The Ridgeway 86: An Open Letter to my Father

Dear Dad,

It's going to be a long time before most of what has happened  has made sense, but I've written this, partly to let you know what happened while you were asleep, and partly just to let it out. It starts with a phone call...

"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad...Dad's had an accident.”

These are the words that echo around my head, crashing like waves into my subconscious. I approach the start line with Brian and distract myself from the soundscapes in my head. I wasn’t even planning on coming to this race, but something told me I had to. My heart is not here, but I had to. Flowers grow through rubble. So can I.

Brian says something I don't quite catch and I snap out of it. He introduced himself as I got on the train from London to Tring. I wasn’t particularly keen on company with the mood I'm in, not wanting to bring anyone else down, but he was friendly and I very quickly felt my mood turn around just from the chance to chat with someone who didn't know what was going on with me. By the time we got to Tring I was secretly thanking him for shaking me out of my funk.

The start line

There are minibuses transporting runners to the start and plenty of time to mill about before we set off from Ivinghoe Beacon at midday. This is the official starting point of the Ridgeway national trail. Today we’ll be attempting all eighty six miles of it.

That said, I’ve told myself no pressure. So if I do all of it, well, I do all of it. If I don’t I don’t. There is a short race briefing then we’re away. We saw that Dan Lawson was on the start line, who is liable to run this race extremely quick, and he charges off the front from the go. The speedier pace trickles it’s way down the field and soon enough we find ourselves going quite a bit faster than expected.

On the approach to the start a guy who recognised my shorts from a previous run in the Gower came up to say hello and wonder if I remembered him. I did and it’s a nice chance to catch up as we ran together for quite a while that day. As we reach the start line another woman who saw the shorts at the Stour Valley Path race two weeks ago also comes to say hello. I ask how she got on and she was second lady so clearly after passing me at the second checkpoint she went ahead to storm it!

Where's (the) Wally.

I now notice her not far away. We’re about a mile in. I point her out to Brian saying we should probably avoid trying to keep up with her if we’re to avoid the hurt locker early on. He agrees. There’s quite a buzz in the air and we’re swapping places with a few people here or there, finding ourselves with the guy from the Gower and one of his friends.

The starting section is quite undulating, but most of the runners just take it at a similar stride to normal flat pace, given that it’s fresh legs at the beginning here. We trade places and pair up with other people for a while and just generally chat to whoever is around. The theme of the day seems to be the good weather.

There is a lot of nervous energy and Brian’s watch is beeping at us quite often as he has the virtual pacer on, set to tell him if he’s going too fast or slow. He has it set to be halfway between a twenty hour finish and the womens course record, with the intention of holding that pace as long as possible then slowing down. Personally I’m unsure how long I’ll be able to hold that pace.

But soon enough we’re three miles, or five kilometres in and the warm up has begun. The legs are loose and the countryside is open. It’s very much an old Roman Road style trail, and very well maintained compared to what I’m used to with other races. Combining that with the fact that the trail is pretty hard packed from the good weather and you’ve got a pretty runnable trail.

The countryside is much nicer than I expected, with good views out over the county, reminiscent a little of the South Downs where you get great views over the countryside. The field thins out a little and there’s less jostling for space which means we can focus a bit more on relaxing and enjoying the day out.

It’s not actually too long before we find ourselves pulling up at the first aid station. We pushed the first ten kilometres in an hour, which feels dangerously close to how I felt at the Stour Valley Path right before I blew up two weeks ago, but it felt okay so we pressed on for the next few kilometres and I didn’t say anything.

Now that we’re here, I can feel my legs being a bit more leaden than normal, but nothing I wouldn’t expect having done a hundred kilometres so recently. We stop and Brian fills up his Tailwind nutrition bottles, I fill up mine and as he’s still getting ready I take a few moments to just grab some jaffas cakes and a slice thingie to try to shove as much food and water in as I can while I’m still feeling good an can stomach anything.

I’m thankful for the rest to be honest as well. Having pushed it a bit it’s a good chance to just stop and check through to see how the legs are feeling. We thank the volunteers then head off. We chat excitedly for a few minutes, then there is also a few minutes silence.

"Hey Ben, it's Nik..." 

No, not yet. I'm not ready for it yet. Flowers. Rubble. Remember that instead.

I break my thoughts with some toilet humour. There's nothing like a good poo joke on the trails is there? Hey look, there's even a cow poo right there.

We've lost most of the other people that were around us, but to be honest I'm fine with that. It's nice being a bit more alone out here and letting the field thin out a little.

The sun is still shining pretty bright, but after burning on the Stour and looking a little like  a baked potato I remembered sunscreen this morning so that hopefully my head is okay until the night section. It seems to be working so far.

We get to one particular climb that goes on a little bit longer than the ones before and we start to talk about our past. He's a New Yorker, so an immigrant like me, and we get to talking about what made him move and what kept him here, his family and children. With three of his own and four step-children it's interesting to hear the perspective of a man with a big family, so different from where I myself am at in life.

We reach the top, and there is a large monument. Looking closer I think it is a reference to the Boer war, but I can't see in too much detail. There is a nice path up to it then as we crest the hill there is a stunning view out over I don't even know which county.

We pass some people out for the day and see a family having a picnic. I mention the fact that I often find it strange as you see people out and about. So if you're in a race you get a lot of people cheering and clapping, so you look out for people having a picnic and keep an eye on them in case they do so, with the intention of being ready to thank them for the support.

But then if they don't support, they just stare at you nonplussed. As you stare back at them looking like you're some arrogant, attention seeking runner looking for kudos when in truth you just didn't want to be rude just in case they clapped. They look at you as if to ask what the hell you're looking at their family just a little too lingering for. If you haven't already noticed, I get a lot of time to my thoughts on the trail to over analyse and make light of these sorts of gormless situations.

We go down a big field with some rather large cows. They couldn't care less though so we go right through the middle of them. As we do so, Brian mentions after my joking that his guts aren't feeling too good.

I laugh at first then his face doesn't move and I ask if it's serious. He's not sure. Uh oh. We carry on and I just try to keep talking and fill the gap. I talk about races I've done, my thoughts on training, my thoughts on kit. Anything to help ease the strain. Get it...ease the strain? I crack myself up.

We get to another field and Brian says it's game over. He's not got any supplies so I get out my shit kit and hand some paper over. I stop briefly myself, then walk slowly down the field.

Brian arrives back a few minutes later looking a fair bit fresher than ten minutes ago and I'm pleased to hear it. He gets back to his normal chatty self, but it does seem like something is still playing on his mind. We both ignore it for now and just keep the focus on pacing. The short break was actually quite a relief as we'd not really relented on the pace at all even after saying we would.

We carry on a few more miles and then find a town, I'm not sure which. Brian's feeling it again, so affords himself the luxury of a pub toilet, where I go as well just in case as I've no idea when I'll next find a toilet, but it turns out I don't need to and I'm just a weirdo hanging out in a toilet when he doesn't need to.

We carry on again, having been passed by a few people, but I'm honestly not bothered and not too long after we find ourselves the second checkpoint in the woods.

This time I take a look at the piece of paper we were handed at registration with the checkpoint times and facilities listed on and note that we're only half an hour inside the cut off. I hear one of the volunteers mention they're only waiting on about six people or so and I wonder how the hell we've ended up so considerably far behind, as even with a couple of stops we've not been going that slow.

I decide it must be down to there being a ten o'clock start time as well, so the cut offs must be made to be loose for them early on and tight for the later starters, to then even out later in the day.

Again, I'm fairly quick at filling up and grabbing a goody bag that they're handing out, but am more than happy for a couple of minutes standing break. I feel it's important to keep myself happy and fed early on today and not be bothering about the time. It works. I feel better for the moments standing.

Brian is chatting to the volunteers and I point out the food table as he doesn't seem to be terribly keen on anything after what the Tailwind nutrition powder seems to be doing to him. I point out some solid food can't be a bad thing and he grabs some, clearly already having the same idea.

There is another pair who we've gone back and forth a couple of times with who are leaving at a similar time and we keep them roughly in our sights as they seem to be moving a lot more comfortably but slower than us currently, but we're taking more walk breaks.

We go over an overpass and there is clearly a right turn somewhere and the two pairs of us wander around a little wondering where it is, with the fields on either side of the road having paths. In the end we just opt for the road which proves right when we're rewarded with an acorn symbol on a finger post, signifying the national trail.

We swap pairs for a bit and chat to each other then as we reach another road with a confusing finger post notice Tim Mitchell, the race director, driving off and pointing us across the field, jokingly threatening a disqualification if we go down the road.

We don't, we find the spray paint arrows pointing across a freshly ploughed field and again I'm reminded back to the Stour Valley a couple of weeks ago and all the fields in that.

I take the lead over this field which is normally something I don't tend to do as much. It's not that I don't like it, I just tend to find myself wondering if the pace is too fast or too slow for the people I'm with and if others are happier in front I generally am happy for them to do so. Basically I over analyze the situation when I really don't need to.

But now I'm bossing it over this field. I don't look back until the far side when I just double take to see if everyone is still with me, which they are, spread over twenty metres or so.

We form back into pairs again and as Brian and I go through a narrow lane we see officials at the far end. I wonder what they're doing here, we're too close to the last checkpoint for this to be another one.

We reach them and say hello and it becomes apparent they're just standing sentry at a rail crossing and taking numbers. We proffer the best smile we can manage after twenty odd miles and proceed over the other side.

We're now ahead of the other chaps, but can see them just behind us. As we open out into another field that is quite sprawling we see a couple of others ahead in the distance.

It's ever so slightly uphill and we slow to a walk as the other chaps catch us. They head on and we keep the walk. We pass an extremely old lady with a bib number on and I say well done to her. I genuinely mean it. She looks like she hit seventy in the seventies and is now quite a few miles deep in this. She has quite a cheery smile back for me as I pass.

There is quite a steep hill which I press on just ahead of the chaps, now that I've finally got a bit better at uphill technique after all the practice this year.

I stop at the gate at the top and hold it open for the guys and wait for Brian. He comes up looking defeated. He tells me all the energy has left him and he thinks he's done. There's no point trying to push on feeling like this and he tells me to carry on.

I'm unsure what to do here. I've really enjoyed the company, and don't want to desert him. But at the same time, he is telling me he's had enough and he looks like he means it. Aside from that, we're pushing the cut offs and unlikely to make the next one at our current pace.

I ask firmly if he's positive this is the decision he wants to make, and whether or not it's possible it might be worth us trying to gut it out to the next one in case it picks up.  He says he's sure, and to press on and try to catch the chaps up.

With regret I shake his hand and we bid each other adieu. I feel really bad leaving him, but it's clear his decision is made. Oddly, considering my mood when we got here today, I'm feeling quite resolute that I'd like to carry on.

I do catch the guys up and tag along to the third checkpoint. Their pace is not too dissimilar to what I was doing with Brian so it's not too bad a switch, though my legs are feeling a bit leaden. I think having done a hundred kilometre race two weeks ago may not have been the wisest move, with the soreness setting in quite early today at around ten miles. 

That said, it feels like that's important training at this point. It's not going to make me faster, slower if anything, but this year my focus has been solely on endurance. I used to be faster, but there's not point in fast if you DNF every race is there? Well, that's what I found at my last DNF, anyway.

So I listen to my body, I feel it creak a little and I just let it go. I let myself enjoy what I'm doing. We hit the next checkpoint around a marathon in. This one doesn't have as massive selection, but there are all the necessary bits and importantly some coke which I knock back along with a few other bits and bobs. I let the marshal know Brian's number and tell them he's fine but may be a little late just so they don't worry.

This time, stopping, I really do feel it in my legs. It doesn't bother me, it's just earlier than normal, which is fine. We just stand there a minute to stop and laugh at each other, then set off again.

The first thought is how close we are. We've gained ten minutes and are now forty minutes up on the cut off. It does a bit of a number on all of our heads as none of the three of us feel like we've been going that slow at all so we can't understand why there are only a handful of people behind us.

No matter, though, we press on. The short stop has given me a fair bit of a boost. I didn't really realise how much I was feeling it and looking forward to a stop after the slightly slower pace which then picked up when I started running with these fellas.

I think of Brian and hope he's okay, he seemed to be accepting of the decision but it's never a fun one to take. Apparently, that Tailwind nutrition really lives up to its name.

We take the pace ever so slightly easier for a bit. One of the boys is starting to feel it in his legs a bit and seems to have taken a bit of a turn as far as mood goes, but personally I'm more than happy to keep this slower pace and save the energy for later on, even if it does put me into the position of chasing cut offs. Right now I couldn't care less.

We start to talk about how we're feeling about the day and I mention I'm quite unbothered. My feeling yesterday was to not even turn up, but I knew it was also about family and staying strong, so turned up. Now I'm feeling like I've done okay, nearly fifty kilometres, so the pressure is off.

I can quit anytime I like from here on in and not feel bad. I say this out loud, but conscious of the fact it's always good to keep as upbeat a mood as possible, I point out that feeling like that means that I feel alright and am actually enjoying myself a fair bit more than I would be otherwise. Basically, thinking about quitting is helping me not follow through and do it. The psychology of a runner eh? Or maybe it's just me.

"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad...Dad's had an accident. He took a downhill too fast and he's hit his head."

There's a long pause and I can hear him crying. I'm jolted back to five in the morning a week ago. Friday the twenty first of August to be exact.

"He's just gone in for emergency brain surgery. We don't know what's going to happen."

My world came crashing down in that moment a week ago.

As we're walking an uphill, I let it out and explain the situation to Sam, though I don't go into too much detail. I don't want to cry on the trail here. Not yet. I need to stay strong. So I just mention it, and explain that's why I'm feeling the way I am about this race right now. We move on to another topic.

We make our way further and further along, just keeping a steady pace to try to maintain our energy whilst not dropping too far behind. As we're going through a field, about to start another climb, the other chap says in a very determined voice that's it, he's had enough and he's going to drop at the next station.

We try to coerce him into changing his mind, telling him it may be worth just resting at the checkpoint and deciding there, but he's resolute that he's not enjoying things and would rather make sure he can get home at a normal time and live to run easy another day sooner rather than later. He seems definite so we don't argue the point with him.

Soon enough that aid station arrives at the top of another hill, and he sticks to his word asking if he can get a ride to the halfway point so his wife can pick him up. I tell Sam I'm unsure what to do as well, thinking I may do the same.

If I drop now I can get a lift to halfway, Goring-on-Thames, and manage to get the last train home. If I don't it's going to be a lot more tricky. I tell Sam I'm going to sit for five minutes and he's happy to wait. I grab a date and oat cake thing, which is great, and a couple more jaffa cakes and coke and sit with chappie number two, who ask what I'm doing. 

I again say I'm unsure then when Sam comes over I tell him we may as well head off. Snap decisions are the best in these situations, they get you out the door. I'm going to have to go to Goring anyway as that's where my bag is. So I may as well run and decide there. It's twelve miles this stretch, which is part of what was holding me back as mentally that's quite a jump, so I'm glad to be back on the road quickly.

My legs are extremely stiff on getting up again, but there's a nice little road section so the creaks and groans ease their way out and Sam and I find our rhythm again. We both mention how surprised we were at how quickly the other fellow dropped as he seemed to be vaguely not enjoying it but nothing you can't work through. I guess the thing is, after fifty odd kilometres the thought of another ninety doesn't really appeal too much.

But we're out of the checkpoint and mentally this is quite a big boost. I knew that was going to be one of the harder ones and it's done now. Sam goes in front a fair bit now and keeps himself, and me, going with a pretty good pace. A much better one than I would have managed on my own.

We talk at times but we also have quite long stretches to ourselves, for me just content in the fact that we're moving along at a good clip. The night starts to draw in a bit and we do quite a long stretch along Grims Ditch, which is quite nice through some woods.

I think of home a bit at this point. I think of what I saw when I went back to Christchurch after the earthquakes and I remember the day a couple of years later, when people were finally allowed back into the central city, I stood there by the 'Hak', the nickname for the place we used to hang out as teenagers, trying to figure out where exactly it was amongst the rubble. Hours, years even I spent here and now I couldn't even tell exactly where it was.

I remember searching around all the streets of my youth, unable to fully understand which road I was on, as there was just holes in the earth where the buildings and landmarks used to be. I searched, to work out where the Hak was and found the tree that was next to it, still growing strong. It had lived a long time before the earthquakes and stands strong today. I remember looking at my feet and seeing a small flower poking out of the rubble and reminding myself that adversity is only our downfall if we let it be. I can choose to look at the rubble in life or I can choose to look at the flowers coming through.

I trip over a tree root and nearly go flying. The light has dimmed considerably. We're kind of bumbling about in the forest not really able to see what we're doing. We both mention it may be time for head torches but neither of us grab for one.

It's preferable to leave it as long as possible, but it's definitely getting close. We start chatting again, I check in to see how he's feeling and it's good, and I'm actually still feeling about the same, which suggests I'm running within my means and can't be a bad thing.
Another trip up and it's definitely time for the head torches to come out. We're getting closer and closer now and the section is going by pretty well. Another mile gets ticked off and we're still just keeping the same pace.

We've been going steadily for about ten miles now on this stretch without any real walk breaks, so I can start to feel my energy levels get low. I reach in my bad for another of the little packets of chicken goujons I've brought then find the apple turnover I forgot about and get that out instead.

It does the trick. I'm surprised at how well I've been eating today. At each aid station I've got at least a bit of food down and have been steadily getting through the reserves I brought as well one little bit at a time. I brought quite a variety this time, with chocolate bars and Pepperami topped off by Babybells.

The head torches are well and truly coming into their own by the time we start to see the lights that suggest we're nearing the checkpoint. We reach a massive river and it takes me a couple of minutes to even register this is the Thames. There's a massive overbridge we go under, eery at night and then the lights start to get that little bit closer until we're back on roads and moving through the outskirts of the town. Then we go down a lane and pop out at the main road to see high-vis vests and a welcoming building.

It's the first checkpoint that’s inside, so we grab our drop bags and take a pew at a trestle table. We're offered hot food and I don't have to be asked twice before a jacket potatoes with beans and cheese is laid in front of me. They've taken my water bottles to fill up and I start getting to work at transferring my stuff, swapping out for my better head torch and replenishing for the same amount of food reserves as I left the start line with.

I take a break and redo the tape on my feet, which are looking worse for wear, but no blisters and swap shoes from the Inov8 Race Ultra 290's to the Skechers GoRun Ultra's. After that I try to cram as much food in my gob as I can while Sam is getting ready as well then we're ready to go.

We’re away before I even get a chance to remember I was going to quit here, but in truth it was never really going to happen anyway. Once you’ve had a sit down and fresh gear and food it’s always easy to carry on and we set off at quite a good pace, happy and chatty again.

I feel pretty well rejuvenated after taking such a good break that it almost feels like we're starting fresh again. It's definitely well into the night now so there isnt a hell of a lot to see, but it feels good to be on the move again and over that mental barrier of wondering whether or not I'd be able to carry on after the halfway point. Now I don't have that easy option to leave again. Now maybe I'll finish? Who knows.

We chat intermittently, but mostly we're both happy to just chug along and get the miles moving. I'm secretly pretty glad to have found Sam as I likely wouldn't have bothered carrying on otherwise.

"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad's had an accident. He fell off his bike and hit his head."

I look around me and there is only darkness. The demons rear their head out of nowhere and I fall behind a little to mask how I'm feeling. I just take a moment to let myself remember what's going on and why I'm here. The point I'm trying to make. To myself, mainly, but to my family too. I try to stay strong. I try.

The next section goes pretty smoothly for us without too much issue. We chat, we walk and we run as well. Sam is still keeping a cracking pace. Very solid, not speeding up or slowing down and I just tag along for the ride. It's going so smoothly that we find ourselves at the next checkpoint at Bury Down after what feels a fairly short time. I put the demons back to rest for now.

I've been pretty keen for the checkpoint for a while. Mainly, I'm keen to use the toilet, so when we see it appear I'm pretty quickly alerted to the fact that won't be happening in a hurry. Basically, the checkpoint is a pagoda in a field. Being dark, I can't even work out how the hell they got the stuff here as it literally seems to be in the middle of nowhere but hey, I'm not complaining. Free food, I'll take that. There is even a runway made of glowsticks to welcome us in.

There are some seats and one guy looking decidedly like he is going to drop out. He even has the blanket of death on. That's right, he's opened up the foil safety blanket. He looks okay, but I'm guessing it's his mind that's going. I can relate.

So I opt not to sit down and just eye up the food. Sam is keen to be gone quickly but I hoof down some potatoes dipped in a little too much salt and give my best lemon-face. A quick cup of soup and we're on our way again.

I'm quite glad that the checkpoint is set up the way it is as it has everything you need without the comfort, being out in the open, meaning you can't easily relax and quit. A perfect balance, so I don't quit and it only briefly enters my mind.

The next checkpoint is Sparsholt Firs, about nine miles away. It's quite a big gap but the hardest part is always leaving the checkpoint and we've done that. The guy who has the foil blanket on comes up behind us and starts chatting and it's nice to have the extra company.

Over the past checkpoint I developed my speedy walking pace a bit more, meaning that I can sort of shuffle and sort of wobble to a level where I'm keeping almost the same pace as if I were running.

I mention to the new guy this is roughly the pace we're managing to keep and he says he wishes he could keep up with such a good pace. I tell him it's not me, it's Sam. A few minutes later though we do notice him drop off.

We settle back into a rhythm once more and just get cracking. For the last section we were almost on our own the entire time, but now we find we're starting to catch up with people.

The normal thing to do is to build a buffer it seems and then when nighttime hits, you just slow to a walk for the whole evening until you pick the pace up again in the morning. Kind of like the way the natural body clock works, you go to a similar tune.

Not us tonight, though. We keep pretty much the same pace right through this section  this is one massive benefit to having gone a bit slower earlier in the day and paced it better, we're actually feeling like we still have a fair bit of energy. This also means that some of those people who went off really fast, are now starting to feel it and slow down a bit more. So where before we were nearly last, despite feeling good, and not understanding what was going on, now we're starting to pick people off as the evening catches up with them more.

In truth though, I still know it's Sam carrying me through. I mention it but he's very diplomatic about it saying it's a team effort. It's definitely not though.

The pace stays steady enough, though, that we get to Sparsholt Firs without me moaning too much. I definitely am starting to feel a lot more tired here though and sit down.

The checkpoint staff ask if I want anything and I say I'm fine for the minute. I almost instantly start to freeze. I ask for some coke and a bit more food, just a couple of nibbles and am brought more soup.

I can feel it, though. I feel the tiredness creep up on me and I feel the lethargy creep in. I ask how long Sam wants to stay and he says he's happy to chill for a bit but maybe not too long.

I'm shivering so much that they grab me a duvet and everyone is chatting away. There are a good dozen of us under the pagoda now and someone shouts out that it's the kiwi guy again and well done for carrying on. He was with a woman earlier who recognised the shorts, who hadn't met me, but had read my blog.

I don't recognise him too well, I've been in my own world a bit today but clearly it's no secret I've been talking of dropping like a sissy at every checkpoint. If I had a reason it would be fine, but not being in the mood is clearly just me being a sissy.

But right now, you know what, I don't care. I am a sissy and I'm going to drop here. I send my brothers a message, as they've been following me on the tracker to tell them I'm out.

Right now I'm so tired that my head is lolling from side to side, I can barely hold it up and I just don't care.

"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad's had an accident."

I just don't want to do this right now. I want to be strong for my family, who really need me, if not in body but in spirit and resolve, but if I'm entirely honest right now I just don't want to. It seems so strange. This is a race completely unrelated to my situation with Dad, but I guess I wanted to come here today to remind the family that even though times are tough, we still have to stay positive and fight through adversity. We can beat it if we don't let ourselves be beaten first.

I want to go home, though. I just...I just don't want to be strong. I want to be able to cry and I want to let what's happened a week ago just dissappear. I don't want to be an adult, I want my dad and I want him to come and fix everything.

But he can't. And I can't do what I want, and I'm not embarrassed when I tell Sam to go on ahead and that I am dropping out. He goes, reluctantly, but he goes. We wish each other well and I'm pleased to see him head off looking strong.

Tom sends me a message spurring me on, followed by Nik, only he doesn't send a message to me, he copies and sends back the message I sent to Dad a week ago.

''Hey Dad,

You've given us all quite a scare. When I was about to finish a race I remember you telling me no matter what to keep pushing, to crawl if I had to. I've seen you physically crawl over finish lines before and we need you to keep that resilience. Come on, Dad, it's time to crawl this one in. Keep going. Keep strong. I miss you. I love you"

When I sent that message, I wish I could say it was about a race. It wasn't. When I sent that message all we knew was that dad's head was split open after a crash at very high speed on a mountain in Ecuador and that they, the neurosurgeons, were trying to do something to fix it. When you hear something like that, you think the worst. We couldn't expect much more. No one lives through that sort of damage. When I sent that message, as far as I was aware, Dad would never read it and I was just hoping for a miracle.

When I sent that message I was asking him not to die.

So when Nik sent it back to me it did something. It thumped me, right in my heart. The foil man has arrived a while ago and sat down next to me. He gets up and is about to carry on and I just get up to join him. He looks surprised after seeing me wobbling and whingeing in my chair looking defeatist. He asks if I'm going to join him and I tell him I am. A minute later we're off.

I don't explain why the sudden change, and I don't really need to, I just start moving again and we are just happy to get down to business. He's quite excited about the fact he managed not to drop and I'm suddenly determined. It's now four in the morning and we're a bit over a hundred kilometres deep into this thing.

A message from Dad's friend on the race.

I start to think I might actually finish. I think about why I'm here and suddenly my mood has changed in vast amounts. I'm chatting away as if it's the beginning of the race, so much so that we miss a turn and I end up leading us two hundred metres in the wrong direction, but we're so excited to have got out of the checkpoint neither of us care.

It turns out he was also at the SVP 100 a couple of weeks ago, but did the opposite and went for the later start, unfortunately not quite being quick enough to stay ahead of the cut offs. He's also doing the Ring O Fire race next weekend which I also briefly toyed with, but decided against as it's a hundred and thirty five miles over three days, and I'm already feeling burnt out.

We see a frog in the road and it looks quite eery in the darkness. I'm pretty desperate for the toilet, and with the sun about to come up I decide it's probably best to do so now while I still have a bit of privacy so I duck off for a couple of minutes, then spend a few more running to catch up.

As we were leaving the last checkpoint, Josh, as he's now introduced himself as, said he was keen to just walk most of it in, and given the mood I'm in I'm quite happy to follow suit with him on that. I just want to finish. Overcome. Beat the demons. Beat adversity.

We settle into a little bit of running and a lot bit of walking and just try to keep talking to take out minds of what's going on. The sun slowly comes up and once again we're treated to views of the lovely English countryside.

Dawn is one of the marvels of ultra running for me. It's such a surreal feeling when you've been going, for however many hours, through the slump of the night and then suddenly get this euphoric rush when the new day greets you and the birds begin to sing. Because of my head space today I find it hard to enjoy it the same way as I normally would but I make sure at a couple of points to just stop and look out and try to remember not just to be insular but also to look outside of my own world and see what is happening in the world around me, and to take in my surroundings. See the dawn and embrace it. A new day is arriving and with it, hope.

It's been very easy over the last day to not do that. To not look out. To see the glass half empty and want to smash the full one, and I'll be honest that I'm not entirely successful in reminding myself to look at the positive. I can look at the mud and puddles on the ground or I can look at the frog hopping happily along through it. I try to look at the frog. Flowers grow through rubble. I need to remember that.

The mud makes me realise, though, that I need another toilet break. It's not urgent, but it does start to worry me that's it's only been half an hour since I dug a cat hole in the ground. If I get seventy five miles deep into this thing, through all these mental barriers I've put on myself, only to then have to pull out because I feel like crapping myself I'm going to be mighty upset. So I go and sort it out, then run to catch Josh up.

We reach the penultimate checkpoint and it's a nice bright day. They have a pit fire going and smiles aplenty. We sit down for a few minutes and I try to eat what I can, but I'm not massively hungry as for the first time ever I've been able to eat lots and consistently throughout the race.

The gap to the next checkpoint is about twelve miles, so is mentally a tough one to get my head around and to not want to drop, but the sun is out and it feels good. With only twenty seven kilometres left I think this is possible and for once I don't think I want to drop.

A few more minutes and we're back on the road. The conversation is not quite as flowing as before and my feet are definitely starting to hurt a fair bit more, but the easier pace makes the going not too bad. There is definitely a lot more swearing going on from both of us though, and increasingly more offensive. Luckily there are only cows out here to complain.

We catch up with the lady who calls me the kiwi guy from the blog, and her friend. As I'm slightly ahead I get chatting to her a bit. They've been running together for nearly the whole race but he is struggling with blisters and she is starting to worry about him.

We're fine in terms of the cut offs but only if we keep moving at a reasonable pace. She's worried that her friend won't be able to keep up with that pace. The four of us bounce back and forth a little spread out for a few minutes, then Josh and I move ahead slightly.

We keep the pace easy and the swearing fairly continuous. As Josh did the Race to the Stones last year, an event that takes in the last hundred kilometres of the Ridgeway he's remembering the route here or there. As it was a year ago, though, it starts to do a number on his head as he keeps remembering a pylon and directions around it that just doesn't seem particularly forthcoming, and is really confusing him. I haven't got a clue either way so I just go with it.

There is an extremely long straight uphill section here and, whilst it's not a massive gradient, we definitely feel it on tired legs, so are pleased to reach the top and what we expect to be the checkpoint, only to find its not there on the road. Cue more swearing.

Then sure enough, we round a corner and make it to the final checkpoint. I'm feeling pretty good right now and there is only another ten kilometres to go. That last section was long, but as it wasn't through the night, it didn't feel as long as it could have and we're both grinning like wildcats as we say hello to the aid station staff.

Then they ask if we want a hot dog and oh-hells-yeah we do. I wolf that mofo down and its a right pick me up. I down a couple of cups of coke and then the lady of the pair we passed a while ago arrives in tears.

The whole thing is just emotionally quite a lot for her and to be honest I can relate. In a bizarre way seeing someone really struggling but really determined to finish gives me more strength.

I guess at this point I'm learning a bit that I draw a lot of strength from those around me. Not necessarily physically right next to me, but also spiritually and today in a lot of ways I'm blessed enough to have both.

So when Josh cheekily asks for another hot dog I do the same, then we're off. We're given the directions that we're to continue on the Ridgeway until we get to a fork whereby we take a right turn into the finish and with that we're away.

The final stretch. A day ago, I really didn't think I had it in me to even get past the first checkpoint and here I am doing it. I'm going to get to the finish and in all honesty it has nothing to do with me, it has all to do with the people around me. Both physically and in spirit.

Today, I managed to spend the whole day running with very different people, all of whom were amazing at keeping me motivated and enjoying the physical side of the race, and I was lucky enough to have the support of my brothers among others.

The conversation is still there but a lot of it is grunts now. We're both really happy to be about to finish, but the long straight road is playing a little on my head and the ruts in the ground are playing on Josh's body. But we keep ourselves motivated and pushing on.

We're passed by a trio of fellas but neither of us care at all. We're just moving on, enjoying the day. We go over another hill then Josh points into the distance and tells me he think we just follow this straight road for another few kilometres then turn right to where he's pointing and find the finish. So basically, the end is quite literally in sight.

We plod on, even jogging a little here or there then as we're going down another little hill I see the sign to indicate the turn off to the finish.

"Hey Ben, it's Nik. Dad's had an accident."

I get a message from Nik and it's a photo of Dad laid up in hospital, bald and frail with tubes coming out of him. I'm in front of Josh at this point and it all hits me again. I break down and I'm not ashamed to say I start to cry. For me, running has never been about fitness, it's been about overcoming the demons in my head. It's transposing the spiritual hardship we all go through into a physical context, squaring up to it and saying "Fuck you, I'm the boss today. You won't get the better of me."

I think of Dad, and wonder where he is and what's going on in his head. On the evening of that same Friday, Tom called me to tell me that he wasn't going to die, that he had come through the surgery and they were expecting a full recovery. I then called my Grandma to let her know that she wasn't going to bury her son that day. Before I could get anything out I just broke down on the phone to her, not able to say anything for what seemed like an age but was probably only sixty seconds. I don't think I've ever cried in front of Grandma and I'm not sure she knew what to do with a grown man bawling down the line to her.

Apparently when Dad opened his eyes he was told his sons we're thinking of him and he smiled before going back to sleep and it's that thought that comes back to me now. The last week has been by far the worst of my life, but he is awake now and starting to talk a little.

Dad was doing a cycle race from the top to the bottom of South America, and was going downhill when he hit a pothole and all of our lives changed forever. Nik flew out to see him and the reason I set up the tracking for me on this race is so that he can follow along with Dad and keep the family racing alive. To show that the Kissel's can be knocked but not beaten no matter how hard we fall. Nik sends me a message to tell me Dad is willing me on now that I'm nearly there.

We take the right turn and go down the hill. We hit the bottom then go over another little one and find ourselves running past the historic stone circle, along the lines of Stonehenge though not quite as majestic, and we're both pretty jubilant as we reach the town and various people are cheering us on.

We hit the final straight and the organisers actually pick up the banner normally reserved for the winner, Josh grabs my arm and we raise them to the sky as we grab the tape, eight six long miles done, our medals, and for me a huge amount of personal humility and respect for these fragile lives we live.

Dad, the day before the accident.

A week after the race I got in touch with Tim Mitchell, the Race Director, to talk about my medal. I was planning to get it cut up into three pieces, one each for you, Tom and Nik, but I wanted to get the official lanyards so I got in touch. I didn't explain why, and mentioned I wanted to pay for it and thought it may be forgotten as such plans usually are, but the very next day three more lanyards arrived in my mailbox. With a second medal. Tim had liked what I was doing and sent me a second one. The aftercare on this race was amazing to say the least (Thanks again Tim, you can see now why it meant so much). 

So, Dad, that's the end of my story, for now. At the time of writing most of this, it's a week further along. I'm currently on a plane nearly in Lima, Peru. I'll be honest, I'm very scared of what I'll find. Nik says it's okay now, that you feel better, but like Samson, you've has always been known for your hair and strength despite being a small man. I know it's going to be one of the hardest moments of my life to see you stripped of that.

I don't fully know what the future holds for our family, but I do know that we may have taken a tremendous knock but we will not be beaten. We will take this and make it something positive. As hard as this is I am doing my best to remember that flowers do grow through rubble. And when the times are dark, make sure you do, too.

For anyone else reading, if you've got this far, please, please go and tell your family you love them.

For you, Dad, I do love you.

Benjamin

Shuffling the Stour Valley Path 100

The start line. Photo courtesy of Matthew Hearne

"So let me get this straight. You're going to meet someone from the Internet who gave you a Google maps link to a bush in a field where you're going to wild camp, then in the morning you're going to run a hundred kilometres?"

"Well if you put it like that it sounds a lot worse..."

This was a conversation I had yesterday before leaving for Newmarket and the Stour Valley Path 100. Basically I booked into the race only three weeks or so ago, meaning no accommodation was realistically available, so I got in touch with Rich Cranswick (joint winner of the Thames Ring 250 race recently) who I know usually camps out before races and asked if he knew anywhere good. He did. Take a fork from the road and pitch up behind the hedge. The hedge was right by the main road and the horse races had just kicked out after a performance by Spandau Ballet so there was quite a lot of people going past the other side of the hedge which made for a paranoid couple of hours thinking I was getting moved on, but I managed to get a couple of hours of broken sleep over the night which is enough.

I made my way down to the start line, passing Rich's tenths arrived a fair bit after me, and repacked all my gear, trying to decide what to take and what not to.

Rich made his way down later so I got a chance to have a chat, not having actually met in person despite being Facebook friends for a couple of years. It's a funny world we live in...

He went off to put his clown suit on as he's sweeping for the day and I calmed my more-than-usual nerves and made a last minute pit stop. One thing about hedge camping is that, whilst it may be cheap, there's no crapper so I'm not sure I'm fully 'comfortable' now that I'm on the start line, but there's not a lot that can be done now so I put on a smile and get ready to crack on.

There is an interesting dynamic today with a seven o'clock start and a nine o'clock one too. The cut off is either fifteen and a half hours or thirteen and a half depending on start time and only the later ones are eligible for prizes. The bulk of us are here at seven, but we'll be seeing the rest later in the day.

I start off nearer the front of the field, in the first bunch. My quickest hundred is around thirteen hours, so I'm hoping to go under that today, meaning I would be either at the back of the late start or the front of this one. I definitely didn't want to cut it too fine in case something goes wrong so I'm starting in the early group. My plan is to try to go out at ten kilometres an hour, see how long I can hold that, ideally to half way, then use the buffer to drop that down by a kilometre an hour. Probably too ambition and likely to cause me pain but whatever. Go hard or go home.

The first section is a long straight past my hedge and I spend most of this pissing about with my watch, which has frozen just after I pressed go. I'm planning on relying on it for the navigation today so this is not a very good start. I press play on my phone as well so that I can still track and map through the day, but it'd be much easier if this damned watch would move off the screen that just says '5km' and nothing else.

It doesn't. As I'm running down the road I decide to just leave it and not bother so I can pay attention to what's going on around me. It's very easy these days to get caught up with technology and think that losing signal means your life is liable to end in the next five minutes when a black hole opens in front of you and teleports you back to the stone age. God forbid when you can't get a GPS ping on a Garmin at a goddamned start line! I can almost see Hades opening up and debate whether I should just give up and go home now. Oh no, wait, I'll just do what I came here to do and run. Bugger the Garmin I'll survive, just with a possible couple of extra bonus miles.

We get further down the main road we've started on, maybe a kilometre or so but it's hard to say as I was faffing with my watch, then the people in front of me disappear and I don't see where to.

A few seconds later I see a footpath sign and hang a left into the woods I didn't see were there. As it rained overnight the low brush and leaves wipe on my shoes and they're wet pretty quick. I was hoping for a dry race today, but it is what it is so I suck it up and hope to dry out later.

This is the first bit of actual trail for the race and follows along the Devil's Duke, a man-made structure that goes through the Suffolk countryside. Through the trees I occasionally get a glimpse of lots of fields around. It's still a bit misty from the night despite being a summer’s morning.

There are a few dog walkers out with smiles at the ready and I'm feeling in a good mood. Things have been a bit up and down of late with a few things going on personally, but have got a bit more stable so it's good to be where I am today and feeling good and ready for a day out on the trails. We'll see how long it lasts, though.

The Duke is very straight and cambers down sharply on both sides, meaning that in places it's a bit slippy with the wet from last night as well as sloping down. Not to mention I'm wearing my chunky GoRun Ultras which are terrible for proprioception and I'm already conscious of turning an ankle and ending my day before it's even started.

The path is generally fairly straight, though there is the odd little ditch to go through or a small curve as we go past golf Tees that seem to be set up on the path and a racecourse on the other side.

Before I know it, the first five kilometres are done. It's just slightly under half an hour in, so exactly on pace which is perfect. I feel pretty good as well, despite this being quite a quick pace by my standards.

There's still only a few people ahead of me, but a fee extra are getting past now, as the ones who are quicker and started a bit further back come through.

I get chatting with one guy who a barrel of beans and full of energy, introducing himself as Jason. We talk all things running and his energy is quite infection so puts my already good mood that little bit better.

We joke about the fact that there are so many cows on the course and that there have been some pretty scary reports of people being chased in recent weeks while doing recces. We also joke about the standard toilet stops and hope we don't need one, though I've something ominous on the horizon I think.

We joke, but I'm secretly a bit terrified.

The pace stays nice and keen and my new friends decides he's going to drop back for a walk for a bit. I carry on. A run/walk strategy is definitely a good one to employ early on in a race but it's not one I've ever tried so I decide to leave it and maybe try another day.

Soon enough I notice that I'm now ten kilometres into this thing and just under an hour. I'm still feeling good, though I can also feel the running I did earlier in the week so am hoping that won't take too much of a toll. For now, all is good.

The terrain has only been very miniscule undulations at points and mostly flat so great for some nice speedy miles. The sun is slowly starting to peek out and I can see it's likely to become a nice day and I'm not cold in my t-shirt anymore. Another guy catches up to me and I get chatting with him for a bit as well. He's done a few others and is quite tall, but has lost a stone since his last attempt so is hoping to do well today.

My feet suddenly feel really leaden and heavy weirdly. We find ourselves going through a muddy field that's just been ploughed and I realise the mud is stuck to my shoes. They're already massive, and with a bit of mud on them it feels like I'm carrying an extra kilogram or so. Once again, I'm wondering if this was actually the best shoe choice after all.

I try to keep the conversation going but I'm finding myself quite distracted by the mud so at the corner of the field tell him I need to stop to clear it. There is a signpost so I try to scrape and kick the mud off, but I only seem capable of kicking the post, hurting my foot and looking like I'm auditioning for last night's Spandau Ballet backing dancer. You know, the one who won a prize to perform but has the rhythm of a plank of wood. Yeah, that one.

Anyway, I get a bit of it off and look next to me to see the guy I'm running with stopped and scraping it out with a stick. Much more effective than my efforts. We set off again into another field to find we pick up even more mud to replace that which was lost.

We get through the next field and find ourselves on a more solid dirt path and I find a puddle. I soak my shoes in it to hopefully get rid of some more mud, but seem to succeed mainly in getting one shoe wet. Only one though. It's only ever one.

At the end of this path we pop out onto a road. There's a very clear sign pointing to our left that says 'footpath', so we take it. I'm a little wary though, as there have been bright green spray-paint markings at most turnings until now and there isn't any here. The post also only says 'footpath' rather than specifying it's part of the Stour Valley Path, which puts me a little on edge.

We talk about getting lost and the possibilities of doing so, but as my watch is bust I can't just quickly check. As we're both still a little nervous though I get my phone out, where I luckily backed up the map.

Thank God I did. We were supposed to go hard right not hard left. We've only gone about fifty metre or so when we realise this so promptly turn back and no harm done. It's always a massive relief when you avoid this sort of disaster so there is definitely absinthe share of nervous laughter shared.

As we're going along the road now, there are a few stones on the ground so we both try scraping along them to get more of the mud off, which is much more effective, but we still look like we're trying to learn a dance routine.

We're joined by another guy as well who is doing his first one of this distance but casually mentions he did the Country to acquittal earlier in the year in under seven hours. It took me nearly nine, so I've a feeling I'm going a bit fast and he's definitely playing it a bit safe today.

We cross a road and he goes on ahead. There's still an air of nerves around, of anyone who was in earshot. A few others have appeared behind us going a bit quicker and I move to the side to let one past. As he goes by he says hello and it turns out to be Jason.

It turns out him and a few others went wrong at the same place we did. Only difference was they carried on for half a mile longer. He's still smiling though so that's the main thing. After a couple more minutes he drops back down to a walk again and I potter on.

Fairly soon after we find ourselves still all in a group at a stile and as I go over I hear Jason shout out that there are cows and taking the piss that I'm scared of them. I laugh it off though, they're quite far away and it's a big field we're in. I definitely keep one eye on them though as you can never be too careful around those sneaky bastards.

Me and Jason

I make it to the other side of the field and we're on another road. A slight left turn and there is the first checkpoint. Everyone is dressed in bright yellow shirts so easily distinguishable and a massive cheer goes up as we approach.

I get my bottles out and before I can even look for a jug a woman has taken them from me. I grab a couple of cups of coke and realise I've not really eaten anything yet apart from one gel so get another cup of coke. There are some snacks too so I grab a mini scotch egg and the lady puts the bottles back into my bag. I've never had that level of service at an aid station before. As far as trail running goes this is as close to the royal treatment as you can get.

I decide to push my luck and ask for a toilet and to my surprise they even have that. It's a hidden one around the corner and the farmer next to it has to direct me, whereby I give him a multitude of thanks as my pit stop this morning was definitely unsatisfactory and has been bugging me for over an hour now. It's a flushing toilet as well rather than a portaloo. Proper luxury.

As I'm leaving back up to the gravel driveway Jason appears, still grinning. He asks if I feel better and I tell him the world is my oyster now. We plod on further again.

We're now about twenty kilometres in and still just under two hours so the pace is holding up about perfect. He's seeming a hell of a lot stronger than I am though and we talk about pacing.

Last year he did the race in over fourteen hours with a friend getting to halfway in five or six hours then slowing massively later on. Today he's planning on trying a similar strategy but without the slowing down. I tell him I'm also hoping for similar but don't offer to join him as I've a feeling he's going to tear ahead in the not too distant future.

He stops again and soon after I get chatting to another guy with a mohawk. It's his first race so when I ask him about pacing all he really cares about is being under fifteen and a half hours. He also knows the route well so it's handy to not have to worry about the directions for a few minutes, then he goes ahead.

As usual, Jason pops up behind again and passes me as we turn out of a field onto a road. He carries on slightly ahead then not long after I find myself catching him and mohawk man and they take a short walk. This time I stop and join them as I'm definitely starting to feel it in my legs and am wondering how long I'll hold this pace when I'm already losing time.

We keep the chat up, though, which keeps our spirits up. Jason whips out a bag of spuds. No, that’s not a euphemism. And it's certainly not the place for one either. No, I mean an actual bag of boiled new potatoes. He offers me one, to which I decline then instantly regret as I'm definitely feeling low on energy. Mohawk man takes one and when the bag swings back around my way I change my mind and grab one. It's bloody delicious.

We continue further for a minute or two then start running again only this time they carry on ahead rather than the other way around. I'm definitely feeling the fact that it's warmed up further, I've been going too fast and haven't eaten enough.

I decide to fix this. No point being an idiot. When you see a problem on an ultra you best fix it rather than hope for it to go away. So I take it a little easier and get out a Pepperami. I keep hearing these things are amazing for races, but have never tried them and finally remembered to get some this week. It's a pretty full on flavour, but easy to get down so definitely passes the test.

It still doesn't feel like much, so I get a Snickers and slowly make my way through that. It's a bit harder to get down being sugary, but I'm pleased when I finish it and am hoping it will help fix things again in a while.

I go through the hedge at the next field and see some people on the opposite side then off to my left is mohawk man. He's not looking fully sure and says it's this way, right? Pointing to our left. I'm unsure either way so go back to the hedge and find the post that points directly over the field so we opt to go that way.

It's quite rutted as it's clearly been ploughed in the last week or do and I wonder if this is the one someone was warning about online earlier in the week that the farmer had illegally ploughed the right of way.

Either way, we get to the other side with a couple more bits of mud in our shoes and are pleased to reach proper pathway again. Straight back onto more fields and we're away. He soon drops me as I'm really starting to feel it.

Thirty kilometres comes and goes and I’m five minutes over this time. Five minutes is something that could be easily regained, but I'm feeling fatigued and know that would be stupid. I can feel that if I push now I'll pay for it later. I can feel that I'm already going to pay for it later.

So I don't. I re-evaluate. I decide to keep a fairly steady pace for now, into the marathon point and see how I'm going after that. If I can get to forty in around an hour or so, the operative words being 'or so', then I'll be okay with that and then decide whether to pick things back up or not.

I plod on. I take angel to try to get myself out of the funk as I can feel my mood and motivation is going to drop but it doesn't work too well so I just put it out of my head for now and decide to ignore it for a while. It'll pass.

Soon enough I'm at the second checkpoint and as I arrive a roar goes up to prove that earlier wasn't a once off and they're just as accommodating as the first one. I grab more coke to try to give myself a very quick energy boost, downing about three cups of the stuff, have my bottles filled, then I'm on my way again, grabbing a couple of sandwiches as I go.

This checkpoint is in a country park and it's a really pretty one, especially with the sun out. Loads of families are out and about and again lots of supporters for the various runners. I fancy a sit down but quickly ignore that. I might be a bit fatigued but a sit down isn't needed currently.

Instead I start to walk on and see a woman coming out from a path off to the left. I've just asked directions and the route is definitely straight on. I'm confused. Then I see the sign to the toilets that way. Then I wonder if I should go. You can never be too careful and it's worth taking the opportunity whenever you can. But I don't need to go so leave it. Hopefully that's a wise move.

There is a quick move onto the road and there is a pair of women up ahead so I follow them as I start to eat my sandwiches. I quickly see this isn't going to be straightforward. The checkpoint staff cut them into quarters so with a peanut butter one and a cheese one that should give me some sustenance.

My first bite is the corner of crust from the peanut butter one. Get the hardest bit out of the way first, right? Wrong. As it's hot and dry out it almost instantly turns into a paste that sticks to the roof of my mouth. Consequently I spend thirty seconds gurning and trying to eat it, given me a lip smacking look on my face like I've just tasted a rancid fart.

Luckily no one is around though and I do manage to get it down and as I look ahead up the road I see the women stopped. Uh oh. No one around. Longer than usual stretch on road. Women stopped. We've gone wrong haven’t we?

I check the map, again annoyed my watch broke, and see we are lost by a few hundred metres. I try to wave the women down but I don't think they see. I turn and head back though as they've clearly realised the mistake.

It's only a few hundred metres but it's always a bit demoralising going wrong when you know you could have spent those few minutes getting closer to the finish line. I get back down the hill I went up and see a turning almost immediately after where we reached the road.

I turn down it and get back to the business of attempting to eat this damned sandwich. I can't be getting lost, I've got gurning to do! The women appear again behind me, chatting happily and it does remind me not to get too bothered about the minor detour. What's a few hundred metres between friends?

They reach me as I'm trying to swallow bite number two of the sandwich. As they pass me we joke about the detour and they tell me they did see me waving them down and that they were just hoping to go for the hundred mile option. I laugh as well and let them get on with it.

At this point I pass the forty kilometre mark and do so in a bit under four and a half hours. Yeah, that personal best is almost definitely out the window now. Oh wait, actually, when I did that I did a four forty five marathon, so I'm actually not too far behind. I spend the next two kilometres attempting to get that milestone done in that time and pretty much manage it exactly to the minute.

Then the wheels start to come off. The heat is increasing as it's now midday and as I'm going through multitudes of hay fields the heat is just bouncing back. I thought I'd be completely fine with the heat as I've just had a week in Cyprus. Guess not.

And these bloody sandwiches! I managed to get the peanut butter one down, but have now resorted to a swill of water to get them down in tiny bites. But I don't want to use too much water as the checkpoints are ten miles apart at this point so I'll need it. And now, because I don't feel that keen on it the cheese one is starting to taste like a hangover fart meaning even though it's more palatable than peanut butter I still don't want it.

One more swill of water and the sandwich is gone. Who would have thought I could make such a massive drama about one slice of bread and a bit of cheese and peanut butter. It did take me half an hour though. Wah wah, I'm so like a petulant child I have to laugh.

Seriously though, I feel pretty crap now. The last hour or so has seen my mood really dip and I'm wondering whether I should even bother. I have an eighty six miles race in two weekends and that's quite an important one I'd like to do well in.

So should I jack it in? I clearly went to hard earlier and I'm paying for it now, but is that a bad thing? I could just take it easy to the next checkpoint around fifty kilometres. Half way round then call it a day, be home early and stop wondering why the hell I'm doing this to myself.

The good thing about doing loads of races consecutively means that you build up a strong base and can easily get through most of them, not to mention the experience which is beyond important in these things. So I know I can carry on and finish. That's not really in doubt even this early.

The bad thing about doing so many consecutively is that you just don't care as much. Other people here today are doing this as their only big race of the year. Some of them will be vomiting and sitting in bushes. Some of them may even be so unlucky to do both at the same time, but they'll grit their teeth and crawl into a finish looking and feeling like a survivor from the Somme.

But on an individual basis, I just don't have to care. The pressure is not there on myself. That's a really good thing as it puts me in a very casual mind set where nothing can really faze me, but it's also a hard thing as I can just DNF this race right now, feel bad and guilty for a grand total of only two weeks before I can redeem myself in my own estimations at the Ridgeway 86.

But whilst we can find bad things in everything good, we can also find good things in everything bad. It's all admitted of perception and how we choose to look at something. Flowers can grow through rubble, as I learned the hard way after seeing my home, Christchurch, broken and destroyed by earthquakes and the subsequent resilience of its people.

So, yeah, I'm feeling terrible. Absolutely knackered. I'm massively fatigued, far more than I should he after only a marathon. But that's my fault for pushing too hard earlier. I can look at it that I'm a terrible runner and will never learn pacing so may as well jack it in, or I can take it as an opportunity for a walk and to look around me at the scenery I've not really been looking at. Remind myself that that is why I do this, to test myself and get out into nature.

Anyway, hippy, hippy, feelings, hippy feelings, blah blah.

I go through yet another field only this time there are a couple of undulations for a bit. I can see a couple of blokes ahead walking and chatting and figure since I'm feeling so terrible that I should just press on and catch them. Might lift my mood a bit. 

A few minutes later I'm next to them. It's mohawk man from earlier and another guy I've not noticed before. I just sort of linger a bit for a few minutes until eventually I join in the conversation. Turns out they've done the same as me and gone too hard in the early stages and are therefore paying for it now. With the sun starting to hammer down it's just adding to the delirium.

As we're all feeling the same we start talking about just taking a few minutes out to have a laugh and how we're all feeling a bit like giving up. A few minutes later we're all feeling a lot better just by airing the issues and talking about it. Kind of like a self-help group, but with less hippy and more running.

Turns out these guys know the route pretty well, which is a bit of a blessing as I can stop fretting and trying to work out exactly where I am for a while. After an indeterminate amount of time one of them mentions we should just stick together since we're all in a similar mood and thus far it looks like a good idea to me. Setting fast times are out the window, and one of them is on his first so just wants to keep it nice and easy to get to the end, so we're all happy with that.

They introduce themselves as Kev and Paul, Kev being the mohawk man from earlier only now with an actual moniker. Kev is the one doing his first race, but has done nearly the first forty miles of this one today as a recce run, and done bits of the rest as he's local. Paul is also local, living in one of the towns we've already passed through. He's also done a the Apocalypse 100 race, put on by Beyond |Marathon who did the 12 Labours of Hercules race I just did, so we get chatting about various races around the country and for the boys locally. It passes the time and still keeps increasing our moods.

It's not too much longer before we find ourselves being caught by some other runners who are clearly in a better place than us. Turns out it's two women Kev knows from the local club who are pretty surprised to see him but he just points out as we have been that he's just having a bit of a low patch. It'll pass. They're pretty bubbly, and their energy rubs off a bit so we figure we should run with them for a bit.

My head looking even more like a potato than usual. Photo courtesy of Amanda Dunn.

Kev falls back and keeps chatting and we all swap conversations back and forth quite a bit as we approach Long Melford, where apparently the third checkpoint is. I take their word for it and just follow along, enjoying the fact that after the break I'm feeling a bit better again. The women who've caught us are going at quite a clip so we really have to up the game a bit and as we go through the kilometre or so long stretch of the town various people say hello to whichever one of the group they recognise.

Through the town, we head right down an alleyway then pop out the other side at a cricket ground and the now usual raucous applause. Honestly I'm starting to feel like a rock star on this race. A big gulp down of three or four cups of coke and I eye up the food. Nothing looks appealing much, despite there being a fair bit to choose from. I get lingering flashbacks back to the sandpaper sandwiches and then see a few crisps and a pizza pocket. I've no idea what that is but it sounds good so I grab one just as Paul asks if I want to plod on walking. 

I do, and we can't see Kev so decide to just start walking and let him catch up, figuring he'll be talking to some locals. Gives us a chance to eat anyway. So we head through a bush into yet another field and start making our way off. It's a slow pace as we want to wait, but it's good to be in and out of the checkpoint within three or four minutes as it means those DNF demons stay at bay. Once you're out of a checkpoint it just seems pointless to go back so you can't drop out until the next one.

Neither of us are actually that bothered about doing so now anyway, having picked up our energy a bit. Kev catches us up again and we set off at a bit more of a running pace. The checkpoint has helped us all a bit and the boys start talking about the rest of the route, how far is left and what we all have between here and there.

Next up we'll be going past the town of Sudbury, where Kev is from, so there will be an unofficial stop there, then on to the next checkpoint. It's largely going to be flat apparently but with one bastard hill between the final two checkpoints. I tell them I like hills. To be honest I'm quite looking forward to them since I'm so terrible at pacing for the flat. 

Jesus, we look like shit. Photo courtesy of Amanda Dunn.

The guys are mentioning a fair bit about the local area as well, apparently we'll be going past some really nice places. By now I have absolutely no idea where in the hell I am as I've just been following them, so I'm pleased to have found a couple of tour guides. It's not long before we see Sudbury on the peripheral and soon enough we're pulling up outside a pub where all the local runners have turned out to see Kev and the rest of the team go past. A big roar comes up when they see him. Paul and I bask in the glory and slow down as he stops to say hello to everyone. We're not even at a checkpoint and we're getting a bigger welcome than on nearly all the races I’ve done this year.

As neither of us know anyone we slow down but end up plodding on as Paul notices a beer, mentions he has seen the beer on the table, is offered one then decides we should scarper before he stops right here and now. So we go through the gate and slow to a walk to allow Kev a few minutes to chat to his mates. Paul does notice he needs the toilet though and starts to rue not looking for one in the pub. A few minutes later he pops up again looking pretty chipper. Turns out he did accept some of the beer. Some pretty good self-restraint there having then moved on to find us.

Soon enough, it had to happen, the first of the nine o'clock runners passes us. He's whizzing along and we all joke that it can be quite demoralising, but in truth we’re all having a laugh and pottering along so it's not that much of a bother. It takes a few minutes before the next one arrives and we're again still walking.

We get to a point with a few woods which is a nice bit of a break from the heat as I'm proper starting to feel it now. Then out come the toilet stories. It's always got to happen at some point on an ultra, and Paul has it on the mind. He wants to stop at the next checkpoint and I'm thinking I will too just to be on the safe side. Thus follows a fair bit of detail on when and where toilet problems can happen and to whom. I'll spare you the details, dear reader, but it gives me a hell of a laugh I can tell you that for nothing.

We pop out the other side of the woods onto a hill and the sun is properly bearing down now. My poor little bald bonce is feeling it, which I mention. Kev mentions I'm definitely looking a bit pink, so I'm just hoping to get through to the evening without turning into too much more of a baked potato. Either way we get down to the bottom of the hill and back into a little bit of shade. Kev mentions his hip and knees are starting to feel sore, which I can completely understand being now about forty miles deep into this thing. 

We go through another churchyard, only this time Paul mentions he knows there's a tap here which we can use to cool off. We pass a couple of walkers who give us directions and say we're not far now, then we stop at the church. There is what looks like a wooden letterbox in the ground, which pull opens and pulls out a hose with a tap. How the hell he knew that was here I'll never know, but I'm not going to question it.

We all run our heads under it and it really does give my senses a kick in the teeth in a good way. Paul is last and kneels down to take a sip, then cramps up and collapses. His face contorts like Jim Carrey and some rather long expletive strings emanate from him. So much so, the walkers we just passed double back to view the show and wonder what's going on. After a couple of minutes it subsides, he gets up, and we carry on.

We take another bit of a walk and as another nine o'clock runner flies by we mention we should probably shuffle on. Thus begins a conversation about whether or not we're running, walking or shuffling. We settle on shuffling. As we're on a paved road now, and the guys mention we're nearly at the checkpoint the subject matter gets back down to business.

Paul: Guys, I'm definitely going to need a shit at the next one, hope you don't mind.

Me: Mate, I've no problem. I'll get a bit of food then will likely go as well.

Paul: Ben, I may need a bit of help pulling me off the toilet.

Me: I'll probably be too busy pulling myself off.

Kev: I don't know what you got up to in that tent last night, but that's not appropriate.

Me: ...

We change the topic.

A few minutes later we make it to the checkpoint and Paul makes a beeline for the bog inside the pub. I grab a bit of food and refill bottles while chugging coke. I'm still not feeling massively hungry and haven't been eating a huge amount so am just hoping the coke will be enough to keep me going. I doubt it will, but I hope I can catch the crash before it happens as well, so notice a bit of quiche, which looks solid and delicious. Most importantly, it doesn't look dry and it goes down a treat as I mumble to Kev I'm going to the toilet which shoving quiche in my face.

Paul comes out looking satisfied and lets me know someone else is in there, who takes quite a while before I can get in, so it's a few minutes before I can sit down. I tell you what, standing still is harder during an ultra than running and my legs are in agony by the time I'm in. 

When I get out two women beside the pub see me and shout my name. I look at them rather confused then they tell me the guys have started walking and to catch them up. As I'm thanking them and about to leave one of them mentions she has some suntan lotion and would I like some? Hells yeah. It's a bronzing lotion, so I wonder if I'm going to end up stripy but couldn't really care less right now. Said helpful woman then gets involved. Like I say, this race clearly goes above and beyond when even the spectators are willing to get involved and rub lotion into a random man's head. Well, at least the spectators go above and beyond what could be reasonably expected of them, that is.

I thank them profusely, then shuffle on to catch the boys up. After a few minutes I catch them in the distance, along with the man in sandals who dropped one in the bog before me. When I finally catch them, thus begins a conversation about running in sandals. Considering I'm wearing maximalist shoes, I'm definitely not in the camp of someone who is likely to ever wear a pair. Especially not as I'm incredibly freaked out by feet.

By the time I catch the boys they're ready for a little ultra-shuffle, so we get a wiggle on. For anyone unsure what an ultra-shuffle looks like, try to picture a cross between one of those weird race walkers and a catwalk model. Then throw in some scoliosis and you're in the ballpark. Picture the three of us now and try not to laugh.

The temperature has definitely cooled down which is good. Now that we're getting through things, we're all feeling a fair bit more fatigued, so there are points where one, two or all of us are in a grump, whingeing about a hip or knee like a little old lady. With scoliosis.

We get to a small town called Bures and Kev starts regaling us with stories of when he used to live here, and the fact that he played for the football team locally. He points out the roofs we tiled and other things he worked on, and it fast becomes apparent he's done most jobs in a lot of the local towns, so has little trinkets of info to keep us entertained and our minds off the hurting. It works.

Through the other side of Bures and we find ourselves back in the fields and along a road where we see '75k' spray painted. I get my phone out and note I'm currently two and a half kilometres over target. Pretty handy to know, though, as it's the sort of thing that can really piss a runner of when they're at the designated distance of a race to find out they have another five kilometres to go. Luckily, we won't have to go through that. Hopefully.

I think we all start to feel the fatigue creeping back in at this point. I start to go through the same motions I was earlier in the day, then out of nowhere start to get a mad panic. I have no idea why, but I suddenly start to think that twenty and a bit kilometres is far too far for me to carry on today and I need to quite right now and give up. I don't know what brings it on, but my heart rate goes up and I guess I'm having a minor bit of a panic attack. I keep a brave face on, though, and tell myself to shut the hell up and calm down. Slowly, I do. Well, that was a bit weird.

The soles of my feet are really starting to burn now as well. I don't know what has got into me, but they're absolutely on fire, despite the fact I've got the thickest shoes out of nearly all the runners here today. I guess I'm used to taking a bit more time rather than just continuing on with no stops. I suddenly realise that other than a couple of toilet stops I haven't sat down once.

Luckily, the boys aren't sharing my funk, so they keep the conversation going. I mention I'm going to need a little sit down at the next one and they both agree that's fine. I pop a gel to try to get myself through. I know that if I just slug it out for a bit longer to the next checkpoint, I'll be able to replenish both physically and mentally. So I put my head down and try to ignore the burning and just keep up with the boys, who seem to be in a good enough mood for a shuffle I can barely be bothered with any more. Which is a good thing. It means they keep me going. It means I don’t start a woe-is-me routine and just keep on getting the job done.

Woe is me.

I am, however, relieved when we make our way into Nayland and approximately the fifty mile mark, though we've got a couple more bonus miles showing. I go over to the gazebo and drop to the ground as there are no spare chairs around. I look up miserably at one of the volunteers who takes pity and grabs my bottles to fill. I stretch up enough to grab two cups of coke then I just lie back and put my feet in the air. It feels good to take the pressure off a little. Even if I do look like a dead dodo in a cartoon. Probably not a very good cartoon, mind.

I scrabble around for a couple more cups of coke and thank the volunteer who took pity on me, then stand and grab a couple of bites of food before going to sit on a rise on the side of the path a little more respectably. Kev has found another mate, and I'm pleased he has as it means I don't feel guilty for staying sitting and trying to catch my second wind. Or third. Whichever wind it is I'm on.

The time does come, though, where we need to move on. We thank the volunteers again then find ourselves faced with some steps up to a bridge over the river Stour.  Lotion lady from the last checkpoint is here and stops to talk to us, and I realise she actually knows Paul from the running club, which makes much more sense as to why she was willing to help me out. She'd gone to go get Kev some Paracetamol, which he gratefully receives, then we stand around chatting for a minute  or two before I guiltily ask if I can have some too. I pop a couple and hope they'll help with my sore soles.

The coke has definitely helped me feel a bit better, not to mention the break and I can run without anywhere near as much pain. The boys are mentally gearing up for the hill they refer to in whispers as Gravel Hill. Well, whispers and a fair bit of cussing. I'm pleased to finally be approaching a hill, the first decent one of the day. It'll give me a chance to rest my legs and feet and continue regaining my composure from the low energy I was experiencing before the checkpoint and I'm already chatting again. Both the guys mention it's good to have me back blabbing on with my inane drivel again and it's only now that it strikes me quite how quiet I must have got.

No more of that, though. We hang a left into a road and as we do I see a road sign saying Gravel Hill. Huh. It's actually called that. I thought they were just meaning it as a fabled nickname of a big hill. Paul mentions it's about a mile and I move into the fast hike with relish. As expected, the nonsensical babble starts flowing readily from me once more. It's only now, after the fact, that I can whinge in a proper British way. Now that I know the worry is over, as was the random panic that I couldn't finish. 

That said, even though I'm now only about eleven miles from the end, it's never quite over until I'm at the finish line. I learned that lesson hard on The Wall, DNF'ing with only ten kilometres to go. It's served as a constant reminder ever since to never ever get complacent no matter how close the finish may seem. 

But all that's out of my head now, I've got some shit to talk. Which I do. Profusely. Before I even know it we're at the top of the hill and I'm a bit gutted I've missed it not really paying much attention. The boys don't look particularly impressed by it either but we've taken the pace fairly conservatively so neither of them look like their worry and fears were founded as they seem happy enough to press on. Kev regales us with some more stories of playing for the local football team here as well, and some jobs he did here, and we start to wonder if this is really a race or just a tour of his old stomping grounds. To be fair, I don't think any of us really care that much. So long as one of us is talking about something we won't be thinking about what's going on.

Then again though, without any of us really mentioning it, it seems like there is something left hanging unspoken all of a sudden. I've no idea if they're noticing it as well, but for me it starts to feel like we're getting to the business end. Our pace start to pick up a bit. We start to manage it more consciously. One of us will mention we want a walk break, so we do for a minute or two. But then where before we were just leaving it, not after a couple of minutes someone (usually Paul) will ask around if we think it's time for another little shuffle, and off we wobble.

We keep that going. Still no one mentions it, but we know the end is there if only we want to take it. We keep up the pace into the next hill, which is a similar sort of level to Gravel Hill, and forces us into taking some good pacing strategy into play. This is my sort of pacing. The kind you don't have to think about. There are a couple more runners here or there now dotted about in front and behind us that we seem to be quite close together on leap frogging back and forth with. 

A new guy we haven't seen before, who is wearing an Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc shirt, catches us and asks us a bit more about what is left. He's finding it a bit trickier, despite clearly having done an extremely hard mountain hundred, simply because of the tighter cut off and expecting it to be flatter than it was. We all laugh about it too as we've been thinking the same. It's advertised as a fairly flat race, but there's definitely been a few odd lumps. No bother as far as I'm concerned, if anything the lumps, for me, have been a welcome respite and remind me I really must work out how to get better on the flat. We take another walk and he potters on.

After the third lump in a row Paul gleefully informs us that's all of the hills out of the way, the checkpoint is only around the corner and it'll be flat for the remainder. 

"Shuffle, boys?"

Damn tooting, we'll shuffle.

We get a wriggle on once more. Then we hit the maize field. This field is a bit of  legend in this race, so everyone looks forward to it on the day. One second you're in a normal field then you go through a hedge and you're in a maize field which is a good metre above your head. There is no path, you just have to know which way to go. 

Paul just plods on ahead and seems to know which way to go to exit the field correctly. I just follow him blindly, dodging through the odd row of corn here or there then out of nowhere it's all over and we exit the field just as abruptly as we entered it. Also, I have no idea how he managed it, but Paul has brought us out in exactly the right spot to exit the field. Not even one row of corn out. Uncanny.

As we're just about there, Kev's knee plays up, so Paul decides to go ahead briefly as his wife is at the checkpoint waiting and we're a bit later than we thought. I stick with Kev, happy to take a little walk and soon enough we're into the final checkpoint. We'd previously already decided that we were going to be straight in and out of this one. As there are a lot of others within a close proximity, including a lot of the nine o'clock starters closing the gap into the finish, it doesn't have the spaced out feel you normally get at this end of a race. 

That said, we have the advantage that Kev ran this only last weekend and knows its four point seven miles exactly and the fact that there are a few points to get lost now that darkness is closing. The final miles are most definitely not the ones you want to get lost on. They're the ones you are most likely to have a sense of humour failure and a tantrum. Once again, I'm really thankful for the fact that I met up with these guys on both a personal level as well as practical.

We meet Zena, Paul’s wife, briefly then get on our way after politely declining a generous offer of a coffee. The Paracetamol seems to have worked wonders, and despite the pace going up considerably between the last two checkpoints from the previous section, I really feel like I've got a lot of energy.

So we get cracking. We passed a couple of people in the checkpoint a minute ago and most of them are looking daunted by the five an a half miles they've been told they have left. We're not. We're kicking and ready. Team Shuffle are on the way. Look out. Not in any great hurry, but look out all the same.

We're wondering about head torches, just as Paul points out we're now in the Dedham Vale which is an official Area Of Natural Beauty (AONB). He also points out that during the day there are a lot of people here by the Stour as there is a lovely looking pub restaurant over the bridge with boats and everything. Right now it does look very inviting, but we've business to attend to. We see a few people ahead going what the guys think is the wrong way, or at least a longer way. We try to shout them back but they don't hear so we just have to keep going. We hit some woods over the other side and as we're going through them some people come at us from the other direction. 

A couple go past then others stop as we hit a trail intersection. They look very confused. I feel as bit confused as we all realise we're doing the same race so should be going the same way, then Paul and Kev come to the rescue and casually mention that we need to turn left here. One of the people who we've crossed paths with, I can't see who over the head torch pointed at us, very crossly exclaims that they've just come from there and we're wrong. I ignore her and go past, preferring to follow the guys’ advice, and not keen to annoy someone who is clearly annoyed at their situation and whether or not she's being led the wrong way.

Panic and anger turns to relief when everyone else follows us out of the woods, over a footbridge and into the field that is clearly the right path as we see a way mark. What was it I was just saying about not wanting to get lost in the latter stages? Everyone thanks us for leading them the right way now that they're clear on what's going on, but I try to point at the boys as it's definitely them who led us right, for once in a race I'm the one being the sheep.

As there were a few tree roots in there we decide we'll get our head torches out and as we stop to do so, the ten people we've just helped out of the woods promptly pass us. We're about fourteen hours deep now and far from a fast time though, so I don't think anyone in and around us cares in the slightest about finish positions, least of all the three of us in Team Shuffle, as we've now officially dubbed ourselves.

We regroup again and start talking about our game plan. Everyone around is a little unsure of how far is left, but with the boys being so familiar here things are a bit different for us. We're thinking it's about three miles or five kilometres left and we're keen to knock this one off. So we settle on the decision to push as hard as we can, while still being conservative enough to not jeopardise ourselves in any way. Like I say, you're never too close to fail until you're on the finish line.

There is another section through some fields and another guy who is clearly a nine o'clock starter catches us and Paul goes ahead a bit chatting to him. Kev's knee plays up a little so we take a bit of a walk. He's taken an uneven step and twanged it, so probably best to walk a minute or so now.

We then go around the side of a fence and find ourselves going beside the fence in a very narrow path with trees on the other side. It's also quite well rutted so care is most definitely needed here as we run on and eventually catch back up to Paul and the new guy, who turns out to be a Kiwi from Blenheim. I get chatting to him for a couple of minutes now, then as we take our next walk break he carries on. It's short lived though, as we again approach the end of a field and the footbridge out of it to find him and one or two others coming back the other way having missed the turn.

We press on further with the run and walk strategy. We're close enough now we can smell the finish and Paul points to some lights away from the fields in the distance and tells me that's the finish. We know the end of the path is only a couple of fields away, then it's about a mile on road to the end. We round a corner and Kev mentions that the Stour Valley Path officially ends where a couple of people are stood at the edge of the field. We get past them, thank them for their support and wriggle around their car then hit the road at a bit of a walk. 

We check in with Kev and decide that when he's ready, we'll try to run most of this final mile. He gives the all clear and we set off at one of the fastest paces we've seen for a few hours. A couple of people are behind us, and we decide we'd like to try to stay ahead of them, for not a lot more reason than to motivate ourselves. At the moment I'm in front leading the pace and I feel like I have a lot of energy. Even though the finish is right here, I actually feel like I'd like to carry on. That's good. I feel confident in the fact that I'll recover well and be good for the eighty six mile race I have in a couple of weeks. 

We get to a roundabout and aren't really sure which way to go. I get my phone out to check the map but it is still a bit confusing, though between Kev's memory and the map we work out to cross the road and go down to the residential area opposite. There are no markings around which we find a bit unnerving, but there is a sign at a T-junction saying there is a sports ground to the left. The guys say that's where we're going so we head down there, with the couple behind us in hot pursuit. 

We take a right turn at the next junction then can see lights further off to our right, behind that junction we weren't sure at. There is a side road but it doesn't look particularly inviting. We're a bit lost, I think. Kev says he thinks we're right to go down the side road so off we wobble and find ourselves outside the right sports ground but not at an entrance so we follow the fence along until we finally reach the car park and some confused looking people. Looking past them, though, we can see it finally.

The finish. We've come at it from completely the wrong direction, as we were supposed to go right at the T-junction, but it doesn't matter now and we're met with one final roaring applause as we go around the finish line and collect our medals and shirts, before our finishing photo. Obviously we opt to get one together rather than separate. Team Shuffle, bringing up the poo jokes since 2015. We came home a shade under fourteen and a half hours, which isn't quite the sub-thirteen I was expecting and hoping for, but as I found out earlier while keeping the pace I would need for that time, I'm much happier having slowed down to enjoy the day.

I quickly wolf down some chilli before getting a shower in a hurry. They're cold, which after a day in the sun is even more noticeable. I'll tell something for free, the sight of four naked men swearing, hopping and jiggling about in a shower as they rub their chaffed nuts and rip nipple tape off is a horrific sight I never wish to see again. The memory that I was one of them is even worse. I quickly pack up, thank the organiser and walk the mile and a half to the train station to head home as my slower time has left me cutting it very fine for time. I do make it, though, to find a couple of other people hobbling much worse than me. Like zombies, but at the train station.

On the train looking back on the day, I had a fabulous time. I'm so pleased I didn't try to keep up my stupid early pace. That was horrible and not really any fun at all. The organisation was slick. The volunteers were a true spectacle, a step above any I've experienced in any of the races I've done, not to mention the spectators. But I think my main thanks for the day has to go to Team Shuffle, Paul Buckle and Kev Stagg. Massive thanks to those boys for keeping me going so well and grinning all the way to the finish.

Tracking can be found here if you're interested in the stats.