6th March: Steyning

I ran the Steyning Stinger a couple of years ago and thoroughly enjoyed the muddy fun that the race provided, so I was looking forward to getting-out on the course again with the good views from atop the ridges of the South Downs Way - that and the fried breakfast they give you at the finish!

With the Stinger being a relatively local race I woke as dawn cracked and drove down to the grammar school in the middle of the village of Steyning where the event organised by Steyning Athletic Club has its base, registered and changed for the off in plenty of time.

It seemed a bit busier than the previous time here with everyone milling-around through registration, although when I crossed the road in to the field ready for the official start, I could see a crowd of runners already heading-off in to the distance who formed the early start of the race for the slower runners.

All calm before the storm.

Attempting to keep warm in the crisp clear winter morning air us runners began to huddle a bit closer together before the countdown and we were unleashed onto the chocolate-pudding like mud of the field that formed the first part of the course.

Climbing up to the top of the downs.

Last time I ran it I lost a trainer in the mud 3 times within the first mile, but this time I managed to keep it down to just the one, although slipping your cold wet mud-soaked sock back in to your trainer straight after losing it is never a fun experience!

Sheep no doubt thinking we're baa-rmy.

Just beyond the first half mile as we came off the field and on to some tarmac I passed the first person to drop-out, pulling-up lame with what looked like a hamstring strain - I felt sorry for the guy as he’d probably trained hard to get to the start-line only to have every bit of preparation undone within the first five minutes of the race, something I have been mercifully spared from so far on this running odyssey of mine.

I understood what the guy was going through as the previous day I had set my parkrun PB running with Spud only to feel my hamstring tighten-up in the process within the first hundred metres of the mad dash off the start line… So here this morning I was acutely aware of managing the strain and not letting it develop in to a proper pull and seeing the poor chap was a cautionary tale for me about taking it easy.

On to the tarmac for a short while, we plodded along uphill until we hit the turn on to the trails and the mud with the trek and climb up on to the South Downs and the fabulous views from on top.

North to Surrey...

... and south to the sea.

The course was not as muddy as before, bar on the forested paths which were full of plenty of the grey cloying claggy clay-based mud, and once through the trees and on to the fields that form the top of the downs the running was good firm grassy pasture under foot and with the clear crisp air we could see for several miles from on top of the ridge north through Sussex towards Surrey and south out in to the channel.

It didn’t seem too long until I was running past Chanctonbury Ring, mercifully not as cold as before where the wind and an overcast sky really bit in to you back then, before heading south to Cissbury Ring and doing the loop passing the golf course overlooking Wareham before the lonely drag of the next loop of Steep Down.

Sauntering up to the ring.

North from the ring.

Mercifully once you have completed this final loop you know you are on the home stretch and heading back to Steyning and the finish… With the fun steep descent through the woods off of the downs before hitting the tease of the final few fields that divert you here and there whilst in sight of the finish but never seeming to approach it until the final drag including one last quagmire before the finishing line… And the fry-up.

Last views of the channel before turning for home.

Today was one of those runs where everything passed without trouble, but with my position in the field of runners, I was alone for long chunks of time with just the company of my podcasts to amuse me along the route.

With my gammy hammy I had to reign myself in at times when I felt I could have pushed harder - which did me another favour in preventing me from ‘blowing-up’ by going too hard or too fast so hopefully led to a better more even pace throughout my escapade that brought me home 8 minutes faster than before in 106/192 finishers…

What we run this race for!

A pretty good day out for me I felt, and then there was the fried brekkie and the uneventful drive home. The next time I’ll be in Steyning will be the halfway point of my planned 2 day MTB traverse of the South Downs Way in August with Dean, Rob & Stu - at least it should be warmer then, if not as bright and sunny!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

7th December: The Dorset CTS

I was looking forward to this run… I say looking forward but it was with a healthy dose of trepidation and respect for the route having run this last year. The course in question, the Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series Dorset marathon, is the one I have found hardest of all of them so far… It may be beautiful with its scenery but dear god does it have some hills and the first of which when climbing up it last year caused me to strain my right calf muscle, which I then pulled a couple of weeks later playing footy. 6 months on with the calf not healing it led me to seeing a physio for the first time in my life in an attempt to cure the problem. To be brutally honest it is still not 100%, and as a means of protecting it these days I am wearing compression sleeves on my calves for trail marathons, something I resolved to do whilst thinking about the strain as I made my way around this particular ‘madathon’ this time last year.

