CTS Stage 4: Admiring Anglesey

Bizarrely, I'm more nervous on the start line of this race than I have been for any of the series so far. This is the first time I've lined up unsure if I'm able to finish. Not because of training, but because of injury. 

I've had a six week gap since the last race in Dorset, a pretty brutal forty five miles. Training hasn't been great, taking a week off after the race then another two weeks off over Christmas, it's been stop start and that's being generous. But there has still been enough. 

The problem is that on my final training run on Monday this week, my ITB started playing up. It's been a minor issue for a number of years, but never enough to really cause major issues. On Monday, however, it was a sharp pain. For most, this issue manifests as pain in the knee, but for me it's at the point the ITB goes over the hip. When tight, it makes a crunching sound. When really tight, that really hurts. So on Monday I was stopping every few minutes to stretch it out, wishing there was a bus to take me home and knowing there wasn't. 

All week it's been sore so I've been stretching it every day and frantically trying to make it alright before the race, but I still woke up today with it being sore. I'm annoyed with myself that I don't have a more regular strength and stretching routine. Doing more core work would improve my posture and put less strain on the ITB and more stretching would keep everything feeling good. Basically I'd be better all round. But I don't do that and now I'm on the start line, injured, paying the price. 

Not much I can do about it though, so when the gun goes I set off with a smile. Thankfully the journey here was very easy and casual, arriving at lunchtime yesterday for some sightseeing in Holyhead (there's not much other than some archaeological rocks) and having dinner and meeting some others doing the race in my dorm. One of them snored heavily, but I still feel quite rested and relaxed, so barring the injury I'm feeling in a good place. 

The first section is down the farm track back to the car park for the Breakwater Country Park, our base for the day. The track is littered with massive puddles and as everyone is still fresh we try to go fast past them, snagging our clothes on multitudes of thorns at the side. We then get to the paved road and head down there back to the car park. 

I take this first section slowly. Slower than normal. That's my plan today. Just take it very slowly. Try not to aggravate the injury and hopefully I'll get to the end. So where normally I'd try to set a good pace on this flat road section, today I don't. I let a load of people pass me. 

We get the car park a few minutes later then turn left down to the beach. It's nice to be in nature rather than the uninspiring start on road and as we double back to the start line along the coastal path I settle into a rhythm. I stumble over the pebbles in the little bay, then over a little rise onto the flat coastal section framed by Holyhead Mountain looking in the background. It doesn't look too bad. 

What is bad however is the wind. The weather report has the temperature somewhere around five degrees with a wind chill to bring it down to a high of zero. The winds are expected to be around teeth two miles an hour. Oh, and some rain. So the weather should be caning us today, but I remind myself of hiking up Scafell with my terrified brother this time last year in rain that turned into a blizzard and fifty mile winds. We were fine then, so I'll easily be fine today. 

It is a pretty hammering wind, though, and whilst I'm pretty damn warm now, I'm pleased I put on a windproof fifth layer. I'll be toasty, not to mention with my ridiculously ugly trapper hat.  I pull up the hood and let the wind hammer away, laughing at it. 

We soon pass by the other side of the start line and divert around the side of the mountain. The path goes slightly up then just turns into a bit of a technical trail going around the side. I'm behind a guy wearing Skechers GoRun shoes. Sadly, they don't seem to be doing him any favours. He's going along very tentatively and there's soon a line of ten of us behind him. The grip on those shoes is ridiculously bad (albeit damned cushy). I love technical trails, but as I promised myself to take it easy I stay behind him, figuring it's slowing me down which will only be a good thing later in the day. 

After a couple more minutes, though; I can't handle it anymore. I want to have fun, damnit! So as he goes around one rock I leap over it and take the lead then slam down the trail on the other side, it curls back uphill on the other side, but halfway up I turn around and see I've already put a hundred metres on him after about a minute. I want to go slow, but I want to enjoy it as well. 

The trail heads back upwards, past a quaint little rock shelter, and has some stunning views back down the drop beside me to the sea below. The wind is fairly buffeting, but not to a point where it much of a problem. It's still fairly dark and cold, being only nine in the morning, but it looks like it may not be too bad a day. 

We take a sharp bend up the side of the hill now and there are a couple of steep ascents in a row that thin the field out somewhat. Nearer the top I suddenly remember in the briefing the race director said we wouldn't be going over the summit on this section so I get a lump in my throat thinking we may be following the wrong route. I get out my phone and double check and as far as I can tell we're still going alright so panic over. This bit we're creating now certainly feels like a summit though...

We turn to the right, away from the hill to go down the other side. There's some nice paths over the tops of the hills and leading us a couple of kilometres dos the coast to the South Stack Lighthouse. We approach it from one side, then go over a hill to look down on it before heading the other way and looking back on it. It's definitely interesting to look at, a lighthouse perched on a tiny island of rock. I'm surprised it's still standing as it looks like it must take an absolute beasting from the winds and sea spray on days when the weather is twice as bad as today. 

Down the other side and soon enough we're at the first checkpoint at around six or seven kilometres. Trying to keep with my slower pace, I stop here to grab some crisps and fill my water bottle. I also stopped on the hill a couple of times just now and all in all it seems to be working. I can feel the injury twinging at points, but I just ease off every time it happens or stop and take a photo. So far it's worked. So far I still feel quite fresh. Also, stopping now for some food has helped me feel like I've got more energy than if I just have gels. Not to mention less sick. 

From here it's down the road back towards the flat part of the island coast. Each step jolts my hip a little but I find that by taking it a little easier and running on my forefoot it's a bit less painful. Either way it's a matter of going down gingerly rather than barrelling down. Far too early in the day for that. 

At the bottom of the hill we carry on following the road around. It's nice and easy going so means I can settle into it a bit easier for a while, though the wind is still a bit chilly. After a couple of kilometres we move back onto the coastal path and some lovely boggy bits in the wind. I turn around to try to get a photo back to South Stack but it's a bit too far away. Oh well, at least it's keeping me slowed down a bit. 

At this point another person goes by and his phone suddenly bleeps out and tells us all how fast he's going in minutes per kilometre. It's really great to get out into the scenery and nothing says 'nature' better than a Garmin beeping away at you, does it? I bite my tongue but wonder if he does that on a normal run. Maybe he likes to sit on busses and play music for all to enjoy? I remind myself how glad I am that, whilst I do track my miles, I'm not so compelled by it that I forget to enjoy being out in the fields. 

For a while it's been a matter of simply putting my head down and getting some of the early miles in easily and casually to test out and see how I feel with my hip. I notice that it also means I'm not feeling anywhere near as shattered. The next five kilometres of so pass by pretty easily as we go back and forth around the coast, dodging mud and sea spray pretty inefficiently. I don't mind. I weave my way in and out of little bays that remind me ever so slightly of the ones back in Banks Peninsula in New Zealand.

As we found a corner back onto the road we find ourselves at checkpoint two. A quick stop here and the volunteers are pretty cherry which is nice. I'm still in a chatty mood so have a bit of a laugh with them as I fill my water again then head on my way again, saying I'll see them when I'm back at this checkpoint on the return loop. 

There's a few more little dips in and out of bays on roads here then I find myself on a promenade. The beach blow looks perfectly runnable so I'm surprised they've not got us running down there as they normally do, but I'm not going to complain. It's quite a long promenade and there doesn't seem to be a lot going on in the accompanying town of Trearddur, though it looks like the town goes on for a bit behind. It's a nice view out to the sea and the sun has now fully come out, meaning that although it's still cold and windy it's a clear and lovely view out which is great considering what the forecast was for. 

At the end of the promenade my legs are feeling the fact that I've had a solid kilometre or two on pavement after a stop/start beginning. Unfortunately we stay on road but it's slightly uphill to get over to the next bay so I take the time to stop for a walk and stare at the sky. Still feeling pretty good as well so all in all pretty happy. 

