CTS Stage 10: Flete-ing Finish

Something is scratching at my neck. It's two in the morning, in the middle of nowhere on a country road and it feels like something is about to start burrowing into my neck.

I quickly bat it away. I'd like to say I do so in a casual manner. The truth is that I flap about frantically like a small child. There was definitely a large creature on my neck. I go to the side of the road and find it. It about an inch long and looks like a scarab beetle. I shudder and walk along.

In the beam of my head torch I can see a myriad of other flying creatures and impulsively paw at my neck occasionally. This wasn't how it was supposed to pan out. I was supposed to get to Ivybridge at nine o'clock then get a taxi to the camp site. Instead, the coach was three hours late and I didn't get there until midnight when it was too late to call a cab, so I have to walk two hours to get there.

Eventually, I arrive, pitch my tent as quietly as possibly (not very quiet and I can hear people getting pissed off with me) and lay my head down around quarter to three. Luckily tomorrow's race is the only one with a late start, meaning I can sleep in a bit.

I wake up feeling a bit miserable at the situation, but the sun is streaming in and there is a buzz of hubbub already outside. I open the tent flap and see the hubbub is at the portable urinal I've set up camp next to. Great.

I get myself ready then head over to register. I start to feel myself going down into feeling miserable and a bit of a money 'woe is me' mood. It's really easy to sabotage yourself in these situations. You're worried of not doing well, so you put yourself in a bad mood blaming other factors. The thing is, I haven't even started the damn race, so why am I doing this already? Yes, I got a rough nights sleep arriving here at two thirty in the morning. Yes, I'm tired.

But I'm not that tired. I actually feel okay. And I'm lucky this race starts late, so the tiredness isn't that bad. Plus, the sun looks like it's going to give us a belter of a day. I spend most of the Pembrokeshire race miserable because of a bad attitude, so I focus on the positives and instantly start to feel better.

Once I'm registered I spot Noel and Monica so go to say hello to them before we get going as it's still only about nine, and the race doesn't start for an hour and a half. Soon after, Sophie arrives as well as another guy who I don't remember too well, so there's quite a few of us from various other races in this series, and chatting to people boosts my mood that much more. We all wonder about the river crossing and how it's going to be when we go through, and get confused over the course as it seems to have changed from what we were expecting.

I now feel like today is going to be a great day.

We go for the briefing then line up. The last couple of races I've started off with Noel, which has been great for my early pace as he's faster than I am, but not as good for my later pace as it catches up with me and I struggle through the later stages. As I'm telling myself I want to have a nice day today I want to set off at a steadier pace and Sophie and Adrian have lined up further back so I join them instead.

We head off down a dirt road behind the field we're in and at the bottom take a turn down into the woods. Straight away we're into some really secluded yet well maintained terrain. Straight away I start to think it's going to be some great views today.

It's a sharp left turn that takes us deeper into the woods and after a few more minutes we reach the river Erme. It takes a couple of minutes to work out that this is the one we'll be crossing later. It looks pretty huge at maybe a hundred metres across, so we joke that it had better go down a bit with the tide or we're screwed.

We follow the estuary along for a while, ducking and weaving around the trees growing at the waters edge. We're still quite a close together bunch so we all have to keep a close eye on where we're stepping as the tree roots do seem to pop up out of nowhere. I find myself drifting off and looking out to the estuary a fair bit as well, which doesn't help.

We keep the conversation flowing and the three of us seem to be keeping a good pace together, quick enough but comfortable as well. We're soon out of the trees and reach the edge of the estuary as it meets the sea. We take a short diversion through another small wood then go over our first beach crossing. There's already people about on the beach, so it reminds me it really is a nice day. Perfect as an end to the series.

Over the other side of the small beach are some steep steps that take us up and onto the headland. It's short and sharp, so gets the lungs going, then a quick respite at the top before another bit of a trudge. I'm glad I read up a little bit about this course yesterday so it's not as much of a surprise that it's going to be a bit undulating.

The next couple of kilometres follows the headlands around, with a couple more downhill sections, but more uphill ones. I take the time every now and again to look behind me at the coastline and with the sun out its a great view. We go through sections of bracken with little potholes ready to trip up anyone who's not paying attention, then up and down some more little sections.

Then we arrive at one that's not so little. Actually, I lie, it's not huge, it's just rather steep is all. There's nothing else for it though, we just drop down to a slower pace, put the head down and move up it.

Over the series I've learned much better how to cope with these sorts of hills. I find my tendency is to attack them, then end up spluttering and holding my chest only half way up. So I've learned better pacing. Basically, I try to keep a very slow but steady approach to them. Just focus on one step at a time, and if I start to feel like my lungs are struggling, just stop for a second. It's much easier that way then nearly collapsing.

It works. We reach the top without incident, take a look behind us then move along the top of the hill to the right. We set off again a fair bit slower, keen to catch our breath back and take in the view. Luckily the next kilometre is slowly downhill again, so we do get that chance.

It's followed by some more gradient, of course, though not as steep so we just take it easier again. The conversation is still going good, so the time is really ticking by easily.

The heat is starting to go up as well. It's not unbearable by any means, but I didn't bring any sunscreen so if it's going to get hotter my poor little potato head is about to get baked so we best bust out the condiments. As I say, though, it's not yet at that point. With every single other race in this series struggling to get into double digits centigrade and most of my training done in the dark after work, I'm not used to it, but at the same time I'm loving it and can't stop mentioning how lovely a day it is.

We plod along through more farmland. We're now in a fair bit from the coast, and looping back again towards the start/finish line, so maybe that why it feels hotter as the coastal wind isn't very full on here.

We reach the top of this particular incline, then criss a road and start down a deeply rutted track. It's the kind that you do need to keep an eye on to avoid falling over, but we all get down fine. We don't push too hard, it's better to hold off as I keep having to remind myself.

When we reach the bottom we arrive back at the river Erme and the turnoff for the finish. I'm looking forward to being back here later, although I've no idea how I'm going to feel. Will I be emotional? Numb? Both? We'll see in a few hours I guess.

So this time around we take a turn to the left and head along the river estuary. We get a few glimpses out over the water and it's still a little downhill here so the pace stays nice and easy.

Another runner then catches up to us. He's fairly quiet but after a while Sophie starts chatting to him as Adrian and I go on a little in front and chat about race nutrition. I'm now moving back away from gels onto more real food. Due to the distances of these races I started out just on gels, but have struggled with feeling sick on some of the races. Because of this, on the last race I took Snickers bars instead, and felt completely fine so I'm following that strategy again here today. He's doing something similar.

A little while longer and we're pulling up on the side of the road at the second aid station. I voice my surprise as it feels like we barely started a minute ago, but I guess having conversations definitely helps tick the miles off.

I've not drunk anything yet, so I don't need to fill up and just grab some crisps and chat to the volunteers as the others do. Sophie then tells us to go on as she wants to take a minute so we set off again, but at a pace she'll catch us on.

We cross a field of what clearly used to be the riverbed between the valley and then go over a bridge where the river is much slimmer. We then take a left to head back down the other riverbank through the woods. We keep chatting away all the while getting peeks through the trees of the lovely view and the sunshine, which has calmed down q little from earlier and is pretty much perfect for running.

Soon enough Sophie does catch us back up so we're three again as the other guy went on ahead at the checkpoint. It's a shame as he did the twelve labours of hercules race that I'm doing in a couple of months so it would have been good to hear what it's like.

This side of the river remains in the woods with very slight undulations, but overall fairly flat. A while later, we reach a bridge crossing an offshoot of the main river and get an amazing view out over the whole river. We stop to walk over and take in the view and it really feels isolated. I feel like the three of us are completely alone and so so far from civilisation. It's great.

There's an uphill directly over the other side of the bridge and I run to catch up after lingering on the bridge longer than the others. It's a short section and we're soon heading back downhill once more and after not too much longer again, we're reaching the turnoff for the river crossing later in the day and the second water stop. There's a happy chap running it and we soon head off up the hill to head on the eastern loop.

As we're walking up, Sophie mentions she wants to take it easy for a while now and that we should go on ahead. I'm a bit reluctant to as the three of us running together has been great, but I'm feeling like I've got quite a bit of energy at the moment so head on forward.

As I am feeling quite good I do up the pace quite a bit and a couple of minutes later turn around to see that Adrian has hung back as well so I'm now on my own. Then all of a sudden the woods end and I'm presented with a lovely view of the sun bouncing off the water at the very wide mouth of the river. I stop to admire it for a moment then carry on around the headlands.

There's quite a steep uphill section now and as I'm climbing it I catch back up to the guy we were with earlier. He tells me he's not been doing a lot of running lately at all, not doing more than a half marathon in ages, so his legs are feeling it as we've now passed that point and they're not used to it. He certainly looks like he's a bit more knackered than when I last saw him.

I ask him a bit about the twelve later and it turns out he didn't finish, but loved the race all the same. I don't ask too much yet as I want to keep it a bit of a surprise, but it does make me look forward to it even more.

We reach the top of the hill, and as I love a good downhill I bid him adieu and bomb it down the other side, which gives me a nice breeze in the face. As is always the case, though, on the other side is a pretty lung busting uphill so I ease myself into it then begin monitoring my breathing right at the beginning. It works and I find myself getting nearer and nearer the top, at w steady albeit slow pace, but most crucially not collapsing holding my chest.

I stop near the top to take a look back at the hill behind me that I've just come down and think of the view a few minutes before looking across at where I am now. I then crest the hill and start down the other side where I'm facing with a decision that could have interesting implications.

Ahead of me is an extremely steep downhill. To the right is a switchback trail that snakes down it. Ahead of me is a more faint desire path that is hella steep but direct. I opt for the latter. I question the decision almost immediately as my feet are smashed into the front of my shoes and my quads jammed on each impact. But I am getting down quicker so I carry on my trajectory.

Behind me I hear another runner crashing down and shouting with ever single step. "This isn't helping!", "My legs!", "Ow!" and "Urgh!" are but a few of the comical lines I hear emanating from him. I reach the bottom, cross the beach and start up the much smaller hill on the other side and he passes me at this point. We're now going uphill, but he's still banging on about how much he's hurting, despite the fact he's doing the marathon and obviously has good legs as he started half an hour after me. But he's old therefore prone to a moan so I forgive him and let him pass.

This was the hill he yelled all the way down, he'd passed me by now.

I get to the top and there is another small downhill and I realise that I've reached Burgh Island. I question whether that is the landmark in front of me as I didn't think we were coming here, but when I reach the bottom I see a sign pointing across the beach to it confirming that my memory is indeed serving me correctly and that is indeed Burgh Island. We came here a couple of years ago for a walk along the beach so I've got fond memories of the place and it's a really nice boost.

I head down onto the beach and there are loads of people out enjoying the sun. I weave in and out of children's sandcastles and giggle inwardly at the couple of derps gawping at me confused at why I'm running along the beach. Surely I'm not the first runner they've seen today? I also gaze back on the island a couple of times as I make my way inland when I reach the mouth of the Avon river. I then find myself at the third checkpoint and fill up my water. There's a sign saying the next aid station is just under thirteen miles away which I question as it seems far, but either way I just fill up and go on my merry way, custard creme in hand.

There's some hard and soft sand but its a bit confusing which is which on this section, so a little hard to work out where is best to run to get good purchase, so I weave a little until I give up and just take a more direct line. I'm then directed off the beach up what looks like a random slab of concrete to bolster the wall it's next to, but in fact takes me up to where another path crosses, and then head back up a steep hill only to go back down the other side to find myself back at the banks of the river I've only just departed.

Almost straight after there is a turn to head back up and this time completely away from the river and sea to go inland for the return journey. There pretty much no one else around me now so I'm completely on my own with my thoughts. I continue the climb up to Bigbury, then there are more undulations heading back through and around the towns of Ringmore and Kingston. I still try to keep the pace a bit easier as I really want to enjoy the later sections and I'm still only thirty five or so kilometres into this run.

I check my phone and notice there is a message from my dad back in New Zealand cheering me on and saying he's proud that I've managed to get through all ten races in this series. It makes me feel a surge of emotion, but I put it aside for now as I want to wait until the finish before I start thinking about it. I send him one back saying thanks and that I'm nearing the marathon point, but it takes a while as I'm now going through the streets of Kingston so trying to run, type and watch for traffic isn't too easy. Actually, I'm not sure that's true, I can't tell if the streets of Kingston have a plural or not at this point as it's a pretty tiny town.

From these points a bit higher up on the headland I get some really good views out across back towards the headlands I crossed earlier in the day and I can't help but continue thinking how lucky I am to finish the series on such a beautiful course on such a beautiful day.

Then I put my ugly mug in the way.

I'm conscious I've not really eaten much today as well and don't want to crash so boss on down another Snickers to fuel up a little longer. I'm getting keen to pass through the marathon point now as mentally it's a good boost, particularly here as it will also be another water stop and the river crossing so will feel like I'm physically crossing into the ultra and the final section as well as mentally.

From Kingston there is an ace downhill section that takes me back into the woods again and I know I'm getting close. I bomb down through the trees, trying to be careful not to trip and hurtle over anything head first. It pays off and after raising my heart rate for a few minutes I find myself stomping down to the road running along the river side of the Erme once more, take a left turn and make my way over to the water stop. I fill up and have another little chat with the chirpy man from earlier about the water level and how low it currently is, just as a half marathon runner arrives and starts getting extremely excitedly as she's about to cross a river. Lucky her.

I make my way down and this time take the left turn where before I went uphill and instead go down to the estuary bed. I look out across the river and see it's now down to two sections and both are very low. I hit the water at pace and straight away feel quite refreshed. There's nothing like giving tired feet a nice cold bath on a hot day, especially as I wear two pairs of socks when running. Plus, as I was expecting this river crossing to be at the start of the race I haven't washed my shoes since the Pembrokeshire race, so they're finally getting a clean to get rid of the Welsh mud I've been lugging around all day. I smile for the photographer and make my way over the other side to the path leading up off the estuary.

That really did give me a nice boost and I feel really refreshed. Bizarre that something so random that would on any other day be a pain in the are can be so nice if the conditions are different. But hey, I'll take it.

I make my way up and back towards the coastline for what I like to call the victory lap on these races and pass the sign pointing to the finish or said victory lap. When you put it in your head like that it's a pretty easy decision to make, though I know for a lot of people having an easy place to DNF like this is torture. And if I'm honest I've found it a bit tricky once or twice as well, but today I'm actually more sad at the prospect of finishing as I'm having so damn much fun.

So I take the turning to the left and find myself back on the headland from this morning. I go over the first one and head down to the first beach and there are still kids out playing here. I cross over once again and pass the small stream that crosses down the valley to the sea here. I debate whether or not to dip my shoes in since they're still wet from the river, then decide against it as they still feel good and are starting to dry out. Instead I get the rest of the way across the beach and start making my way up the steps on the other side.

There's now pretty much no other runners in sight and hasn't been for quite some time. It would be nice to have some of the other people I've met at these races to run this final section with of course, but at the same time I'm also enjoying the peace and solitude of being on my own.

I go up and down the now familiar bumps and trails all the time still looking out again at the sparkling ocean and behind me at just some of the land I've covered today. I come down the other side of one of the undulations and notice that there now is another runner ahead of me and he looks to be taking it a bit slower. I'm still feeling fairly okay and as I get to the bottom and start up towards the gate on the other side I notice that I'm closing the gap. As I reach the top of this one I see the lung buster hill from this morning ahead of me and when I reach the bottom of this I've nearly caught the guy as he's decided to do impromptu switchbacks to break up the gradient a little. I stick to my formula of monitoring my breathing and gauging pace on that as after all the trial and abysmal error of previous races it feels like I'm finally getting the hang of this. At the top I break straight into a run to catch up with the other guy and have a chat.

He seems a pretty casual guy who's taking the day in a relatively nonplussed manner, which is an attitude I can agree with. He did the race last year and is hoping to cut an hour off his time today and thinks he may just be able to so is sticking partially to a pace plan but as above only casually.

We go through a gate and check where we are and it's around thirty miles or so into the race, so we've only got about five left. After the hard hill behind us, this is now the turnaround point for this loop to head back inland so that we can make our way back to the finish. It's also the point where we get treated to a downhill section so we happily plod along down it nattering away. We talk about race nutrition and I'm surprised at how little I've eaten yet don't feel like I need more.

We then reach the final aid station which says we've only got three point two miles to go. We head off pretty promptly with not much need for food at this point so close to the end. As we leave the checkpoint I instantly regret that decision as a wave of light-headedness comes over me. I quickly get another Snickers out of my bag and start hoeing into that puppy and just mentally tell myself to ride it out for ten minutes until my stomach registers and starts to take on board the glucose. My new friend has gone ahead my now and I'm glad of it as I'm feeling this way and need to take it easy. A while later and I'm feeling okay again so I pick up the pace just in time to go up the last hill. I try to power walk up it and surprisingly by the top I've caught the guy again. Though he did say he was a road runner so it makes sense he'd leave me on the flat and drop back on the hills.

We keep chatting again as we reach the top of the hill and start down the other side and I remember that this is the deeply rutted one that goes right back to the river and the finish sign. We go down this together but the conversation isn't quite as flowing as we're both paying more attention to staying upright.

As he's going to slightly more of a pace plan and I'm going slightly more to a fun plan, he then eases off ahead slightly when we reach the base of the hill and I let him go. I see the finish sign and stop a moment as I pass through the gate it's pinned to. Behind it is a lovely view of the river that I'll now be following to the finish.

There's a well kept country path and road to begin with, and dense forest off to my right. I wind around following the curve of the river which then takes me past what looks like some sort of bog leading away from the water. Albeit a picturesque bog, but a bog all the same.

After I get past this I take a slight diversion in through the woods and this also takes me uphill again. Surprise, surprise, another hill. They couldn't let this race finish on a nice flat bit now, could they?

I slow to a walk. I actually feel like I could run, but I'm enjoying an easier pace and I want to enjoy this last leg. So I just fast hike up the hill, and make sure to keep it fast. It's probably quicker than my running pace up this would be anyway.

I get to the top and head down the other side. There is a nice little curve to the path at the bottom with some open space that gives a good view out across the bush heading back down towards the river Erme, then sure enough I'm heading back uphill again. This time I do keep the pace as a run for a while before dropping it back down again. I look ahead and it's not up and down anymore, or even varied, this is just steadily up at the same gradient.

I start to wonder where it is. The sign. The 'One mile to go' sign. I'm sure it was supposed to be at least a mile ago, I was expecting it a mile ago, but I still haven't seen the damn thing. But I'm still having fun so who cares, right? I carry on, pushing up the hill.

I see a family ahead coming towards me as I crest the top of the small climb, and give them a grin as I approach. The dad sees my race number and asks how far I've gone. When I say thirty five miles, give or take, his face just looks confused. I keep the grin. He says well done, and I move on, back up to a run now that it's flattish again. If only he knew. He shuffles his kids along.

I go around the corner then I see it. One mile to go. Out of nowhere I start to well up. I've seen this sign a good two dozen times across this race series. Sometimes I've been relieved. Sometimes I've felt excited.  Oftentimes I've wanted to kick the bloody thing out of the ground and stomp on it. But this is the first time I've felt...emotional.

I started this journey eight months ago. Ten events. Over three hundred and fifty race miles. Countless more in training. I've cried, I've bled, I've vomited and I've acquired countless blisters. I've nearly collapsed on more than one occasion. I've felt elated on more still. I've lost weight. I've put it back on again. I've bucked up my ideas and lost it once more.

When I started, I wasn't even sure I could finish the series, so I only entered the first five. When I got near the end of those, my legs hadn't yet fallen off, so I entered the rest. Seeing this sign now, and knowing that at long last it really is the final mile and that I've beaten the demons inside my head that tell me I'm a failure and can't do it, is the most visceral emotion I've felt in all the miles.

This is worth the retching, the pain. This, to me, is transcendence. This is beating everything that tried to stand in my way. This is why I run. To beat the demons inside and out. To prove I can adapt and subsequently succeed.

I move past the sign, safe in the knowledge I need never see it again. I press on along the path and find myself at another hill. The final one. The final hurdle. The final demon I'm going to beat.

I attack it with all my might. It may not be much, but goddamnit it's  mine. If I've learned nothing else, I've learned to be grateful for what I have. To stop comparing myself to others, accept who I am and use everything I have at my disposal to beat average, break through hard times and be the best man I can. Running isn't physical, it's mental. It's not just putting one foot in front of the other, it's putting a new life in front of an old one.

I press on up the hill. At the top there are some supporters who cheer me on, I round the corner, cross the finish line and collect my medal. But the greatest thing I will take away from this isn't the finish line or the medals, it's the raw determination, the better person I gained in the last eight months, and in that final mile.

Crossing the finish line.

CTS Stage 9: Pootling Pembrokehire

I wake up with an almighty flap. There's hammering rain and massive winds and a storm to make a God fearing man start to pray. Luckily I'm not one though, so I slowly cotton on to what's going on around me. The wind is shaking the roof of the tent to the point I can't tell if it's blown the fly off or even blown me off and I ain't in Kansas no more. I wake up a bit more fully and ascertain I'm not in a tornado on my way to the Land of Oz, but the tent isn't as secure as it needed to be in this sort of weather. It's close enough, though, so I do my best to get back to sleep.

That was about one in the morning I think. About six I got woken up by the overexcited campers who also kept me awake until midnight shouting excitedly about the race in the morning. As I was awake anyway I got up early and am now milling about at the start well over an hour early.

I see Noel, the other guy who is doing all of the races, and Judith who I've run briefly with on a couple of them too and we while away the time until the start chatting away about all things running.

The briefing happens out in the carpark and most of us get pretty cold before going around the bay with the winds coming in to wait a few more minutes until we can get cracking. Most of us pace up and down or just stand there jumping to try to keep warm. We get a quick countdown then head off up the yellow brick road.

Last time I was here was February 2011. It was my second ever race, and a bit nicer weather despite it now being early May. We also started up the hill and straight onto the headland, whereas today the route has changed to go up the road for a mile or two, I'm guessing to help with the congestion at the start.

Noel and I stick together for the first bit, both just happy to be getting moving and not freezing. There's a loud roar of laughter as someone takes all of three steps and goes through a huge puddle. Other than that though there isn't a lot of chatting, most likely I think because people are still warming up.

We start almost straight away up a fair gradient and up a hill. It's a good chance to stretch the calves out to get going, though I can feel they're tight so try not to push too hard. The field is already starting to file out a little bit and we find ourselves nearish to the front, despite me having said I wanted to hang out at the back for this race as I'm not feeling like pushing it too hard today. Oh well, plenty of time to slow down.

Eventually we reach a turn off down a trail and find ourselves on the headland I remember from last time. The view is a bit murkier today though. As we're now narrowed down into single file we find ourselves galling into a group. There is around a dozen of us, give or take, and all keep moving at the same pace.

Still no one is talking to each other. It suits me fine though as I'm in a mood more to wander my thoughts than to chat idly. Everyone just seems focused on putting one foot in front of the other at the moment instead. I try to keep looking around me at the scenery but find that because the pace is being dictated not only by those in front but by those behind and we're grouped quite closely together I have to focus more than normal on where I'm placing my feet to make sure I stay both with Noel in front and the next guy behind.

The first few kilometres here are fairly easy and rolling undulations. As we're still fresh on the first section no one stops to walk and we just put in little spurts to get up the small sporadic inclines. We catch our breath at the top before going forward to the next down section.

When we get to about five kilometres into the route the path widens briefly and Noel takes the chance to ask how I am. I say I feel okay but a bit rusty and he tells me he's not doing too badly either. By the time we get a chance to go any further with the conversation the trail thins again and we're back to needing to focus on following the person in front and not trip anyone up.

I feel quite good having got a bit more pace in early on compared to what I thought I was going to, with my go slow plan, but I'm also finding the group train I'm on a little monotonous so decide at the next chance I get to fall back and let them go on ahead.

About this point the woman who is second in the group overtakes the first and goes on the attack ahead. No one follows, but I notice one or two look to be doing the same off the back. The pace has been steady, and despite being undulations it has been more down than uphill, so I guess some people have been taking it easy and some going hard and it's starting to show.

Another couple of kilometres along and the path opens out onto a small open area. You can sense a breath of relief from most of the group as we're released to have a break and go at our own pace even briefly. I take the opportunity to move aside and let the ones behind me pass so I can continue at my own pace.

The weather is still pretty murky and a small drizzle starts now after being only damp air so far. Looking around the visibility is low, which is a shame as this coastline is pretty amazing, though I'm glad this is happening at the race where I've already seen it before.

We're dipping in and out of bay, around headlands and soon enough we get to a stony beach crossing which takes us to our first checkpoint at around eight or nine kilometres. I've not had any water yet so I just grab a little bit of food and keep myself moving.

From here we divert from the coast that we've been following for the whole time until now and start to make our way inland a bit. It's now a steady gradient for a couple of kilometres or so, but mainly I just put my head down and plod on, keen to get the first few miles under my belt without too much distraction. The rain is starting to get a little worse, though that's mainly because the wind is starting to pick up.

I pass through the small town of Marloes, which is where I stayed last time I was here, so I'm trying to work out if it is the same place or not, when another runner starts chatting to me.

We start the conversation with the usual bits about training and races, then as we're getting caught up there is a sharp turn down an alley through the town. He's just in the middle of telling me about doing the one hundred and forty three mile Grand Union Canal Race in a few weeks. Luckily I saw the turn from a while away as he carries on through the town. I joke that he won't have to worry about the same navigation on the GUCR, just that if he gets really suddenly wet, he's taken a wrong turn and he's in the wrong bit...

I also mention that I think we met on a previous race. I'm pretty sure this is the guy I ran a few miles with at the Sussex race, leading up to the half marathon checkpoint, but he's not too sure. We carry on and despite my bad mood and not really feeling like running much, it is good to have someone to chat to and it is helping take my mind off it.

We reach the long disused runways of an airfield, which again I remember, although didn't know it was an airfield. All I remembered was that it was an open plain with concrete paths. Today, however, is different as the weather is considerably worse and as soon as we're out on the exposed hilltops, the wind comes in with a vengeance.

After the Anglesey race I made sure I always have a rough idea of the weather report, but now make sure to check wind as well as temperature. Today has an easterly forecast and gusts up to twenty five miles an hour. Coming onto the runway, I can now testify that I believe the weather report was correct as the light rain is buffeted into our faces. It feels like every step is running through treacle. I can almost see it trickling off my shoes with each pace it feels so visceral. We still keep chatting, though it's a bit more forced to match our pace and efforts.

We get to the end of the runway then turn down another long one and continue to grit our teeth. To be honest, I prefer a bit of a challenge to add some variation to the day. After what seems an age, we reach the end of this runway and turn away from it, back into some less exposed terrain.

It's quite nice to be able to feel my face again and hear what each other is saying and after a couple more minutes we reach the second checkpoint. We tap in our timing chips and I grab a custard cream and a few crisps and continue walking ahead, shouting that I'll let the other guy catch up. He does so thirty seconds later and I tell him I'm going to take it a bit easier and let him go on ahead. Before he goes he tells me we've done a little over nine miles. Getting there slowly then.

This section is downhill on a road to the town of Dale. On the way down I pass an old walled off country home. It's quite well barricaded considering it doesn't look to be a defensive outpost. I look at it in puzzlement a moment before carrying on.

Soon enough I reach the bottom of the road and am back on the coastline with a nice wind buffeting me from the side. I'm now travelling south with the easterly winds gusting off the sea to my left at me again, but not as bad as it was on the airfield luckily.

There are a few people about, though not many. This side of the country doesn't seem to be very highly populated at this time of year, especially down in these hard to reach remote towns.

There is a marina that I go past before getting to a small smattering of shops. I remember getting high fives from children here four years ago. No one is here giving me high fives this time around, and I realise that the route is back to front. They did mention on the start line it had changed around a bit over the years, and it has felt like some of it I knew and some of it I didn't so far.

I pass the last pub then head back uphill and back into the woods. This section is quite nice around some trees here or there and almost completely deserted. The rain is still coming down but only lightly currently so it doesn't feel so bad right now.

Again, for a while I just plod along, trying not to think too much and just let myself tick the miles off. I know that I'm soon to loop back to the last checkpoint and do this whole section again, so I don't faff about too much wanting to look at the various parts of scenery.

I reach a gate that takes me off to the right and off the road back into the fields. There is another runner coming up behind me. I debate waiting and holding the gate for him but he's just that little bit too far behind. I go through and cross the field and soon enough he passes me anyway. He's going at pace and I realise this must be the race leader for the marathon. Only a couple of minutes later someone else follows him as we go back down the other side of the headland and back into a wooded bay. I wish them both luck as they pass.

The bay here is nice to look at and has a little stone shelter, presumably for bad weather such as this. I make sure to look out to the sea and remind myself that I'm here for the scenery so even if I am coming back on another loop there's no reason not to enjoy it this time around, then start my way up the other side.

It's a fairly steady incline for a while, and a couple more minutes pass when the third place marathon runner Charles up the incline behind me. He look in his fifties, but is clearly running as if he was in his twenties. I step aside to let him pass and tell him there's only a couple ahead and not that far, he asks if it's just the two and I confirm for him before he pushes ahead. Thirty seconds after him arrives another runner.

There's now a few kilometres of running along the fields at the top of the cliffs down to the coastline boasting away below. There's a few moments where the wind picks up and bashes into my face but on the whole it's okay.

For about a kilometre I see what looks to be Judith coming up behind me. Eventually she does catch me and we get chatting. This is the third race we've done where she sits back casually for the first while, then catches me and finishes immensely strong a good half hour ahead of me. One of those rare people who has learnt great pacing. Sadly, I'm not so good at it so we only stick together for a kilometre or so before I tell her to carry on without me as we reach a little incline over a field.

I see some holiday homes ahead, that all look deserted, and as I reach them I take a relight turn up towards the lighthouse here. I'm now at the furthest point of the whole course. As far south as possible on this little peninsula. As I go past the lighthouse there is a group of three or four people standing there waiting for another runner who give me a huge amount of whooping and encouragement. Considering the weather, I'm surprised they're so happy.

I plod on down the road before taking a turn off back down to the coastal path and leaving St Anne's Head behind me. There is a field of wary looking cows, but I just push on past them, glad to be on the other side of the fence. I get back to my plan of keeping my head down and just pushing on through.

There's no one else about at the moment, so I feel relatively isolated with my own thoughts, though that's not necessarily a bad thing, and is even part of why I do this, to get time to think to myself.

Eventually I see the next couple of marathon runners go past and luckily this time we're on a more open field so I don't have to dodge out of their way. After a while the track goes down again to the bay I'm passing and I'm starting to wonder how far away the next checkpoint is. The woman when I went through at first said it was seven miles before I'd see her again. It feels like I've done at least seven miles, yet it doesn't look to be anywhere in sight.

I try to look out over the sea and just take my mind off it and sure enough a kilometre or so later it looks to be close by when I check my map. Another runner comes up behind me just as I'm climbing up from a beach to the top of the head I'm at. I tell him I think we're near and he tells me it's just at the top of the hill. We chat on as we continue to climb and as soon as we reach the top I see the Endurancelife flag showing we have indeed reached the checkpoint.

I fill up my bottles and grab some crisps then head on. The other guy is still with me but I'm not feeling very pacey right at the minute so I tell him to go on ahead.

I'm back at the same little downhill to the country house that resembles a castle which gives me a smile again. I wonder if any one who built that could have imagined what we'd be doing running around centuries later.

There are a couple more women running up behind me so I let them pass and go ahead. Then a guy comes up behind me and blazes past. I ask if he's doing the marathon or on his second lap, he stops to talk to me for a minute and it turns out he was running with a friend who is particularly slow, but has just dropped out so he's making up for some lost time. That explains the pace he was making me feel slow with. I've talk for a couple more minutes then I point out he'll end up with another slow person if he stays with me, and he carries on his way.

I go through the town of Dale, have a quick stop for a comfort break (really just an excuse to sit down for a couple of minutes) then make my way up the road that heads back out of the town and into the woodland.

While I was in the bathroom the rain started back up good and proper, and this time it seems to be back with a vengeance. I do my waterproof jacket up, grit my teeth and push on.

I reach the gate where the marathon leaders passed me earlier and make my way over the fields beyond. The wind I serially starting to pick up now and the rain is constant so there's not really any respite. My shoes are sodden right through and have been for most of the race.

Considering mentally I'm feeling quite fatigued at the moment and wasn't particularly keen on getting going this morning, this isn't really helping. All of the eight previous races we've been lucky with the weather, and that luck did have to run out at some point, it's just annoying it's happened today.

I tell myself to stop being a whiny little bitch and carry on. No, I can't be bothered, but that's part of why I'm here in the first place, to learn to push through preconceived barriers. I make my way along, one more step at a time. 

I force myself to stop at some points to take a photo, or just try to take a little walk break here or there to cheer myself up. It half works, and the scenery is great here, so I shouldn't complain really.

This laps feels a lot longer than the last one, and that one felt quite long, but again, that part of why I'm here. I want to teach myself not to worry too much about distances, or how far it is to the next checkpoint. A mile is a mile. A kilometre is a kilometre. Me whining in my head won't change that or make any difference at all, so I need to keep myself in the moment and realistic about where I am and that so long as I keep moving I'll get there.

Sure enough after a while I'm passing the bay with the interesting shelter, and sure enough after that I'm back at the lighthouse at St Anne's Head. The people who were here earlier have now gone, which isn't surprising considering the turn in weather. All the way down this side of the headland, the rain has been coming at me right into the face from the east to my left. As I'm now about to go up the other side of the coast I'm hopeful it will ease off a bit.

If anything, it's worse I think. Oh well, not much I can do about it and a lot of the time I enjoy running in the rain, so try to bring my mind over to that way of thinking. It works partially.

I plod along, still jot really seeing anyone, but still not really minding about that. The wind carries on buffeting rain into my face and I continue just dealing with it and telling myself it's enjoyable facing the elements in this way. It works, and eventually I find myself back on the beach hiking up to the checkpoint and ready to move past to the final stage back to the finish.

I check in and start straight off. I can't be bothered hanging about and just want to get this done. I don't go straight back the way I came. This time, instead, I stay right on the coast line, rather than coming through inland. The sign said that it's about six miles to the next aid station, and if I remember rightly at the briefing that's a water stop about two or three miles from the end.

The rain doesn't want to let up at all here. It just keeps carrying on and the ground is becoming increasingly tricky to get over, making a slow pace slower. I start to feel grumpy, then just keep trying to tell myself that I enjoy running in bad conditions. The devil on the other shoulder says that I wasn't in the mood at the beginning, let alone now.

The scenery is still quite nice though, and despite the weather getting worse the visibility seems like it may be vaguely better. Vaguely. Even though I'm not far from where we came earlier, it feels like a completely different area when facing the other way and a little closer to the coast, wind and rain. It feels more visceral I guess.

After a while I see some people up ahead. I get closer to one and notice he's doing the race wearing sandals. Not even running ones, just everyday ones. Unsurprisingly, he's slipping and falling all over the place. I can't help but wonder at people who think this whole barefoot thing is a good idea and will stick to it wholeheartedly like this. Health benefits or no, this is clearly not helping this guy today, and he needs better shoes. I don't bother to ask, as I'm sure it will be met with some line about how it improves efficiency and avoids injury, but the reality is if you fall over and split your knee open it makes no difference if you're shin splints are cured and nowhere to be seen.

So I carry on and don't bother getting into a conversation. For a time we go back and forth leapfrogging each other as my pace is slower than his, but steadier as I don't slip and fall over all the time. Eventually even this gets annoying and I just let him go on ahead. I'm such a grumpy bastard today, aren't I?

I then find myself catching up to another runner who is definitely looking worse for wear. He's barely shuffling along and doesn't look in a good way, but as I pull up next to him and say hi, he's quite chirpy.

I stop to talk to him for a few minutes. I take a walk break, and this is still as fast as his running pace. It turns out he's doing the marathon, and may have overdone it with a road one not long ago. He's a big lad, not fat, but tall and stocky, so I imagine it's a lot more strain for his legs to be carting around. It's nice to get chatting to someone again all the same, but as my walking pace is his running one, I quickly wish him luck and push on. He jovially wishes me luck as well.

There is almost no one else around and I haven't really seen anyone else for ages other than the guys I've just gone past. I keep checking my phone to tell me how far through I am. I try not to do this too much in races and just go by feel as I think constantly checking reassurances from technology kind of takes away from the experience a little. So I use it, I just try not to every three seconds unless in an emergency or lost.

Today however, all my preconceptions seem to be going out the window and I don't seem to bothered about any of them, so I find myself checking how far I've gone with an ever increasing rapidity. The problem is, like a crack fiend, the rewards diminish the more I do it. At first, I've gone five kilometres. I thought it was only about four. Commendable. Ego and confidence boosting. By now, however, each time I check, thinking I've done a couple, it's barely one kilometre. So mentally I want to be at that two kilometre mark and check again shortly after. Mentally I reach for that damn crack pipe again and again.

I snap out of it after a while. It's doing me no good. And besides, I actually am getting closer to the finish, even closer to the final checkpoint. The problem is, I don't know exactly how far away I am from either, so I guesstimate, based on the rough knowledge I have on the course. The final checkpoint should only be a mile or so away by now. But it could be two. From there I think it's between two and four miles to the finish, based on how much I think I've done and the total distance of the race.

As I know I'm nearing the checkpoint, I start to pick up the pace. Only marginally, but still. My pace today has been pretty abysmal. Considering how I was doing only a couple of races ago at Sussex, my legs are really shouting at me. Then I click. Exmoor was three weeks ago. I really hammered it for the better part of that entire race. No wonder my legs are still sore. That gives me a little boost, knowing that part of why I'm slower today is that I still haven't recovered from that. In truth, it's not really an excuse, but in the mental game I'm running here, that's a viable trick to boost my confidence.

And it works, it keeps me going. It adds to the little boost I've had from the slight pace increase. I look out on the sea, at the rain patterning on my nose and feel that little bit better. I tell myself to stop moaning and just look around me and enjoy it.

Soon enough I do pick up my mood and then see the flags signifying the checkpoint. It's quite a huge morale boost, and it feels like the finish is now within my grasp. I make my way down to it, say hello and try to crack a grin.

The guys here are quite friendly and supportive. They remind me I'm now back at St Brides and I just need to retrace my steps to get back to the start and finish. I have to cross the beach here, though they let me know I can dodge around the side of it as most people have been doing. I ask how much further it is until the finish and he informs me it's about six miles.

Six? How the bejaysus did I calculate that so wrong? My head starts into a tailspin of despair. I can't believe I was so wrong, I thought there were be four miles and was secretly hoping for it to only be another two.

Whoa, hold on a sec bro. The distance is what the distance is. Stop being a pussy and a whiny bitch over it. It's not even that long, and the course hasn't even been that hard. You're only feeling like crap because your head is in the wrong place.

With the debate still raging in my mind I start off down the trail. No point standing here looking like a basket case. That isn't going to solve anything. I just put it completely out of my mind and start plodding along again.

The rain is still incessant. There is I small switchback to get up from a beach back onto the less eroded coastal path above. It's no less exposed, just less eroded. As I've slowed massively and turned around to face the wind, I suddenly feel freezing. I start to panic having suffered badly in this situation before. Then I tell myself to calm down. It'll be okay. And it is once I get to the top. I really wish I'd reproofed my waterproof jacket though.

Out of nowhere, I start to sing to myself. The first utterance is a mumbled 'this is really fucking grim'. Then I sing the same sentence. And again. I begin to make a faux show tune up out of that one sentence. For a laugh I then start up a backseat. Almost a dubstep show tune, now...I think I might be losing it.

Then something miraculous happens. The talking to myself I'd been doing earlier finally falls into place. I just suddenly start to feel calmer. I start to laugh at the stupidity of it all. What the hell was I so bothered about? This race really hasn't been that big a deal. Sure, my legs are still sore from Exmoor. But they're not that sore. How the hell am I going to cope with the eighty mile self navigated race I've entered in a couple of months if I can't even handle this?

I have to stop for a second I'm laughing so hard at myself. I must look a right nutter. I calm down, look around me, take a deep breath and push on. Not far now and I can have a cup of tea.

The rain and wind aren't letting up, though it's slowly dimmed a little from an hour or two ago, so isn't quite as driving. For some reason, it now doesn't bother me. What will be will be. Que sera and all that.

I'm back on the minor undulations from this morning and mentally tick them off one by one. Each little bay or inlet brings a smile to my face as I pass through it.

The path turns off back up to the road and I know I'm close now. A few cars go by unnervingly as it's a bit narrow here, but almost as soon as I'm on the road I take a turn off it again, back down through the woods.

There are a couple more bays. These are the two that stuck in my head hugely from the last time I was here. I'm not sure why the ones right at the beginning and end, but there you have it.

I stop at the turning point just at the bottom of one, turn around and just look back at it. I look back on the day. I look back on my failure to stay in a good mindset, and the fact that I set myself up for failure by giving up and shrugging before the race even began. I look back on eventually overcoming this in the last few miles and how that has felt.

I turn around and look forward again. I go up the final incline, down through the final wood and over the final field to collect my medal. Then I go grab that cup of tea.

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