A few weeks ago my uni friend Claire had put me in touch with her running buddy Jamie, who was also in the marathon field today and was chasing after some advice from someone who had been, seen and survived this marathon before about what to expect. Having previously completed the Three Forts Challenge he was well aware of what a hilly trail marathon has in store underfoot and I was looking forward to running at least part of the course with him.

Following my normal pattern I drove down to the event base at Lulworth Cove to arrive at the witching hour in the midst of a freezing cold snap. Parking the van as level as I could in the sloped car-park, with the thermometer dipping well below freezing outside I caterpillared into my sleeping bag under a duvet in the back to get in 40 winks in before the ultra-runners would arrive at sparrow’s fart a few hours later.

A chilly dark registration.

Waking as the sky began to lighten to the symphony of slamming car doors and excited voices I registered in the marquee illuminated by lanterns. The winter solstice will be upon us in a matter of a few days, so daylight is limited meaning that some of the ultra runners will be on the hoof for all hours of today’s light as their route will be the marathon course, followed by the half then 10k courses one after the other as they cover some 45 miles of hilly hell!

The sun rises over the parked cars.

I watched the ultra runners depart on their merry way as dawn broke behind us, before meeting up with Claire and Jamie in the car park, sharing some coffee and flap jacks before getting changed for the briefing and the pending start.

Claire & Jamie.

The departure of the ultras.

Awaiting the off at the bottom of the first hill, everyone huddled together like penguins to try and keep warm but at the same time being peculiarly British in trying hard not to invade one another’s personal space too much. The weather could not be better with nary a cloud to be seen in the sky, the visibility perfect and no real wind to speak of, so it would be sunny and chilly all day long… If it were not for everyone being wrapped-up in winter running gear to keep the cold at bay, you’d think from the photos we were in the middle of summer!

Packed like penguins grouped for the get-go.

My target for the day was merely a finish following on from my disappointment on the Gower and knowing that I still really was not back to anywhere near my fitness lost to flu after Glencoe… It would be a case of hit the trail, see what happens and enjoy every step. At least I was fully aware of the number and nature of the hills and what lay in store so they would not be demoralising me… after all I’ve conquered them all once before, so no problem a second time.

Lining up for the countdown I introduced Jamie to fellow 7X Challenge marathon holder Luke (going for it again this year after last year’s injury affected season), who pretty much reiterated what I had said about the course to Jamie and wished him all the best… In a way I felt sorry for Jamie hearing an identical tale of woe from Luke and myself about how tough the course is, but I felt it was better to put him under no illusions about what was to come rather than tell him ‘don’t worry, you’ll be fine’ perhaps only to find it was not so, and I think Luke was of the same mind.

In no time we were off on what I find to be the most amusing of starts for a marathon, about 20 metres of flatish ground before we hit the climb of the first hill and watching the entire field essentially being cheered-off to a brisk walk… The path here was flat cobbles, but with the temperature they were very treacherous underfoot coated with ice from the night’s frost, with grip consequently at a premium, so we were all slowed to a pace even slower than we would have liked.

One of the 7 natural wonders of the world.

After the first three miles of hills and passing the unique sight of Durdle Dor the field was beginning to stretch out as people began to find their level and position within the pack.

Glimpsing what lies in front.

Closing in on the climb.

Looking up at the steep ascent from the foot.

The scenery was beautiful, something that was enhanced the whole way in the early morning sunshine - pretty much the last throes of the ’golden hour’ with the sun still behind us as we ran from East to West.

The field stretching out in front of me.