Over to the next bay and a couple more kilometres on road before finally turning off down to the flat coastal path again. A couple of people start wandering over to the middle of a field lost. From what I can see the one leading is doing the ultra and lost, the follower doing the marathon and probably near the front of the field so it's funny to see the difference in how they both look to be processing the information of not knowing where they are. The first guy just looks like he's in a daydream, the second looks uber focused and rather stressed. They both look around and when they see me I point them the way I'm going. One guy sprints off in relief, the other potters back to the path looking a bit like a sheep. 

As he gets to me I joke that it's easily done as I continue on. He looks fairly flustered as I pass by. I go through a gate and down through a boggy section. Unfortunately I misjudge it and nearly lose my shoe in the bog. Luckily it hangs on but my gaiter springs off so I stop to attach it again and Mr Sheep passes asking if I'm okay. I say I'm fine then set off chasing him. A couple of minutes later he stops and stares at the ground. I ask if he's okay, he says he is and I wonder whether or not to stop a minute and chat. 

I then look at his blank face once more and decide if rather pootle on. Straight after I see someone coming in the opposite direction, at speed, with a race number saying ultra. I'm guessing this is the race leaders coming back. The first couple are less than a minute apart and looking dead serious. The third guy is hanging back and looking pretty damned laid back. 

I saw this guy at the briefing. He's wearing a small vest and shorts, no bag and barely looks to be carrying anything. At the briefing I looked at him stretching and thought he's either a machine or a bloody idiot, probably the latter. Seeing him coming back the other way I realise it was the other way around. I shout with a grin he must be freezing and he says he's feeling great with a casual grin. I wish I could look so damn casual!

As I saw them coming from a different path I turn right, the opposite way, and head further along following the coast. It's more of the same for a while here, quite flat but really nice paths along the coast. Not very taxing, but a bit muddy so keeps you interested. It's great to go off daydreaming for a bit and about three kilometres later I hit checkpoint three, still grinning. 

I think a lot of people visualise the finish line at races, which I definitely find myself doing a lot, but it's been a bit different on this series. As the distance is smaller than I've been used to on some races last year it's not quite as stressful on each race. The stressful bit is thinking ahead to doing one every three weeks. It's not the race itself, it's the getting there that takes its toll. So I find myself drifting off and thinking of the finish line after eight months of hard work, rather than the finish line on the race I'm in at the moment. It's still five months away, but I'm really looking forward to it...

At the checkpoint I again take a minute or two to eat some crisps and say hello. Another woman comes up and asks in a very serious manner whether or not there is a toilet around. She even looks around the corner. The marshals tell her there isn't but there's some woods about a mile further along. She looks pretty disgusted so, to hide my grin, I head along on my way. 

It's another little walk along a bay and at the end a steep step up to run down a farm track for a kilometre or so, leaving the smashing of the waves on the coastline. Then come the woods the marshal mentioned and some wooden walkways over marshland. I'm instantly reminded of the Suffolk event and the same sort of walkways. 

There's quite a bit of not to dodge through and as one guy passes me he exclaims how horrible it is. I laugh as I pull myself out of another boggy bit. I'm quite enjoying the change of scenery myself. Sadly it doesn't last too much longer, only going for a couple of kilometres before heading back down country lanes and farm tracks. 

It's nice to be out of the wind for a while. There are less people around here and the sun is still out so again I just plod along for some easy kilometres until I head back onto a track and find myself in some serious mud. There's a couple of other guys up ahead who look to be struggling quite a bit and I care no better. I've managed for most of the morning to keep my shoes only fairly wet, but that all goes down the pan at this point. 

There's a lot of tentative steps to try to avoid losing a shoe here and for the most part it works. A couple of tricky moment where the shoe is half off and I'm half a step in a bog half a metre away but other that it's fine. The funniest part is just trying to decide which bit to go on. Do I go left on this bog or right? Which one am I most likely to sink into? Answer: the one I didn't pick. 

It goes on like this for a couple of kilometres then I see some people in the distance coming the other way and realise I must have reached the point I saw the leaders earlier. They look lost and are pointing in both directions so I point the correct one from afar. Surprisingly they do see me and go the correct way with a thumbs up. 

I come out of the bog here and back onto the dry(er) coastal path, then up to the gate and over the road. I'm now back on the same stretch all the way back to the second checkpoint. After a short while over the boggy confusing section where people got lost earlier I'm back on the road. This is the long section again around the bays, which I'm guessing some people might find a bit boring but to be honest for me it's perfect right now. 

It's a chance to check in and make sure my hip is doing okay, which surprisingly it is, almost feeling better which is a huge morale boost. It's also a chance to pick up a bit of speed that was lost over the boggy sections and soon enough I find myself on the little hill over to the big promenade. 

At this point a trio of people pass me. The one at the back is a woman wearing a similar waterproof to me, but it's done up. I'm pretty sure that underneath there is a woolly hat. I'm positive that on top there is a very thick warm hat with side flaps, which she has actually tied up. All in all this means that her head is nearly a foot higher than it normally would be, making her look a bit like an alien. Maybe that's a bit rich of a description considering the ridiculously ugly trapper hat I'm wearing, at least she's going for a look other than 'oddball' like I am. 

Either way, she runs on and I make my way down to the promenade for a slow run across. Again, as I reach the other side it hurts a little having fun without stopping for a while, but that soon eases up as I carry on up a hill a bit further on. In my head for some reason, I remember the checkpoint being just by the end of this, but I'm obviously remembering wrong as it's still a while off. 

Sure enough, though, it does appear twenty minutes later. The team are still as happy and chatty as earlier which is nice as a smile goes a long way on a day like today. I fill up my water, grab about half a packet of crisps and a bit of banana that somehow doesn't look manky like they normally do at checkpoints, and walk on. 

I'm passed by a girl who looks like she's only started running five minutes ago, which is a bit of a shock after the gnarled marathoners and even more gnarled ultra runners I've spent the whole day looking at and I find myself inadvertently doing a double take. 

Then I click that the checkpoint must have been where we join the half marathon. I pick up the pace a bit and find I end up running with her for a bit. As suspected she is in the half race, but is definitely feeling it having not really done any training at all. I wish her well; then plod on my way. 

From here we can actually see the hill in the distance looming ahead. It doesn't actually look to bad but it does look a bit steep from this angle. It looks to only be a couple of miles away, but of course looks can be deceiving and we don't seem to follow a bird’s eye view at all. 

Instead we weave in and out of country lanes and muddy paths. Even though I've been quite good with food all day, I do find that I'm starting to feel a little bit queasy. I've only had three or four gels, but coupled with only crisps it's easy to find they don't sit well. Luckily, as I had a nightmare with food at Dorset, I've brought something extra today. I find a clear field and take off my pack. 

Wrapped up in my waterproof trousers I have a couple of little savoury pastries. I've not tried them before but they looked good in the supermarket yesterday and surprisingly have survived the day without turning into a mush. I grab the nicest looking one, a cheese and ham puff and toddle along on my merry way. It tastes great and makes me feel a hell of a lot better almost straight away. How much of that is psychosomatic I'm not sure but I don't really care either. 

Unfortunately the field is followed directly by a boggy path through quite high bracken. This makes it hard to keep hold of my pastry and my balance at the same time so I begin to have visions of my lovely pastry falling in slow motion into a mud puddle. I then get visions of the fact that if it really happens it won't be in an arty slow motion sequence it will be in an even more unsatisfying single second ending in a splat. Followed by expletives. 

Luckily for me that doesn't happen and I come through the other side of the bracken, joking to the guy behind me about it. He laughs as well and we end up running together for a bit and chatting. Luckily my stomach completely settles after this so I can run along as well and having someone to talk to makes it all go a bit quicker toward the hill. 

Not long after, we reach a narrowing as the path goes beside a fence. There is a guy hiking along next to it and he mumbles something to Dave ahead of me, who doesn't hear and carries on ahead. As I reach him I desperately try to get ahead as I don't want to be stuck behind a hiker for this whole path but he doesn't seem to want to let me and has a massive thirty or forty litre pack on so I end up having to contort and squeeze through past him. 

