rain has stopped and the sun is beginning to win the

weather war. As we come around the headland Rhossili beach comes into view, but there is still quite a bit of running before we even start running down towards the beach – never mind running along it. The descent down is so much fun, a few tight corners and switchbacks without being too technical. When we finally make contact with the sand we walk across the soft dry stuff in search of something a bit more compact. Once we find it we begin to run again.

This section is tough going mentally. As beautiful as this stretch of coastline is, the lack of features to act as distance markers took its toll. After a while it began to feel like the start of the beach was getting further away

but the end wasn’t getting any closer – like a bloody mirage in the desert. Finally, the end of the beach is upon us and we begin the climb up the other side. Rather than the wonderous switchbacks on the way down, the way up is a trudge straight up on a man-made path before tacking along the contours of the cliff to the top. Once topped out it’s a short run to checkpoint 4.

While at checkpoint 4 I finally take off my waterproof coat – having been using it solely as a wind shirt for hours (probably not actually hours). Once my coat is repacked and Frazzles are eaten we head off and carry on along the cliff top towards Worms Head

Watch Station, and as we turn to face the south coast proper the views are incredible. Cliffs, coves and golden beaches; people spend a fortune going abroad in search of places like this – calling it paradise. And here it is. Just outside Swansea of all places. We spend the next 10 km or so running along the rolling cliff top paths. This whole stretch is a real joy as the sun shines and the views seem to go on forever. That’s not to say its not tough because it is, but it managed to be both physically tough while mentally joyous.

While enjoying the flowing paths and the wonderful views there is a little nagging doubt. The first compulsory clip is coming up. I have been nervous about missing this unmanned check points since signing up for the race. As we get closer, we become more careful with our navigation – double checking our route choices. In reality the clip point is fairly easy to find. Maps carefully clipped, we make our way down a rocky path towards Port Eynon and checkpoint 5.

Before we get to the checkpoint there is a wonderful surprise waiting for us by the beach, the WAKs (that’s wives and kids) are waiting for us. The psychological boost from a quick kiss and a cuddle can’t be overestimated. After a quick chat Tom and I make our way to the checkpoint. This is the one we’d been looking forward to for a while (or I had at least), it was the hotdog checkpoint. We got our chips dibbed and made our food and drinks orders as the WAKs walked in. We probably stayed longer than we would have otherwise done – partly for the food but mostly the company. But there comes a point where we have to drag ourselves away.

Once we get going it’s a short stretch of rough road before we are running along a boardwalk through the sand dunes. The boards aren’t the nicest to run along, but they are certainly better than the dry soft sand. Before long the dunes end and the road is back. But then; the pretty is back. This section of the path is very reminiscent of the coastal path back home (between Plymouth and Wembury). Tom is obviously feeling pretty good along here and I just have to let him take the lead and try to hold his pace. This whole section seems to go by fairly quickly. It seems to go quickly anyway, but that could be due to a combination of amazing views and staring at the back of Tom’s shoes. Before we really realise we are close we come across two runners at the second compulsory clip stamping their maps.

Shortly after the clip point we enter a glorious stretch of wooded single track, and this time it’s my turn to feel good. There is absolutely no reason why I should suddenly be feeling the stronger of the two of us, it’s not all that long ago I was being towed along by Tom and nothing has changed. Except, now we are in the woods and I love woodland trails. I don’t run them very often, but once I’ve got my eye in I feel really comfortable spotting roots and winding around trees. After an initial section of flat, we climb a huge block of uneven steps before the fun, flowing wooded descent really starts. The flowing descent continues until we reach another set of rugged steps – this time down. Once down we pass a beautiful church nestles between the sea and the woods. Now, I’m not really a church goer, but I could see myself there on a Sunday morning.

To our right is the vast expanse of Oxwich beach, which we have to make our way across. We drop down to sea level and into the beach carpark to see our very own support crew waiting for us. After more hugging I get rid of the breakfast burrito that I have been carrying since 6am, and rewrap a piece of Tom’s Choco Mocha Cake, and off across the beach we head. Once again we head down towards the sea in search of firmer sand, and

once we do we’re off and running again. Unlike on Rhossili beach, we aren’t treated to hard sand all the way across, and before long it becomes a trudge along the beach. It begins to feel like the epic Trans-Saharan scenes from Ice cold in Alex. We cross a small bridge, about half way along, and continue our trudge through the sand. I think this is probably my lowest ebb of the whole day, as the going slows and the point we are aiming for doesn’t seem to be getting closer. We finally reach the point where we leave the beach and head into the dunes – missing a turning so we end up going further in than we should. What makes this worse is that there is a compulsory clip point in the dunes, which if we miss we will have to retrace back to the beach and start again. Luckily, after doing a large loop we end up at the clip point from a different direction. Major cock up averted, possibly due to luck rather than judgement. As we reach the point a group of 5 lads who we had been passing and been passed by for a good while reach the clip too – having come the right way. After chatting for a couple of minutes, one of the guys declares “I’m off for a piss or a shit, and at this point I don’t know which”. Much laughter and the low ebb of the beach and the sand dunes are behind me as we set off before discovering which option he went for. Once off the beach the path improves and we make our way to the 6th checkpoint. At the checkpoint we dab our chips and top up our water, and have a cup of the nicest cream of tomato soup I have ever had. After a bit of a chat with the 5 lads, who came in to the checkpoint shortly after us, we head of along a rough rocky trail and into another stretch of forest.

Before too long we come out of the forest, cross a stream before following it back towards the sea. It started off as a grassy meadow, but the sand pockets grew in size and frequency. We follow a sandy track, but turn off too early and end up having to cut across a golf course. Heavy of limb and slow of mind the risk of a golf ball to the head was probably reasonably high, but thankfully we traversed the pringle minefield in one piece.

We find the coastal path again and follow another boardwalk section through the sand dunes, until they stop at the bottom of what the north face of the Eiger would look like if it was made of sand. Up we trudge, the euphoria of the first beach sighting seems a very long time ago (mostly because it was a long time ago). With only 5 km between checkpoints 6 and 7, it’s not long after scaling the Eiger that we are at the final checkpoint.

The now time honoured protocol of dibbing my chip, then filling my face with Frazzles and Jaffa Cakes it followed by a cup, actually two cups, of coke. I don’t normally drink a lot of coke – or fizzy pop in general – so the surge from the sugar hit way pretty noticeable.

We leave the final checkpoint buoyed by how quickly we had got to that one, and set of in search of the final compulsory clip and the finish line. This final leg starts with some rolling commons, with swaths of gorse and paths fracturing off in every direction, luckily the main coastal path is obvious. As we get closer to the final clip we, once again, become very deliberate about our navigation. The clip points are strategically placed to prevent people from shaving the course – and I don’t want to shave the course especially not because of shit navigational decisions. There is only one place where we could have gone wrong, but with the daylight beginning to fail and our pace dropping we – definitely I – become unsure if we have missed it some way before we have reached it. After a few premature stops to double and triple check the map we find the last clip and mark our maps. With all the compulsory clips done, now it’s just the run in to the finish line.

The daylight finally fails – or more accurately we finally accept we need to put on our head torches again – as we are running along a technical part of the coast line. Once we get them on we are back at the races, the sense of being close to the finish line has given us both a bit of a lift. We continue to make steady, if slow, progress along the cliffs as we reel in and pass the odd headlight we can see in the distance. It’s a funny thing the effect of a rabbit can have while running; I am under no illusion that had there not been lights ahead of us our progress through here would not have been as quick. This happened entirely subconsciously too, neither Tom nor I mentioned trying to chase people down we just began to up the pace a little and take our turn with our noses in the wind. Tom may well read this and point out that is total horse crap and it was all me – and that wouldn’t surprise me, I can be a competitive soul sometimes.

This continues until we reach Caswell Bay – the penultimate bay in the race. We follow the high tide route that goes up a crappy little path out to the road and around the bay the long way. As we plod along the road we see the head torches of other runners who have missed the turning and taken the low tide route, coming out just ahead of us.

The rest of the way to Langland Bay is a blur, as we begin to feel the effect of exuberantly chasing people down when we felt like we were almost home and hosed. The finish feels a way away now and as we push on through the darkness. Once passed the sea front at Langland Bay it’s a hardtop path most of the way back to the finish. Usually I would be running on the edges of the path to try to preserve the tread on my trail shoes, but not now. I seem to be feeling a bit better than Tom is at this point so I try to set a steady pace. We are both pretty much out on our feet and make ridiculous decisions – like running up the hills and walking down them. This section feels like it takes forever, it’s completely dark by now and we seem to be running the same bit over and over again. It’s like Groundhog Day in trail shoes.

Eventually we reach the bit of single track that started the whole thing, and that was it. So, 500m or so of trail running to finish off the Gower 50 ultra-marathon all to the backdrop of pissed kids somewhere in the darkness. We get to the last corner to find the WAKs waiting for us, round the corner and into the finishing straight with my kids, crossing the line in 14 hours, 14 minutes and change.

I’m not usually one of those happy clappy everyone’s a winner types. I like to see where I stack up in a race, and while I accept I am unlikely to ever, ever, win a race I think it’s good to see how you stack up. Not so much with this, I don’t care that I took nearly twice as long as the winner. Nor that it took over 2 hours longer than I had hoped. To be perfectly frank, with the amount of training I did in the run up I’m bloody ecstatic I got round under my own steam. Don’t get me wrong, if (when) I do another ultra I want to see some improvement, but at the moment I’m content. At the moment!

Hope for the best

As a follow up to a flat road marathon, Hope24 is a pretty special way to go about keeping the legs ticking over.  Hope24 is a 24 hour, multiple 5 mile lapped race in the Newnham Park, just outside Plymouth.  The aim is to do as many laps as you can (or want) within the 24 hours.

Not being brave enough to tackle something so far out of my comfort zone, which this most definitely is, on my own I formulated a cunning plan.  I got Tom (who has quickly become my running wife, i.e. when I see a race I think I fancy I run it passed him for authorisation that either he is coming too, or I’m allowed to run it without him) drunk.  Once he is a few drinks in, I planted the seed of doing it as a relay team of two.  I promise you it wasn’t as manipulative as I have made that sound.  After coming to terms with the idea of relaying it, it occurred to me (via my actual wife) that if we soloed it, we could run together, so I broached the subject with Tom – without getting him drunk first.  So, it was decided, we are doing a 24 hour race as soloists.  Shit got real.

The build up to Hope24 had been fairly ordinary.  I had planned to train for this like it was another marathon, but my mileage has been hovering around the 18 miles a week mark.  With no actual target to focus on I was just going out for a run when I fancied it, rather than working towards a goal.  Apparently it’s just a bit of fun.

Over the weeks leading up to race day, I began to allow myself to daydream about what I might set as a target. 30 miles? More? Or just the ability to walk on Monday morning?  Race weekend comes along way before I think I am ready, but there isn’t much I can do now; just suck it up get on with it. 

We (as in the wife and I) arrive at Newnham Park a little later than we had planned, and found Tom already set up.  We quickly put up our tent, but then have a three man battle with the gazeebo before collecting our race numbers and change into our running kit, and make our way to the start/finish arch.  At this point I’m not sure how I feel, the usual pre-race nerves aren’t really there its just the journey into the unknown.  I’m not sure what started the race. Could have been a klaxon, a gun or just a mild mannered “Go!”; but the runners in front started running so I went too. 

Lap 1

We trundle off, conscious that it’s a long way to go, along the grass starting straight and round onto a gravel road which runs back the other way past the start/finish line.  The first kilometre and a half is a flat affair as we turn and double back on ourselves as we go around the camping area, cross a stream and to the bottom of the first climb of the route.  At this point we join the only bit of tarmac as the route rears up for the first time.  The tarmac only lasts for 400 metres or so, but that consists of a ramp to start, before the gradient slackens and goes up again.  We turn off the road and the gradient eases dramatically, it’s still a climb but it’s not much more than a false flat with a few banks along the way.  As it is the first lap, and we are both novice idiots, we decide to go against the grain and run the whole climb (and subsequently the whole lap). 

Once we reach the top we turn off the 4×4 dual track and on to a short stretch single track which weaves its way between the trees.   Before the single track has really started we are taking a hard left and running up a gravelly little ramp to join another 4×4 track as we pass through the woods.  We spend the next 500m or so running along wide tracks in the woods before coming out into a glade of massive ferns – it could have been a set from Jurassic Park, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a runner in front taken out by a velociraptor.  Once through the Jurassic period we are back into the woods, but this time the trail is much tighter as we weave through older woodland, rather than the managed woods previously.  This is a lovely quick section as we continue to drop down the other side of the first climb.

Once out of the woods again, we are back onto the forest tracks as we continue to descend further until we hit the final bit of woods on this descent.  The best section was definitely saved until last as we hurdle rocks and tree roots, navigate tight turns plus a few short sharp climbs and steep dips to keep the legs awake.

Once out the woods we, once again, join a gravel road which we follow for a while, gradually climbing until we hit the second proper climb.  It starts off with a short dig, before slacking off to a longer drag of a climb.  Once we top out it’s an even descent to a tight right-hand hairpin and across the stream on a little bridge.

Once off the bridge, it’s up a little scramble up a rooty bank and along a track towards the finish line.  Just as you can see the field that the finish line and camping area all that hope is torn away as the route takes a left hander up another short, but sharp, ramp.  The hill then flattens and rises for half a kilometre.  At the top we come out into a field above the finishing field.  We contour across the field, gradually descending until we turn and drop down to cross the first gravel road and through the main camping area.

As our race progressed the back straight through the camping area as we approached the finish line was christened ‘The Prick’s Parade’ by Tom.  This, he tells me, came from the way I, subconsciously, would speed up as we passed the camping area towards the end of the lap.  I guess that makes me the prick of the parade.

At some point around the first lap I ask Tom if he has goal for the race and – serendipity would have it that – we both had the same internal secret target; 50 miles.  50 miles, when neither of us have really trained properly – we really are perfect for each other, we are both bloody idiots.

Lap 2

After a quick burrito and coffee stop we head out for our second lap. It starts pretty much the same way as the first as we run comfortably within ourselves, but as we get to the bottom of the big climb we have a decision to make.  Walking in a race is an uncomfortable topic, and I have never chosen to walk in a race before.  I have walked in a race before – after I had detonated at my first marathon and getting caught at the back of a group on a narrow, steep climb at a trail race – but it’s never been a conscious, tactical decision.

As we hit the bottom of the climb we slow and look at each other, slightly uncomfortably as I don’t think either of us want to be the one that walks first.  It was me; I shut it down and walked first.  Once we are off the tarmac we begin to run again and we run the remainder of the climb.  We continue to run until we hit the second climb of the lap.  At this point we shut it down again – with more awkward sideways glances.   As we reach the top we both – seamlessly – start to run again.  This, again, continued until we reached the last climb at which point we walked the steepest part and then ran again once the gradient had eased.  We dropped down to the finishing field and I seemingly continued my proud ‘prick of prick parade’ tradition.

We continue the strategy of grabbing a bite to eat (and a cuppa) between laps and head back out, although these breaks began to lengthen as our discipline began to wane.  As we go further into Saturday the laps seem to merge into snapshots of other runner’s backs and the odd incident.  At some point during these transient hours, as we are making our way through a section of winding single track through the woods I hear the god awful combination of stumbling, swearing and other runners gasping.  I spin around, half expecting to turn just in time for Tom to land on my face.  Luckily for me, as I turn he appears to be half way through an advanced yoga position (while in mid-air) as he heads for the nearest tree.  Somehow, and I still don’t know how, he manages to sort his feet out, not implant his face into said tree and carry on running – it seems barely braking stride. 

We planned to get six laps in, then stop for some proper food and then reassess.  We finished our 6^th lap at about 9 o’clock and returned to find my – long suffering – wife, who was crewing for us, sat in the gazeebo chatting to another runner.  We sit down, grab a drink and join in the conversation.  The other runner did give us her name, but I’m rubbish with names at the best of time.  She was using Hope24 as a training race for a 100 mile race later in the year.  Even with my merging memories of the later part of Saturday’s events I remember being impressed by how fresh she still looked and how far she had already gone (I’m still massively impressed by her efforts).  We finally got round to having food at all but 10 o’clock, once we had eaten our gnocchi it was getting pretty close to 11, so we decided the best course of action was a beer and bed (with a 5 am alarm call) rather than knocking out another lap.  The one advantage, I think, to spending that time sat around chatting before eating was it gave us a chance to rehydrate which we might not have otherwise had.

After several snoozed alarms, I manage to get out of my sleeping bag before the (small) sensible part of my brain continues the snooze cycle.  Bleary eyed I clamber out of the tent, expecting every fibre of my body to be screaming at me.  I straighten up, have a stretch and put the kettle on.  Regardless of how I feel, coffee will make it better – a lot better.  Tom’s up, and thankfully looks as sleep deprived as I feel (and probably look).  Somehow I don’t feel like a rusty robot; I daren’t try to touch my toes, but I feel amazingly good considering.   Breakfast of burritos and coffee is chowed down and we are good to go.  On a side note, I will try to remember that dinner type foods go out much better than breakfast type when you have to drag yourself out your pit at a disgusting time in the morning.

Gingerly we walk across the camping field towards the start/finish straight.  I really am expecting it to take a lap, maybe even more, for the legs to free up and move in a way that even resembles running.  After a couple of paces it felt good, not fresh as a daisy good but good enough to instil a bit of confidence that I would be able to keep going.

By now there is no more little looks of ‘Are we going to walk this hill?’  We continue to run the majority of the lap but the three big climbs are walked, along with the gravelly ‘hidden hill’ just after the first bit of single track. 

I think it was at some point during the 8^th lap where I mention that if we manage to ‘sneak in an extra lap’ we would have done a double marathon.   This goes down surprisingly well – I think Tom had also had the same thought – and the goal post seems to have moved.

The rest of the 8^th lap and the majority of the 9^th go by without incident, until we reach the second stream crossing.  As I try to bound up – in my mind it would be an elegant bound – the rooty bank back up to the gravel track.  As I lift my right foot at clear the first set of roots I just catch my toes, and whether it’s because of the lack of sleep or the miles in the legs I can’t react in time.  Before I really manage to process what is going on I’m on my hand and knees scrambling to get up the bank and back to my feet.

We finish lap 9 and head back to camp for a bit of food and recruit an extra member.  Sian, my wife, had entered the Hope5 (which is a single lap of Hope24) and I had been looking forward to this lap all morning.  We head back out and run the loop around the camping ground to the first hill.  We stop to walk it.  It’s at this point I realise how slowly we are now walking up the hills, as Sian walks up chatting away,  I realise how hard it is to keep up with her.  We get to the top of the tarmac and begin to run again as we turn onto the rocky track.  We get about half way up and Sian rolls her foot off a rock, jarring her foot.  After a bit of run/walk she tells Tom and I to, well, she told us to go our own way so she could pace it how she wanted to, rather than feeling like she had to force herself to push harder than she wanted for our sake.  After a couple of prompts I give her a fist full of sweets and we push on, trying to get back in time to start the 11^th lap before midday.  I won’t lie, I felt like a bit of an arsehole for the remainder of the lap, but with a deadline looming we seem to get around the lap at a fairly respectable pace.

We cross the line with 13 minutes or so to spare.  I dash back to the tent and make a couple of burritos and fill up my water bottles.  We trot across the field and re-join the race in time to do the extra lap.  As we do I see Sian coming across the grass bank above the camping field.  I give her a shout and a wave, and to my relief she waves back.  We continue to walk as we eat our burritos as Sian makes her way along prick’s parade and around the last bend.  I cut across to reach her on the home straight and she looks like she has really enjoyed it.  I watch her run off down the finishing straight, both proud as punch but also thoroughly relieved that she isn’t pissed off with me.

We’ve finished eating, but still walking.  Without the time constraint still on us it suddenly becomes really hard to make ourselves run.  We pick a point a few metres ahead as the point we start running.  We hold a run all the way to the bottom of the tarmac hill and instantly drop back to a walk.  Once off the black top we run/walk the rest of the way to the top.  We try to run the flat and down hills, especially the bits through the woods.  Once we drop out the woods we walk the flat to the second climb and begin running again on the other side.  We then manage to hold a run all the way to the final climb, but this time we decide to walk all the way to the top, not just the steepest section – I say decide, we didn’t decide we just did.

We did, however, have the where with all to start running again before we came out onto the field above the camping field, just in case anyone was still there to see.  We get across the field, and make our way along the prick’s parade for the last time.  I tell Tom that when we get round the corner I am going to ‘go for home’ and dip him at the line.  As we round the corner I feign to go and get no reaction from him, I guess he really did mean it when he said he couldn’t care less.  We cross the line together, not quite skipping and holding hands but after pushing each other all the way it would have felt wrong to race one another at the end.  I’ll have him next time though, I can only give him one bye.  It’s a testament to Tom, that despite running together for the best part of 10 hours at no point did I have to resort to listening to my iPod – in fact I didn’t even carry it with me at any point.   He is a seriously upbeat kind of guy – and I’m a grumpy old bastard that has a habit of getting pissed off by people I spend a lot of time with – and seems to have a vast array anecdotes for any situation.

According to my Garmin we covered the 86.58 kilometres in 9 hours 43 minutes and change (moving time rather than total time – total time was 22:36:47).  To be honest if I had been offered that on Saturday morning I would have bitten your hand off at the shoulder, so I really should be happy with how it all went.  I am hugely proud with how Sian got on with her first race.  Especially as she was worried that she would finish last.  She didn’t but more importantly she loved it – and doesn’t hate me for leaving her.  We have also talked about racing together again, which is a right result.

https://www.strava.com/activities/1644597737/embed/a80dbe681c17ca4b902a070016fde896a8802e23

All photographer (other than the last two) taken by AG Images