Mind the drop!

This stretch to the initial checkpoint at the furthest point westward was essentially 6 miles of continual climb and descent… Hill reps from hell you could say. Even when we hit the last long descent to the shoreline (where I missed a turn and ended up on a pebbled beach before retracing my steps), we still had to turn inland and endure another climb to the checkpoint and the aid station. Those around me who were also confused about directions, due to around 20 of us either missing the sign or it having been moved, were asking if anyone knew if we were back on track… From memory I said I was pretty sure we were and there should be a very picturesque avenue festooned with golden leaves along in a short while and I was very relieved when we found it, as no doubt was everyone close by, so we could all carry on safe in the knowledge that we would soon hit the aid station.

The final descent of this leg.

The gold leafed avenue.

As normal I dibbed-in my timing chip and pretty much just strode on through having grabbed a handful of jelly beans, munching on them as I traipsed up on to the top of the hill where we re-traced our steps over lush green farmers pasture back to Lulworth Cove along the top of the ridge, the land dropping off to our right towards the coastal path we had just run along and cliffs to its side with the becalmed blue sea below them.

Across the fields

Midway along the return to the cove, you could hear the sound of stampeding hooves - well the sound of the leading half marathoners catching up on us and overtaking as they went on their merry way chasing the win. Shortly before the appearance of Lulworth down below us in the distance, I saw a familiar figure walking along the route towards me in the form of Claire who was looking out for Jamie and me. As I polished-off a cereal bar I stopped to chat and she said that Jamie was definitely behind me, which I was surprised at as I had been steadily working my way backwards down the field!

Lulworth below.

Soon we were dropping down off the hill and in to Lulworth where it was extremely tempting to stop off for a cup of hot coffee in the van as I passed, but that would not really achieve anything, so through the streets I went and down on the beach of the cove proper.

Across the cove.

The route had been changed around the cove from last year, so rather than climbing the stairway to hell and going up around the cove, this time we were to run across the pebbled beach, with the uniquely turquoise water beside us, to the other side of the horseshoe of this natural harbour. We were then to scramble up the muddy and rocky bank on the side of the cove and back on to the coastal path… And for me the sense of foreboding over what was to face us shortly.

Here be danger!

Entering on to the live firing ranges for the tank battalion stationed at Lulworth Camp just outside Lulworth (which are closed for business and open to the public at weekends in case you were wondering), it was a gentle wend up and down along the coastal path until the final slight downhill revealed around the headland the sight I was not looking forward to (and from the sound of the gasps of disbelief from those around me I was not alone in this)… the monster hill that needs to be climbed. Photographs do not do justice to the size and scale of this beast. It is mountainous with a gradient that leaves you using your arms to help get up it as well. Several times I had to stop through overheating and general knackeredness, taking my jacket off to help cool myself down. Finally I reached the top and turned to look at my fellow runners as they too summitted as I put my jacket back on and the looks on their faces of near total defeat and exhaustion spoke volumes despite the fact they had made it to the top.

Rounding the cove before...

...the behemoth.

When a picture paints a thousand words.

Still, as the saying goes: What goes up must come down, and soon enough we were making our way down the other side of the behemoth, which was also painfully slow through your toes getting squeezed tight into the toe boxes of your trainers whilst trying to negotiate the extremely steep gradient, before hitting the next climb in a matter of a handful of metres once you hit the base.

Down then up again.

Halfway up this next ascent was a sight I had noticed last year and had promised myself at some point in the future I would take my time to investigate further: The tank graveyard.

The rusting hulk.

With me not chasing a time today and the weather unbelievably crisp and clear, I made-good on my promise and stopped for a good look around. I’ve never been this close to a tank outside of a museum, where you certainly are not allowed to clamber all over the exhibits! The old tank here (I think it is a Chieftan) seems to have been parked for gunnery practice as a target at a known distance. The gun barrel has been cut-down and spiked so as to be completely useless and over the years it has certainly been rusting away. I suspect most of the useable parts had been stripped from it before it was left here, but you could still climb into the turret and experience how cramped everything was inside for its crew of 4.

Inside the turret.

When I jogged over to the tank I certainly got plenty of funny looks from my fellow runners, most of them I suspect wondering why I had diverted over here from the route and wondering what on earth I was doing, although anyone seeing me clambering over the tank would certainly have realised I was having a bit if a ‘boy’s own’ time exploring it. It was certainly a chance of a lifetime to have a good nose around, and the view from the tank down the hillside and across inland was pretty spectacular in the bright sunshine.

Yet another hill.

This diversion was merely something to avoid the obvious fact that I was halfway up a hill that still remained to be conquered, so I rejoined the line of walking runners as it filed slowly past climbing the hill. At least this was the last big climb of the eastward leg, so once over things would not be too bad, plus the checkpoint was not too far away.

The descent to the aid station.

Looking back from whence we came at the aid station.

Once through the checkpoint it was a matter of a couple of miles along the coastal path to the turn inland just past the nodding donkey pumping the oil at Kimmeridge Bay. From here we made our way across a farmers field that was planted with a crop rather than being fallow this year, so we were under strict instructions to keep to the marked path which follows the footpath route on the OS map so as to minimise any potential damage to the farmer’s livelihood. Judging by the track across it, everyone had been true to the instructions, so hopefully there will be no issues next or any other year.

The lush fields towards Kimmeridge.

Over the other side of the field and we climbed up on to the ridge-top path and passed a field of what I thought were black llamas, although I was corrected in my identification to alpacas by a fellow runner who has been on a training course in the animal husbandry of them through his wife deciding they were to get a small-holding and raise their own - so he had stopped to look at them out of professional curiosity! It just goes to show you never know who you will meet on one of these runs!

Retracing our steps westward.

As we continued along the path I found myself alongside a couple of fellow runners in the form of Emmeline and Gerard, with the three of us pretty much running with each other for the remainder of the last 6 or 7 miles, chatting about other races we had done and cursing how tricky this one is with its pesky hills.

The ruins of Tyneham.

The three of us made our way through the abandoned village of Tyneham to the final checkpoint of the day at the top of the hill on the way out. Onto the last leg we were back on the top of the ridge and re-tracing our way to a certain extent back towards the path we had run eastwards earlier on from Lulworth, and covering the evil hills in reverse of before, all bar the most evil of them which we wisely do not have to make our way downwards.

The day was now drawing to a close and the sun was starting to set in front of us, so I took the chance of taking a photo in the golden hour of the evening when I was temporarily dropped by the other two going up a hill. I found Emmeline and Gerard to be very genial company. Normally when you run with people, it is because at that time your pace’s briefly synch with each other before you end up splitting apart again as in the long term people will always tend to be faster or slower, so you find yourself in a dilemma of pushing on at a pace you know you can muster which will be faster than those with you, or to ease-off if you have been pushed beyond your normal pace for too long, or in this case just ignore either urge and just carry on at a pace comfortable for all to remain with your companions, which was certainly a great morale booster and made the last quarter of the race fly past.

A parting shot in the golden hour.

As the sun had disappeared and the shadows had followed as the day began to slip away we made our descent on to the beach at Lulworth Cove and across it before with one final effort we jogged up the slipway, past the pubs and in to the finish, exhausted with the efforts of the day.

As I tried to recover my senses I sent Claire a message to establish if she was still around and if there was any sign of Jamie, as I knew I was pretty near the back of the marathon field so he could not be too far behind, if not already finished by overtaking me whilst I was twatting around on the tank. Soon I received a reply telling me of Jamie’s enforced withdrawal through calf cramps at the halfway mark when he got in to Lulworth. He made the decision not to fight-on and risk an injury, especially with plenty more hills on the agenda. Making such a decision is never easy when you have been training and building-up to the race, but if you are unsure of any potential damage and a risk of a longer term injury and its associated lay-off for recovery, then it is certainly the right decision to make and Jamie made a very wise move and one I should take heed of!

As hard as this run may be, I certainly enjoyed it, and more so with no pressure being placed by me on me to chase down a time through still not being back up to speed after the lurgy. I crossed the finish line an hour slower than the previous year and safely towards the rear of the marathon field, but hey, this included the time messing around clambering over a derelict tank on the firing range which I certainly would not have normally done if I was seriously racing. That said, I really want to run this HARD and see how much time I can knock-off from last year’s effort.

One thing this run has done was to give me more thinking time about what to do with the hills, and the solutions seems to be a pretty simple one: drop some weight. This can be achieved by upping my training time between races and not only will it mean less of a bulk for my arse to haul up them hills, but it should also lower the strain on my troublesome calf and every other muscle as well. As simple a solution as it is obvious, and most likely an accurate assessment… We’ll see as only time will tell.

One disappointing note from today though, I lost my Garmin Forerunner 405 somewhere between the finish and the car park - most likely it fell out the slider of the van as I got in and out of the side, which is a real bummer to say the least and has turned what was a very enjoyable day in to an expensive one as well… Shit happens :(

Eat pies. Drink beer. Run far.

6th April: Blackpool

For a good many years LSS’s parents lived in Blackpool, and when we went up to visit them I used to take myself running along the beach bare footed for a 10k on most days - great for rubbing down callouses and corns and exfoliating the hardened skin off your feet, although after 3 days in a row they tend to get sore as you begin to rub-off the good live skin down to the lower dermis! Previously I have also run north along the promenade to Fleetwood and back (pushing 20 miles) so the town is somewhere I am pretty familiar with and the route for the marathon is 2 figure of 8’s along the prom starting from the northerly end of the town.

LSS’s parents no longer live in the town, although they still have a house there, so I left early in the morning for the 40 minute drive to their place in Blackpool, parked-up outside and walked the mile or so to the Hilton hotel where the event base and registration was.

I missed a trick here for as soon as I hit the promenade, a tram trundled past - I had not brought any money with me so I could not hop on and get a lift to the hotel… Oh well, at least it was not raining, even if it was threatening to.

Once at the hotel I registered with around 30 minutes left to the start and pinned my number on whilst crammed alongside countless other people in a corridor of the hotel as we tried to remain inside for as long as possible.

With the race being in the town centre with of water stations every 3 miles or so I had made the decision not to run with my hydration back pack and just rely on their water. I had decided to wear a running belt with my camera and gels stuffed in to it for my in race sustenance… Unfortunately the latest batch I had from SiS were a bit dubious on the quality of their seals and one of them had seeped out emptying its sugary self all over the others and the camera. The problem with the sugar solution is that when it dries it crystallises and becomes abrasive, so I had to duck in to the toilets (no queue just to use a wash basin) and wash-out the running belt as well as I could so as to avoid a potential chaffing issue.

Sorting all this out left me no time to be in the massive queue for a pit-stop before the race so I went straight to the start and the line-up for the race.

The event was a massed start for all runners after the wheelchair racers had begun their race, with no streaming for relevant pace blocks or even separation of half and full marathon runners. This meant it was just a case of being in the throng and waiting for the run to begin to sort out positioning and a pace after a couple of miles of weaving in and out of people who really should not start anywhere near the front as they are just road-blocks.

Milling around for the start

After managing to clear the starting line of the ambulance blocking it, it was over to former Man Utd footballing legend Alec Stepney to get the race underway. Soon we were all off, slowly but surely, funnelling through the start gate half marathoners and full marathoners alike traipsing over the mat to get our timing chips engaged.

As I trotted over the start line with the rest of the throng, the guy a few people in front cut the cheese - now fair enough we all do it, and anything bowel related is something that as distance runners we are all too well aware of and fear and dread in equal measure and will excuse each other from as hey, its only natural… Now the thing is, you’re in a crowd, you’re moving, you let rip with, in this case, a silent trump, you would think you would just ignore it and carry on running as those behind you unwittingly run into and through your fart-cloud, but oh no, this guy thought it best to advertise what he’d done and wafted his hand behind his arse as we slowly plodded along, leaving anyone in sight of him in no-doubt as to who it was had dropped their guts… Some times it really is better not to claim ownership, its not as though he let rip with a wet thunderclap in a crowded lift!

Having dealt with the stink-cloud and overtaking its perpetrator at the earliest opportunity for fear of more to come, I continued south at a pace as high as I could manage without threatening a burn-out. My game plan, even with the minimal running I had put in before hand was to stride-out for a PB with a secondary goal of a sub 4 time.

As a means to an end I tried to keep-up with a couple of women who were in front pretty much from the start and who I had heard chatting about keeping as close to an 8 minute mile pace, faster than I knew I could maintain for the whole race, but if I could get into a continual groove at this pace and hold it for as long as possible then all to the better.

Heading south it was slightly downhill passing the tower, the three piers and the pleasure beach. Each of these serving as good stage markers on the way to tick-off little psychological targets and goals, especially as we would pass them all 4 times on the figure of 8 course.

Just after the turn at the southerly point we hit the first water station at 3 miles where I chose not to grab a bottle as it was too soon in to the race to need to take on water. One thing I thought as being a little petty was the organisers had banned you from having bottle tops as they only wanted people to drink the water and not carry one to throw over their head whilst running - but what is there for you not to grab 2 bottles and drink one and throw the other over you?

Anyway, this northerly stretch was back up the slight gradient all the way to the northerly turn. Running on the left of the road we had the promenade beside us and we got a good view of all the sculpture that adorns the several miles of the sea front.

A new one since I was last here appear to be giant 'triffid’ stamens - triffids being the eponymous killer plants in John Wyndham’s ‘Day of’ novel:

The very impressive statues that sway in the breeze

A triffid and its killer stamen!

Suitably entertained by the row of what turn out are supposed to be ’seed pods’ I headed north out of the centre of the town, past the start at the hotel and up the hill towards Bispham and the turn at 10 miles.

At the turn we ran past one of the many public toilet blocks dotted along the route. Now to me it would seem sensible that even though it is ‘out of season’ you would have ensured that they would be open for the use of the public and in this case the runners, rather than the only ones available being in arcades/ fast food joints/ pubs along the course - with runners just diving in to the shop fronts on the way past in search of a trotter, something that probably irked the proprietors no doubt!

At the turn we dropped down on to the promenade/ sea wall for the return south. Until this time we had been running with a tail wind, which took the edge off the slight uphill gradient of the previous 7 miles, but on hitting the turn, the strength of the headwind was glaringly obvious. To put it in perspective, I had been running at a steady pace up to the turn and as soon as the corner was rounded, the pace dropped by a minute and a half per mile.

The added effort required to run at the same speed was energy sapping and made it very apparent that the final leg of the marathon was going to be a tough one as you make the turn again with around 4 miles to go. 4 final miles when you’re cream crackered already in to this!

Struggling southwards we passed below the hotel and the start line and in a manner similar to Reykjavik the course split and the halfers carried-on along the promenade whilst those of us doing the full made the climb back on to the main street and continued our plod under the switched-off illuminations. At the first available water stop I grabbed a bottle off a table that had not had its cap removed and took a few swigs before putting the top back on and running with it in my hand.

As we ran through the centre of the town the shoppers were now out in force for the day and they were giving us a welcome claps and cheers to boost our moral. There were also some children lining the sides of the road getting in to the spirit of things and holding up their hands to be high-fived by us runners as we passed… Everything was welcome in distracting me from the headwind that was making life tricky when attempting to hold a steady pace to hit my target... I was breaking the course in to chunks at this point, attempting to take my mind off the tedium of pavement pounding as the spread-out field made its way to the southerly turn for the second and final time as the skies broke and the rain began to fall.

The sandy beach for what Blackpool is famous.

It was a relief not to be in the headwind any more and also a bit bizarre to be looking forward to an uphill slog of 7 miles being a ‘recovery’ part of the race!.. When the field had split earlier it made you realise the number of halfers compared to those running the full distance and at this point the field was so very well spread out you hardly had anyone within 20 yards of you, so you were running by yourself as you occasionally reeled-in other runners or were overtaken by those quicker than you. As you ran north those still heading south were on the opposite side of the road, so you were able to take a judge about where you were in the field by looking at the number of people behind you… Which unfortunately did not seem too many!

Back in towards the town centre we passed all the arcades with the morning games of bingo in full-swing. From hearing the bored monotoned voices of the callers you would think that manic depression was a prerequisite to having the job. Their bored ‘just kill me now’ tones of voice might well have been saying:

“37 My wife’s 37 and she’s left me for her zumba instructor.”
“2 and 3, twenty three - How can I compete with her when I don’t have boobs"
“Legs 11 - My wife had great legs..."

Climbing out of the the town centre to the north for the second and final time I put my iPod on to try and take the edge off what I knew was coming… And sure enough I was soon running up against the wall of wind.

There was nothing to do except grit my teeth and carry on as best I could, yo-yoing position with a few other runners as most were now forced in to  run-walk strategy with the wind proving such an obstacle… With the strength of it you could not even hold a conversation as you overtook anyone.

Eventually the split in the course from before was reached and I took the right side, safe in the knowledge that it could not be too far to the end especially as the sign for 25 miles had just been passed, so keeping my eyes peeled I was looking-out for LSS who had promised to be there to see me across the finish line… Although with previous time keeping I was not holding my breath!

Looking up I could see the finish line above on the main sea front road. There were lots of well-wishers on the steps down to the path clapping and cheering us on, and I kept an eye open for a familiar face as we teasingly had to run past the inflatable finish line and at least another 1/4 mile further to get to the slope up on to the sea front and then the last 1/4 mile back to the finish.

On reaching the top of the ramp it was a long straight line to the finish, with the assembled masses clapping everyone home as they crossed the line. There was no hiding at this point so it was an all-out run for the line with all the remaining energy that could be mustered, a long drawn-out run that took me back to my school days of competing (badly) in the 400m race where you just had to stick yourself in to top gear and go for as long as you could without dropping. After what seemed like an eternity I crossed the line, catching a glimpse of LSS tucked-away in the crowd as I did so.

Unfortunately she did not manage to take a photo of my inaction, but it was great to finally see her there to witness me cross a finish line!

The goody bag was a very welcome one, with a pair of socks, a wagon wheel, a tea bag and a slice of malt loaf as well as what is the biggest medal I have been presented with so far.

Slowly we made our way back to LSS’s parent’s place for a welcome change of clothes and cup of tea. My knees were killing me having spent the previous 26.2 miles on the unremitting tarmac.

Despite battling the extreme headwind I managed to get myself around the course in a personal best, knocking some 7 minutes off my previous best, nudging me closer to a sub 4 time, but still a way off… My target to achieve this at the Portsmouth Coastal at the year’s end.

I came home in 254th place out of 401 finishers. So nearly at the 50% mark again and on a course that I’m not that used to… Pretty flat!

Next up its back on to the CTS circuit and leg 6/7 for me in the series over in Pembroke… The scene of the first organised trail marathon I ran.

For what its worth, here’s the list of what popped-up on the iPod as I trotted along on the final section:

Rime of the Ancient Mariner - Iron Maiden
Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want - The Smiths
All She’s Got - Sum 41
Music Reach 1/2/3/4 - The Prodigy
Dawn - Brian Jonestown Massacre
Move Any Mountain - Shamen
Balloon - Catherine Wheel
Not Big - Lily Allen
True Faith - New Order
In Vivo - Wire
Barber’s Adagio for Strings - William Orbit
England My Home - Levellers
Dancing in the Street - Martha Reeves & the Vandellas
Don’t Stop Me Now - Queen
All I Got - Newton Faulkner
Further Away - Inspiral Carpets