I then hear him ask a question, which I also don't hear, so turn around to ask him to repeat it. I then see, much to my surprise, that he has a race number on and is doing the marathon, despite being dressed entirely as a hiker with massive pack and track pants. He asks how far and I say four or so miles just over the hill. 

He then points down and tells me he's lost his trainers. I stare in disbelief. He really isn't wearing any shoes. No wonder he looks so miserable. I ask him how and he just repeats that he lost them. I ask if it was in the boggy bits and he non-committingly grunts. I'm flabbergasted that he's managed to lose them but have to bite my tongue and carry on rather than say anything. He looks like a smart arsed comment is the last thing he needs. 

Instead I run ahead and catch up to Dave to tell him. He doesn't seem as shocked as I am but I just can't fathom how the guy could have lost a shoe then not thought "What a shame, I'd best grab my shoe from that bog I just stepped out of", is confusing the hell out of me. The fact he then let his second shoe go missing is beyond fathomable. 

So we carry on plodding and end up staying together all the way to the base of the hill. The tracks here are mostly just bog interspersed with hard packed trail and zigzagging their way around until finally we reach the base of the hill. We pass a stableman tending to his horses and pass through his gate then head up the incline. 

It very quickly becomes steep, but not so steep it's unmanageable. We start talking about injury and it turns out he's actually got the same issue I do so has had to take it easier today too. Unfortunately for him it's still twinging quite badly. Mine does feel good so I end up pacing ahead a bit up the hill as he wants to take it a bit slower, whereas I feel like I've got quite a bit of energy after my pastry. 

Hills are my favourite thing about running, so I quickly set into a rhythm. It's a tricky one as it's very easy to fast hike it too fast up a hill, run out of breath and end up crumpling every couple of minutes. Likewise it's quite easy to dawdle. So I put my hands on my knees and use them to propel forward, making sure to measure my pace and luckily this time getting it right at a comfortable speed upwards. 

The first section plateaus and we get a great view back towards the town so I take a minute to take a photo before carrying on. As I do another runner goes by, really trying to run at pace up here. Fair play to him, he looks like he'll manage it. 

I set off again and all of a sudden there is a sharp turn up to the left as I make my way to the summit. I pull down my hood as I'm getting quite warm now and the wind has finally stopped for the first time all day. 

There is a fairly steep trudge upwards for a couple of hundred metres. At points I'm grabbing on to rocks and grass on the hillside to pull myself up with, but as far as hills go this one isn't too bad and without too much fuss I come over a lip to be greeted by the Mountain Rescue guys. 

Luckily they're grinning rather than waiting to cart me off so I grin back, thank them and take a look around. There is a great view up here of all around in all directions so rather than go straight down the other side I take a moment to drink in the view and catch my breath. Unfortunately though, the preside of the hill was just protecting me from the wind and I now get absolutely hammered by the winds coming off the Irish Sea so don't stay too long. 

I head over the other side, past the one mile to go sign, and start my way down the hill. There are a few people going down fairly tentatively here and I'm quite keen to get out of the wind so just down past them. 

The hip is actually feeling pretty good at this point so I suddenly find myself really giving it everything down the hill here and passing a good ten people or so, mostly people about to finish the marathon and a bit knackered. 

Not me, though, I feel great as I hammer downwards, knowing full well I'm going to regret doing so but not caring. It's nice to just let loose for a bit. The rocks and trail aren't excessively technical but I do have to keep an eye on them to make sure I don't topple over until I reach a more structured path and can really move down until I reach the bottom. 

There are a couple of marshals grinning and encouraging me as I turn off away from the sign pointing to the finish and head back to the car park instead. It's much easier to get down the puddled road now without fifty odd others barrelling down jostling for places next to me. 

The farm track pops out onto the road and I'm suddenly passing loads of competitors who've finished heading back to their cars and start to doubt myself. A few clap and encourage me and I ask one if this is still the right way. She laughs and tells me it is then laughs even harder at my bright blue Bermuda shorts. 

I carry on past more and more people and about halfway down Dave jogs casually past with a grin, so I'm guessing his injury is feeling better which is good to see. I'm feeling the pace on the downhill and am quite shattered so it's my turn to let him go on ahead. 

The long car park road doesn't do the area any justice so I'm quite pleased when I reach the end and turn off back down to the beach. It was great getting all the encouragement from the finishers but felt a bit weird as well with ten kilometres still to go. 

So I head back down to the beach and hobble over the pebbles, over the lip and onto the flat section with the hill looking ahead exact the same as it was several hours ago at the start. The wind is still hammering into me so I pull my hood back up but it doesn't feel as cold as yesterday. Whether that's because it's actually warmer or because I'm just more used to it I'm not too sure. 

I'm really feeling quite knackered here though and check my map to see exactly how far it is as I head back nearer to the point we pass the start line once more and begin heading up the hill. I really feel quite drained and can't much be bothered, but just keep telling myself it's only because I went too hard and if I go a bit slow I'll be fine again soon. 

As I get nearer to the hillside I still feel crap but manage to catch a couple just as we start climbing. I ask how they're doing and say it's not long now. The guy tells me it'll be even quicker if I carry him which gives me a laugh. 

For some reason as soon as I'm on a gradient again I feel good so I start to pick up the pace a little going around the side of the hill here. Bizarrely, I meet the same guy in Skechers and pass him in almost the exact spot. As if thought earlier, he passed me again not long after it became flat once more and I figured he was a road runner and given the flat terrain today I wouldn't see him again. Again, it takes me a minute or two to get around him but I do so with a smile. 

On up the gradient past the little shelter once more and in the distance I see Dave. As he mentioned not being so good with hills I pick up the pace a little to catch him and chat for a few minutes. He seems to be faring better than he was earlier on the other side of the hill which is always good of course. 

We chat briefly about feeling the ups and downs of running these events as I mention feeling great on the downhill and terrible just after and as we do we reach the long of turning to go up the hill again. 

We start to talk about the cut offs and the fact neither of us really looked at them. The sun is going down slowly, though I think we've still got at least a couple of hours, which is when they based the cut offs on, so I think we're alright. As we go over a small false summit Dave questions how far I think we've got left. He thinks about three miles and I agree. We can see the summit directly in front of us so figure it's just straight up and over this time. I'm loving the fact it's only gradient all the way to the end and it's not going to hurt my hip or even my legs any more. 

Then there's a right turn. 

Just before the climb to the top there is a farm track with some mountain rescue guys on it. There was a relatively steep section for the last minute or two and I notice Dave has dropped behind again, so I ask the guys, more for peace of mind, if I'm still in plenty of time before the cut off. He just says not to worry and that they'll look after me. 

I grin and take the right turn, which leads up to some more mountain rescue guys before dropping down the other side. I catch a couple running together on the descent back down, thinking I've not got that far to go. Then it plateaus. There is a well-kept path that's flat going between the ridges of a couple of the hills and around the other side of the far one the path carries on past a little power station looking thing then over and down further. I begin to accept there's still another section to go and I won't be popping over the summit just yet. 

Around the side of another little hill I see South Stack Lighthouse once more and realise where I went wrong. I still need to come all the way back out here to the first checkpoint again before doubling back and going over the hill. I also remember the briefing, and that the race director said this was about four miles in, so I figure it must be only another couple to go. 

There are a lot of rocks on the cliff just above the lighthouse, which means I not only get some proper trail after the flat path, but for once whilst staring down at my trainers there's a lovely view in my peripheral. 

I drop down the steep trail to the road, take a turn up the hill again and the checkpoint is just there. The marshals start shopping and cheering, telling me to keep running. It's a great boost and I have a bit of a chat about how I'm feeling and how far is left. They offer food but as I'm so close I decline and carry on.

As I passed one couple on the way up the hill then another one just after, I'm keen to keep at least a bit of pace up and can see them behind me chasing so get a move on scrambling up the other side. There's now a fairly long section of well over a kilometre of, again, flat paths until I'm approaching the power station thingy again. 

I see something odd here, though. A pair are approaching from where the mountain rescue guys are above, then at the point where the out and back paths meet and diverge, they stop and talk in the distance. Then the guy carries on ahead to the checkpoint and the woman runs back a bit then squats in the middle of the path. This itself isn't too odd, though most women tend to prefer not to do this out in the open from what I gather. Also, she's just that bit too far away that she looks like she might be on hands and knees vomiting, but I can't really be sure. It also feels a bit voyeuristic and creepy so I look at the view the other way. 

What is odd is she then gets up and carries on running backwards. I want to run ahead to catch her and tell her she's going the wrong way. It looks like she might be giving up and trying to run backwards to the start, but doing that may very well take longer than carrying on. Unfortunately she's too far away to hear me or me to catch so I let her wander off, still with no idea what the hell she's really up to. 

I plod on the other way around the hill and on checking behind me still have a clear gap between the couple who I'm now positive are chasing me. I mainly only want to beat them now because they are chasing, otherwise I probably wouldn't care. After a while I meet the path coming up from the marathon route earlier and go over the lip where I stopped for a photo before and saw someone attempting to run up the hill. 

Knowing I'm quite close I put my foot down. I want to keep the gap as much as possible on these flat bits as I know I'm unlikely to be caught by anyone on the hills, either up or down, unless the race leader got severely lost hours ago. 

As I hit the final climb there is an older woman up ahead. She's doing the marathon and lets me past, whereby I cheerily exclaim that there's not far left now. She wails in response "Oh, please let that be true!"  I calmly tell her that I've been past already today and did she see the mountain rescue guy fifty metres above? He's at the one mile to go sign but it's very windy so she should prepare herself. The look on her face suggests she listens as far as "Do you see...", then pressed play again and blocked me out to wallow in her misery. Oh well, she'll find out for herself how damn windy it is in a minute. 

I reach the top, hood already up, smile at the Mountain Man before a quick look around and begin the descent down. I'm feeling quite queasy all of a sudden for some reason, but figure I'll be done in ten minutes so will be fine without eating anything. The woman with the massive headdress from earlier is tentatively coming down the other side as well and I wonder how she avoided her head being blown all over the shop on the top of the hill screeching like a helium balloon that's been let loose. She's a bit nervous descending so lets me past and I hammer on down, passing a few other marathoners as well. 

As I reach the well-kept path I'm glad to be close as the queasiness is putting a slight taint on my finish. I make my way down the final hill then turn off for the finish. I'm expecting it to be thirty metres away but as usual I'm wrong and there's a couple of zigzags before I finally cross the line, exhausted but happy. 

Overall, it was a good day. Slower than I'd like I guess, but easing off in the beginning made quite a difference later on and meant I enjoyed the whole day a lot more than if I'd pushed it harder. So it also meant I smiled all the way around. As you can clearly see...

The guy who I couldn't tell if he was an idiot or a legend by wearing next to nothing casually making his way around the course? He put himself firmly in the latter camp by two things. Firstly, he had enough time to casually joke with me as he went by rather than grimacing seriously. Secondly, he won the race. The guy with no shoes however firmly stays in the idiot camp and I've no idea if he finished. 

Next up? South Devon.

Here's the tracking:

CTS Stage 3: Difficult Dorset

All of a sudden over a hundred and fifty people start scrambling past the flags on their way up the hill away from Lulworth Cove. It's eight in the morning and the sun has only just come up. Little difference it's making its still only a little above freezing. 

The runners thin out into a line about two or three abreast as we go through a gate and start the ascent up the first of the hills. Looking down, there are small slates of Purbeck stone embedded into the ground to help give purchase and make the path easier for people to go up and down without falling. 

The problem today is that it's frosty. It's not enough that people are overly cautious, but it's enough to make you slip a little here or there. There's also someone with walking poles directly in front of me so I'm keen not to be behind them if they slip or I'm liable to get stabbed in the eyeball. Not my idea of a fun day out so I move to the side of the path where there is a small bit of dirt and it's easier to ascend. 

The gradient isn't too bad but it's enough that fairly soon all but the front runners are walking. There's no point expending too much energy at this point if you don't need to. 

We reach the top and I note that it was hard but doable. I do have a feeling today is likely to be harder than the last one in Gower though. What goes up must come down, though, and pretty quickly we're barrelling down the other side. The pace quickens and people are now in single file down to a proper path, at which point it's a nice descent down to the first view of the day of Durdle Door, a stunning rock formation jutting out of the coastline and presumably one of the things that give the area the name Jurassic Coast. I keep my eyes on where I'm going but can't help myself looking back at it a few times as I've loved this area since Jess and I came here on a holiday last year. 

Soon enough, though, Durdle Door is behind me and after a short uphill, there is quite a lengthy and pacey downhill. Sure enough, at the bottom I'm greeted with a pretty formidable hill to climb. I don't even start this one running. I just go straight to a walk on this beast. 

Durdle Door.

As I'm going up, the guy in front of me seems to be really struggling and is breathing quite heavily. I try to make sure I give enough of a gap behind him to give a bit of breathing space so to speak and focus on getting myself up the hill. My own breathing is a bit laboured at this point as well but eventually we get to the top and I pass the guy. 

He follows directly behind and I suddenly realise his breathing wasn't just because of the hill as he's still doing it. It's quite intense and I can't tell if he's asthmatic or actually thinks he's Darth Vader. It's starting to sound like he's purposely trying to impersonate the latter and I also note that he's following really close behind me. It's getting really unnerving and putting me off knowing where I'm going. We hammer it down the other side of the hill and are yet again faced by another one. Easy does it…I start climbing up. 

One foot, two foot, three foot, breathe. Repeat. Darth Vader is still behind me and I start to wonder if I slow a little whether I might get a lightsaber up the bum or not. I really hope not and it spurs me to climb the hill just that little bit quicker. 

At the top I don't take a break and head straight down the other side in an attempt to rid myself of the beast in neon following behind me. It doesn't work. He stays unnervingly close with unnervingly immense breathing. 

We reach the bottom of this hill and are faced with yet another one, only this one is longer and less steep. Slow to a walk and off we go. The field has thinned out that little bit more now so that we are still in quite a steady stream but with a little more space than at the start. Well, apart from myself and Darth, that is. I look around at the peaceful surroundings and marvel at the loveliness of it all, marred only by the mechanically enhanced inhalations less than a foot from the back of my skull, 'forcing' (sorry I just couldn’t resist a bad pun) their way into my brain. 

We get to the top of this hill and pass a needle trig point and Darth unexpectedly peels off to see on the trig point. All of a sudden I can hear myself think as he's gone. I actually let out a small help of glee as I continue on down the other side of the hill. 

The field has now really thinned out as there is a nice long stretch staying on or near the tops of the hills rather than dipping up and down the headland constantly like we were before. It's still downhill, but the gradient is easy. 

I look in the distance and notice the Isle of Portland. It's four years ago this weekend that I did my first ever race there, a marathon in the same series as I'm right this moment competing. It gives a moment of reflection on where I've been and how far I've come since then. There have been a lot of successes and also a number of failures that I've experienced in that time and I think of how different I was then to who I am now, not just in running but in general as well. But that's a story for another day, so I focus back on the here and now and up the pace a little as I head slowly back down towards the coastline. 

One of the many bays later in the day.

Soon enough, there is a steeper section of hill and I find myself needing to watch closely where I'm going. At this point Darth passes me again and I nearly scream. At the very least he is now in front rather than unerringly close behind which is good, but I don't know if I can handle much more of his breathing. A local runner passes us in the opposite direction and he shouts, "You’re going the wrong way, mate!"  Haw haw, guffaw. Hot dang this guy is a comedian as well! I wonder if anyone ever laughs at his immensely creepy Vader impression...

Either way, he luckily seems to carry on far enough ahead as we seem to wend our way through some trees and over a wooden bridge. Soon enough it's flat again and we're properly into the trees. It's nice after being so exposed for so long and we take a bit of time just above the beach going past some holiday homes. 

Back into the woods and over a few tree roots and we're faced with a turning path where a few people are stopped, thinking they've gone wrong. It looks fine to go around to the right but they're not sure. I whip out the GPS and point us all in the right direction. I'm not sure how much everyone wants to trust me but I'm positive it's the right way and turn right anyway. They can follow if they choose. Most of them do. 

We go over a stile and uphill along a brown, red and yellow autumnal bridleway. A guy in front of me trips up. I ask if he's okay and he points out it's wise to watch for tree roots under the leaves. Soon enough, were at the top and climbing over another stile into a field. A quick look over the crest reveals the first checkpoint down the other side of the gully. I belt it down the other side and dib my timing chip in before being directed back up the hill, this time on a road. 

At this point I eat a gel. I try to have one around every ten kilometres or so in order to get some food in but not overload my stomach with unnecessary sweetness. Unfortunately today my stomach is already feeling a bit rough and was doing so all week so I'm feeling unlikely to just be able to push through it. It's not been great this morning but there's not a lot I can do about it so I just try to put it outside of my mind and carry on. 

I take the lengthy hill with walking breaks and there are still a few people around doing similar. After a time I'm at the top of the road and through a farm gate into the National Trust reserve. The road continues the same but has turned into a gravel path rather than being an actual road now. 

The terrain up this side of the hill is much flatter. I can see below me the coastline that I ran along before the turnaround at the checkpoint and can see how much pumped it is down there. It's a nice break to be able to get some quicker miles in and the field thins out even more along this section. 

Soon enough I'm passing the checkpoint for the ten kilometre race just below, meaning I'm halfway along this section and have three miles to go back to the cove. All looks well, apart from my iffy stomach, and I continue pushing on. The path remains pretty much exactly the same. Flat with the odd section of downhill. This means that I can keep a pretty steady pace and make up for some of the time I lost on those initial hills. 

Flat along the top, not so much on the bottom down to the right...

I reach a gate and a road then weave my way through a village of a few houses and down into the Durdle Door Holiday Park. It spurs me on a bit knowing that I'm nearly back to the cove. The route doesn't go right back down to the door, instead we take a left turn up the hill through a gate. 

There are cows in the field. 

They look pissed off. 

Arrrrggghh! I hate cows!

I go through the gate as there's nothing else for it, but I'm not happy about it. Nor are the cows. There is a race volunteer nonchalantly packing his back in the middle of the field. I tell him I hate cows and he grins and tells me they'll be fine. Several of them start mooing aggressively in response. I scarper up the hill as quickly as I can, around a trig point and down the other side of the hill. 

It's worth the quick hill, though, as I now see the cove rising out from behind the rise. There is a massively steep downhill to get through first but I do love downhill and soon enough I'm back down at the gate and running through the village with loads of people now killing about either supporting or getting ready for different distances. 

It's a bit tricky to know where to go as, despite now knowing the town quite well, it's really busy and I can't see any directions as to which way I need to be heading. Luckily a few spectators see me looking confused and point me along back down to the cove itself. 

I come out of the slipway and down onto the pebbles of the cove. Luckily it's not a massive beach here, but the lack of purchase still throws up a few twinges in my legs. Nothing major though and soon I'm on the other side of the beach. 

Lulworth Cove.

There's now a really steep section, almost climbing, to get to the top of the headland again and head down that side of the coast. I reach the top out of breath and take a few steps at walking pace just to catch my breath. Another runner goes by and says he hopes we don't have to do that beach again. 

Along the coastline and soon enough we reach the Ministry of Defence fencing with signs about unexploded bombs and warning us to stay to the path. I had no intention of doing otherwise but am curious how the cows I can see in some of the fields seem to manage okay...

I've never been this side of the cove before so it's quite nice to see this next section of coastline. The headland continues on in a similar fashion to that I've just traversed and the sun is really starting to make an appearance. It's still freezing and pretty windy but very crisp and dry so I really can't complain considering it's the first week of December. 

I turn around a point and look ahead to a massive uphill section. There are people snaking their way all up the hillside. I head down the small dip and get a bit of a run up. It doesn't help much. 

Not the smallest of hills.

There are steps set into the hillside, again made of Purbeck stone. There cut so well and smooth they almost shine but are quite large and steep so each one takes quite an effort to get up. The trail switches back a couple of times until eventually it reaches the top. By this time I've taken my hat off and am trying to cool down as I'm really overheating now. At the top I stop to take off a layer as well to try to cool down. It's okay though, I still have four layers on top so am unlikely to get too much of a chill. I think. 

I carry on around the top of the cliff and straight away am just slightly down on the lee side. Sure enough, the wind whips up to freeze me and I'm almost instantly regretting taking the layer off. I figure it's not too bad though and I can just about handle it and carry on all the same. My stomach is more of a concern, still not having settled very well. 

Down the other side.

Pretty quickly it's straight down the other side of the hill and in no time it gets just as steep as the way up. There are steps but the blocks holding them in place are set a bit higher from the mud they hold so it's a bit precarious to try to take them with any real speed. I keep at it a bit but eventually just move to the side and go down the muddy slope. Loads of tiny steps rather than massive tricky ones and the going is much easier and suddenly a lot quicker. Soon enough I'm at the bottom...

...staring at another hill. This one is just as high, but the gradient is steadier. There are no steps this time but the path is as wide as a tractor and the grass hasn't been mulched by too many steps. Hands on knees to push myself up, I tackle it. A woman beside me has already started zig zagging up the path, makeshift switchbacks of sorts, but the path doesn't seem side of steep enough to me for that so I carry on straight up. 

View back down from the top.

It's a mission, but I reach the top a few minutes later without losing too much energy. From the top it's a nice view over the bays all along the coast and it's really nice to get a chance to see this side, having only gone the other way from Lulworth when Jess and I came here last year. It seems the view this way is almost as picturesque. 

It certainly helps having a fairly flat path along the hilltop to be able to take in the scenery, but all too soon I approach the point where it's time to leave this path and pay attention once more. Before I do, I see the first of the race leaders coming back the other way. The route has three loops that join up with each other along the way back on this section so I expect I'll be seeing more of other competitors passing the opposite direction through the day. Soon enough it will be me cheering them on to keep going. 

But for now, I take the path to the right, down the side of the cliffs and a lovely little downhill that I whizz along and enjoy after the climbing earlier. I pass a woman who I'm sure I've seen before and ask if she was at the last two races. She says she was and I carry on. I wonder if there are other people planning on doing the whole series at all?

The path went down the cliff line to the right.

I reach the bottom, now twenty seven kilometres in. I'm not feeling the greatest if I'm honest with myself. My guts are still queasy and it means I'm not getting enough fuel in, which in turn means my legs feel a bit lethargic. It's nothing soul destroying, but obviously not ideal. 

I'm going a bit further around the headland and we go through a gate past a checkpoint. The marshal tells us that we don't need to dib in here but we're not allowed any food or drink...as I'm unscrewing the cap on my water bottle. He says we're not supposed to but I ask to just fill up one bottle to halfway, which should do it. He gives in and says I can fill them both up and have food if I want, he's not bothered, it's the organisers telling him not to. 

I fill up just one bottle and don't take any food, I thank him and mean it. The extra water is helping to settle my belly so really will make a difference. I carry on up a bit of a hill then back to the coastline, where I follow it through, directly above some very tiny cliffs, and around the head. I'm already feeling a little better but unsure if that's to do with the fact I'm now on much easier terrain. 

The path stays like this for another couple of kilometres, gently rolling around the coastline on an ever so slightly downhill gradient. It's a good chance to recoup some energy after all the hills from Lulworth and I'm soon passing through the MoD gate and back on land without any bombs. Just outside the gate is a 'nodding donkey' oil drilling rig. It stinks and kind of spoils the landscape a bit, but if we didn't have them modern life wouldn't be what it is. The sad side of an ever advancing species. 

I put the world’s problems aside for the moment though and carry on around to Kimmeridge Bay, where the path takes a turn back up onto the hilltops. I knew this was coming, but it's still going to be tricky. I'm now about to start the other half of the three loops, the first half being down here on the coast and the second half going up and down the hills. 

It's straight through a brand new crop. We were told about this one in the briefing to make sure to stick exactly to the path and not ruin the farmer’s crops, to avoid them needing to come back tomorrow and give him loads of apologetic whiskey. I stick to the path. 

New crops.

After a dip through the crop it's straight up a very small but very steep hundred metres and then I join the path going up along to the hill tops. I get chatting to another guy for a bit who is wanting to go to the Marathon des Sables but his wife won't let him as its more than he's ever spent on a holiday for her. I point out he could do the Kalahari Augrabes Extreme Marathon and still take her on a holiday. He doesn't seem so keen but I know which option I'd rather (going on both...with Jess obviously, not his wife - that would be weird). 

He's not feeling so good and tells me to carry on so I do and there are a few muddy patches on the way to the tops. I skirt most of them fairly easily, but follow the guy ahead through a particularly bad one. He goes through fine, but the luck of the draw means that my shoe sinks. 

It sinks deep. 

I tug at my foot but my other one is just a little bit too much further along to get much leverage. It's also in the bog as well so it too just sinks down deeper. Great. Now both my shoes are stuck and my legs are splayed. Another guy offers help but I tell him it's okay, a tug from someone else will mean I come out of the big but my shoes will stay. I don't fancy that too much. 

So I'm standing there hoping my shorts don't rip and decide the best way out of this is some dainty manoeuvring. Or wiggling my arse, whatever you want to call it. I twist both shoes from side to side and eventually the back one comes up high enough to be freed and reach solid ground on the other side. A bit more of an arse wiggle and the other one is free. 

I start running up the hill again but notice I still have a problem. There is about a kilogram of mud attached to each shoe. I can't be dealing with carrying that around all day so stop at a clump of grass and try to scrape the mud off as best I could. It's a pretty ineffective method as there's very little grass. Another runner passes me and gives me a queer look. I explain the predicament but he looks at me as if to say it still doesn't explain why when I'm trying to get it off the inside of my shoe I look like I'm humping a mound of grass. Not a good look at all. I get as much as I can off and carry on, embarrassed. 

Just as I’m feeling embarrassed, to put things right another runner comes hurtling up the hill behind me. I can tell this because of his breathing. I can hear him from about a hundred metres away. Unlike Darth Vader earlier in the day, this guy is breathing in at a normal volume, but expelling air from his lungs so forcibly he’s actually making a grunting sound with each breath. I’m reminded of diaphragm strengthening exercises we used to do while I was doing my acting degree. I’m also reminded that, despite those exercises being great for acting and transferable to a strong core in running, I would never have actually gone on stage grunting like a madman and likewise am surprised by how much pain this guy sounds like he’s in even though he doesn’t actually seem to be. Luckily as he’s doing the half he passes me fairly quickly as I don’t know how much of that I could handle having to listen to.

View backwards from the top.

Soon enough I’m at the top of the hill and heading back down to re-join the same path along the coastline, but not before a nice bit along the top with a good view of the whole area. There is about a kilometre section here on the cliffs where we meet the half marathoners going the other way, the same place I saw the race leaders earlier, and I try to muster up some smiles and words of encouragement for everyone I go past. It’s nice to get some in return, although there are a few people who ignore me and continue looking very seriously at their shoes.

What goes down must go up (or something like that) though so almost as soon as I hit the coastline again, rather than follow it as I did earlier coming the other way, I take a right turn and head up into the village of Tyneham. As I’m going through, the place just seems eerily quiet. There’s not really anyone around, but that’s also not very surprising as all there seems to be around here is the graveyard. A rather extensive looking graveyard considering the size of the town. A road winds its way through the town framed by some very old stone walls keeping cars out of the graves but I’m glad to be out the other side of the place, it almost even seemed colder there. And according to TripAdvisor, this place is a tourist spot?

Out the other side of Tyneham is a large hill. Unsurprising as this whole coastline seems flanked by hills and gridded by hilly headland, but this one looks like it may take me a while to get up. Just before it I go through a field of cows, keeping a wary eye on the bastards, and join the half marathon route, with a lot of fresher looking faces than my own.

I hit the bottom of the hill and as the half marathoners go past I try to say hello but none of them are having a bar of it. I guess I’m still far enough up their field that these guys still want to attempt to run the hills. Either way, they’re going too fast for me join, so I slow to a walk at my own pace.

Another Ultra runner comes up behind me so I start chatting to him. He’s not feeling too good with a sore knee and contemplating dropping at the marathon point. I tell him he could just walk it out for a bit and see how he goes, but I’m not a barrel of laughs myself either with my iffy stomach. We chat about the fact that doesn’t really matter, though, as it’s a nice day out and great to be in the area with such stunning scenery.

Eventually we reach the top of the hill and are greeted with the Endurancelife flags signifying checkpoint two at thirty seven kilometres into the race. I fill my bottles to the top and take a second to actually sit down here. The guy I’ve been talking to looks to waver but carries on.

I don’t really need to sit down in terms of leg tiredness, but it makes a bit of a difference to grab some crisps and get some salt into me as I’m wondering if that’s the issue. There’s not really that many left and they’re pretty manky after every muddy bugger has stuck his fingers in after being god knows where, but I need real food so don’t have much choice. I grab a quarter of a banana as well, also not looking the greatest but it’s a good chance to at least get something not too sugary, albeit small.

After a couple of minutes I take my leave, at this point we’re back at the top of the hills and there is quite an extended section along them. My stomach is starting to feel worse, though, and the fact that it’s a narrow single-track with people doing three very different distances means it’s a masterclass in attempting to be polite as people’s paces are so vastly different and there’s not a lot of passing places. No one annoys each other surprisingly though so it must be the cynic in me coming out thinking there were going to be bust ups.

Lulworth Castle in the distance.

From up here there is a great view of Lulworth Castle in the difference, which is a great mental boost for me. Huge, in fact, as Jess and I had a really lovely day there last year when we came here for a holiday so the place holds a really nice memory for us. I think of her and that it’s a shame she can’t be here to see it from up here with me.

About a kilometre later I go through a gate and am staring back down the second of the massive hills earlier. There are a lot of half runners coming up the other way looking pretty unhappy and I try some encouragement for a couple but get blank stares so decide not to after that. They’re probably a bit focused on multi-tasking the hiking, breathing and not collapsing so are struggling to add smiling and talking to me into the mix.

That doesn't look fun to climb.

Much quicker than I was going up, I reach the bottom. For some reason I remember the briefing saying that it was flat all the way back on this section so all the way down the hill I’ve been telling myself the line of people snaking up the other side, the really steep steps, I came down earlier, wasn’t people going the way I’m going. That I wouldn’t have to go up that. That I’d go around it. I reach the bottom of it and have to face the fact I remembered wrong and am going straight up the same way.

I go up the first bit okay, but it’s incredibly steep and I’m sucking air pretty hard, pretty quick. I pass a guy doing the half, who looks to be struggling. His shoes are neon yellow and almost pristine. I jokingly ask him how he kept them so clean, pointing to my own caked shoes. He grunts in reply. Not much of a talker then. Unfortunately, that was my one last attempt at taking my mind off the pain all through my torso. The lung busting climb isn’t working well with my sore stomach and I feel like I might be sick. Then out of nowhere, for the first time in a race ever, my hamstring starts to really cramp, suggesting I’m definitely low on salt. I stop and move to the side for a few moments and catch my breath. I’m okay. It’ll be okay.

I carry on and am getting closer to the top. I love hills, but today I’m really struggling with not much fuel in my guts. I really need to put more core work into my routine. I stop again not long after, feeling sick once more. I can see the top now. I calm my lungs and press on, this time reaching the top. In the space of the last five hundred metres I’ve also climbed a hundred. Normally I’d be loving that, but today I’ve struggled to cope with these.

I take a slow walk at the top to regain my composure. I’m shattered but pleased with myself for being able to push through that. After a while, I’m feeling a bit better. Enough to walk faster, then to run a bit and walk a bit; and eventually build back up to running along the hilltops over the next couple of kilometres. Mentally I’m happy in the knowledge that’s all the climbing left on this section until I get back to the other side of Lulworth. This section is pretty much all downhill until there is a small turning and a pretty gnarly descent right back down to the cove. Unfortunately, due to a landslip we have to run across the stones again, but I just take this a bit casually to try to conserve strength.

As I’m still running with quite a lot of people doing the half, they all get a boost in seeing the finish line and take the beach at full steam and I reach the other side of the beach to a lot of applause and go through the small town back to the finish line with loads of people cheering. It’s a great boost, but I also feel I’m cheating them a little as I’m nowhere near the finish. Despite that I head up the finishing chute as I’ve no idea where to go in the crowds until someone finally points me back toward the start line and the hills.

I dib my timing chip in and go through a kit check. It’s good to see them checking everyone rather than just a few. Reassuring. I go into the tent and grab my head torch for the section ahead, although am hoping to be back at the end of this lap before dark. As I’m here and my guts are so rough I wonder if going to the toilet will help so end up having to backtrack and cross the finish chute again to the portaloos….only to find that nope, I don’t even need to go. There’s nary a worse feeling than sitting in a portaloo that gel-ridden runners have been exploding in all day, head in hands wondering why you feel so shit when you don’t even need a shit.

I leave again and go back past the start and up to the path leading up the hillside. Now follows the big loop again. I’m looking forward to getting it done and being on the final smaller lap of this and after a few crisps but not enough as there aren’t many left I’m on my way again. I take the first steep path at a sustainable pace and am almost heartened to reach the top again without too much issue. Maybe I can get through this section well? Maybe my stomach is finally going to get better and I can let my legs start to use all that training I’ll be doing? I’m not convinced, but positive thinking is what will get me through and I’m glad that the thought of quitting hasn’t really been an option when it’s crossed my mind as it would have been easy to drop after the marathon just now.

Looking back down hill number one at Lulworth Cove.

Down the other side of the hill and I’m winding around to Durdle Door. It’s much nicer this time with less other runners around to have a chance to actually run this section and I’m glad to open up a little. I reach the bottom and grit my teeth as I start up the other side.

I realise my optimism was wrong after a few steps up here as the fatigue slams back into me quick and my lung struggle to cope once more. I get a few steps farther and put my hands down to start using the hillside to grip my way up. A few steps more and I stop, panting. One breath, two breaths, three more and the sickness begins to subside. I crawl up some more, now quite literally on hands and knees to try to give some of the weight to my arms and hopefully transfer the struggle to them from my lungs. It doesn’t work and soon enough I’m stopping again waiting for the sickness to subside. It does and I push on, one step at a time and finally reach the top.

It wasn’t very big at all but it felt like the toughest climb of the whole race. I know it wasn’t even close though so am guessing it may have been down to my over ambitious vigour coming into the climb that sucked the life out of me and decide to go easier on the rest so it’s not so damn hard. There’s too many more hills to tackle them like that.

Tentatively I descend the other side, but all too quickly two minutes later am approaching a third hill. I take this one slower. Steadier. Don’t destroy yourself. It’s not worth it when there is still so far to go. I still have to stop a couple of times, but it’s only to catch my breath rather that breathe the life back into myself.

I crest the top of this one much more easily and can almost straight away take the corresponding descent at full speed. Just as there was the first time on this lap, though, there is another hill up to the trig point. This one, however, is much longer but less of a gradient. So it’s more manageable. I put my hands on my thighs and plod this one. Surprisingly, it works. I don’t have to stop on this one and reach the top actually catching a pair of other runners. I start to feel like I’m actually a bit better. It’s probably to be short lived, but I tell myself it won’t be all the same to try to boost myself mentally. It works and I get chatting to the pair I’ve caught as we’re now at the top of the section we know is pretty much downhill all the way to the far side of the loop three miles away.

We pass the turn off for the final lap to go back to the finish and talk about how paranoid I am of missing the turn off and accidentally doing the full twelve mile lap instead of the shorter six mile one we’re supposed to do next time. The markers here, however, are covered in reflective tape so it’s unlikely. All the same, I repeat a few times in my head that it’s four hills, then the trig point and then the turn, just to make sure.

I’m feeling pretty good for a while chatting away and it’s nice to again have the view over to Portland, but start to get tired again after another kilometre or two and fall back. Directly after, I go through a gate into a field full of cows and remember the angry ones earlier. I’ve just caught up to another guy and stop to walk with him, telling him I’m a bit terrified of the cows. He kindly offers to walk between me and them as he’s untangling his headphones, telling me music is his treat to himself two thirds of the way through. For some reason, in my head I thought we were further, but I guess I’m breaking it down into stages. In my head we’re on the last lap and then after that lap there’s just a little bit more to go, rather than looking at it as ten kilometre sections and well over a half marathon left.

We get through the field without incident and he puts in his headphones as we seem to be going a different pace anyway. This is directly after telling me he’s feeling a little queasy and me saying that I’ve had that all day but am feeling better now. Of course as soon as I say it, it comes back with a vengeance and I’m stopping to walk.

I pass a holiday park and ask a woman if there’s a toilet I can use. I don’t realise it’s not a campsite as well so there actually isn’t but her husband tells me there’s one at the end of the road. I’m not really sure why I suddenly think I need one, but the nausea is making me think it will help, despite not knowing what I’ll do when I get there. I’m never to find out though, as it’s locked up when I arrive anyway and I have to carry on without. I get down to the coastline once more and am starting to have a bit of a panic. I’m really getting bad waves of nausea coming over me.

I slow to a walk and a couple of other runners go past me. I don’t even try to engage in conversation this time. I keep walking and am feeling unsure what to do as it’s getting worse. After a few minutes I sit down on one of the tombstone way markers on the South West Coastal Path. I know I’m hitting the Wall. I’ve been here before. I’ve panicked before and dropped out because of this before, but today won’t be that day.

I take deep breaths. One, two and one more. I know it’s because I’ve not been eating enough as the gels were making me feel sickly. Breathe again. I know I’ve still been forcing enough down to cope. Deep one this time. I know this is my body telling me it’s run out of fuel and can’t sustain itself in this manner right now. This kind of bonking feels like I need to either vomit or poo, but my body doesn’t know which one to prepare for and meets in the middle to give me butterflies. Take a breath. But not the good kind. And again. I rest a couple more minutes then start to walk.

As my body is trying to cope with my stomach, not to mention the fact I just sat down for a few minutes, the cold starts to hit me all of a sudden as well. I grab the midlayer I took off earlier and put it back on. It’s a free sample I got through work (thanks Tribesports) and has extended sleeves and torso to cover my hands and arse, which is such a minor thing but actually makes me feel a bit cosy, despite being soaked. It’s still wet with sweat but I know it will warm up. I shiver all the same. Keep walking. It’ll be okay.

I check my phone to see where I am and find a text from Jess, which is a good boost. All it says is ‘where are you?’ but the fact she’s thinking of me really helps. I go through the tricky turning from earlier in the day, over the stile and up the bridleway the guy fell over. I know this means I’m nearly at the checkpoint. I hope they have water at this one, I could really do with it.

I reach the top of the bridleway and sit down on the stile there. I get out a Torq bar and start to eat it. I really don’t want to and am not savouring it in the slightest, but know that it will make quite a difference so force it down. When I’m halfway through I climb the stile and go over the top of the adjacent field to see the checkpoint. I run down to it as I finish the bar.

I dib in and start chatting to the marshal. The talking is helping keep my mind off it and I scrounge the last few crisps he’s got. I feel bad not leaving any for the next people, but also do really need the salt. I fill my water bottles as luckily there is some, which gives me quite a big peace of mind. Then I walk off again, back up the road up the hill.

I feel better again and the nausea is passing. I still walk this section, but the further up the hill I get the faster I can walk until by the top I can run small bits again. The gradient smoothes out again and I slowly start to regain my strength as the nutrition finally starts to be absorbed. Mentally I’m getting better knowing that this section is fairly flat for ten kilometres all the way back to Lulworth.

I push on and soon enough the fact that the terrain is so flat and much the same means that it doesn’t feel like the distance is passing all that quickly. I find myself checking my GPS to see how far I’ve gone only to find it’s only half a kilometre since I last checked. I’m looking forward to passing the half way checkpoint, to check off one more section in my head, but it can’t come soon enough.

Eventually, it does come, though. I pass the marshals the other side of a fence and a cheery lady asks if I’m smiling, because she is, so am I smiling? I laugh, it’s a nice little thing to hear someone being cheery when you feel this crap and say that I’m not, but I will next time she sees me. In truth, passing the checkpoint does make me smile a bit more and I press on into the dusk on the way to Lulworth. I go through a gate into a field and it seems to be the one with the angry cows earlier. They’re nowhere to be seen, though, so I breathe a silent relief that I won’t have to deal with them and they seem to have been moved elsewhere for the night.

I’m still hoping to get back before putting on my head torch, but know it isn’t to be. Over the next two miles I’m almost completely alone on the hilltops with the sun setting behind me. I turn around occasionally to see the sun go down over Portland and suddenly notice I’m not cold anymore. The wind has completely stopped and there isn’t a single noise. It’s dead silent and for the first time today I actually feel content and peaceful watching the sun go down. I also suddenly notice I don’t feel sick, or that I’m about to feel sick in ten minutes, for the first time today. Maybe I can finally enjoy this part of the race…

Sunset over Portland in the distance.

After about a minute just taking in the twilight I put my head torch on carry on through a gate and back down into Durdle Door Holiday Park. From memory I think that means there’s only a mile and a half to go until Lulworth, then I see the one mile to go sign and almost jump and click my damn heels.

Through the gate around the other side of the holiday park and there is a bit of a hill to climb. I take it at a steady walk but at the top vaguely see a trig point but am unsure which side of it the path follows as it’s pretty much completely dark now. I go up close to it then also notice a whole loads of glinting and realise that this is the field with the angry cows and they’re only a few feet away. I panic and go the other side of the trig point, but it’s the wrong side and have to back track around them. I’m spending way too much time getting way too close to these beasts and have to pass one directly beside me, but she doesn’t move or even seem bothered I’m there. Luckily.

I get to the other side of the hill and see the lights of Lulworth. It’s quite a relief and I take the steep descent with a bit of vigour. Through the gate and I hear a familiar voice. Jess has been waiting to see me. I nearly cry I’m so happy to see her after the day I’ve had. She tells me to carry on and rush through but I have to go down to the checkpoint anyway so we walk down together. I take my time with some more crisps and two amazing cups of coke which instantly give me a boost. She tells me to rush but I tell her I’d rather wait and see here for a couple of minutes and take my time.

I’m not sure if it’s seeing her or the fact that I finally feel I’ve got my strength back but the thought of calling it a day here doesn’t even cross my mind despite being next to the finish line and I head off determined. I optimistically say I’ll see her in an hour and a half, knowing it will be more like two hours.

I reach the gate again and a spectator gets a fright at my super bright head torch and points me in the direction to my left. I head down there but something seems wrong. There’s no markers, just road cones, but then I figure they must just be there until the end of the carpark. I get to the point where I see the edge of the carpark and realise I’ve gone the wrong way thanks to getting confused by the spectator. I check my map and I need to be a bit to the right, but realise that’s up quite a steep hill. I toss up whether to go back and eventually just jump the barb wire fence and scramble up the hillside. From the top I see there are two others who’ve done the same but as they’re not as far in I think they go back.

Thankfully there’s no barb wire at the top and I’m back on the path soon. As a sort of bonus it’s taken my mind off the climb and pretty soon I’m at the top and going down the other side. The coke has really helped and I finally feel like I’ve got loads of energy in me and as I’m on the final lap I really let loose, albeit dreading the next hill after I pass Durdle Door once more.

Pretending I don't feel sick at Durdle Door earlier in the day.

I reach it, though, and take it with a steadier pace. I’m still clutching at the ground, but this time I’m not clutching at my chest and when I reach the top without incident I feel like I’ve conquered a mountain not just a tiny little hill. As it’s now dark I can see behind me there are four other runners and as I’m finally feeling good I wonder if at last I can be a little competitive and hold my place.

It mentally spurs me and as I’ve got my good torch for the first race ever I crank it up to the full five hundred and fifty lumens, the path goes from night to day and I whizz down the path, loving it finally.

I reach the bottom, turn the light down and take hill number three with vigour. Half way up I look back to see the four people behind me are further back and that I’m gaining ground. Maybe I will hold them off. Again, I take it at a steady pace and am soon at the top, shattered but feeling like I’ve taken it well. I rush down the other side, again enjoying being able to see so well and not have to go down as tentatively as I would with a worse torch.

At the bottom I go straight into the next climb up to the trig point. I’m feeling better as this lap goes on. Surprising, considering how I’ve been the rest of the day. One step, two step and my legs are feeling pretty good. I guess as I’ve being going slower than I would have if my stomach held out, I’ve got a lot of strength left in my legs to give as they’ve not taken the hammering they normally would.

Without really noticing it this time, I’m at the top of the hill and passing the trig point. I keep a very keen eye out for the turning sign and keep expecting it to be right there, checking my GPS about four times in the space of two hundred metres, before it shiningly reflects out at me like a beacon. They put about four strips of reflective tape on this one so to be fair there’s almost no chance anyone will miss it.

I turn up the small rise to the checkpoint only another couple of hundred metres up the hill and dip my timing chip into the machine. I tell cheery lady that this time I am smiling and she laughs. She tells me she remembers my garish shorts and I laugh then I’m on my way again. I see behind me that there aren’t any head torches for a while so it looks like I might not be caught, but I also know I’m faster on hills (when I’m feeling okay) than on the flat so I’m likely to lose that ground I’ve built up pretty quick smart.

Sunset over Lulworth Cove the previous day.

As it’ only five kilometres to go, I put the pedal down and really try to keep the pace up and stay ahead of anyone trying to catch me. One mile goes past and no one does. Another mile goes past and still no one has caught me. I send a message to Jess to tell her I’m just over a mile away then just behind me I see four head torches in a group and realise I am about to be passed by four people. I know there are a couple of hills left though so I set off down the first one at one of the fastest speeds I’ve done all day to try to keep them at bay. I’ve not felt competitive or like I can do well for ninety percent of the day but as I’m finally feeling good I’m going to take the enjoyment if I can.

I get down to the Durdle Door Holiday Park again, pass the one mile to go sign, which on the fourth time today is finally true, and notice that the people who were only thirty metres behind me are now nowhere to be seen. I press on up into and around the park and as I round a corner am faced by two other runner grabbing things from their bags. I pass them and actually increase my speed up the slight gradient on the road to the gate into the cow field.

I pass through it and pass another runner, a woman who was running but has stopped to walk the hill and see another guy nearing the trig point at the top. For possibly the first time today I run up a hill, the whole thing, in one go. At the top I pass the guy, say hello, dodge the cows and see the finish line appear. I pick up to the fastest speed of the day down the final hill, narrowly avoiding twisting my ankle and snapping it on more than one occasion, go through the gate and sprint past a couple of spectators astonished at how quickly I’m going so late in the day, irrelevant to how pyrrhic it may be, and go round the corner to the finish line. There are no massive crowds like earlier in the day, just a couple of marshals. They ask if I enjoyed myself and I say no, that I normally do, but today wasn’t one of those days but I’m extremely pleased with myself to have pushed through the nausea as the last lap was absolutely phenomenal.

Now a few weeks break before Anglesey.

Tracking and full splits are here: