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.

The Thames Path 100: Mind Over Matter...Not Quite

Marathon one: A bit…meh?

We're on the start line and strangely I'm not at all nervous, just keen to get going. I've been here about an hour and been ready to get cracking for most of that. After a quick briefing where we nearly all have to evacuate the Richmond Town Hall thanks to a fire alarm, we've all headed down to the start line to get ready and get cracking. 

I'm sending an organisational text to Jess to do with kit swapping later when we start moving, so it's clear I'm not in the right head space right now. It's been a busy week and to be honest I'm just not feeling it. 

The training has been perfect. Every week for the last two months I've run fifty miles, eighty kilometres. These have mostly been split in three, often back to back, runs a week. I also set my first sub ten hour fifty mile race at the South Downs Way Fifty then still managed to get another fifty in the following week to make up my first ever hundred mile week, then tapered last week with only thirty miles. My body is there and ready so I guess that's part of why I'm not so nervous. I'm now fairly confident I can mentally handle this as well, having spent nearly a year learning from a drop out on a race that I possibly could have continued with. I feel like everything is there and raring to go. 

So why do I feel so...meh?

It doesn't bother me as I know once I get into things it'll all change and I'll find my groove. I remember to start tracking the run after a couple of hundred metres and it seems like everyone has set off pretty quickly. I'm keen not to go out too hard as I don't want to burn out later in the day so make sure to find my own rhythm. I'd ideally like to hold onto a four hour fifteen first marathon, be at half way in nine hours then hold on as long as I can until the end and finish in under twenty four hours at least. But it's all changeable and I'm not going to cry if it doesn't happen. I just want to finish at this point. 

The normal camaraderie of trail races doesn't seem as high as it normally is, strangely. I'm guessing this is because a lot of people are here on their very first hundred mile run and are just too nervous to talk. It's fine by me though as I know that it'll ease up and to be honest I'm not feeling much like doing this right now at all. But again, I know this'll change. I just need to let it. I'm content to just tick off some early miles and ease into it. 

Right at the beginning I'm passed by Paul Ali briefly, who I'm surprised to see and ask him why he's not up the front. It turns out he had an early toilet break so soon heads off but it's nice to say hi all the same. I doubt I'll see him again today though as he's pretty quick these days. 

After a few kilometres an older gentleman pops up beside me and asks what time I'm hoping for. I say I'm happy to just get under twenty four hours but my dream goal, the one I always set knowing I won't get it, is twenty hours. That's what he's going for as well but he thinks we're going too fast. He's worried we'll burn out. Each runner has their own way of pacing that works for them and today I'm keen to keep a steady pace that's fairly fast by my standards then naturally let that slow to something close to a crawl later on. I gather he's keener to keep a more even pace throughout and is panicking a bit at how quickly everyone went off. 

We end up running together for a good few kilometres chatting about strategies and what we're hoping for today. He's quite softly spoken, though, and my hearing's not amazing so it's a bit of crossed wires at times but we persevere all the same. He asks about food and I say I'm keen to stay on the solids as much as possible and stay away from the sugar train if I can as it's a more even energy source. He's not really too sure what he's going to do, which I'm surprised at as he's done a hundred before but he seems a bit bewildered by the whole thing this morning. I tell him my secret is cherry tomatoes and that if they have them at the aid stations that's most of what I'll be using to keep going. Plus the odd ham sandwich. 

We pass by Hampton Court palace soon enough and my Irish friend, whose only flown over for the race, points at it and asks what it is. Coming from little wee New Zealand I'm surprised at the nonchalance of seeing such an imposing building and garden and not really being terribly interested. I tell him it's where Henry VIII lived and we move onto the next topic. But secretly I quite enjoy running past such a stunning building and piece of history. 

The path until now has been very familiar as I've run this section before a couple of times so know it well, where to cross over the river and what to do. It's been nice considering the mood I'm in that I've not really had to think about it much and can just go into cruise control for the first few miles. It's quite busy out being the first warm day in quite a while and there are a lot of people cheering and a lot of people annoyed that there is a steady stream of runners getting in their way. 

On that note, it's shaping up to be pretty hot. It's weird though as we're following the Thames the whole way so there is a cool breeze coming off the river that takes a bite out of the warmth. I've got a base layer and a warm hat on at the moment as the day hasn't yet warmed up properly but I'm sensing they're not going to be needed later on. I'm also quite concerned at the fact that I'm wearing my warmest tights and don't have some shorts to swap into so am hoping it doesn't heat up too much. 

Soon enough we reach the first checkpoint, Walton-on-Thames, at eleven miles and I can definitely tell it's time for some food. Energy levels are a bit low and I know I need to pay more attention to them if I'm going to make it through the day, so grab three cherry tomatoes and a ham sandwich before getting my bottles filled. This proves a right pain in the jaxy though as they're fiddly little things to begin with before you start getting a ham sandwich in the way. I get there eventually, grab three more cherry tomatoes and tell my new friend I'm carrying on and will see him when he catches me up. I don't want to stop here so carry on running and eating at the same time. It's quite a knack but not too complicated when you get the hang of it. On the down side though it does take ages to eat so it’s a constant battle to be able to breath but hey, swings and roundabouts, eh?

From here on I start to get my rhythm and feel like things are starting to pick up and I soon clear through the first half marathon in a little over two hours which is pretty much exactly where I wanted to be so I’m pleased with that. I do feel more tired than I had hoped to this early on though, but there is still a whole day for that to change so I’m not too worried about it at this point. I chat to the odd person here or there but am mostly on my own for now, which I’m okay with as it’s nice to set my own pace and drift off into dreamland.

I have to make a brief diversion back to reality when I get nearer checkpoint two at Wraysbury and for the five kilometres or so just before, I’m really feeling it. This one is also eleven miles further into the race meaning that in twenty two miles or thirty five kilometres roughly I’ve not really eaten too much at all so as I’m still a while away I take a gel. I’m trying to avoid them wherever possible to stay away from sugar crashes but this early on I need to be focusing on getting energy in. It picks me up a little but I’ve left it too late.

This happens always at this same point. Around thirty to thirty five kilometres in, I crash as my glycogen levels go low. And yet today I didn’t think ahead and let it happen. Oh well, at least I can get something and get around it. So I plod on to the next aid station, feeling grumpy with myself for not really being ‘in’ this race yet and then when I get there I stock up on some food.

After that, unsurprisingly I feel better and am in a better mood so am okay to keep going. I pass through marathon point in around four hours and forty minutes, which is around half an hour slower than I’d really hoped but I have to go to the pace my body dictates rather than my watch so it’s all good.

Marathon two: Cruising and chatting

I start to feel a small dull pain in my left foot. Of course this early on my brain starts to panic and think I’m going to have to drop from the race and then when overdrive kick in I wonder if I’m going to die. Obviously far too extreme, but the mind does funny things through the various stages of a race and this early on it’s still in the ‘nothing can go wrong or I’ll quite possibly die’ stage. Thankfully it’s quite handy as it’s then easy to take that absurdity and throw it away. Which is exactly what I do, knowing and expecting that the pain is a small niggle that will soon pass and I’ll have forgotten about it by the end of the race.

The next checkpoint isn’t too far away at Dorney in only another eight miles, which is a much nicer gap and my energy levels should still be okay by then. That seems to be about the limit that I can last for without having to think about energy so long as I eat enough at each station and thankfully I don’t think there will be any more gaps any further than this.

The time passes and the miles tick along. I’m quite looking forward to reaching Dorney as I did a duathlon there early last year so it will be nice to see the town again, but it passes through pretty quickly and doesn’t go near the rowing lake where the race was so I don’t, in the end, recognise any of it.

The weather is most definitely getting brighter than I expected, which is a little worrying as I really don’t want to get heatstroke as it means I’ll then really struggle this evening. Sadly, I don’t have anything other than my thermal leggings and no sunscreen so I feel my sad little potato head start to fry. Oh well, not too much I can do about it now.

Not too far after the Dorney aid station a woman catches up with me and we start chatting. She’s got a pretty energetic outlook on the day and is feeling pretty good, which is obviously a nice thing to see a bit over six hours into a race so we end up staying together for a while.

At around thirtyish miles and fifty kilometres it’s also quite good to have a bit of company finally as this is the point where you can start to feel a bit over running. Only today we’re not even a third of the way through the race.

We keep chatting right to the next aid station at Cookham where I quickly fill up my bottles, grab a bit of food and say that I’ll walk ahead and she can catch up as, at this point, I’m still keen not to hover too long in aid stations. I’m also never sure of the etiquette of whether or not it’s best to stay with someone you’ve been chatting to, as that would imply the expectation that they have to continue talking to you. And, being Britain, they’d politely feel obligated to even if they were secretly waiting for this point to get rid of you as they don’t like you. Probably not the case but hey, best to give options.

So I go over a small bridge to continue on and at the other side of the bridge is a photographer. I burst out laughing and tell him not to take a photo as I’m still stuffing my face. He does anyway.

Almost straight after I see Alice coming up behind me again so wait until she’s caught up before carrying on running again. Turns out she was enjoying the company as well as a distraction from the running.

On and on we soldier, getting through the next checkpoint without any issues apart from that small pain in my foot not going away and worrying me a little. Pace wise we are still going pretty damn well. I’d secretly hoped to get to the half way point of fifty one miles at Henley in around nine hours, figuring I did it in ten on the South Downs Way Fifty and that had hills. It’s slowly slipping away which is a shame but I never really thought it was going to happen anyway. Bizarrely though, it looks like even ten hours is going to be a struggle, which does worry me a little as I feel more tired now than I did then and this has been completely flat. It turns out hard ground does take quite an impact on your pace.

All the same we reach the checkpoint and this is the first point that Jess has driven up from home to find. It’s a nice boost mentally for me to see her. It’s also the point where we can access our drop bags.

Marathon three: The wheels come off

I’ve been running in my Brooks Cascadia’s for this first half as, despite really worrying me, they were perfect on the South Downs recently, so I figured they’d be even better today with less mud as they don’t handle slippery stuff very well. Turns out that was right and that they were perfect for this first half but as the day wears on, your feet swell and mine are struggling to fit in these normal sized shoes anymore.

I’d recently bought a pair of Skechers GoRun Ultras specifically for this race. I’ve tried them a couple of times and they’re weird to say the least. Extremely cushy but it’s easy to slip around in them and they feel a bit haphazard in terms of control. I’m nervous about testing them on such an important run but the thing is...they are roomy. Given this I decide I I'll swap them out and instantly feel a lot better before I’ve even got up out of the chair I’m sitting in. I’m also eating a pasta delicacy from the aid station staff so energy levels and comfort levels have both risen incrementally in the seven minutes I’ve been sat down. Jess is trying to offer to get me further snacks or things but I tell her I’m fine. As crew the only job I really wanted her to do was be there.

A few, hopefully not that frequent, runners get really demanding on their crew and scream at them but personally I just find that pretty rude. They’re there giving up their time to help out so you’ve no right to then throw it back in their face. So all I’ve asked Jess to do is turn up, smile and encourage me. She seems a bit worried it’s a trick and that she needs to be doing more and flapping like the other crew but I’m fine so a smile is enough.

Considering the shoe change and the food we’re off again fairly quickly and I’m pleased, although slightly guilty, that Alice has waited for me as I know she didn’t need to stay as long as I did. I’m really pleased though as we are both moving at a good pace and spurring each other on, which is going to be particularly necessary on this next section through the night.

On that note we reach a bridge that seems to go half way out into the Thames before curling back on itself, and we both notice that it’s getting pretty dark. The aid station staff made us put our head torches on our heads but it’s at this point where we think perhaps we should actually turn them on. She’s wanting to save battery on her torch with high lumens and I like to use natural light as long as possible but at the end of the bridge there is a puddle which I make a mess of so figure it’s probably about time to start using the torch. Alice also points out that we managed to get to halfway in ten hours which I’m over the moon about and gives me another boost.

On the downside, though, my foot is really starting to hurt now. I’m still trying not to mention it out loud to keep the team spirit up as that’s definitely what we both need but inwardly I’m really starting to worry as it’s now spread to the top of the foot as well. I can still run on it and I can still keep putting it out of my mind for now, but I’m worried I won’t be able to keep that up until the finish.

So I put it out of my mind again as best as possible, compartmentalise the hurt and pick up the pace. The new shoes are helping a bit and have made it feel a bit like I’m running on fresh legs, not to mention the fact that I now have quite a bit of extra energy from the food. So whilst before the half way point we were keeping quite a steady running and walking pace, we now crack on for quite a few kilometres with almost no walking breaks until eventually Alice says she’d like to stop for a bit and, once we do, I realise that she’s probably right and that I was getting a bit ahead of myself. It felt great while it lasted, but conserving energy is definitely important on this second half of the race.

By now it’s fully dark so we are having to keep a pretty keen eye out for the course markers. They’re pretty frequent but if you take your mind off it for too long it’s very easy to not realise you haven’t seen one for a while and end up lost. We’re still in pretty high spirits at this point though,  and still chatting away pretty well, which is surprising considering we’ve been running together for many hours now. Again, I remind myself that I’m pretty lucky to have someone to run with through the night and that we’re still getting along as tempers explode pretty easily on things like this. So the team effort is pretty stellar which is great. 

My foot starts to play up again so I’m now keen to take a few more walking breaks so it’s the other way around with Alice having to slow for me a bit more. At one point I go for a quick comfort break in a bush and come out to find a man leaning out of his narrowboat calling us disgusting for ‘defecating in the woods’. I try to explain nothing of the sort has happened but he’s having none of it and just talks over me saying I’m disgusting.

Yeah, because hanging out of a narrowboat in the middle of the night without a light on smoking a fag and calling passersby disgusting is a completely normal thing to do. I want to point out the irony in his situation. I also want to point out that if I was defecating I’d probably admit it and tell him proudly.  Instead I just carry on, with Alice following behind a little bewildered as she wasn’t sure what the hell he was on about.

We reach Reading aid station, fifty eight miles in or a couple more considering a couple of small detours, and Jess is there again. It’s getting late now and people are starting to look pretty frazzled. The demeanour of the runners at this point is pretty defeated but we take a short break to eat some food and say hi to Jess, then we’re off again. This is the last stop with crew access for a while so Jess is going to book into her bed and breakfast and will keep her phone close in case I need her. Hopefully she can get a bit of sleep and find me happy and moving in the morning. Hopefully.

As we leave the station it’s starting to feel a lot colder and I start to shiver uncontrollably. Having dropped from a race last year when in exactly this same situation I’m pretty concerned but just tell myself not to worry and that it will pass in a few minutes when my body adjusts. It’s really hard to follow that advice though as I start panicking. Sure enough, though, I do warm up, although only to a manageable level rather than to warm.

It’s nine miles to the next section and it feels it.

We slow the pace to a walk at this point to try to conserve energy for the morning and decide that we’ll walk the remainder of the night section then pick up the pace again when the sun picks up. At first I keep a pretty full on pace going as I’m still pretty keen to get home in under twenty four hours, but it does feel like that is slipping away as we are pretty borderline time wise as it is and we’ll likely slow down to the point of being over that time. No to mention the fact that I’m really in a lot of pain now. I’m not yet ready to give up though so we keep plodding on.

I’m starting to feel a bit crap due to the injury so am not as talkative as earlier as this section wears on. Alice is still keeping in good spirits though which is good as a boost but I just hope that me being quieter doesn’t bring her mood down and try to keep chatting at points where I can but I’m sad to say she’s holding the team up a bit at this point.

Again, the energy levels dip quite a bit so I have another gel fairly far into this section which helps a bit but not much. The other thing about this section is that the field has thinned out considerably. It seems like everyone else is having the same idea as we are and is walking this section so we pass and are passed by almost no one.

Mentally it’s pretty easy to fall into a black hole at this point but luckily we are still able to keep up a fair bit of conversation as we just slog it out.

We reach Whitchurch aid station eventually and it’s a real sight for sore eyes. Alice doesn’t want to stop really at all but I say that I really have to sit for a couple of minutes to rest my foot as it’s really in agony at this point. If I don’t give it bit of a break and listen to my body I’ve just got no hope of finishing as I’ll cause it too much extra damage. In the end we get an unspoken compromise whereby I do sit down, but not for very long and we head out again.

She's completely right in wanting to just keep at it as the cold puts me into some really full on shaking when we get back out even after just a couple of minutes sat down but again it’s just a matter of keeping walking and knowing it will pass, which it does. The other upside to continuing on is that it doesn’t allow the leg to start hurting which is obviously important to stave off as long as possible, as cramps can really put a dampener on a run. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m now limping I probably would have wanted to just grab some food and push straight through as Alice was wanting, but alas I need to think of that as well.

The next station is only four miles away which is quite a nice relief and a lot of this section Alice knows, having done the Thames Trot earlier in the year so luckily we don’t have to worry too much about the navigation as we can just follow her memory a large part of the time. It’s great not to have to worry about it too much as we slog on to get to the next one in a fairly average pace.

I again need to sit down and get some decent food and again Alice is keen to keep moving. I really just need to rest my foot even if just for a couple of minutes as each step has become really painful now. I feel bad as I know I’m a bit of a broken record but I’ve really reached breaking point and unfortunately the pain has to be my number one priority if I'm going to have a hope. 

We leave the aid station fairly quickly all the same, this time with the shivers feeling more like a seizure but again passing after a few minutes. We realise that we are past the seventy miles that I didn’t complete last year and also was her longest race distance previously. We were both thinking we’d be ecstatic at this point but in truth the moment passes pretty uneventfully. We’ve still got thirty miles to go and I’m in a lot of pain.

We set off at the same walking pace as we were going at before, that I was already struggling with, and mentally I have to take a stock check of my body.

How bad do I want this? Bad.

How bad does my foot hurt? Really, really bad.

Can I actually do this? If I wasn’t injured…definitely.

But I am injured. And I need to go easy on it if I’m hoping for it to last. I slow my pace down. I don’t want to mention it to Alice as I don’t want her to feel guilty or like she has to stay with me. And also, I’m hoping just a little bit that this will pass in five minutes and I can catch her up. But it doesn’t pass and I see her head torch ahead of me getting (excruciatingly slowly) further away. I want to shout for her to slow down. But I also want to shout for her to carry on without me. The first option would be unfair. The second option leaves us both on our own which neither of us want. The third unspoken option, that I pick the pace up, just doesn’t feel possible.

In the end I pussy out and do none of the above and just keep plodding for just a couple more minutes. 

Alice reaches a gate at the far end of the field and waits for me. She asks how I am and I say I’m really hurting. She offers me painkillers but I’m keen to do this under my own steam or not at all so decline. We carry on and I apologise. She says it’s okay but I think we both know it’s not going to be, although neither of us want to admit it.

Over the next massive field I keep up the pace a little better, then again have to slow and watch her disappear into the distance only to wait again very kindly for me at the next gate.

Tonight on 'Stars in their Eyes', Matthew, I’m going to be a volleyball called Wilson. My friend Alice here, she’s going to be Tom Hanks. We’re going to re-enact that movie 'Cast Away' and drift away from each other in an incredibly lengthy exchange of wide angle shots with Alice/Tom not knowing how best to resolve the situation and get their friend back to continue on the epic journey and Benjamin/Wilson looking blank. Why blank? Because ones a fucking volleyball and the other is just fucked. He’s blankly devoid of anything much other than a sharp pain in his left foot right now.

I catch up to her again and tell her that I’m going to sit down the next chance I get, the pain is too much, and that she should carry on. I don’t want to do it but it’s got to the point where I can’t carry on like this, I need to slow down, but she can and will finish.

She doesn’t want to accept it and is really helpfully telling me not to give up, not to sit down, that it’s a bad idea and I can carry on. I really appreciate her unwillingness to break up the team and to slog it out with me but in the end I reach a low wall and sit down. At the end of the day I’m in a lot of pain and I need to rest it and go really slow on it for a while. She needs to carry on at the pace she is doing really well at and not have me slow her down. So I stay sat down and after a couple of minutes she agrees to carry on, telling me that she’ll see me at the finish and I won’t be far behind her. I know it’s not true but thank her and wish her luck.

Marathon four: To be concluded

I give Jess a call and tell her the situation. I tell her I’m not pulling out yet, that I really want to carry on but am not sure if I physically can. She’s conscious of making sure I stay positive as when I dropped out of the Wall last year it was down to something pretty much the same whereby I got really cold and made a snap decision that I couldn’t finish when I, truth be told, probably could have.

Unfortunately today that’s not the case. Mentally I feel good and like I can carry one and my body, apart from this one issue, feels good too. So I resolve to carry on and see how I am at the next checkpoint. I sign off and start walking again.

Immediately my foot sends a jolt of pain right up my spine. I know it’s just because I’ve been sat down but I’m pretty upset by it all the same. I know it will get better but I just can’t say it will get better enough to continue much further.

I start to hobble again and am barely moving at any pace at all. I check the map and realise I still have about ten kilometres until the next aid station. I don’t know how I’m going to manage it but there is not much else I can do other than hobble along.

So I do exactly that. People pass me here or there, some asking if I’m okay and some just pretending they haven’t seen me. I thank the ones who enquire and tell them not to worry.

The next couple of kilometres I manage to hobble along in one go which brings me a little closer to the aid station but still a very long way away. It takes around twenty minutes and then I take another little break. I’m mindful of the fact that I don’t want to sit down for too long as there is the possibility of hypothermia if I’m not careful as it’s still pretty cold.

I walk another couple of kilometres and sit. Then I walk another couple of kilometres and sit. Each time it takes a bit longer as my pace slows and my pain increases. I’m now struggling to know whether or not I can even walk as far as the next four kilometres to the next aid station...or whether I’m just going to be stranded here.

I sit down again about two kilometres away and it’s too much. I call Jess again and tell her how much worse it’s got but that I’m still not willing to quit and want to continue if I can somehow figure out a way to do so. The sun is about to come up and I can tell it’s going to be magical.

We finish the call and the sun does indeed come up. I carry on hobbling and each step is now sending a shoot of pain right up my spine as it did only after a rest earlier and I know I’m not going to be able to carry on. I’m still not willing to give up though and I still want to continue. My mood is actually getting a lot better with the sunrise and my legs still feel fresh after going slowly for a few hours. I feel like I could finish this race.

I check the map and the aid station is nearby. I spend twenty minutes getting the kilometre to where the map is directing me to the rowing club only to find it’s not the right rowing club and there is still a way to go. It’s pretty devastating mentally but I quickly put it to one side as it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

I stop by the side of the river and look at the reflection as dawn breaks and take it all in. The past day, the past night, the past seventy seven miles, one hundred and twenty eight kilometres all sinks in. I feel proud of my achievement so far but upset that it looks like I may not get to continue.

I carry on walking and spend quite a while searching on the maps to see exactly how far away it is. It’s really hard to tell as the GPS clearly doesn’t know where I’m trying to go but I guess I shouldn’t be worrying about the GPS anyway and should just be content with getting there when I get there.

I’m just crossing under a bridge when my brother Tom calls from New Zealand. Jess has told him I’m struggling and he seems a bit surprised to find me happy and positive. I tell him that everything is fine except for the injury and he pulls back on the inspiration talk he had planned as it’s clearly not needed, that’s not the issue, and tells me that he just wanted to check I wasn’t being a ‘sooky baba’. I tell him I’m not and still haven’t made the final decision but am pretty sure I know what it’s going to be despite still being pretty determinedly in denial. He tells me he’s proud of me, which nearly makes me cry after nineteen hours of, ahem, running and we say goodbye. 

The final kilometre takes me twenty minutes of hobbling. I finally reach the aid station and the volunteer walks up the road to meet me, grinning and asking how I am, knowing full well I’m no good but wanting to throw some positivity my way. I tell him the situation, go inside and sit down and they ask if I’m done. I tell them I’d like a few minutes to decide and they tell me that’s fine and wrap me in a survival blanket and leave me to my thoughts.

The problem is…I don’t have any thoughts to process. It’s really easy to overcomplicate running with GPS, GPX, heart rate BPM’s and pacing mentally and physically for a race of this magnitude. But the truth is…it’s really damn simple. Listen to your body. That’s what I’ve done all day and it’s been serving me well. Because I've been listening to my body I feel perfectly fine apart from a sore foot, which I know I can’t run on and despite desperately willing it to, probably won’t get better.

So the thought process is as simple as asking…

Am I mentally and physically okay? Yes, perfect except for one small thing.

Can I continue ignoring it and finish under the cut off time? Maybe…hang on…

I check my pacing and work out that the last ten kilometres took me three hours. I have around thirty seven, let’s say forty, to go. Even if I can keep the current pace, which I probably can’t, that’s going to take twelve hours. I have eight.

I call Jess and call it a day. She comes to pick me up, I go and have a shower and some food and then we go to the finish to get it checked. The medic tells me I’ve done the right thing, that it’s probably not broken, but that it looks pretty severe and to go to hospital if it gets worse over the next few days.

So am I upset?

No, I’m not. I’ve spent the last year upset over not completing a race and single-mindedly hoping to turn that around. Now it’s happened again and, truth be told, I thought I would be upset but at the end of the day the decision wasn’t mine. It’s easy to look back on and say I should have carried on but I’ve got a photo of the injury to remind me that I couldn’t (a good trick to remind me later down the line but not one for a blog). At the end of the day you know what? I’m not going to cry over this. I’m not going to be upset that I only ran three marathons. I will, however, go out running again and as soon as I’m confident I’m healed I’ll enter another one and get this train back on track. At the end of the day I’ve only been running seriously for a year and a half so it’s no wonder I’m not able to complete an event of this length. Once I’ve got the experience to match my ambition, I’ll no doubt get better at this.

On my fifteenth birthday my Grandma gave me a card that said to shoot for the stars and you’ll get to the moon. So watch this space. Because next time, this fourth chapter will be a bit longer and maybe I’ll get all the way to the stars. Time will tell.

Huge thanks to Centurion Running for yet another slick event, Alice for putting up with me for so many hours and Jess for the unwavering support.