CTS Stage 1: Suffering Suffolk

We're milling about, ready to go, and the race director tells us it's time. We all wander into the starting area. I say we, I mean everyone else does. I found the end of the start and finishing chute and am faced with a wall of runners. It turns out I was about to start the race running the wrong way. Wouldn't be the best start methinks. 

I walk up to them and turn around. It looks like I'm going to be starting the race at the sharp end. There are only about forty of us so not a large field. Normally Endurancelife allow slow marathon runners to start at the same time as the ultra, but today they are keeping us all separate, so it's just the forty of us on the line of the first race in the Coastal Trail Series. 

A bit chilly to begin with...

After a quick countdown we're off. I'm away in the lead. I'm winning the race. The first thing we have to do is run to the end of the field down one side of a fence, go through said fence and double back on ourselves to come down the other side of the same fence. 

We reach the end of the field and before going through the gate I bottle it. It was a quick cheap thrill leading the race, but it's too much pressure and I hang back and let the next person go through the gate first. There goes my race winning career, living and dying in those glorious/hideous twenty seconds. 

The Ruins of Greyfriars Abbey. Start and Finish line.

We go back down the other side of the fence and pass directly beside Greyfriars Friary. Or rather, the ruins of it. The event base is situated in and around the grounds of the old friary, still walled off at the same medieval boundaries but with only a ruin of a building in the middle. Still, it's a pretty amazing place to start a race, with the morning sun hinting just over the top of it. 

It's a pretty chilly morning today. I'm a bit nervous about my kit choice as I've opted for a minimal pack weight today, carrying the mandatory kit and nothing else. Normally I take a few extra supplies and layers 'just in case' they're needed. Normally I'm finishing in the dark though and the temperature changes considerably through the course of a race. 

Today it's only around thirty four miles, or fifty three kilometres. As we're starting at eight thirty, I'm figuring I'll be done by the mid-afternoon so am baking on the fact that the weather will beat up and not cool down again before I'm back. Because I haven't got any extra layers. And I hate getting cold in a race. It's a risk, but the forecast is thirteen degrees so a fairly safe one. Instead I've got a base layer, shirt, and really thin wind stopped on. I figure there is still likely to be a lot of wind given this is the first race of the Coastal Trail Series. 

We found the corner at the bottom of the head and head down into the town. I'm still up with the guys at the front and am surprised they're not going quicker. I guess I expected the front runners would just whizz off, but a group of three friends are just running along and chatting a few metres ahead of me. 

We come down onto the main road. Well, not really a main road, but the only road through the small town of Dunwich in Suffolk, East Anglia. We potter along here for a bit and another guy passes me, putting me into fifth position. I briefly toy in my head with the concept of trying to keep up with these guys for as long as possible. Then I remember I've only put in three solid weeks of training and am still well above the race weight I'm aiming for and decide that it would be a really stupid idea to try to stay with these guys. 

We head back onto trail and I still have the first group in my sights, although they are getting further away as another veteran passes me. We're mainly in forest now, and it's nice to get a chance to have a bit of space to move and not worry about the road and potential death of a car coming towards us. My legs loosen up a bit and I settle into a bit more of a rhythm. It's quite a long stretch but I still stay near the front of the field, only being passed by one more guy. 

Soon, however, any dreams I may have been pretending not to have of finishing well up the field disappear. As is normal, a few guys went off the front at the start. As is also normal, a main bunch of runners stays not too far behind and remain in a group for the first while. This is the group that now pass me. In the space of three hundred metres I go from sixth place down to sixteenth. I must admit I feel a bit more comfortable with this. It felt a bit weird being close to the front. Because I'm not particularly good at this running lark so it felt a bit like cheating and pretending to be a better runner than I am. 

My plan for this race leading up to the day was simply to get around the course in one piece. After an unsuccessful attempt at a hundred mile race in May, I ended up losing nearly all motivation and not doing hardly any running over the summer. All the weight I'd lost in the build up to that was put back on. All the speed and endurance I'd built up dissipated as well. 

So a month ago I entered the first five of ten in this series. They're mostly the same distance excepting a couple of longer ones. So not daunting distances. The thing that makes them tough is that, apart from a break at Christmas, they're all three weeks apart. So the challenge is going to be staying injury free and pushing through training deep into the weather of winter. If it all goes well I'll be entering the other five races in the series as well. Fingers crossed. 

We reach the next of the long straight through the forest and go through a kissing gate. As I leave it another runner steps on my heel and catches my shoe. I stumble a little, he apologised and I say not to worry. We stay together for a minute or so and I start up a conversation, saying that's it's a perfect day for it. He says it's lovely weather and that it looks like I dressed exactly right for it. I say it's the wind topper that I'm banking on and explain about the fact I've not brought extra today. He agrees we're unlikely to be needing it. 

We chat as we head out of the forest and over the marshland. We're swapping hard packed trail through the reeds for wooden walkways on a regular basis and the sun is really starting to show. It's absolutely perfect conditions. Couldn't ask for better. As the ground underfoot isn't too dodgy here I get the chance to look up around me and survey the scenery. The whole area is a protected sanctuary for birds (RSPB) and I can't remember us passing a single road in the five kilometres or so we've already done today. It's fabulous looking out and hearing nothing but the wind in the reeds and the occasional birdsong as they fly away into the distance. 

We head closer and closer in to the coast, until we're only a path away, then we're down on it. There is mainly sand down here with a few pebbles. It's not too soft though so we can still get a bit of pace going rather than just having to trudge through the sand, which I'm glad not to have to be doing so early on. It's not a large section, only about a kilometre on the sand before we reach the inlet and are sent back up the beach to solid ground. It's been pleasant getting to hear the waves gently crashing but I'm glad to have hard ground underfoot again all the same. 

I cross a small wooden bridge and I'm at the first checkpoint. I dib my timing chip into the little machine, grin and thank the volunteer. As a last thought I ask him how far we are as it feels fairly quick to be having a checkpoint. He lets out an 'ooh, ah...' And I laugh and tell him not to worry. Not far enough is the right answer.

I head over to the inlet of the River Blyth and turn inland. The path here is solid as we head out over the marshland. For kilometres to my left are reeds waving in the wind. To my right, over the small river, is the same. There's a very old lighthouse directly over the river from me and in the distance is a ruin of some long lost building. 

I head up the path alone, but with other runners not too far in the distance as the ruin gets nearer. The sound of the ocean mixed with the reeds in the wind as the sight of the bright blue sky wakes up ready for the day is divine. 

The path is not particularly wide here and another runner comes up behind me. I move to one side briefly but they don't pass so I go back to the middle of the path. I look behind a few times to try to catch sight of him but we're still moving at quite an acceptable clip. After five hundred metres of so I give up and stop worrying about him, leaving the onus on him to move past if he wants. He doesn't, he just stays about a foot behind me. I briefly contemplate getting silently annoyed that this person is using me to pace them, not to mention following far too closely without either passing or starting a conversation, but decide it's not worth the effort on such a lovely day and choose to just ignore them instead. At this point I also notice I have a hot spot building up and start to wonder if it's going to turn into a blister and subsequently a problem. I decide to wait a bit too see if it gets any better. 

The path gets about three kilometres inland then takes a sharp left to head out across the marsh that way. As I reach the bend I see we are just following the curve of the river and the path takes several of these bends over the next couple of kilometres, giving different views of different parts of the marsh. My hair is starting to adjust a little to the hot spot and I'm starting to think it may not be one of the ones that goes away. 

Soon enough we reach the edge of the marsh and go through a gate to leave it. At this point the woman decides to pass me. Clearly I wasn't taking very detailed glances behind me given that I didn't realise her gender. She mentions it's a nice day and I agree. We make some small talk about which direction we should go and she carries on ahead. It's nice not to have her following so closely though I must admit. We cross a boggy section of path that's just a bit too big and my right shoe sinks quite deeply down into it. I joke that I'd hoped to keep my socks dry and she laughs as she's heading off ahead of me. 

We follow a few country roads and intersperse them with paths across farmers’ fields. It's nice having a change of scenery every three or four minutes and really breaks this section down to small parts in a way to long winding paths of the marsh didn't. It's not necessarily any better, just different, which is exactly what you want in an event like this. I do notice at this point another difference in that the hot spot definitely feels like it is now a blister and needs some attention soon if I'm to avoid it becoming a more serious issue. I resolve to stop and fix it the next chance I get to sit down properly and attend to it, figuring I'll do a better job of it if I can sit down and clean it. 

I go through another gate and head over another field. There is a ditch running across it and no walking bridge that I can see so I take a run up and leap over. It's close but I clear it. I'm feeling smug with myself when I come up on another ditch with shiny big water glinting up at me. This one is wider and less simple to clear. I briefly debate going further up but it doesn't look like anywhere else is going to be any better so I just leap in...and land up over the ankle in the bog. I get out the other side and carry on. 

I realise that it was my left foot that's just gone in the bog. The one with the blister I'm hoping to sort out. That's now seeming a much trickier prospect than before as it’s sopping wet. Bugger. I move further along the trail, through a get and into what looks like a car park. I realise I've come full circle back to the first checkpoint. 

I run up to them and ask if I can borrow their camp chair a moment. The volunteer says it's fine and I take a seat. I undo my muddy gaiter, pull my shoe off and peel the soppy socks off as well. It doesn't look too good. I clean it as best I can and get a Compeed out of my bag. It's not exactly fresh, having been caught in my bag by a burst gel, but it's going to have to do. I put it on and give it a few seconds to bond before rolling my sock up and taking my leave. 

Another runner has just passed through and I start chatting with him. He'd like to do quite a few of the races but is out of the country a lot of the time for some reason. Just as we're starting to get it moving and have a good conversation, I realise the blister has come off. It's lasted all of two minutes. I apologise and let him carry on ahead. 

I lean against a fence and go through the same ritual. The Compeed has come completely unstuck and is almost pointless so I grab the other one, also caught by the burst gel last week, and apply it. This time I do my best to clean the area first, but can tell it's an impossible task just as it was a few minutes ago. A pair of runners go by in the meantime. Eventually I put the plaster on, stick the other one over the top to try to help it stick, hoping the fact it's pretty wet doesn't just ruin both of them, and carry on my way. It still doesn't feel like it will hold, but may have to do. 

I'm pretty annoyed with my bad luck of falling in the bog water at such a bad time and head off again at quite a clip. I'm back dipping in and out of the forest now so again it's nice to have some variation, but the blister issue has knocked me a bit, having cost me a few minutes and still not feeling like it’s only going to hold for a short period. And I'm out of Compeed plasters. 

There's a fair bit of weaving in and out for a while until I reach a bit of a straight. As far as I can tell the plaster is holding but I'm starting to wonder how long for. I decide to throw a last resort solution at it. I stop. I sit down on the wet ground. I open my bag and pull out the fabric strapping. I check the plasters and they are holding but don't look too secure so I strap them up as best I can to secure them in place. 

As I'm doing this about ten other runners go by. There goes my hopes of finishing in a vaguely respectable position and I start to wonder if I'm now in last place. I hope not. It wouldn't be the end of the world but I thought I was doing a bit better than that. Most of them ask if I'm okay. I reply to all that it's just a blister. The first guy says with a grin that it's never just a blister. I laugh as he goes by. I wait for the rest of the field then pack up and head off myself, fairly demoralised. 

I'm also feeling quite tired and check my distance. I'm still only half a marathon in so shouldn't really be feeling tired at this point. Weird. It's been dead flat so I can't blame tiredness on a head course. I guess maybe it's just not my day today. I carry, or rather plod, onwards. It stays fairly straight for a few kilometres at this point with nary a turn so it really is just a matter of putting my head down and trying to get some easy miles in. Occasionally the odd marathoner passes and I wonder how many, if any, of the ones earlier were in the marathon rather than the ultra. 

At some point I pass a woman at a kissing gate who informs me the checkpoint is over the road and make a joke that at least it not raining for her standing here in the cold, which she politely laughs at. I often wonder whether there is much point in these silly jokes. The jokes themselves from a runner are usually immensely mundane and never funny and the checkpoint staff always laugh more than they need to in an effort to help boost the spirits of this retarded runner who can barely move attempting to make an abysmal funny. It's great for the runners as it gives them some human interaction and boosts their ego. I'm never quite sure what the volunteers get out of it, though, other than a string of banal jokes that make you question the intelligence of the nation. 

After what seems an age I turn a bend and see another long straight up to a road. It's nice as it does break it up a bit even if gradual inclines are a pain in the arse. Not quite big enough to justify walking but not enough to run without raising your heart rate slightly and having a panic you're struggling until you realise it's due to the incline. 

I reach the road and cross when the marshal tells me I can. I ask if I need to dib my timing chip and he looks confused. I ask again as I'm passing and he looks confused then decides to laugh it off, saying 'I don't know, maybe', followed by a jovial laugh. I presume I don't need to, then. I continue on. 

There's another lengthy straight and I'm suddenly passed by a rocket. This guy is hammering it and fast. He's followed not far behind by another guy at breakneck speed. Either I've joined the ten kilometre race route, or I'm going a damn sight slower than I thought I was. The second guy shouts 'runner on your right', before passing. Well, he sounds like a ten kilometre runner. After he passes, he says thank you. Now he sounds the same, but a trail runner rather than a road runner, who'd be more likely to punch me than thank me (that's not a stereotype, I really got punched in the guts by one for not moving off a footpath into a bush just last week). When the third guy goes past, or rather stops at a gate and I get more than two seconds to do so, I ask if they are doing the ten kilometre race. He confirms with a 'yup', then zooms off. 

The straight carries on for quite a while, punctuated by a slight bend before another long straight over some brushy area and eventually, as I'm being passed by another group, they turn down a sharp left and I carry on deeper into the forest. It suddenly becomes a lot less busy and, whilst it was nice to be around other people, their energy was very different to how I'm feeling plodding along so it's old to get back to that. 

I see almost no one for the next hour as I again just put my head down to try to get some more kilometres in while my legs aren't feeling like the tendons want to ping off. The good thing about such a flat course is that you can really get some speed in. The bad thing about such a flat course is also that you can really get some speed in. Hills break the day up a lot more and I do find I'm much better at performing on hills than on the flat. Today seems to be getting a bit monotonous, but that's largely due to how I'm going about it than anything else. I try to break myself out of my funk but don't have a huge amount of luck at it. 

Eventually, at about thirty five kilometres in, I reach the coast again. A quick glance to my right reveals the nuclear power station bizarrely placed in the middle of this sanctuary. I turn left though and head down the track off the side of the beach. 

At this point I start to feel a bit ill. I normally try to just eat normal food when racing but as I know the checkpoints here are only stocked with jelly babies and it's a short enough distance I've opted today to go for just gels. They're easier to carry and I find they only tend to give real problems on longer distance. But as I approach the part of the path where it meets the actual sand I suddenly just feel ill. Not insurmountable, but enough to be a pain in the jaxy. 

As I'm just hitting the sandy but it slows me to a walk for a second, then I see a grassy verge to the side and head for that. It's a pyrrhic victory though as it last all of five metres before heading back onto the sandy path. 

The next section is interspersed with equal parts sand and pebbles, with a dash of actual path thrown in for good measure. It's not too bad but I can already hear people back at the finish complaining that it's 'brutal' or 'unforgiving'. I'm finding it okay, but then I reach a stretch that goes on forever of pebbles and start to wonder if I'm wrong. I'm getting flashbacks to the Portland, Dorset race in the Coastal Trail Series in December 2010. My first ever race. There was a section, done twice, running up the pebbles of Chesil Beach for a couple of kilometres. Now that was agony. So I decide to run the pebbles today and in truth they're quite small so not hard to run on. I'm still feeling a bit grim but am mentally trying to put that to the side for a minute or two. Then after only a couple of hundred metres, I'm diverted off to a path on the side, away from the pebbles. And I was just getting used to them...

There is now a dead straight path on a slight rise with the sea dropping down to one side and Minsmere nature reserve to the other, with birds swilling around in the sky. Ahead is a small hill and I wonder if this is the one with a tricky turn mentioned in the race briefing? I reach its base and take my first proper walk of the day up it. At the top is the coastguard museum of Dunwich Heath, but just before it I find the tricky turn, which is actually well signed and not too hard to find. Ahead I see an ablutions block, and whilst I don't actually need to go, it's a good excuse for a quick rest so I decide to use it anyway. 

After that I take a short walk over to the clearing with the checkpoint and dib in. I'm just grabbing some jelly babies when the guy who I was running with earlier, near the beginning, pipes up. It's nice to see a friendly face, so I set off with him, although am puzzled why I've caught him until I realise he's done another loop of the ten kilometre route so is at the final checkpoint on his way to the finish whilst I still have another lap to go. I guess I must have really fallen behind if I'm getting lapped. He says the route is really quite nice, missing the nasty beach altogether and I decide to slow down and let him go off with a grin. Still, it was nice to chat and has raised my spirits a bit. The slight nausea seems to have been resolved by the short break as well. 

I'm on a path through brush which then suddenly narrows to little more than an animal track. An animal track with brambles at head height. I laugh it off and brush through them though to open out on another section of the same, but with the brambles at a more respectable shin height. They scratch and claw at my bare legs but I don't mind, seeing it more as a good thing I can still feel them at close to a marathon into the race. 

The path reaches back into the forest and wends its way around some trees. There is a lot of hubbub now as there are supporters cheering, marathon finishers, ultra finishers and ultra stragglers such as myself all mixed in together showing various degrees of pain and elation. As I've still got another lap I try not to get too caught up in it, knowing I'll just come crashing down again when I head off for my final lap. I pass the one mile to go sign and resolve to keep the pace up until the turn off and do exactly that, passing a few stragglers from the lesser distances. I reach the finishing chute and am cheered on by people telling me I've done well. I grin and thank them, choosing to appreciate the generous friendliness rather than throwing it back at them by pointing out they shouldn't clap as I'm nowhere near done. It's kind of people to be cheering for everyone rather than just their own friends and family so I grin and say thanks. 

I reach the turn off to finish but instead take the path to the right, down into the town on pavement and following it along the same road I was at five hours ago. I reach the end of it, however, and instead of heading off toward to the marshes of Minsmere, I go straight up the farm track following the signs for the ten kilometre route. It's a long straight. It's a very gradual incline. I'm knackered. But I push on. The hustle and bustle of the finish area is gone and I'm back on my own, with only my own mind to allow me to push on ahead of slow down and give up. 

I take a short walk up the small gradient. I think back on the day. It hasn't gone perfectly, what with the blister issues and feeling tired and lethargic at other points. But then at the same time I've not taken any walking breaks until now really, which is definitely a positive. Given the fact that it's been almost as flat as a pancake I would have hoped to bring it home in under six hours, but that's definitely not going to happen now. Not the greatest start to the series, but with only three weeks training after a lazy summer putting on weight it could certainly be a lot worse. 

Anyway, enough of that, I need to get to the finish. I pick the pace back up to a run and take a left turn up another long straight with a gradient to a road and recognise it as the one with the man who didn't understand me earlier. I slowly plod on until I reach him, this time opting for a grin and a thank you before continuing on my way. 

Past the farm on the right, through the gates where I met the speedy runners earlier and over through the brushy fields the same as before. Some people can't stand running the same section more than once, but I don't mind it. Mentally it gives me a little boost knowing what's coming up and what I can expect, although this part is pretty flat and straight. 

I soon see a runner at a crossroads up ahead walking around and staring at the ground around him and looking a little confused. I can't tell if he's lost something or just feeling fatigued, especially as he's coming towards me, so as I approach I ask him if he's okay. He looks at me as if I've just insulted his mother and says in a haughty voice that yes, he's fine. I've clearly misread him so turn right down the path to leave. 

I'm confused though. His race number said he was doing the ultra, so I don't understand why he was coming towards me from the opposite side of the path at the crossroads. I stop. I turn around and look back at him as he disappears down the opposite side of the crossroads, both of us now having come from opposite directions to take right turns and leave in opposite directions. Have I gone the wrong way? Has he? 

I see another runner come out from the direction he's come from and realise this must be where two completely separate parts of the path meet and diverge at the same time. The new guys sees me and seems to recognise me. He grins wide and shouts out a well done and congratulates me on nearly being finished. As I've no idea what's going on I'm unsure if he's a few kilometres ahead of me of me him, but either way I grin and shout back he's looking strong as well. He maybe just recognised my garish shorts? 

It's nice to have seen some other runners if briefly but I'm now back to my own devices through a more dense section of forest, still familiar, and still long and straight so I'm pleased to turn off through the forest on the sharp turn I saw people go down earlier. It also signifies that I'm hopefully only a couple of kilometres from the final checkpoint. 

I'm now on a stretch through what looks like a logging forest, with some lovely great trees booming up above me. There's no one around, all I can hear is the crunch of my sodden shoes on the autumn leaves below and a gentle breeze through the woods. I'm knackered, but this is pretty marvellous. 

Soon enough I reach the edge of the trees at the base of a small hill and turn right around it rather than going up it. By now I'm checking how far I've gone on a fairly regular basis. I'm guessing that I should hit the final checkpoint around fifty kilometres in and I'm now at forty eight. I mentally resolve myself to run the entirety of the final stretch with no walking breaks as I've taken a couple of short ones on this back section of forest. 

I sense I'm getting nearer as I'm still at the base of this hill and am starting to think that it's the same one the checkpoint is on the top of at the coast. It seems I'm in a part of the forest set up for kids as there are a number of educational signs out to let people know what is around the area and the types of plants. I don't stop to check them...

I'm just past forty nine kilometres and mentally looking forward to the boost of seeing the checkpoint, although it's been a lovely stretch of forest I'll be sad to leave. Out of nowhere though I pop out into the open and up some steps over a track. The same track I was at earlier with the beach on the opposite side and all of a sudden I'm walking up the hill to the checkpoint. 

This time I don't get any supplies I just dib in and continue. Now for the final push to the end. I go up the familiar track through the brush followed by the narrow one through the same brush. This time there are a lot of walkers, some of whom I saw earlier with a couple of dogs. They move aside and I go past, passing a couple of marathoners not too far from finishing. The doc gets stuck on the other side of me though and runs away in the opposite direction of its owner barking scared of me. Eventually it gets past so I can carry on my merry way. 

I'm out of the brush and back in the forest. I'm still holding fast and running. I reach the road and this time there are a couple of people standing there who ask if I'm still doing the race. I am indeed, I shout back, albeit a little upset that I'm so slow they aren't sure if the race is finished. Nae bother, though. 

I push past through someone else who's clearly just finished the race walking in the opposite direction who grins and applauds for me as I go by. I pass the 'one mile to go' sign and turn down the dirt road leading through the few houses in the town, all very posh. A local man is walking past in the opposite direction carrying some of the biggest mushrooms I've ever seen. 

I head back into the forest, this time Greyfriars Wood, signifying I'm just about there. I crunch through the final leaves and through the gate to do a lap around the edge of the field, then straight down the centre of it. Past the abbey ruins and double back to cross the line, collect my medal and take a seat on the grass with the sun beating down on me. 

I look back on the day. I feel I could have done better but with the short period of training it feels about right. I'm twenty eighth of thirty three finishers, forty starters. So considerably lower than I would have hoped as if like to have been in the top half of the field, but there is a lot more work I can do before the next one to improve. Plus there'll be hills next time, which I'm better suited to than the flat. On the plus side I don't feel like I pushed my body too hard, so will be back training in a day or two and gearing up for the next one in three weeks. Not to mention the fact I went into this one days after a bad cold took me out and affected my training, so I'll hopefully be at full strength then.

So there we have it. The first race of the series down. Four to go that I've entered. All going to plan, I'll be feeling stronger then than I do now and will enter the final five of the series and complete all ten. Can I do it? I don't know, but right now I'm feeling like I can...we'll see after I've finished at the Gower one. 

Here's the tracking as well:

Wealden Waters: Why I Bailed and Why I'm Smug About It

I arrive at the Hawkenbury Recreation Ground in Tunbridge Wells and as expected things are pretty low key. There's just a couple of elderly people manning the registration desk and that's it. I start by giving them the clip card of the competitor I've found about a hundred metres up the road and hope to god the runner or walker realised early and comes back to collect it. I register, take a quick loo break then tell them I'm heading off on my own at eleven forty. It's a staggered start from ten until twelve in the morning so depending on how fast you think you'll be you can just turn up when you feel like and go. 

Just as I'm about to set off I bump into Jerry Smallwood and say hello. He's not feeling the greatest so is considering dropping so I suggest maybe dropping down to the marathon instead and he heads over to register and decide what he's going to do. I set off. 

Down the road and I hang a left down the hill and at the bottom find the first turn off, a small paved footpath into the woods. This event is self navigating so I'm a bit petrified of getting lost. I'm pretty pleased to have successfully navigated the first turn. 

I'm into the woods and the incredibly detailed fourteen page route description has me hanging a right on a faint footpath into the woods. I go past a faint footpath but think it's just a little too faint so carry on. Shortly after I wonder if I was wrong to do that and run back. I follow the faint path. The faint path goes nowhere so I go back and shortly after find the correct faint path and follow that instead. Maybe I should hold off on being quite so smug. I also feel a hot spot from a blister last week and remind myself not to be smug about that either. 

Straight away we're going through the back of fields through farmland and straight away this doesn't feel like your average trail race. There is no tape hanging off trees and no nervous runners about. There's just me in the wilderness. I like it. 

About a kilometre further of weaving and jiving through the trees and I come across another runner coming back the other way looking distraught. I ask him if we've gone the wrong way and he asks if I've seen a page of the route description. I tell him I have and that I've handed it in at the start as that's where he dropped it. 

His jaw drops. He's a little incredulous. Then he realises there's nothing he can really do about it, puts his game face on, thanks me several times for finding it and confirming it's at least safe and heads back grimly determined. 

I carry on and it's already starting to get swelteringly hot, being close to thirty degrees at least so I'm definitely feeling it. There are a few stop and start points where I'm not one hundred percent sure which way to go but the route description is so detailed it's actually quite hard to get lost if you reread the bit that you're on. 

I try to make sure I take on a fair bit of fluid as I'm conscious of not getting dehydrated. I pull out my buff and wrap it around my wrist so that I can wipe the sweat away but after only a few minutes having it there it starts to piss me off so I shove it in my back pocket. I'm wearing my work top (a cycle jersey with SportPursuit branding) so have back pockets that I've shoved food into one pocket, phone in another and have a spare in the middle so pop the buff in there. I then sip the shirt down as low as I can to try to let some air in and avoid overheating. It's going to be hot out today, real hot for Britain and a bunch of people who can't really handle it. 

I pass through the small town of Frant and head down a narrow path into Eridge Old Park. It's a lot of ducking and diving under branches and there are a lot of gnarled roots jutting up out of the ground at me. At the last minute I decided to wear my Skechers GoRun Ultra shoes, which are lovely and squishy but so thick it's incredibly easy to roll and ankle so I come very close to doing so through this downhill section and remind myself to be careful. 

I also feel that hot spot rearing it's ugly head so stop, sit down and remove my shoes and socks. The current plasters come away with my socks and I realise it's no wonder that I can feel it. That'll teach me for being cheap and using the supermarket ones. I pull out a compeed which luckily goes on without hassle and am on my way. It still feels hot but hopefully will get better once the compeed starts to work it's magic. 

I next move through a field and suddenly notice some of the dreaded monsters are in the field with me. Cows. Now anyone that knows me knows I've got a love/hate relationship with them. Actually it's a hate/hate relationship. Having been chased more than once I'm very wary but today they're so busy trying not to move and stay cool they couldn't care less about me. Suits me. 

I burst out of the forest into a field and head across it. There is supposed to be a footbridge to the right but I can't see it, just a ditch so I go through it and nearly cover myself in mud. I turn back thinking I've gone wrong and eventually find a hidden footbridge to the right of me. Bugger. Across the next field, pop a couple of cherry tomatoes in my mouth (my super food) and through the gate. 

I move on into a deer park with a track that looks as if you'd drive down on safari and move eventually past a lovely lake to cross a couple of footbridges and jump some ditches. Hit the road for two hundred and fifty metres then head up a private road to a farm. There is a woman hosing her horse down, I say hello and move on into her back field. Past some more farms, down some country lanes and find Stitches farm. There is supposed to be a right turn through a gate here but I can't see one. I've passed a woman of about seventy five who mumbles something about needing to go thirty metres past Stitches. I look ahead and see the white weatherboard house I was looking for rather than the one with Stitches on the sign and boss up there. Just past it I find the turn off, jump the stile and knock on down the hill with a fantastic view of the Kentish countryside beaming back at me. It's absolutely stunning scenery so far and I'm barely even ten kilometres in. 

Go round two sides of a crop, through some brambles to scratch my legs, find a young wood with some saplings to weave through. What goes down must go up again though so next up is a pretty steady climb through a couple more fields separated by a hedge until I, gasping, arrive at the road. I cross over, go through a gate and find myself at the first checkpoint in Boarshead. 

I fill up both my water bottles, guzzle half of one and refill. I then grab a quarter of a pork pie, a piece of buttery Soreen loaf and carry on shouting out my thanks to the jovial ticket clipper man and run up the next hill chewing away on my food. I'm not really feeling hungry and don't want to eat anything but know that I desperately need to if I want to avoid collapsing so force it down. It's not enough food but will keep the reserves going for now at least. 

We now spend a bit of time in open fields on the top of the hills. There is no respite at all from the sun and it really hammers down into me. I start to struggle and as I've just guzzled close to half a litre of water and not really eaten enough the combination of those factors makes me feel nauseous. I know it will pass though and just take a walking break to let it pass a bit and mentally tell myself I need to slow the pace down even despite how slowly I'm going already. Through past a tennis court and there is a brief moment through a wood which is bliss to get thirty seconds out of the direct sunlight. Downhill to the road and it's a very busy one. There are a lot of cars coming but I see a small gap and sprint as fast as I can through it. On the other side I realise that was pretty stupid considering how light headed I'm feeling and I thank my lucky stars I didn't faint on the road. 

I pass a couple of walkers who jokingly wonder how I got across the road so fast, as I go by and disappear into the woods further downhill. I pass a country house and its friendly owner and marvel at how fancy the place looks, with a big gate into a courtyard with an old stable and massive house, not to mention the immaculate garden all in the middle of nowhere and become mildly jealous of the people who can live out here in the forest. 

I reach a field and hope beyond all hope I don't have to go directly across it and luckily see a waymark post directing me down into a ditch running parallel through the trees lining the field and at the end pop out on another track to bear on down to the bottom of the gully where there are a couple of people looking unsure where to go. I turn right up the next hill and drag both hands beside me along the waist high wheat growing in the field I'm passing directly through. 

I reach the top of the field and a couple of walkers are unsure if we're taking the right path. I say I think we probably are and offer to run ahead to find out. I get to the corner of the field and see another wheat field but no waymark. I shout out that I'm going to go this way all the same. The wheat brushes against me until I reach the finger post at the far side and shout back that it's the correct way. I'm not sure if they hear me. I'm also not sure if they'd trust me even if they had. I don't care I'm having fun getting delirious and frolicking in a wheat field. Haters gonna hate. 

I move back down the other side of the hill along the side of more fields. At this point I catch up to another runner, the first I've seen. He stays ahead of me for a while but then on the other side of a footbridge he stops for a drink, I say hello and we carry on together. It turns out he has the North Downs Way 100 in a couple of weeks so we get to chatting about Centurion and the other races we've each done. He's done quite a few of the overseas stage races which I'm sure most trail runners would love to do but don't necessarily have the cash to manage. I had wondered if I'd meet any other runners and end up chatting away so it is nice to after nearly two hours solo. 

We carry on talking and then CRACK he takes himself out on a low hanging branch and goes down like a sack of spuds. I manage to catch him and break some of the fall as he lies on the ground swearing. I'm a bit worried as combined with the heat a concussion would lead to a lot of vomiting, dehydration and a hell of a bad day for him. Luckily after a couple of minutes he manages to sit up and then even stand up and we're away again, me following behind slightly concerned. 

Soon enough we reach the first drinks stop which is a table behind a car boot but does the job to fill our water bottle and the friendly volunteers tell us that we turn left down the driveway at the house for the hundred route and carry on for the marathon route. I must admit I'm tempted but boss it on down the drive all the same, shouting hello to the couple of walkers I pass and leaving my new friend at the drinks stop. 

Through a few paths and round a few trees and I look at the route description that says to cross the track and beware cyclists. I've no idea why but I scoff at this, thinking there won't be any cyclists. Three second later a pair of cyclists whizz past. I cross over the track into the next field and see a long straight line leading right down the middle of it. The sun almost seems to wink at me as I tear a line across it and feel my little potato head start to melt. 

I reach the far side of the field, through a gate and see an even longer field and am not sure I can cope. I pop down a dose of cherry tomatoes after dropping them on the dirt and take off, ready to face what the sun has for me. 

I reach the far side, cross the road and head up to the next farm, turn up the drive that's a bit uphill then see the route description says one point eight kilometres along here. No distinguishing features. Lucky that as I feel my melted and frazzled brain start to wilt and am glad to let it without having to think. The vividness of my consciousness seems to wax and wane as I plod on for the nearly two kilometres with no idea what I'm thinking about other than feeling ill and very sleepy. I occasionally close my eyes when on a lengthy straight stretch to give them a rest. At some point I decide to grab my buff out to wipe the sweat away as there is no cover along any of this farm road only to realise it's fallen out of my pocket. My poor spud of a head starts to bake and crisp and I briefly entertain a vision of eating a salty potato. Thank god there's no butter around. 

I reach the end only to see it's a small turn down into a wood. I check and see that I've done nearly twenty four kilometres in a bit over three hours. It's not particularly fast but I can feel myself struggling as I thankfully weasel myself into the wood and enjoy some shade. 

I reach a lodge and at the dip before heading back uphill am passed for the first time. The guy looks to be feeling pretty good and then a bit further up I see him pass a woman walking who then reaches a gate and starts scratching her head. 

She asks if we turn left. I tell her I think it's straight. She says she's going left but that I can do what I like. I get my phone out and double check the GPS and she's right it's left. I follow her and she points out she may be wrong and that I may want to follow the runner who went the other way. I'm positive we're going the right way and slow to a walk with her. That few kilometres in direct sun really knocked me for six so am pleased for the company. We chat about work and doing events like this and do our best to keep an eye on where we are going. 

The problem with getting into a conversation is that you forget to keep your thumb on the direction you're going on the map and end up unsure. She's fairly vigilant though, as am I and between us we manage to avoid any issues as we move from clearing to forest and back again. 

At another dip we're passed by another runner who looks a lot fresher than the last guy and chats for a minute or two before carrying on. I'm tempted to join him and even set off behind him for a few steps then realise that considering how crap I feel a running pace is a really stupid idea and fall back again. 

So we keep on walking through less wood and more clearing and get a bit confused when there is a fork in the path and some walkers go left when the route says straight. We carry on straight but she's not sure I'm right then I see a faint path through the wood to the other path which matches what the description says. We pop out the other side and find a lemonade stand for the horse riders and check that the other walkers and runners have come this way. They have. I look at the cold lemonade and the morning I forgot to get cash out as I knew this would bloody well happen. I knew I'd be desperate for a cold drink and then against all odds find a bloody lemonade stand in the middle of a frigging forest. Just my luck. 

Oh well not much to do about it now so we carry on around the bend and just after there is the second drinks stop. As soon as we arrive the woman I've been walking with mentions retiring and I immediately move away. I'm so knackered I'd probably join her so have to move away to avoid the temptation. I quickly fill my bottles, grab a couple of small bites to eat and say my goodbyes. 

I head back along through the forest and it's now that I start to see a steady stream of walkers ahead as I cross some decidedly infertile shrubbery and gorse. Ah, sun, how I missed you slapping my shiny head. I cross a modern road then find myself on the old Roman Road weaving it's way across the countryside. The cart ruts are still fully evident here and it's a cool boost to feel like I'm walking on history. 

Roman Road

I reach the far side and up the hill just as it seems to rise a centigrade and pass a couple of old fellas plodding up. I marvel at their speed considering the size of their packs as I pass them. I reach the top and start looking for the trig point I'm supposed to be going past and shout back it's the correct way as I find it, tapping it as I run by and down the path opposite. 

I dodge the branches jabbing out at me until I hit the road and swing away from it...through a big field of brambles. They scratch at my calves but there are far to many for me to bother trying not to get a licking and just bash on through, glancing down occasionally to see my shins go pink and then red as the blood starts to trickle. Only a little though so it's cool. 

Get to the end of this sloping field (which makes it even harder to stay upright), pass some walkers then head down through yet another wood and weave through some fields some more. 

I reach the bottom of a hill and head on up the drive I'm supposed to but when it says to fork right when the hedge does I start to get a bit confused. I head up the hill but something just doesn't feel right so I stop to check my phone and it's ambiguous. I get out the map for the first time and take a look as another walker comes up behind me also looking confused so we both look over it. I figure if I'm going to be stopped I may as well sit down so do so, right on a branch of brambles, which I immediately regret mainly because of the prickle that sinks right into my arse. 

I move aside a bit and carry on looking then decide I've gone wrong and that she's followed me wrong and we turn back to find seven other people on the way up the hill looking more confused than me. I shout that I think it's the other way but not to trust me and they all do anyway. Just ahead the hedge bears right again and there is a distinct right fork. Doh. I shout back that this is definitely right and the guy I was running with earlier pops up next to me asking how far up the other way I went. I say just a bit and we chat again for a couple of minutes until I move on ahead. I reach a cross-track and carry on ahead only to double check and realise I've completely read the wrong line and needed to go back and turn right. So I do. As I'm nearing it again I see the fellow pop out and turn right straight away. 

We head up the hill and I catch him again. We chat a bit more then I move on ahead. This bit takes a bit of focus as the directions are literally telling me things like needing to go down the track next to the sleepers and fork right at the second sapling but I manage to keep my way and also my pace and it's quite fun dodging low branches and tree roots jutting up and out at me. It's even harder considering how absolutely knackered I am. 

I pop out onto a drive and it's another section in the open sun and it slows me right down. I mosey out to the main road a few minutes later having gone from chirpy to crappy in only a couple of minutes and see a drinks stop. I'm pretty pleased to see this and even more so when they offer me a wet cloth to rub on my potato. Rather than whizz through I sit down to fill my bottles and guzzle some more and then just spend five minutes sat here on the bench in the shade before mustering the strength to go. About seven or eight people come and go, including the chap I was running with. I ask if I can use the toilet at the hall and they say I can...in two miles. It turns out this is a random additional drink stop rather than the checkpoint I'd befuzzedly been thinking it was and I was still two miles from the checkpoint. It makes sense when I review my route description but wasn't where I thought I was so I grab a small bite to eat, thank them for taking pity and setting this up, and move off and away from the small town of Fairwarp. 

The next section sees me deteriorating considerably. After trying not to moan too much at the drinks stop I can't seem to wake myself up enough. I can't really stomach anything and even throw away the last bit of the cake I picked up. I know that it will pass though so I just trudge on. It's definitely one of those points where you just have to put one foot in front of the other and hope it clears up. I go through a few fields and through a few woods feeling terrible then reach a point where I cross an earth bridge and bear on up the middle of a field. 

There are a couple of walkers ahead of me but there's no way I can pass them. The problem is that there isn't really a path through here. There is just enough to see that you can walk through here but there is also brambles going up higher than my head trying desperately to stab me in the eyeball. I feel one tear skin on my arm and have to rip it out when I pull my arm back. It's quite a long field and uphill to boot so it's just a letter of having to grin and hear it on this one. Eventually we reach the top and the walker in front and I laugh about how unexpected that was before I move on and in a while reach the second checkpoint at Nutley. 

I go inside, grab some food and sit down. I'm absolutely shattered. I haven't eaten enough so have no energy at all and just sit there staring at the floor. After a couple of minutes I start to eat and, sitting down, this is a lot easier to do. I text Jess to tell her it's going terribly. If she replies and offers to pick me up I honestly think I'll do it. She doesn't though so I willingly collect my broken self and a couple of sandwiches before heading out the door. 

An older woman is also just leaving so we chat a couple of minutes as we head through the churchyard adjacent. She's pretty worried about the potentially impending rain. I've brought loads of warm clothes and full waterproofs as I'm expecting to get sunburned which, after the sun goes down, is a recipe for hypothermia so I'm well prepared. I offer to check the weather, she says something along the lines of 'better the devil you don't know' and I move on down the hill. 

I catch up to another chatty woman who's not feeling the greatest either and walk a minute or two with her until we reach what we think is supposed to be a turn off. The route description says that at Tinkers farm we do down their gravel driveway. Problem is there is a sign saying Tinkers next to a few farm on an asphalt car port. 

We don't think it's right so head up ahead and there is some gravel but it's just down to the house so we probably shouldn't go down there. We scratch our heads a bit as there is a finger post which it says we should be looking for then the other lady joins us and tells us it's a way mark not a finger post and there's a finger post back at the asphalt which must have just been laid, which does look pretty fresh so we head back there and do indeed find a track behind Mr and Mrs Tinkers' house, although we do have to be careful of their dog. 

Back in full swing I knock on down the hill. I'm supposed to head down the sunken path, which is just a ditch but there is a path weaving back and forth across it so I head along there a bit before it seems to disappear so I head back to the ditch and follow it along. I'm supposed to turn left at the earth bank but the entire thing is an earth bank so I just jump up to the side of the ditch, looking for the 'rough patch' I'm supposed to cross, whatever that is. 

Eventually, after a bit more shoving through some trees I find what looks like a path and swing right. It's definitely a path so I cruise on down until I find the other geezer who cracked his head standing at the corner of a field  talking to himself and pointing in all four directions. 

I reach him and say he looks as lost as I seem to be getting, we check our bearings and decide to go through the field slightly to our left. We move it on through some more fields until we reach the road and go along there for a while. We're now supposed to look for a 'Reduce Speed Now' sign in two hundred and fifty metres so get a bit complacent until we realise we've missed the turning as the sign was facing the other way. We reach another road and I point out that we can follow this until we get back to the track we're supposed to be on. He's a little unsure but I carry on anyway and he decides to follow.

We carry on down the hill through the forest until we come out at the base of a rise and see a lovely track stretch right up to the top of it. We settle into a rhythm and make our way to the top where we can see out across the fields as the sun begins to go down. Over the other side and we head through some more open areas but it's nowhere near as hot as earlier and since the last checkpoint I've been feeling a lot less woozy, if not any speedier. 

We carry on through quite a few more fields, past Wych Cross Reservoir and make a steadyish pace for a few kilometres as the light starts to dim a bit. Over a few hills and through a few gullies later, we pass through a chain gate at marathon point and head between a couple of ponds to go right up the middle of a field. It's pretty steep but we reach the top and are rewarded with an amazing view over a reservoir to the township beyond with a quaint looking church sat atop it. We both take a breath in as we head across the field to cross a couple of stiles, yes two of the buggers and into the next one. We pass a farm with a dog and a cat seemingly going it alone in the world so I give them each a pat and a hello. We head back down the other side to the road and on into another town. We weave through some back yards and a village green to find ourselves back in the woods behind the town, only to suddenly pop out through the back of a ridiculously fancy housing estate, which we go straight through to the main road of Forest Row. Opposite is a really nice looking pub and I'm asked if I'd like to go in. If I'm honest it's pretty tempting as my heart is not really in this for the race anymore and it would be a funny novelty but the checkpoint is only round the corner so I decline. 

We head inside, get our tickets clipped and sit down to a fantastic meal of beans on toast. I remark that this is the first time in an event I've taken some time to sit down to dinner and it is quite a luxury. Then my plastic forks snaps and I get a tine straight into my eye. Murphy's Law, eh?

I call Jess, who was a little worried after my previous message, and tell her I'm fine. I kind of feel like calling it a day but I've got no good reason to other than laziness so say I'll carry on. We head out and down the footpath opposite. He introduces himself as Andy and I proffer my own moniker back. 

The sun is really going down now so it's nowhere near as easy to see where we're going. The temperature has also dropped and I'm a little worried as it's still quite warm but the jumper I brought is super thick. I hadn't thought of the inbetween times. First world problems, I've got. 

We reach the bottom and yep, you guessed it, we head back up the other side. The note here suggests it's quite short but in reality it's a steady climb for the next kilometre or so, albeit not very steep, and we start to doubt if we've missed a turning. 

We pop out onto a country road and are a little unsure. I think we should turn left and he's now starting to trust me, although still wants to take a bearing every chance he gets. We make it to what we think may be the right turn to stay on the Vanguard Way but just aren't entirely sure so get the map out. As we've not been following it, it's no use so I check our grid point on my phone and pinpoint us. Andy is gob smacked that I can get all this information so easily. We find a couple of walkers who sort of give us a guess at some directions but also aren't really sure and a few minutes later we set off on our way again, sort of decided it's the right way. 

The main problem is that the next direction isn't for nearly one and a half kilometres so if we're wrong it'll cost us. We get to the end of the path and find not just a VGW waymark but also Dog Gate Lodge, which is exactly what we've been looking for. 

We move past it and on into Wet Wood. We knock on us the hill, now struggling to see until we pop out the top into a field. We cross this and go around the edges until I very nearly miss the 'hidden' gate we've been searching for. 

It looks a bit dark, grim and creepy in there so we stop a couple of minutes to put on our head torches before going in deeper. Through a few more fields and forests, which we can't see a lot of anymore so it's absolutely lovely when I get a nice huge bush of stinging nettle to rub along my numerous bramble cuts and mix in with the sweat already floating around and whip me up a fancy concoction of numb yet still biting pain. Quite literally rubbing salt in the wound. 

We head down a hill and pass a silvery lake to the left. After a while longer we get the direction to go past the left side of three fields through the gates. I know what that means. Goddamn cows. Nocturnal cows. The worst kind. 

Deep breath and we go into the first one. There are no visible cows just massive hay bales, although I do jump at the first one as I think it's a massive cow about to gore me. It's not so I get out a sandwich and we each have half. 

We reach the second field and there are some cows. I think. Maybe in the distance. If there are they don't move so again we escape unscathed. The third field however is filled with horses, spaced evenly around the field. I eye them up warily, especially the one by the gate we have to go through but luckily they're not bothered either. 

The next few kilometres we basically just walk trying not to trip over and scone ourselves as Andy did much earlier in the day. With my big clumpy shoes it's not so easy and I do go over a couple of really painful times but nothing enough to really stop me. 

Near the end of the last paragraph before we get to the checkpoint is some less interesting notes to go down a country lane for six hundred metres or so and at this point I pretty much decide I'm going to call it a day. I don't say anything but I'm going too slow for there to be much point in carrying on and it's going to stop being enjoyable pretty soon now that the suns gone down and I can't see the wonderful scenery. 

We hit Marsh Green and it's checkpoint and I announce my intentions. I feel a little guilty as I've no real reason not to want to carry on. I just don't feel like it. As I'm only entering these things for the fun of it at the moment and was woefully under-prepared I don't mind it. So I sit down and call Jess, who's all too pleased to come pick me up sooner rather than later (she very kindly offered) and sit down with a coffee. Over the next forty five minutes a lot of the old people I'd passed through the day made their way through. I know they started an hour and forty minutes ahead of me, but it's still a little depressing that they weren't that far behind me. Then I look at the fact that it took me over eleven hours to do only sixty five kilometres (sixty officially but either way nearly three hours off my best for the distance) and realise it's not that surprising. 

Am I gutted? Nope. Not a jot. I know I could carry on if I really wanted to but I can't see the scenery any more and don't think I'll particularly enjoy slogging it out at a half arsed pace for the next few hours. So when Jess arrives and asks how I am to the response that, yup, I'm feeling fine, I honestly don't feel guilty at all. 

Even less so when I wake up at seven o'clock and realise I'd only just be finishing. Instead I'm at home in bed feeling smug. Think I should have carried on? Pfft. Haters gonna hate.