CTS Stage 3: Difficult Dorset

All of a sudden over a hundred and fifty people start scrambling past the flags on their way up the hill away from Lulworth Cove. It's eight in the morning and the sun has only just come up. Little difference it's making its still only a little above freezing. 

The runners thin out into a line about two or three abreast as we go through a gate and start the ascent up the first of the hills. Looking down, there are small slates of Purbeck stone embedded into the ground to help give purchase and make the path easier for people to go up and down without falling. 

The problem today is that it's frosty. It's not enough that people are overly cautious, but it's enough to make you slip a little here or there. There's also someone with walking poles directly in front of me so I'm keen not to be behind them if they slip or I'm liable to get stabbed in the eyeball. Not my idea of a fun day out so I move to the side of the path where there is a small bit of dirt and it's easier to ascend. 

The gradient isn't too bad but it's enough that fairly soon all but the front runners are walking. There's no point expending too much energy at this point if you don't need to. 

We reach the top and I note that it was hard but doable. I do have a feeling today is likely to be harder than the last one in Gower though. What goes up must come down, though, and pretty quickly we're barrelling down the other side. The pace quickens and people are now in single file down to a proper path, at which point it's a nice descent down to the first view of the day of Durdle Door, a stunning rock formation jutting out of the coastline and presumably one of the things that give the area the name Jurassic Coast. I keep my eyes on where I'm going but can't help myself looking back at it a few times as I've loved this area since Jess and I came here on a holiday last year. 

Soon enough, though, Durdle Door is behind me and after a short uphill, there is quite a lengthy and pacey downhill. Sure enough, at the bottom I'm greeted with a pretty formidable hill to climb. I don't even start this one running. I just go straight to a walk on this beast. 

Durdle Door.

As I'm going up, the guy in front of me seems to be really struggling and is breathing quite heavily. I try to make sure I give enough of a gap behind him to give a bit of breathing space so to speak and focus on getting myself up the hill. My own breathing is a bit laboured at this point as well but eventually we get to the top and I pass the guy. 

He follows directly behind and I suddenly realise his breathing wasn't just because of the hill as he's still doing it. It's quite intense and I can't tell if he's asthmatic or actually thinks he's Darth Vader. It's starting to sound like he's purposely trying to impersonate the latter and I also note that he's following really close behind me. It's getting really unnerving and putting me off knowing where I'm going. We hammer it down the other side of the hill and are yet again faced by another one. Easy does it…I start climbing up. 

One foot, two foot, three foot, breathe. Repeat. Darth Vader is still behind me and I start to wonder if I slow a little whether I might get a lightsaber up the bum or not. I really hope not and it spurs me to climb the hill just that little bit quicker. 

At the top I don't take a break and head straight down the other side in an attempt to rid myself of the beast in neon following behind me. It doesn't work. He stays unnervingly close with unnervingly immense breathing. 

We reach the bottom of this hill and are faced with yet another one, only this one is longer and less steep. Slow to a walk and off we go. The field has thinned out that little bit more now so that we are still in quite a steady stream but with a little more space than at the start. Well, apart from myself and Darth, that is. I look around at the peaceful surroundings and marvel at the loveliness of it all, marred only by the mechanically enhanced inhalations less than a foot from the back of my skull, 'forcing' (sorry I just couldn’t resist a bad pun) their way into my brain. 

We get to the top of this hill and pass a needle trig point and Darth unexpectedly peels off to see on the trig point. All of a sudden I can hear myself think as he's gone. I actually let out a small help of glee as I continue on down the other side of the hill. 

The field has now really thinned out as there is a nice long stretch staying on or near the tops of the hills rather than dipping up and down the headland constantly like we were before. It's still downhill, but the gradient is easy. 

I look in the distance and notice the Isle of Portland. It's four years ago this weekend that I did my first ever race there, a marathon in the same series as I'm right this moment competing. It gives a moment of reflection on where I've been and how far I've come since then. There have been a lot of successes and also a number of failures that I've experienced in that time and I think of how different I was then to who I am now, not just in running but in general as well. But that's a story for another day, so I focus back on the here and now and up the pace a little as I head slowly back down towards the coastline. 

One of the many bays later in the day.

Soon enough, there is a steeper section of hill and I find myself needing to watch closely where I'm going. At this point Darth passes me again and I nearly scream. At the very least he is now in front rather than unerringly close behind which is good, but I don't know if I can handle much more of his breathing. A local runner passes us in the opposite direction and he shouts, "You’re going the wrong way, mate!"  Haw haw, guffaw. Hot dang this guy is a comedian as well! I wonder if anyone ever laughs at his immensely creepy Vader impression...

Either way, he luckily seems to carry on far enough ahead as we seem to wend our way through some trees and over a wooden bridge. Soon enough it's flat again and we're properly into the trees. It's nice after being so exposed for so long and we take a bit of time just above the beach going past some holiday homes. 

Back into the woods and over a few tree roots and we're faced with a turning path where a few people are stopped, thinking they've gone wrong. It looks fine to go around to the right but they're not sure. I whip out the GPS and point us all in the right direction. I'm not sure how much everyone wants to trust me but I'm positive it's the right way and turn right anyway. They can follow if they choose. Most of them do. 

We go over a stile and uphill along a brown, red and yellow autumnal bridleway. A guy in front of me trips up. I ask if he's okay and he points out it's wise to watch for tree roots under the leaves. Soon enough, were at the top and climbing over another stile into a field. A quick look over the crest reveals the first checkpoint down the other side of the gully. I belt it down the other side and dib my timing chip in before being directed back up the hill, this time on a road. 

At this point I eat a gel. I try to have one around every ten kilometres or so in order to get some food in but not overload my stomach with unnecessary sweetness. Unfortunately today my stomach is already feeling a bit rough and was doing so all week so I'm feeling unlikely to just be able to push through it. It's not been great this morning but there's not a lot I can do about it so I just try to put it outside of my mind and carry on. 

I take the lengthy hill with walking breaks and there are still a few people around doing similar. After a time I'm at the top of the road and through a farm gate into the National Trust reserve. The road continues the same but has turned into a gravel path rather than being an actual road now. 

The terrain up this side of the hill is much flatter. I can see below me the coastline that I ran along before the turnaround at the checkpoint and can see how much pumped it is down there. It's a nice break to be able to get some quicker miles in and the field thins out even more along this section. 

Soon enough I'm passing the checkpoint for the ten kilometre race just below, meaning I'm halfway along this section and have three miles to go back to the cove. All looks well, apart from my iffy stomach, and I continue pushing on. The path remains pretty much exactly the same. Flat with the odd section of downhill. This means that I can keep a pretty steady pace and make up for some of the time I lost on those initial hills. 

Flat along the top, not so much on the bottom down to the right...

I reach a gate and a road then weave my way through a village of a few houses and down into the Durdle Door Holiday Park. It spurs me on a bit knowing that I'm nearly back to the cove. The route doesn't go right back down to the door, instead we take a left turn up the hill through a gate. 

There are cows in the field. 

They look pissed off. 

Arrrrggghh! I hate cows!

I go through the gate as there's nothing else for it, but I'm not happy about it. Nor are the cows. There is a race volunteer nonchalantly packing his back in the middle of the field. I tell him I hate cows and he grins and tells me they'll be fine. Several of them start mooing aggressively in response. I scarper up the hill as quickly as I can, around a trig point and down the other side of the hill. 

It's worth the quick hill, though, as I now see the cove rising out from behind the rise. There is a massively steep downhill to get through first but I do love downhill and soon enough I'm back down at the gate and running through the village with loads of people now killing about either supporting or getting ready for different distances. 

It's a bit tricky to know where to go as, despite now knowing the town quite well, it's really busy and I can't see any directions as to which way I need to be heading. Luckily a few spectators see me looking confused and point me along back down to the cove itself. 

I come out of the slipway and down onto the pebbles of the cove. Luckily it's not a massive beach here, but the lack of purchase still throws up a few twinges in my legs. Nothing major though and soon I'm on the other side of the beach. 

Lulworth Cove.

There's now a really steep section, almost climbing, to get to the top of the headland again and head down that side of the coast. I reach the top out of breath and take a few steps at walking pace just to catch my breath. Another runner goes by and says he hopes we don't have to do that beach again. 

Along the coastline and soon enough we reach the Ministry of Defence fencing with signs about unexploded bombs and warning us to stay to the path. I had no intention of doing otherwise but am curious how the cows I can see in some of the fields seem to manage okay...

I've never been this side of the cove before so it's quite nice to see this next section of coastline. The headland continues on in a similar fashion to that I've just traversed and the sun is really starting to make an appearance. It's still freezing and pretty windy but very crisp and dry so I really can't complain considering it's the first week of December. 

I turn around a point and look ahead to a massive uphill section. There are people snaking their way all up the hillside. I head down the small dip and get a bit of a run up. It doesn't help much. 

Not the smallest of hills.

There are steps set into the hillside, again made of Purbeck stone. There cut so well and smooth they almost shine but are quite large and steep so each one takes quite an effort to get up. The trail switches back a couple of times until eventually it reaches the top. By this time I've taken my hat off and am trying to cool down as I'm really overheating now. At the top I stop to take off a layer as well to try to cool down. It's okay though, I still have four layers on top so am unlikely to get too much of a chill. I think. 

I carry on around the top of the cliff and straight away am just slightly down on the lee side. Sure enough, the wind whips up to freeze me and I'm almost instantly regretting taking the layer off. I figure it's not too bad though and I can just about handle it and carry on all the same. My stomach is more of a concern, still not having settled very well. 

Down the other side.

Pretty quickly it's straight down the other side of the hill and in no time it gets just as steep as the way up. There are steps but the blocks holding them in place are set a bit higher from the mud they hold so it's a bit precarious to try to take them with any real speed. I keep at it a bit but eventually just move to the side and go down the muddy slope. Loads of tiny steps rather than massive tricky ones and the going is much easier and suddenly a lot quicker. Soon enough I'm at the bottom...

...staring at another hill. This one is just as high, but the gradient is steadier. There are no steps this time but the path is as wide as a tractor and the grass hasn't been mulched by too many steps. Hands on knees to push myself up, I tackle it. A woman beside me has already started zig zagging up the path, makeshift switchbacks of sorts, but the path doesn't seem side of steep enough to me for that so I carry on straight up. 

View back down from the top.

It's a mission, but I reach the top a few minutes later without losing too much energy. From the top it's a nice view over the bays all along the coast and it's really nice to get a chance to see this side, having only gone the other way from Lulworth when Jess and I came here last year. It seems the view this way is almost as picturesque. 

It certainly helps having a fairly flat path along the hilltop to be able to take in the scenery, but all too soon I approach the point where it's time to leave this path and pay attention once more. Before I do, I see the first of the race leaders coming back the other way. The route has three loops that join up with each other along the way back on this section so I expect I'll be seeing more of other competitors passing the opposite direction through the day. Soon enough it will be me cheering them on to keep going. 

But for now, I take the path to the right, down the side of the cliffs and a lovely little downhill that I whizz along and enjoy after the climbing earlier. I pass a woman who I'm sure I've seen before and ask if she was at the last two races. She says she was and I carry on. I wonder if there are other people planning on doing the whole series at all?

The path went down the cliff line to the right.

I reach the bottom, now twenty seven kilometres in. I'm not feeling the greatest if I'm honest with myself. My guts are still queasy and it means I'm not getting enough fuel in, which in turn means my legs feel a bit lethargic. It's nothing soul destroying, but obviously not ideal. 

I'm going a bit further around the headland and we go through a gate past a checkpoint. The marshal tells us that we don't need to dib in here but we're not allowed any food or drink...as I'm unscrewing the cap on my water bottle. He says we're not supposed to but I ask to just fill up one bottle to halfway, which should do it. He gives in and says I can fill them both up and have food if I want, he's not bothered, it's the organisers telling him not to. 

I fill up just one bottle and don't take any food, I thank him and mean it. The extra water is helping to settle my belly so really will make a difference. I carry on up a bit of a hill then back to the coastline, where I follow it through, directly above some very tiny cliffs, and around the head. I'm already feeling a little better but unsure if that's to do with the fact I'm now on much easier terrain. 

The path stays like this for another couple of kilometres, gently rolling around the coastline on an ever so slightly downhill gradient. It's a good chance to recoup some energy after all the hills from Lulworth and I'm soon passing through the MoD gate and back on land without any bombs. Just outside the gate is a 'nodding donkey' oil drilling rig. It stinks and kind of spoils the landscape a bit, but if we didn't have them modern life wouldn't be what it is. The sad side of an ever advancing species. 

I put the world’s problems aside for the moment though and carry on around to Kimmeridge Bay, where the path takes a turn back up onto the hilltops. I knew this was coming, but it's still going to be tricky. I'm now about to start the other half of the three loops, the first half being down here on the coast and the second half going up and down the hills. 

It's straight through a brand new crop. We were told about this one in the briefing to make sure to stick exactly to the path and not ruin the farmer’s crops, to avoid them needing to come back tomorrow and give him loads of apologetic whiskey. I stick to the path. 

New crops.

After a dip through the crop it's straight up a very small but very steep hundred metres and then I join the path going up along to the hill tops. I get chatting to another guy for a bit who is wanting to go to the Marathon des Sables but his wife won't let him as its more than he's ever spent on a holiday for her. I point out he could do the Kalahari Augrabes Extreme Marathon and still take her on a holiday. He doesn't seem so keen but I know which option I'd rather (going on both...with Jess obviously, not his wife - that would be weird). 

He's not feeling so good and tells me to carry on so I do and there are a few muddy patches on the way to the tops. I skirt most of them fairly easily, but follow the guy ahead through a particularly bad one. He goes through fine, but the luck of the draw means that my shoe sinks. 

It sinks deep. 

I tug at my foot but my other one is just a little bit too much further along to get much leverage. It's also in the bog as well so it too just sinks down deeper. Great. Now both my shoes are stuck and my legs are splayed. Another guy offers help but I tell him it's okay, a tug from someone else will mean I come out of the big but my shoes will stay. I don't fancy that too much. 

So I'm standing there hoping my shorts don't rip and decide the best way out of this is some dainty manoeuvring. Or wiggling my arse, whatever you want to call it. I twist both shoes from side to side and eventually the back one comes up high enough to be freed and reach solid ground on the other side. A bit more of an arse wiggle and the other one is free. 

I start running up the hill again but notice I still have a problem. There is about a kilogram of mud attached to each shoe. I can't be dealing with carrying that around all day so stop at a clump of grass and try to scrape the mud off as best I could. It's a pretty ineffective method as there's very little grass. Another runner passes me and gives me a queer look. I explain the predicament but he looks at me as if to say it still doesn't explain why when I'm trying to get it off the inside of my shoe I look like I'm humping a mound of grass. Not a good look at all. I get as much as I can off and carry on, embarrassed. 

Just as I’m feeling embarrassed, to put things right another runner comes hurtling up the hill behind me. I can tell this because of his breathing. I can hear him from about a hundred metres away. Unlike Darth Vader earlier in the day, this guy is breathing in at a normal volume, but expelling air from his lungs so forcibly he’s actually making a grunting sound with each breath. I’m reminded of diaphragm strengthening exercises we used to do while I was doing my acting degree. I’m also reminded that, despite those exercises being great for acting and transferable to a strong core in running, I would never have actually gone on stage grunting like a madman and likewise am surprised by how much pain this guy sounds like he’s in even though he doesn’t actually seem to be. Luckily as he’s doing the half he passes me fairly quickly as I don’t know how much of that I could handle having to listen to.

View backwards from the top.

Soon enough I’m at the top of the hill and heading back down to re-join the same path along the coastline, but not before a nice bit along the top with a good view of the whole area. There is about a kilometre section here on the cliffs where we meet the half marathoners going the other way, the same place I saw the race leaders earlier, and I try to muster up some smiles and words of encouragement for everyone I go past. It’s nice to get some in return, although there are a few people who ignore me and continue looking very seriously at their shoes.

What goes down must go up (or something like that) though so almost as soon as I hit the coastline again, rather than follow it as I did earlier coming the other way, I take a right turn and head up into the village of Tyneham. As I’m going through, the place just seems eerily quiet. There’s not really anyone around, but that’s also not very surprising as all there seems to be around here is the graveyard. A rather extensive looking graveyard considering the size of the town. A road winds its way through the town framed by some very old stone walls keeping cars out of the graves but I’m glad to be out the other side of the place, it almost even seemed colder there. And according to TripAdvisor, this place is a tourist spot?

Out the other side of Tyneham is a large hill. Unsurprising as this whole coastline seems flanked by hills and gridded by hilly headland, but this one looks like it may take me a while to get up. Just before it I go through a field of cows, keeping a wary eye on the bastards, and join the half marathon route, with a lot of fresher looking faces than my own.

I hit the bottom of the hill and as the half marathoners go past I try to say hello but none of them are having a bar of it. I guess I’m still far enough up their field that these guys still want to attempt to run the hills. Either way, they’re going too fast for me join, so I slow to a walk at my own pace.

Another Ultra runner comes up behind me so I start chatting to him. He’s not feeling too good with a sore knee and contemplating dropping at the marathon point. I tell him he could just walk it out for a bit and see how he goes, but I’m not a barrel of laughs myself either with my iffy stomach. We chat about the fact that doesn’t really matter, though, as it’s a nice day out and great to be in the area with such stunning scenery.

Eventually we reach the top of the hill and are greeted with the Endurancelife flags signifying checkpoint two at thirty seven kilometres into the race. I fill my bottles to the top and take a second to actually sit down here. The guy I’ve been talking to looks to waver but carries on.

I don’t really need to sit down in terms of leg tiredness, but it makes a bit of a difference to grab some crisps and get some salt into me as I’m wondering if that’s the issue. There’s not really that many left and they’re pretty manky after every muddy bugger has stuck his fingers in after being god knows where, but I need real food so don’t have much choice. I grab a quarter of a banana as well, also not looking the greatest but it’s a good chance to at least get something not too sugary, albeit small.

After a couple of minutes I take my leave, at this point we’re back at the top of the hills and there is quite an extended section along them. My stomach is starting to feel worse, though, and the fact that it’s a narrow single-track with people doing three very different distances means it’s a masterclass in attempting to be polite as people’s paces are so vastly different and there’s not a lot of passing places. No one annoys each other surprisingly though so it must be the cynic in me coming out thinking there were going to be bust ups.

Lulworth Castle in the distance.

From up here there is a great view of Lulworth Castle in the difference, which is a great mental boost for me. Huge, in fact, as Jess and I had a really lovely day there last year when we came here for a holiday so the place holds a really nice memory for us. I think of her and that it’s a shame she can’t be here to see it from up here with me.

About a kilometre later I go through a gate and am staring back down the second of the massive hills earlier. There are a lot of half runners coming up the other way looking pretty unhappy and I try some encouragement for a couple but get blank stares so decide not to after that. They’re probably a bit focused on multi-tasking the hiking, breathing and not collapsing so are struggling to add smiling and talking to me into the mix.

That doesn't look fun to climb.

Much quicker than I was going up, I reach the bottom. For some reason I remember the briefing saying that it was flat all the way back on this section so all the way down the hill I’ve been telling myself the line of people snaking up the other side, the really steep steps, I came down earlier, wasn’t people going the way I’m going. That I wouldn’t have to go up that. That I’d go around it. I reach the bottom of it and have to face the fact I remembered wrong and am going straight up the same way.

I go up the first bit okay, but it’s incredibly steep and I’m sucking air pretty hard, pretty quick. I pass a guy doing the half, who looks to be struggling. His shoes are neon yellow and almost pristine. I jokingly ask him how he kept them so clean, pointing to my own caked shoes. He grunts in reply. Not much of a talker then. Unfortunately, that was my one last attempt at taking my mind off the pain all through my torso. The lung busting climb isn’t working well with my sore stomach and I feel like I might be sick. Then out of nowhere, for the first time in a race ever, my hamstring starts to really cramp, suggesting I’m definitely low on salt. I stop and move to the side for a few moments and catch my breath. I’m okay. It’ll be okay.

I carry on and am getting closer to the top. I love hills, but today I’m really struggling with not much fuel in my guts. I really need to put more core work into my routine. I stop again not long after, feeling sick once more. I can see the top now. I calm my lungs and press on, this time reaching the top. In the space of the last five hundred metres I’ve also climbed a hundred. Normally I’d be loving that, but today I’ve struggled to cope with these.

I take a slow walk at the top to regain my composure. I’m shattered but pleased with myself for being able to push through that. After a while, I’m feeling a bit better. Enough to walk faster, then to run a bit and walk a bit; and eventually build back up to running along the hilltops over the next couple of kilometres. Mentally I’m happy in the knowledge that’s all the climbing left on this section until I get back to the other side of Lulworth. This section is pretty much all downhill until there is a small turning and a pretty gnarly descent right back down to the cove. Unfortunately, due to a landslip we have to run across the stones again, but I just take this a bit casually to try to conserve strength.

As I’m still running with quite a lot of people doing the half, they all get a boost in seeing the finish line and take the beach at full steam and I reach the other side of the beach to a lot of applause and go through the small town back to the finish line with loads of people cheering. It’s a great boost, but I also feel I’m cheating them a little as I’m nowhere near the finish. Despite that I head up the finishing chute as I’ve no idea where to go in the crowds until someone finally points me back toward the start line and the hills.

I dib my timing chip in and go through a kit check. It’s good to see them checking everyone rather than just a few. Reassuring. I go into the tent and grab my head torch for the section ahead, although am hoping to be back at the end of this lap before dark. As I’m here and my guts are so rough I wonder if going to the toilet will help so end up having to backtrack and cross the finish chute again to the portaloos….only to find that nope, I don’t even need to go. There’s nary a worse feeling than sitting in a portaloo that gel-ridden runners have been exploding in all day, head in hands wondering why you feel so shit when you don’t even need a shit.

I leave again and go back past the start and up to the path leading up the hillside. Now follows the big loop again. I’m looking forward to getting it done and being on the final smaller lap of this and after a few crisps but not enough as there aren’t many left I’m on my way again. I take the first steep path at a sustainable pace and am almost heartened to reach the top again without too much issue. Maybe I can get through this section well? Maybe my stomach is finally going to get better and I can let my legs start to use all that training I’ll be doing? I’m not convinced, but positive thinking is what will get me through and I’m glad that the thought of quitting hasn’t really been an option when it’s crossed my mind as it would have been easy to drop after the marathon just now.

Looking back down hill number one at Lulworth Cove.

Down the other side of the hill and I’m winding around to Durdle Door. It’s much nicer this time with less other runners around to have a chance to actually run this section and I’m glad to open up a little. I reach the bottom and grit my teeth as I start up the other side.

I realise my optimism was wrong after a few steps up here as the fatigue slams back into me quick and my lung struggle to cope once more. I get a few steps farther and put my hands down to start using the hillside to grip my way up. A few steps more and I stop, panting. One breath, two breaths, three more and the sickness begins to subside. I crawl up some more, now quite literally on hands and knees to try to give some of the weight to my arms and hopefully transfer the struggle to them from my lungs. It doesn’t work and soon enough I’m stopping again waiting for the sickness to subside. It does and I push on, one step at a time and finally reach the top.

It wasn’t very big at all but it felt like the toughest climb of the whole race. I know it wasn’t even close though so am guessing it may have been down to my over ambitious vigour coming into the climb that sucked the life out of me and decide to go easier on the rest so it’s not so damn hard. There’s too many more hills to tackle them like that.

Tentatively I descend the other side, but all too quickly two minutes later am approaching a third hill. I take this one slower. Steadier. Don’t destroy yourself. It’s not worth it when there is still so far to go. I still have to stop a couple of times, but it’s only to catch my breath rather that breathe the life back into myself.

I crest the top of this one much more easily and can almost straight away take the corresponding descent at full speed. Just as there was the first time on this lap, though, there is another hill up to the trig point. This one, however, is much longer but less of a gradient. So it’s more manageable. I put my hands on my thighs and plod this one. Surprisingly, it works. I don’t have to stop on this one and reach the top actually catching a pair of other runners. I start to feel like I’m actually a bit better. It’s probably to be short lived, but I tell myself it won’t be all the same to try to boost myself mentally. It works and I get chatting to the pair I’ve caught as we’re now at the top of the section we know is pretty much downhill all the way to the far side of the loop three miles away.

We pass the turn off for the final lap to go back to the finish and talk about how paranoid I am of missing the turn off and accidentally doing the full twelve mile lap instead of the shorter six mile one we’re supposed to do next time. The markers here, however, are covered in reflective tape so it’s unlikely. All the same, I repeat a few times in my head that it’s four hills, then the trig point and then the turn, just to make sure.

I’m feeling pretty good for a while chatting away and it’s nice to again have the view over to Portland, but start to get tired again after another kilometre or two and fall back. Directly after, I go through a gate into a field full of cows and remember the angry ones earlier. I’ve just caught up to another guy and stop to walk with him, telling him I’m a bit terrified of the cows. He kindly offers to walk between me and them as he’s untangling his headphones, telling me music is his treat to himself two thirds of the way through. For some reason, in my head I thought we were further, but I guess I’m breaking it down into stages. In my head we’re on the last lap and then after that lap there’s just a little bit more to go, rather than looking at it as ten kilometre sections and well over a half marathon left.

We get through the field without incident and he puts in his headphones as we seem to be going a different pace anyway. This is directly after telling me he’s feeling a little queasy and me saying that I’ve had that all day but am feeling better now. Of course as soon as I say it, it comes back with a vengeance and I’m stopping to walk.

I pass a holiday park and ask a woman if there’s a toilet I can use. I don’t realise it’s not a campsite as well so there actually isn’t but her husband tells me there’s one at the end of the road. I’m not really sure why I suddenly think I need one, but the nausea is making me think it will help, despite not knowing what I’ll do when I get there. I’m never to find out though, as it’s locked up when I arrive anyway and I have to carry on without. I get down to the coastline once more and am starting to have a bit of a panic. I’m really getting bad waves of nausea coming over me.

I slow to a walk and a couple of other runners go past me. I don’t even try to engage in conversation this time. I keep walking and am feeling unsure what to do as it’s getting worse. After a few minutes I sit down on one of the tombstone way markers on the South West Coastal Path. I know I’m hitting the Wall. I’ve been here before. I’ve panicked before and dropped out because of this before, but today won’t be that day.

I take deep breaths. One, two and one more. I know it’s because I’ve not been eating enough as the gels were making me feel sickly. Breathe again. I know I’ve still been forcing enough down to cope. Deep one this time. I know this is my body telling me it’s run out of fuel and can’t sustain itself in this manner right now. This kind of bonking feels like I need to either vomit or poo, but my body doesn’t know which one to prepare for and meets in the middle to give me butterflies. Take a breath. But not the good kind. And again. I rest a couple more minutes then start to walk.

As my body is trying to cope with my stomach, not to mention the fact I just sat down for a few minutes, the cold starts to hit me all of a sudden as well. I grab the midlayer I took off earlier and put it back on. It’s a free sample I got through work (thanks Tribesports) and has extended sleeves and torso to cover my hands and arse, which is such a minor thing but actually makes me feel a bit cosy, despite being soaked. It’s still wet with sweat but I know it will warm up. I shiver all the same. Keep walking. It’ll be okay.

I check my phone to see where I am and find a text from Jess, which is a good boost. All it says is ‘where are you?’ but the fact she’s thinking of me really helps. I go through the tricky turning from earlier in the day, over the stile and up the bridleway the guy fell over. I know this means I’m nearly at the checkpoint. I hope they have water at this one, I could really do with it.

I reach the top of the bridleway and sit down on the stile there. I get out a Torq bar and start to eat it. I really don’t want to and am not savouring it in the slightest, but know that it will make quite a difference so force it down. When I’m halfway through I climb the stile and go over the top of the adjacent field to see the checkpoint. I run down to it as I finish the bar.

I dib in and start chatting to the marshal. The talking is helping keep my mind off it and I scrounge the last few crisps he’s got. I feel bad not leaving any for the next people, but also do really need the salt. I fill my water bottles as luckily there is some, which gives me quite a big peace of mind. Then I walk off again, back up the road up the hill.

I feel better again and the nausea is passing. I still walk this section, but the further up the hill I get the faster I can walk until by the top I can run small bits again. The gradient smoothes out again and I slowly start to regain my strength as the nutrition finally starts to be absorbed. Mentally I’m getting better knowing that this section is fairly flat for ten kilometres all the way back to Lulworth.

I push on and soon enough the fact that the terrain is so flat and much the same means that it doesn’t feel like the distance is passing all that quickly. I find myself checking my GPS to see how far I’ve gone only to find it’s only half a kilometre since I last checked. I’m looking forward to passing the half way checkpoint, to check off one more section in my head, but it can’t come soon enough.

Eventually, it does come, though. I pass the marshals the other side of a fence and a cheery lady asks if I’m smiling, because she is, so am I smiling? I laugh, it’s a nice little thing to hear someone being cheery when you feel this crap and say that I’m not, but I will next time she sees me. In truth, passing the checkpoint does make me smile a bit more and I press on into the dusk on the way to Lulworth. I go through a gate into a field and it seems to be the one with the angry cows earlier. They’re nowhere to be seen, though, so I breathe a silent relief that I won’t have to deal with them and they seem to have been moved elsewhere for the night.

I’m still hoping to get back before putting on my head torch, but know it isn’t to be. Over the next two miles I’m almost completely alone on the hilltops with the sun setting behind me. I turn around occasionally to see the sun go down over Portland and suddenly notice I’m not cold anymore. The wind has completely stopped and there isn’t a single noise. It’s dead silent and for the first time today I actually feel content and peaceful watching the sun go down. I also suddenly notice I don’t feel sick, or that I’m about to feel sick in ten minutes, for the first time today. Maybe I can finally enjoy this part of the race…

Sunset over Portland in the distance.

After about a minute just taking in the twilight I put my head torch on carry on through a gate and back down into Durdle Door Holiday Park. From memory I think that means there’s only a mile and a half to go until Lulworth, then I see the one mile to go sign and almost jump and click my damn heels.

Through the gate around the other side of the holiday park and there is a bit of a hill to climb. I take it at a steady walk but at the top vaguely see a trig point but am unsure which side of it the path follows as it’s pretty much completely dark now. I go up close to it then also notice a whole loads of glinting and realise that this is the field with the angry cows and they’re only a few feet away. I panic and go the other side of the trig point, but it’s the wrong side and have to back track around them. I’m spending way too much time getting way too close to these beasts and have to pass one directly beside me, but she doesn’t move or even seem bothered I’m there. Luckily.

I get to the other side of the hill and see the lights of Lulworth. It’s quite a relief and I take the steep descent with a bit of vigour. Through the gate and I hear a familiar voice. Jess has been waiting to see me. I nearly cry I’m so happy to see her after the day I’ve had. She tells me to carry on and rush through but I have to go down to the checkpoint anyway so we walk down together. I take my time with some more crisps and two amazing cups of coke which instantly give me a boost. She tells me to rush but I tell her I’d rather wait and see here for a couple of minutes and take my time.

I’m not sure if it’s seeing her or the fact that I finally feel I’ve got my strength back but the thought of calling it a day here doesn’t even cross my mind despite being next to the finish line and I head off determined. I optimistically say I’ll see her in an hour and a half, knowing it will be more like two hours.

I reach the gate again and a spectator gets a fright at my super bright head torch and points me in the direction to my left. I head down there but something seems wrong. There’s no markers, just road cones, but then I figure they must just be there until the end of the carpark. I get to the point where I see the edge of the carpark and realise I’ve gone the wrong way thanks to getting confused by the spectator. I check my map and I need to be a bit to the right, but realise that’s up quite a steep hill. I toss up whether to go back and eventually just jump the barb wire fence and scramble up the hillside. From the top I see there are two others who’ve done the same but as they’re not as far in I think they go back.

Thankfully there’s no barb wire at the top and I’m back on the path soon. As a sort of bonus it’s taken my mind off the climb and pretty soon I’m at the top and going down the other side. The coke has really helped and I finally feel like I’ve got loads of energy in me and as I’m on the final lap I really let loose, albeit dreading the next hill after I pass Durdle Door once more.

Pretending I don't feel sick at Durdle Door earlier in the day.

I reach it, though, and take it with a steadier pace. I’m still clutching at the ground, but this time I’m not clutching at my chest and when I reach the top without incident I feel like I’ve conquered a mountain not just a tiny little hill. As it’s now dark I can see behind me there are four other runners and as I’m finally feeling good I wonder if at last I can be a little competitive and hold my place.

It mentally spurs me and as I’ve got my good torch for the first race ever I crank it up to the full five hundred and fifty lumens, the path goes from night to day and I whizz down the path, loving it finally.

I reach the bottom, turn the light down and take hill number three with vigour. Half way up I look back to see the four people behind me are further back and that I’m gaining ground. Maybe I will hold them off. Again, I take it at a steady pace and am soon at the top, shattered but feeling like I’ve taken it well. I rush down the other side, again enjoying being able to see so well and not have to go down as tentatively as I would with a worse torch.

At the bottom I go straight into the next climb up to the trig point. I’m feeling better as this lap goes on. Surprising, considering how I’ve been the rest of the day. One step, two step and my legs are feeling pretty good. I guess as I’ve being going slower than I would have if my stomach held out, I’ve got a lot of strength left in my legs to give as they’ve not taken the hammering they normally would.

Without really noticing it this time, I’m at the top of the hill and passing the trig point. I keep a very keen eye out for the turning sign and keep expecting it to be right there, checking my GPS about four times in the space of two hundred metres, before it shiningly reflects out at me like a beacon. They put about four strips of reflective tape on this one so to be fair there’s almost no chance anyone will miss it.

I turn up the small rise to the checkpoint only another couple of hundred metres up the hill and dip my timing chip into the machine. I tell cheery lady that this time I am smiling and she laughs. She tells me she remembers my garish shorts and I laugh then I’m on my way again. I see behind me that there aren’t any head torches for a while so it looks like I might not be caught, but I also know I’m faster on hills (when I’m feeling okay) than on the flat so I’m likely to lose that ground I’ve built up pretty quick smart.

Sunset over Lulworth Cove the previous day.

As it’ only five kilometres to go, I put the pedal down and really try to keep the pace up and stay ahead of anyone trying to catch me. One mile goes past and no one does. Another mile goes past and still no one has caught me. I send a message to Jess to tell her I’m just over a mile away then just behind me I see four head torches in a group and realise I am about to be passed by four people. I know there are a couple of hills left though so I set off down the first one at one of the fastest speeds I’ve done all day to try to keep them at bay. I’ve not felt competitive or like I can do well for ninety percent of the day but as I’m finally feeling good I’m going to take the enjoyment if I can.

I get down to the Durdle Door Holiday Park again, pass the one mile to go sign, which on the fourth time today is finally true, and notice that the people who were only thirty metres behind me are now nowhere to be seen. I press on up into and around the park and as I round a corner am faced by two other runner grabbing things from their bags. I pass them and actually increase my speed up the slight gradient on the road to the gate into the cow field.

I pass through it and pass another runner, a woman who was running but has stopped to walk the hill and see another guy nearing the trig point at the top. For possibly the first time today I run up a hill, the whole thing, in one go. At the top I pass the guy, say hello, dodge the cows and see the finish line appear. I pick up to the fastest speed of the day down the final hill, narrowly avoiding twisting my ankle and snapping it on more than one occasion, go through the gate and sprint past a couple of spectators astonished at how quickly I’m going so late in the day, irrelevant to how pyrrhic it may be, and go round the corner to the finish line. There are no massive crowds like earlier in the day, just a couple of marshals. They ask if I enjoyed myself and I say no, that I normally do, but today wasn’t one of those days but I’m extremely pleased with myself to have pushed through the nausea as the last lap was absolutely phenomenal.

Now a few weeks break before Anglesey.

Tracking and full splits are here: