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.