CTS Stage 8: Enduring Exmoor

So I'm awake nice and early. It's still raining. The weather report was right, it rained from about one in the morning right through but is just starting to let up. Not the most glamorous side of camping but hey, accommodation this weekend is costing me a tenner.

I get up, get ready and registered then stand around getting nervous. I feel a bit more nervous than normal, I'm not sure why. It's a longer race than normal at forty five miles. It's also really tough hills, which I remember from having done the shorter version of the race two years ago. Nothing much for it, though, other than to get cracking.


Eventually we get through a cold and more detailed than normal briefing, including a pretty funny point where the race director pointed out that a lot of us won't make it to the finish. Cue laughter and an embarrassed looking race director, who pointed out he still wanted everyone to finish, but the truth is some won't.


We mill about for a few minutes then line up for the start. We're in the Hunter Valley in Exmoor, and it's still a bit nippy down here. The weather is expected to pick up later, though so I've not put on extra layers meaning I'm cold and glad to get going.


I know that there is a bottleneck switchback almost straightaway, so to try to avoid getting caught in a snaking procession up it I decide to go hard to be near the front going up it.


The loudspeaker goes and we take off around the field and straight into the forest paths leading down the stream toward the coast and sea. There is some nervous chatting but mostly people are just trying to get going and take off at speed. I try to stay with them as much as I can and find myself about ten back from the front when I cross the bridge to the other side of the valley. There are a couple of flat easy pats back along the base of the hill then a right turn up it.

I'm still fairly near the front which means I can see the guys leading and still running as it gets a little steeper. We come out of the trees onto the hillside and the switchback I remember fondly looms ahead and becomes fond no more. At the top the leaders are still running even this part, but as soon as I hit it I drop back to a fast hike, trying not to lose too much pace. I'm conscious now that, whilst I've succeeded in not getting into a slow bottleneck on this hill, I'm near the front so now liable to be the one who slows everyone down into a bottleneck. Keen to avoid that, I make sure to keep the hike fast.


Left turn, up, right turn, push on. Soon enough I cross a rubbled exposed part, quite slippy, and reach the trail on the other side as it then flattens out a bit and we can pick up the pace a little once more.


There is a burning smell and I notice then steep hill below me has succumbed to a forest fire recently. The trail is very narrow here, with a steep drop to the side, so I'm glad to reach the other side. There is a lovely view over to the hills on the other side of the valley as we now approach the coast itself and take a left turn, passing a sign pointing out the dangerous cliff edge we're about to go around.


As I do go around I'm hit by the coastal wind, which I was previously protected from, being in the leeside of the hill. There are quite a few tricky steps, with rocks jutting out all over the place.


I navigate over them fairly easily though, as does everyone else and we carry on along the side of the cliff. As mentioned, there is a sharp and dramatic drop off to our right, which is slightly unnerving with a new prescription in my contact lenses meaning my sense of balance doesn’t feel quite as good as it should.


There follows a nice section undulating along the side of the fields at the top of the hill here. The fence line is right on the cliff edge and the path is carved out just underneath it providing us with some great views, though at this point I’m trying to give it a bit of pace to make sure I don’t become the guy causing that bottleneck of runners so don’t fully appreciate the view. It’s alright though, I’ll be back here later today.

The pace is still quite fast for me considering there is a wind smashing me in the face, but I stick with it all the same, wanting to do fairly well while I’m still feeling good.


I reach a dirt road/path with a bit of width and take the pace back a little though. At this point Noel, who is doing all ten races as well and I met at Sussex the other week, comes up beside me and says hello. I grin and say I wondered when I’d see him catch me.


We chat a bit about how training has been going and how we’re feeling ahead of today. I think we’re both feeling okay, but aware it’s going to be a pretty long day all told. We take a left turn and start going straight up the hill towards the top where I remember the checkpoint being when I did the race two years ago.


Another guy starts chatting to us at this point as well, so between us we manage to distract each other from the hill all the way up to the top. We get there and find the massive cairn signifying time to turn and go down the other side and thankfully enjoy a nice downhill for a few kilometres. I have harsh memories of terrible weather coming up this hill on my last lap back then, but fond memories of the exhilaration I felt then bombing it down the other side to the finish.


We do exactly that, bomb it down. There are some lovely open land sections to get down, followed by some switchbacks and then some narrow single trails with tree branches jutting out waiting to poke you in the eye. It then takes us down into the woods of the valley with some steeper sections again and a necessity to pay a lot of attention before flattening out onto a path that snakes around the side of the hill on a much more horizontal slant.


It’s a quick chance to catch our breath and the three of us are still in a group as we then approach another turn back down further into the forest and another steep and uneven section. I tackle it with glee. Love a good downhill, me. And I’m still fresh enough I can tackle it without it hurting too much.


We hit the road at the bottom, cross over and go down a dirt four-wheel-drive road. It’s a bit more spacious so we regroup and continue the conversation, now at a slightly more sedate pace than we’ve been at for the last mile or two. It’s a really nice section through the woods, and one I’d all but forgotten so I’m glad that I’ll be seeing this a couple more times today.


A kilometre or two further along, we reach the only road into this area in the Hunter Valley and pass a few houses in the tiny little hamlet. We cross a bridge and go around the corner to find ourselves back where we started, having reached the end of the first ten kilometre section.


It was a lot tougher than I remember and I just try to put it straight back out of my mind so I don’t let it build up to an astronomical daunting beast by the time I get back to do it again.


Noel points out that we’ve done that section in one hour and fifteen minutes. It’s slower than the pace I was going at in Sussex, but was a much harder section, so I’m pretty pleased with my efforts and that I’ve been able to keep up with these two guys who are both quite a bit quicker than me. We joke that it’s time to start it all over again and off we trot up the path, this time taking a right turn up the other side of the valley rather than following the stream along the way we did earlier.

I remember this section being quite steady. Not the steepest, but still quite steep as it makes its way up to the top of the valley on the other side. It’s one of those sections which you could run, but it takes a hell of a lot of effort.


I mention this, and the fact that I always, no matter how many times it happens, manage to think I’m failing due to struggling and have no fitness, until it flattens out and I realise it was all in my head and I was feeling terrible due to the gradient. We start running.


It’s quite a wide path and not too bad conditions underfoot so it’s just a matter of making our way up valley slowly, before it turns around and continues slowly up the other side of the hill until we’re actually at the mouth of the stream and on the side of the hills right on the coast with the sea rushing and crashing down below us. Looking back, I can see the whole of the Hunter Valley, and over the other side the horribly steep hill we started on this morning.


We take a turn in the opposite direction now though. There is, as there was earlier in the other direction, some dramatic views looking far along the coast line, and Wales across the other side of the Bristol Channel. It’s a really cracking view, and I can’t help but mention how I’d forgotten how beautiful it really is along this part of the coast and how lovely the scenery is.


The path stays fairly easy to get around all along this part, meaning we’ve got time to chat and distract each other to pass the time. It’s the same conversation it always is at a race – pacing, course records, races done and desired, nutrition and the ever important question of kit. The exact same conversation it always is but for some reason never gets old. It passes the time as we stare out at the view and tick off some easyish undulating miles.

There’s quite a long downhill section here that takes us back down into the woods at Woody Bay, which also takes us down to the section where we reach the second checkpoint, one we’ll see a few times today. Again, we’re quite surprised at the pace we are managing to hold here. Or I am, anyway.


What goes down must go back up, so we start along a bit of a climb further along the coastline. I’ve been tagging along at the back for quite a while, so figure it’s my turn to take the lead. I’m not sure how many people care about pacing or whether or not either of these guys have even noticed, but didn’t think it’s terribly fair of me to tag along and expect them to pace me for too much longer, so hop up the front.


This means that I then feel like I need to go much faster, and as I’ve taken the lead on a steep switchback, that’s a bit of an effort. I’m feeling good right at this moment in time though, so happy to crack on. Plus, the pacing thing is probably not even something either of the guys had even thought about so there’s no pressure, but I’m a bad one for putting pressure on myself.


We reach the top and I realise I’m slightly ahead so slow down a little to catch my breath and let us regroup. I suddenly realise as well that we haven’t seen anyone for a very long time. I start to wonder quite how fast we are going. It does feel okay, but I know I’m way ahead of where I should be.


Either way, we’ve reached the top of another hill and come out of the woods so get another sea view. Carrying on along, there I a sudden switchback that makes things quite steep all of a hurry. It gives a great view back along the coast though so I don’t mind. We turn back the right way at the top and carry along.


We’re now treated to a nice bit of a downhill all the way through to Lynton. It’s a lovely town here, very quaint and tiny, with Lynmouth down below it, connected by road and funicular. The nicer part is further down, but we skirt through the top of the town, glad to have a little bit of pace and a chance to open up and stretch the legs on a road downhill.


As before, though, there is a sharp turn around the corner of the building which we weren’t expecting that takes us straight up another steep hill. We slow to a walk and plug on up it. It’s not a long one, just steep so we find ourselves heading back down again soon after. There’s a nice little path that takes us past some of the houses and bed and breakfasts with a bit of a view through the trees down the valley below.


After a while we find ourselves down the bottom of that valley behind Lynmouth. We cross a bridge and unsurprising head back up the other side of the valley.

Again we push on to the top of the hill, before following the coastline along at the top of the woods. I can feel myself starting to struggle a bit now. I’m pleased to have lasted this long holding this pace with the guys but definitely am starting to feel it and that I’ll need to slow down a little bit soon.


As we start to go back down the other side I ask noel how he’s feeling and mention I’ll probably take a bit of a breather soon. He confesses he’s a bit unsure as well. I am feeling okay, just getting a bit anxious I’m going to pay for it later.


We get down to the bottom of this valley and cross another bridge. It seems to be a bit of a theme today, doesn’t it? Go up a valley, down the other side and cross a bridge. Rinse. Repeat.


This time, though, there is a checkpoint. I remember that this one had a bit of a beast of a hill following it, so I’m a little apprehensive. I fill my bottles, grab a couple of Jelly Babies and a few crisps and that’s all then get ready to carry on.


Noel points out that we’ve got here, to the seventeen mile checkpoint after all those hills, in three hours. Definitely way too fast. Even he’s a bit concerned and he’s considerably faster than I am. We get a move on all the same. There’s a fair bit more downhill for a while, again through the woods. This time, though, instead of going up the hill and over towards the coastline further on, this time we’re heading straight back to the coast, tackling the hill head on.


We reach another bridge on a path. There are quite a few hikers here who kindly let us pass then we’re away up the other side. Through a gate and it’s straight up the gully on the other side. There’s no switchbacks this time. No easing of the gradient. Just straight up the hill. On the previous downhill we lost the third guy as he steamed on ahead. On this uphill I start to see Noel going off ahead. I debate trying to stay with him, but decide instead that it’s time to ease off to try to avoid blowing up later.


By this point some of the marathon runners are passing us so I start chatting to a couple, but they’re gone past me as soon as they arrive so I let them go as well.

Eventually I reach the top of the hill, gasping, cross the road and crest it properly, ready to start down the other side and finally take a turn back in a westerly direction along the coast and back to the start. To start it all again. I see Noel only a little ahead so catch up to him again.


It’s only briefly though. As we start down the nice and welcome downhill section here, he heads off and again I decide not to follow so that I can catch my breath. That damn hill really took it out of me. It was worth it though, as I’m now getting my first look back at the coast line in the reverse direction of travel.


It’s just as nice as it was before, only this time it’s mentally easier as it feels like I’m no longer going further away from my destination, but back towards it instead. I’m just trying to put the three extra loops that follow out of my head for now. Those are little and manageable loops so they don’t count. For now. It’s all a mental game.


There is a good three kilometres now of downhill along the coast all the way back, this time, to Lynmouth. After the undulations of earlier followed by that beast of a hill, it’s pretty nice to be able to tick off a couple of easy miles and catch my breath. The wind is quite vicious right at the moment, so I can catch my breath fairly easily.

By the time I reach Lynmouth the sun is almost out and there is a nice little section along the promenade through the town. There are a lot of people out and about despite this place being quite isolated, and most of them are looking a bit bewildered despite me thinking most of them would be family and friends of the racers.


Either way I try to be polite and get out of peoples way as much as possible. Soon enough I’m through the town, narrowly managing to avoid stopping for ice cream, or the funicular up the hill for that matter. Instead I take the path that zig-zags its way arduously up the hill. I try to take it easily and mostly succeed. I’m starting to wonder if I sometimes tackle hills a bit too full on as I can really be shattered at the top of them. Or maybe that’s just because I should have quit smoking earlier than I did.


At the top of this section I go through a gate and there is a well paved path along the side of the hill all the way to the Valley of the Rocks. Basically it’s a big pile of curiously stacked rocks dropping down to the sea a hundred metres or so below. It is a nice view, though, that’s not in doubt.

I go past and around the back of them then get a little lost trying to figure out which path to take. The sign is pointing forward towards the road and up a hill, but there’s clearly a path to the right of me. I go for the path as the road just doesn’t seem right then soon enough find that I am on the right track luckily. Getting lost is the last thing I need.


There’s quite a steady uphill section to keep me entertained for half an hour or so. I’m now definitely feeling the increase in pace for the first while of the race, so am conscious of just trying to keep a steady but much easier pace to hopefully stave off the feelings of exhaustion and sore legs.


I’m still considerably up on the pace I thought I would be by here though so I’m mentally feeling good after this race having been a daunting one for the past couple of months, being just that little bit longer. And that large bit harder than I remember it being.


I plod on though, finding myself back on the section I was going in the other direction on earlier. It’s a nice wooded part, and I know that it means I’m getting close to being back at the Woody Bay checkpoint. I pass a big wood shelter that I remember being just after said checkpoint then find myself back at the checkpoint itself, saying hello to the marshals.

There are a few other people here as well as this is the checkpoint which is the turnaround for the half marathon, so the trail fills out a little more, having been quite sparse most of the day. I hear the marshal tell some of them it’s pretty much all downhill from here and think to myself that I bet it’s not.


There is a short and nice downhill part, then sure enough straight onto a long stretch of uphill. It’s actually about two kilometres, so I’m now positive the marshal was lying when he told the other competitors that it was all downhill. Eventually I round the final corner and recognise the downhill section back to the start and finish and must admit I’m pretty relieved to do so. I’ve been chatting away with someone else who remembered me from the Suffolk race so it’s been nice to give myself a bit of distraction, but it’s even nicer after taking it a bit easy to get a downhill where you can go slowly and really catch your breath.


In particular it’s useful for me as I know what’s about to come. That bugger of a big hill and the rest of the ten kilometre route. We get stuck behind an overweight half marathon runner who’s not going particularly fast nor willing to move aside and let us past so it forces us to not speed up too much which is actually a good thing as I feel a lot better by the bottom than I would have. We go through the woods and pass him. We carry on and reach the, you guessed it, bridge over the stream leading back to base so that we can again go up the other side of the hill.


We keep chatting about the other races that we’ve done, as she has done one or two others and is planning on doing the Classic Quarter, the only other race the organisation are doing this season. I can feel she is one of those people good at pacing and has held back for the first while and is now about to power on though, so when we hit the base of the big bad switchback, I let her go on ahead.


I realised back at the bridge that I had passed through the marathon point in five hours and ten minutes, which is far too fast for this kind of terrain with never-ending hills. I’m definitely feeling and regretting it now as well. But I decide to just keep with the strategy of keeping things slower, easier and importantly steady.

I reach the top of the rocky scrambling switchback section and carry on around the burnt out slope to the edge of the valley and the cliffs beyond. As I round the corner the wind seems to have picked up a bit further. Oh well, not much I can do about it other than push on. So I do.


Because I’ve been putting it out of my mind for the last section, it has meant that I’d forgotten that it wasn’t just a quick sharp uphill followed by a lull then another big hill as I’d fondly remembered. Instead, there is once again the very long two or three kilometres until the turning point up the hill. It was fine this morning, because this morning everyone was still together, excited and quick. This time around I’m alone, tired and not really particularly excited about the section I’m currently on.


It’s fine though, I grit my teeth and push through. I think the fact that I now have an idea I’m doing pretty well is keeping me pushing, so in some ways going too hard is still paying off. Soon enough I reach the turn up the hill and push up it.


Willpower gets me to the top without too much complication, but it hurts and it has definitely cost me getting up this section. Plus, as I went over the crest to the top, instead of the cairn I saw another crest just as big ahead of me that I’d misjudged. When I do finally reach it, I pull the fingers and swear at the cairn when I see it.

I head down to the checkpoint and ask about water, knowing I’m not allowed any here. He does say I can have some if desperate, but I’m more inquiring about when I can get some and that’s back at the base only three miles away so I say it’s fine and push on down the hill.


After feeling fairly beaten by the uphill, I no tackle the down with gusto. I want to keep holding on as long as I can, but I can feel my stomach turning, which is the last thing I needed. It seems to happen on every race at the moment. I keep telling myself I’ll change my diet or I’ll take more real food on a race, but I just don’t.


Actually that’s not true, I have a cheesy bean pasty in my bag but the thought of it uncooked makes me think I’d rather deal with the ill stomach. So, correction, I need to bring more real food that I know I’ll actually want late into a race.


So I carry on down the hill, trying to ignore the queasy feeling as I know I do have a pile of good food in my drop bag. I’m particularly looking forward to some cherry tomatoes, so hold off on a gel so that I can try to refuel and settle my stomach with those very soon.

I go down the steep section, then the flat one until I turn back down the forest and finally flatten out. Not far now. I see the ‘one mile to go’ sign as I cross the road and feel confident, sort of, that I can get through this and be fine when I get to the drop bag.


A mile comes and goes, and a couple of other guys arrive next to me. They’re seeming quite cheery and like they’re enjoying themselves so I’m quite surprised when they get to the kit check and announce they’re dropping out. Bizarre.


Either way, I don’t plan to myself. I put my bag up and quickly run through the mandatory kit necessary. It’s a thorough check and they actually ask to see all of the items, which is good to see. I’ve got them all and am prepared for the check so it takes no time at all except for the fact my head torch is in my drop bag.


I go in and grab the drop bag, and open it up ready to eat. First thing I do is find the cherry tomatoes and pop one in my mouth. I’m hoping it will be my salvation. Instead I start to retch.


Uh oh.


That wasn’t the plan. I hurry outside again and try to quickly work out where I can go where the marshals won’t see me in case I chunder. Don’t want to risk being pulled from the race. I hide behind the drop bag tent. Luckily it passes after few moments.


The panic stays though, as this is obviously a pretty dire situation to be in. I had hoped this would solve my problems, but it’s made them worse. With a lot of mental fortitude I manage to get a couple of them down and throw the rest in my bag for the remainder of the journey.


I don’t bother grabbing other food as the pasty thing is still in there, but do grab a cup of coke to try to get some sugar and energy into me. It seems to help marginally. I walk back to the marshal to show him my head torch and try to keep a calm demeanour. I don’t think I’m entirely successful, but I don’t think he’s entirely bothered either so that’s fine. I also note at this point that there aren’t all that many numbers checked off on his list, around twenty, so I must have really pushed it. No wonder I’m feeling like shit.


I wander off along my way and head over to the portaloos. I don’t know why, but whenever I can I seem to do this. Most of the time I don’t need to go, but I translate sore guts with needing to drop one, so find some perverse comfort in confirming that I, in fact, don’t. I guess it gives me peace of mind to know I won’t be caught out later on down the trail, so is one less thing to worry about.


Either way, I give myself a good talking to. After the retching, my confidence took quite a knock, and the possibility of just dropping out now flirts with my sanity. It would be so easy and the tent is only fifty metres away.


But I stand up, take a good look at myself in the musty mirror on the back of the portaloo door and tell myself to stop being such a pussy. I leave and carry on back up the trail. I also take a look at the time and note that I am over half an hour faster than my finish time at this exact point in the race two years ago, which is a massive confidence boost leading into the final half marathon.

I’m now heading back up in the direction of the undulations. Mentally I tell myself this bit will be easy. It’s kind of like quite a long break period before tackling the big bastard hill on the ten kilometre loop again. I tackle this bit quite tentatively as I want to let my stomach have a bit of time to settle. So I only run short section of this windy hill back to the eastern side of the mouth of the stream into the Hunter Valley. Last time I pushed it quite hard here and was running nearly all of it with the other two guys, but not this time. This time I’m taking it easy.


Nearer the top I think it would be a good idea to get some nutrition in so I bust out the pasty. It looks pretty manky and mangled after seven hours or so in my backpack, but it also looks like precious nutrients. I open it gingerly, and take a bite out of the contents. The first bite is pretty much just dry pastry. As it’s cold it’s not particularly appetising and sticks to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. Not the best feeling. I get a bit of it down, but end up spitting some out and ripping a bit more of that part of so I can get at the cheesy bean filling. I take a bite of that and…it’s better. Marginally, but it’s better. I can only manage a couple of bites though and it goes back in my bag to be further mangled.


I round the headland to take the next part of the journey along and it’s still an uphill, but one of those annoying ones from earlier. In fact, I think it’s the same one that annoyed me as it’s runnable but makes you feel like the worst runner in the world. As I’m going along bumbling and mumbling I’m passed for the first time in a while by a fresh looking woman.

It’s not too long before I’m near the top of this section though and able to plod along with a bit more pace as it’s a bitter flatter at the top of the hill. It’s actually not too long before I’m making my way back down into the woods again and I find myself quite surprised that I managed to get through this section so easily. It feels like it’s been no time at all and already I find myself three miles or so later coming down the road into the Woody Bay checkpoint for the third and final time.


I stop and have a bit of a chat to the guys for thirty seconds or so as I debate whether to bother trying to eat anything. I see there’s pretty much no food left anyway so just grab some flakes of crisps from the bottom of the bowl and carry on down the nice little punchy downhill that they so fondly liked to tell people was the same all the way back to the finish.


Can’t fool me though. I get to the bottom and start moving up the long hill for the final time and it’s at this point that I start giving myself the mantra that it’s the last time.


For most of the day, each section has been either one I was going to see again, or one I would only see the once on the far part of the course, therefore wanting to make sure I take it all in. But this is the first loop where I can tell myself I won’t be back. It’s another little mental trick that just gives me that extra little boost. I won’t be back here so better make the most of it.


So I do. I look around and remind myself how dramatic and spectacular the scenery is in this little densely wooded and hilly part of the world. I look along the coastline ahead of me, and over to Wales in the distance over the other side. I’m still not pushing it though and it shows as I’m passed by another two or three people along the way.


Soon enough I’m reaching the top of the uphill section again and can take a breather as I make my way back down. It’s a couple of easy kilometres to bank and again that just gives me another little boost to know that I’m getting that small bit closer to the end. I push on down the gravelly single track traversing the slope of the valley until I reach the woods at the bottom and cross the little, you guessed it, bridge for the last time. I check my time, eight hours and twenty two minutes. That means my goal of sub ten is almost in the bag. Almost.


I go along the flat back and forth sections to take me up to the turn off to go up the bastard switchbacks for the final time. And it hurts. Bad. I know that I have a tendency to push too hard and end up spluttering my guts out on steep gradients. So I take it slow. I go for thirty seconds or so at a time, then I take a little breather.


Stupidly, I’m still feeling like I need to race. I know I’m skirting with danger, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this far up the field this late in a race and I really want to try to keep pushing with it. But it’s all about balance. I see a guy not far below me and just try to make sure I stay the same amount ahead of him on the switchback and then I can keep a steady pace when it becomes the undulations around the cliffs. Or that’s the plan anyway.

By the time I reach the top of the switchback, I’m spluttering my guts out. I feel half dead and am cursing under my breath. It’s really taking a lot out of me, but I’m here now. Past the burnt out ground…for the last time. Onto the undulations around the cliffs…for the last time.


There is one undulation that starts going that little bit harder on me. I try to slow down. I’m already at a walk, but now I’m barely moving and by the time I reach the top of it, I’m beaten. This little undulation has beaten me.


I sit down on the grass on the side of the trail and take thirty seconds. The guy I was trying to stay ahead of approaches and asks if I’m okay. I tell him I am it’s just sore guts. As he passes, I get up and try to follow him. I last another twenty seconds or so before I slow to a walk again. Bugger, here comes that blow up I was hoping to avoid from going too hard earlier.


The rest of the undulations are an absolute disaster. Most of them aren’t even that big, but it’s just the cumulative effect that they have on you that really catches you out. I can see the final hill and cairn in the far distance and shake my fist at it. In the next two kilometres I find myself sitting down three or four times, rueing the day I entered these damned infernal races. At the last one, I pop a couple of cherries and steel myself for the final push ahead. About five more runners pass me in this section.


I amble on the dirt road until I see the left turn up the hill. This is it. The final uphill push. I’m ready this time. I stare it down and start plodding with a vengeance. I fix my gaze on the top of the crest and stumble up to it. I remember this time there is another one the same size after so nary is there a falter when I approach the first crest. I push on up the final one, seeing three people behind me and wonder if I’ll stay ahead of them.


My resolve fades and I realise after having been passed by so many in the last hour there’s no point bothering worrying about these three. When I do reach the top though, I still pull the fingers at the cairn and swear under my breath at it once more. As I’ve noticed the person closest behind me is a woman though, I have my mitten over my hand so she doesn’t see and wonder if I’m mental.

As I’m catching my breath at the top she catches me and asks how I’m feeling. I feel bad for doing it, but the first thing I say is “Shit, actually. You?” She kind of ignores it, which is probably for the best, and she’s actually quite friendly which is probably the sort of person I should be around at the moment and may well rub off on my miserable mindset.


Then she asks if I’m Ben. I look at her a little confused, then she introduces herself as Sophie, who I’ve been chatting to online as we both ran sections of the South Devon race with another Ben, who we’ve both kept in touch with, but not actually met ourselves yet. It’s a pretty random surprise as I wasn’t aware she was even going to be here, and this is also how I got to be friends with Ben, as he popped up at the very end of that race.


We jog down to the final checkpoint and then push on over to the final downhill section. We keep chatting, though one of the signs seems to have been moved so we get a little lost, before finally working out which way to go – down.


It’s weird, but having chatted to someone just for a couple of minutes has really lifted my spirits and I start to boss down the hill. When I get to the bottom of the section, where it flattens out, I wait a few seconds but can’t see Sophie behind me so start to jog on slowly ahead figuring she’ll catch up.


As I’m taking the turn down into the second part of the woods she does catch up, but me and my downhills, I move on down shouting I’ll see her at the bottom. When I get there and cross the road for the final plod home, I do slow right down and she does eventually catch me at the ‘one mile to go’ sign.


We keep chatting and it sounds like she’s feeling nearly as rough as I am, though it also sounds like she’s managing to stay a lot more positive than I am. We trundle along until we reach the main road back and start to pass the little houses in this hamlet…for the last time.


Just as we cross the bridge over to round the final corner, the two guys she was running with catch us and we all run together for a minute or two. They’re trying to egg us on, but my hearts not in it after the last hour or so and now checking the time I’m well over the ten hours mark I’d hoped for after the final uphill disaster, so when Sophie says she’s taking a walk I join her.

Then we round the corner and pick up the pace one final time, go through into the field with the flags and go down the finishing chute. I tell her to go ahead and clock in first as she motivated me over the last half hour or so, so it’s only fair, and then we’re done. I feel shattered, but pleased that after struggles I managed to push on and not entirely lose faith other than becoming a bit grumpy.


The next morning it’s a bit of a grim hike up towards the Woody Bay bus stop, to catch a bus to Minehead, then one to Taunton, then one back to London and a train home to arrive about one in the morning. It’s a grim prospect, but luck is on my side as another camper pulls up and offers me a ride. I say the main road would be perfect as that where the bus is and he asks where I’m going. When I say London, he tells me he’s going there as well and is happy to take me the whole way.


It’s a massive help, and good to have a chance to have a chat on the way home rather than spending the day bored on buses, and I’m home by three o’clock. Just shows the trail community for what it really is, what a champ. Certainly added an extra little nicety to my race experience.

Tracking is here:

CTS Stage 7: Suspense in Sussex

Today is the first time I'm stood on a start line feeling good for several months. After pushing through a rough winter of training (despite the being milder than it could have been) and dealing with a couple of quite upsetting injuries I finally feel okay and that maybe I can fight fit on this one. The injuries have been kept at bay finally and I matched my personal best time on my run home on Monday, which is a great indicator considering I've been at best nearly half an hour off it for months.

So I feel good. I decide to use a different tact today and I put myself near the front of the start line. There's quite a few more people here than normal so I figure I may have to pace fast for a while but I won't get caught up jostling in the crowd and it may coax me into setting a faster pace to begin with that I can hopefully carry through the day. Basically, instead of the conservative, slow approach I've been using at the last few races I'm going out hard and hoping to hang on rather than crash hard later. Fingers crossed.

So after a joint countdown we all set off down the slight gradient of the hill to the Birling Gap National Trust shop and car park. I know the area a bit as I've come down here twice before. The last time I had a great day at the South Downs Way fifty mile race and the time before I caught the train down after work and just ran along the downs for forty miles overnight. As soon as I get to the car park I realise it's the place where I stopped for the toilet just before the sun went down and things got real that evening. It's a funny memory so as I round the corner and head up the slope behind it I'm grinning away.

As expected, the pace here nearer the front is much quicker than I'm used to starting with, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable so I'm happy to keep going with it.

I go through a gate to the left and over the South Downs Way and look ahead to find myself bang on the seven sisters. These are a set of seven hills framing the coastline atop dramatic chalk cliffs.

I don't know why I'm surprised to see them, I knew they were here, and I knew they were unforgiving so I shouldn't be surprised this is where we are to start the race. I guess I either forgot or was trying to block it out. Either way I'm here now cresting the first sister and slam down the other side at pace. If you can't beat them join them I guess, and I'm not one to let a couple of hills get in the way of me having a good time.

The gradients are quite steep so as soon as I'm at the bottom of the first one I try to use a little of my momentum to start me up the other side then slow to a walk. I intend to push it today but there are still times to slow and a hill is definitely one of them, irrelevant to how early in the race I may be. I still keep a quick powerwalk and soon enough am at the top of the next one.

As I go over the top of the second sister there is a lovely view down to an estuary type inlet. The sun is out and I actually find I'm really warm as it glints back at me reflecting on the water. It's currently quite a calm morning as well so as an start pacing it down the other side of the hill I feel quite a sense of relief come over me as the first few kilometres are done, I'm going at a great place I'm happy with, the weather looks like it will be good and I just feel like I'm firing on all cylinders.

A few of us stop at the top for a photo before we make our way down and at the bottom I stop again for a couple more. I start fiddling with settings as I'm using a new phone and camera then remind myself I'm here for a run not a photoshoot and tut tut my way back on track.

As I pass through a gate I notice that there is a sign pointing upwards to the South Downs Way over the hill. In the briefing today they did mention that we would be directed off the official route and down the concrete path below. The path is nice and flat so I pick up a bit of pace and look around me, noticing that I recognise this section as well, although during the night section I was going along the higher section and wondering what all the drivers were going to make of me arriving at the main road in the middle of the night.

Today I don't have the same wonder as it's nice and bright and there is a marshal directing people across the road. It's quite a busy A road so I do take care crossing as the drivers are hooning down here pretty fast. Luckily there is a break just after I arrive so I can nip across without a wait.

Over the other side it's a right turn after going through a gate and I leave the South Downs Way behind. There is a quick steep section where I see people walking for the first time so I put my head down and join them.

At the top is the first wooded section after the wide open land of the seven sisters which is quite nice to break it up a little. It's also nice to have a bit of cover as I've been busting for a wee since the start line so I meekly toddle off behind a tree.

That done I take a left turn down the farm road with a slight incline and some nice views peeking out from behind the trees. There is a bit of an incline for quite a while but as it's not too much I keep pushing to attempt to keep up the momentum while I still feel strong.

There is a sharp downhill for a bit to the first checkpoint, and then at the other side there is a small flat section through some fields. Just up ahead I see someone I think I know from a couple of races where we seem to keep bumping into each other. I can't quite tell if it's him or not but from behind it's a fairly striking resemblance. I push on to try to start catching up but he's going quite quickly so I'm really struggling to not lose ground on him let alone gain any. It doesn't help that I'm still trying to get a custard cream down me from the checkpoint.

We approach a gate onto a path that doubles back on itself and at this point it looks like I might see the guys face. He reaches the gate...goes through...turns around and it's not him. I'm knackered now from trying to catch the guy so I slow down as I reach the gate and let the next guy past. I finally swallow the last dejected bite of my custard cream.

At the end of the path alongside the field there begins a climb. I try to keep up a bit of pace but have to be careful. The gradients is just in between that which you can run a bit slower than normal and the point where it becomes inefficient energy-wise to run. I settle for mostly running and some walking.

I check my phone at this point to see how I'm doing and find I'm a bit over ten kilometres in in a bit over an hour. That's not too bad a pace for me when it's flat so it's a huge boost of encouragement considering it’s pretty much only been hills so far.

I catch up to another guy who is doing the same and we get chatting. He's not quite feeling it today and says he normally starts enjoying it by this point but hasn't quite hit his stride today. It transpires this is a bit of training for the North Downs Way hundred later in the year and he's done a few before including now building up to the Grand Union Canal Race, just under a hundred and fifty miles so nice and casual. We get talking about previous races and plans for the rest of the year.

The upside to this is that my pace increases as we run together. It's the first chance I've had to talk to someone so far today. I guess being a little faster than my normal pace, people are a bit less inclined to chat and more keen on pacing themselves. Or maybe they're just not terribly chatty today, I don't know. Either way, it's nice to talk to someone for a bit and he has quite a quick pace so it's speeding me up.

We also have gone over the top of the hill so after half an hour of mixing running and hiking it's great to open up again with a fair bit of pace downhill through the back of Friston forest. We go through a logging area and find the first puddles of the day. Despite loads of room to avoid it I manage to sink my shoe in up to the ankle of mud. Oh well.

We take a right turn here and find ourselves facing down a wall of other runners coming back the other way. This must be the out and back section they mentioned in the briefing. It's nice to see some smiling faces, though there are some looking very serious as well. I point out that I'm surprised to be still feeling quite good despite going faster than I normally would. As we get a little further on we see people eating and realise this must be the checkpoint, then after a really steep but short downhill we see the flag.

We stop to fill up. He fills both bottles then leaves while I fill mine up. I quickly grab another custard cream then head off to try to follow him then decide against it, considering the fact his pace is just that little bit faster.

Instead I check my own pace again and see that I'm now a bit over twenty kilometres in and around two hours ten minutes down. That's exactly the same pace I was at for the first ten kilometres so I decide to keep checking this to try to pace a bit more effectively this time, rather than my normal strategy of trying not to look at time and distance.

Extrapolating my current pace to fifty kilometres I should be there at five hours and twenty five minutes. Take on board the fact that I'll definitely not hold the same pace I'll be that bit slower again by that point. Fifteen minutes making it five hours forty? Even that is relatively unrealistic but I decide to aim for the first time so that hopefully I'll get there in closer to the second time.

I then try to work out what my finish time may be based on these plans and realise I forgot.to check how long the race is today. Suffolk was only fifty three kilometres but Northumberland was fifty eight so I've no idea where today will sit. I really want to get home under the published average of six hours thirty three minutes but don't know if that's possible.

At this point my little brain starts to hurt so I decide to forget about it for a while. I see another runner ahead and catch him on a slight incline.

The first thing he says is that he only runs on events. I warily start conversing about the day but he instead proceeds to rattle off a list of events he has done or is planning on doing in the near future. I like hearing about other people's races and experiences on them but for some reason this just comes off as showboating rather than a conversation so I carry on ahead and let him muse over his own greatness alone. I'm not much interested in hearing him tell me so aim towards finding someone else to chat to.

The trail heads through a lovely section of forest here but as I'm trying to escape Mr Fancy-Pants I'm feeling in a rush with him just behind me so when I get to a confusing junction I carry on ahead to another trail that just doesn't look right heading deeper into the forest.

Lucky I'm keeping an eye out as I see some tape hanging off a tree just through the other side of the woods I'm about to run into. It's not on this path but on the dirt road just before where I turned, so I quickly head back through to the correct road. It's a quick dozen metres before another sign takes me over a stile and into an adjoining field.

I do a little mental check of my body and find that I'm still feeling ace so decide to run this little hill over the field. I reach the other side and go over another stone stile to find a steeper little hill and decide to go a bit easier on this one and just run to halfway before taking a walking break. I see a line of a few others doing the same ahead of me. I turn around and luckily can't see Mr Fancy-Pants.

At the top there's a quick road crossing then down a dirt road to find the half marathon runners coming straight towards me from the opposite direction. There is a marshal between us directing everyone through a gate and into the next field.

There are huge amounts of people now bunched together. The half marathoners are in large bunches and all generally look pretty happy with themselves so I immerse myself in the middle of them wholeheartedly in the hope it will run off and I'll stay on my high.

Most of them barely notice I've joined their ranks and their quicker pace spurs me on as well. We go through another gate and across the high top of a long but narrow field. At the far end it's a right turn down the slope of it and I can't help myself barrelling down it passing at least a dozen runners. Surprisingly I hold this pace at the bottom and keep the momentum all the way up the other side to the beginning of some woods.

As soon as we get into them there is a right turn up and out the other side over to the same height as before entering the last little gully. I don't mind though, it was a nice little detour.

As I come out of the woods however, I see a massive group of people bunched up. My first thought is that it might be the ten kilometres people waiting to start as everyone looks confused. But that doesn't make sense as I'm fairly sure the start line for everyone is the same today.

Then a horrible thought crosses my mind. What if we're lost? What if we took a wrong turn somewhere and now we're on the half marathon course? What if after going so well my race and run are ruined? I get flashbacks to this happening in the Gower race and how annoying it was.

Then I look around a bit more and see that's not the case at all. There's just a stone fence that we all need to get over and the half marathon field are all still quite bunched together. It looks like it's going to take me ten minutes just to climb over the fence and I start hopping about from foot to foot. 

Luckily one of the guys ahead sees my race number and shouts out that if I'm doing the Ultra I should jump ahead. I gratefully move up the line and shout back that it's going to be a long day for me. Unfortunately I don't think I'm quite close enough to the front that everyone has heard the conversation so it just looks like I'm pushing in. I guiltily look around and get myself over the gate.

Once over the other side there is a nice little steep downhill section so I hoon it down passing several half marathoners, all of whom give me a sideways glance wondering what the hell I'm doing and probably thinking I'm going to pay hard for it later with sore legs and knees in particular. I don't care. I'm having fun. Though I look a bit like a basket case.

We take a small uphill which is then followed by a nice kilometre of steady downhill to help bring my pacing and time back up. It also marks the point where we cross nearby the finish line again. We reach the coastline and the cliffs again and then start coming back down the section we went up right at the beginning. 

When we get back down to the Birling Gap car park we instead take a right turn up across a hill over the top behind the finish line. Just as I go through the gate I'm passed by a half marathon runner who has a large portable speaker blaring out music for all and sundry to hear. I very nearly shout at him how rude it is, but bite my tongue instead. I think it's great if someone wants to listen to music to get through a race, but races are specifically the only time I choose not to listen to music so I can enjoy everything around me so I don't see why I should be subjected to Rihanna's latest. Luckily he is going a fairly quick pace so I'm out of earshot pretty quickly.

There is a downhill once again before a climb up to the top of Birling Gap to find the lighthouse standing proud, though it's a bit arduous to get up to it. At the top we cross the path and there is a great downhill section overlooking the Beachy Head lighthouse perched dramatically on a rock at the base of the cliffs, seemingly just floating there. It's a great downhill section, but what goes down must go back up (I think...) so at the bottom it's straight back up to the top of Beachy Head, which is much higher than the one we just came down.

I try to carry a little momentum into the hill, but I know this is going to be a long walk here so just settle into it to try to not lose too much speed walking. I take the opportunity to check my timing and see that I'm at thirty kilometres and three hours eleven minutes. Which means I'm still holding onto the pace I was hoping to at the half marathon point. It's another great boost, which is exactly what I need to keep the hike fast up to the top of Beachy Head. 

It's also a great chance to actually take a bit more of a look at my surroundings. The cliffs really are dramatic here and by the time I reach the top it's a two hundred metre drop down to the lighthouse below. I don't stick around though, this is a number one suicide spot in the world so I'm keen to keep moving as I'm getting vertiginous if nothing else.

Once I hit the top of the hill I start a tentative jog to catch my breath before breaking into a normal pace. There's then I slight right turn to stay on the side of the cliffs and a really steep descent. In the space of seven hundred and fifty metres I drop a hundred metres, which is quite a gradient on tired legs. 

They're not too tired though, so instead of playing safe and slow, I decide to throw myself down the hill. I move at one of the fastest paces I think I've ever run this far into a race. My arms are flailing like a madman and I'm getting even crazier looks than I did before but goddammit I'm having fun and I don't care.

I get to the bottom feeling a bit crazy, with a heart rate to match, but I'm grinning ear to ear so it was worth it. Plus I think I've made up a bit of the time I've lost going up the hill in the first place. It's quickly lost again though as I'm straight into another hill, but as I've had such an adrenaline fuelled couple of minutes I tackle this with gusto. Or at least something half resembling gusto.

There's a small dip again on the other side and I suddenly notice I'm back at the entry point to the South Downs Way. I haven't been back here since arriving at nine in the evening for a night run so as earlier in the day it brings back fond memories. Just beyond there is the next checkpoint.

I dib in and say thanks, grab a custard cream and carry on as one of the marshals points out I'm one of the ultra competitors, seemingly surprised. I am guessing not many of us have been passing through for a while as, as far as I can tell, I've only been surrounded by half marathoners since I joined them ages ago.

There is now quite a steep section through some woods. Because there are trees around it's a bit hard to tell how long it will go on for so I just put my head down and try to walk fast. The ground is very severely cambered, making it hard to move with a normal gait. The trails all day have actually been quite cambered, now that I think about it.

Having an unbalanced gait with one tight ITB and overpronating more with that leg than the other it always makes me nervous when there is a camber, but today it does still feel okay so I'm hopeful that the worst of that is over. Great timing to come through the other side of an injury just in time for summer.

I see a guy run past me, barely going any faster than I am given the gradient, and he covered in Ironman and Compressport. I'm not much of a gear snob, despite it being my job, but certain looks just scream archetypes. This guy barely keeping pace with me over a much shorter distance and running up a hill he should clearly be walking just suggests he's the stereotype of 'all the gear, no idea'.

Or maybe I'm just being a dick. I chastise myself for thinking such things. Then a wind gusts up his shorts, revealing the fact that under his five inch split shorts, instead of being compression shorts as I'd guessed, they're actually compression quad sleeves. 

He doesn't have undies on.

Given we're now running back in a westerly direction, the southerly breeze gives me an eyeful of his right buttock. I stand correct and no longer guilty. This is nearly as bad as the time a runner overtook me on a hill then farted in my face and pretended nothing had happened. That race was called the Steyning Stinger. If this guy farts I start to worry I'll have to call my race report the Sussex Splatter.

We reach the top of the hill and I get myself in front of the guy just to be safe. And to stop myself getting annoyed having to look at him, smugly thinking such attire is acceptable.

I check my pacing again at the top of the hill and see that I'm now at thirty five kilometres in three hours and fifty two minutes, which means I only have twenty five minutes to run five kilometres and stay on pace. Which is unlikely to happen, so I'm slightly deflated to know I won't quite hold onto my target. It's to be expected though, having just gone through some considerable undulations so I'm not surprised.

As we're a bit inland now though to head back to the finish and start the final ten kilometre lap I'm hoping this will be a bit flatter, maybe even downhill so I can make up a little bit of that time. As I round the corner and get a better view back towards Birling Gap I get a bit of hope that may well be the case.

There looks to be a straight line all the way back down to Birling Gap, and it looks to be all flat. I decide to make the most of it, as the underfoot conditions don't even look cambered. I pick up my feet, pick up my pace and away I trundle. 

I keep the pace fairly steady, though not too fast to keep a bit of energy in reserve for later. Three kilometres later I reach the road leading back down to the finish. I take a left turn and pace up even more as it's a concrete road and a bit of a steeper downhill. 

Checking my distance it looks to only be thirty nine or so kilometres in total so I'm surprised to see the finish flags just over the other side of the field next to this road. Then I see the line of runners snaking their way back up the hill I've just come down, one field removed and it makes a bit more sense. It was all a ruse to give a false sense of security. 

I take the turn back up the hill myself and see Ironman No-Undies up ahead, trying to chat up one of the others in the ultra. I try to keep the pace up to try to get over the top of this hill and continue making up time, but it is a bit steep so decide to push on to a trail crossing then walk, which I do.

I plod up to the top, where there is a right turn down the far side of the field. I check my pacing at the top and see I'm forty kilometres in and four hours, twenty five minutes deep so nearly back on pace. I'm fairly surprised by that as I though the pacing had slipped out of my fingers some time ago.

I head down the hill and at the bottom there is again a bunch of runners coming straight toward me, only this time it's the ten kilometre runners. We all join forces and turn back towards the finish line. It's a fairly flat couple of miles right the way back, even downhill slightly, so again I'm able to get a bit more pacing up.

On one of the small undulations I find the one mile to go sign and joke to some runners next to me it's cruel to give us the mental boost of being close right on an uphill section where we can't match it with a boost in pace. We get chatting and they ask if I'm doing the ultra. I say yes and ask them the same and they say they're only doing the ten. They seem almost embarrassed to say so, so I point out that ten kilometres is still ten kilometres and they're doing a good pace and we all plod along together for a bit. 

I also ask them how long the ten is, as I forgot to check, so that I can work out what my pacing realistically could be for the finish. They tell me it's seven point seven miles, which is longer than I was expecting and means the race will be that bit longer and I'll struggle to stay ahead of my best time of the series, of six hours and nineteen minutes.

This time I do go right up to the finish line before diverting down the path again, back down to the start line and Birling Gap car park behind it. I feel like I'm still going nearly as quick as when I started here a few hours ago, which does feel pretty nice after some hard races through the winter.

There's a lot more space this time around going up to meet the South Downs Way and go through the gate to the Seven Sisters. It's been great to have so many other runners around me for the past while, but it's also great to now have a bit of solitude.

I see a couple of others in the distance as I again go up and down the undulations of the sisters. I seem to get closer to them on the downhills then lose them again on uphills and flat. At one point I do pass another guy who I think I recognise from other races so I say hello and plod on. I also think he's beaten me at the other ones so I'm surprised to see him.

We're both passed by another guy as well who seems fairly chirpy, so I stick with him for a minute or two to chat. We've gone over the first two of the sisters when we see the right turn to leave the marathon course and head back inland. It's one long uphill. It's not too steep, but steep enough we decide to walk and talk rather than run it. I know I could be going faster at this point, but after focusing so solidly on pace for most of the day it's good to just have a bit of a break and a chat. Now all I need is the Kit Kat.

By the top I'm feeling quite good again, so as we take a couple of short turns and reach the checkpoint where we met the half marathon runners earlier, I decide not to stop at all and just dib my timing chip. There are about five other runners stood around chatting here as well, but I've got enough food and drink to see me through right to the end. As I've had  a bit of a break going up the last hill as well, I'd like to make up a bit of that time and am actually feeling all the better for it.

I go through the muddy field then the gate to the long narrow one I recognise from earlier. Again I go along the top of the field before chucking myself down the hill, nearly catching up to the next guy ahead of me as well, but I need a comfort break so instead of passing him I hang back until I reach the trees at the far side.

I quickly turn up through the trees again and come out onto the top of the field where there was the huge bunch up earlier. This time around it's deserted except for me and the other guy just ahead so there's no jostling to get over the fence. Once again I hoon down the slope on the other side and this time I do pass the guy ahead, grunting a hello as I pass.

I check my pacing and see that I am again slightly behind. There's a good downhill bit here, though, all the way back to the Birling Gap car park. As I'm going down I pass another guy who seems to be barely moving, so I'm unsure whether he's part of the race or just out for a jog. At the bottom of the hill I find another guy the same, only as I pass him at the car park, he looks up from his iPod to ask really loudly "Distance? Marathon?” I say ultra and he grunts and stares back at his iPod. I'm unsure of the purpose of the exchange, but wonder if he should wait for the other confused looking guy directly behind him.

Either way, I'm now making my way back up to the lighthouse and am pleased to see I'm at fifty kilometres in five hours thirty eight. It's only ten minutes behind the pace I set at Northumberland, one of my best, and that was flat so I'm fairly over the moon to still be doing so well here, this far into this race. I start to wonder if maybe I ill have my best time yet.

As I'm still not too sure how much is left though it's kind of hard to say. I grab my phone out again to try to work out how far I've got left then see that I'd not turned the screen off correctly a minute ago and it's starting changing the settings of its own accord. I check it's all in order and see that it is, but that it's changed one of the displays to tell me how far is left, so a handy mistake to have made. There's exactly five kilometres.

That give me forty minutes, for five kilometres to beat my time. Game on.

It's completely irrelevant whether I do beat the time or not as the conditions and distances have been completely different at each race, but it's a good mental game to play all the same. The guy I passed on the downhill earlier catches me back on the walk up and we start talking. He's feeling pretty good and just as I’m saying I feel good too I start to feel queasy.

It's a problem I seem to get on a lot of races, so one I really need to experiment with in terms of nutrition, but as these races are shorter distances it usually only happens right near the end where I can grin and bear it. I resolve to do exactly that, but as we've started running again back up to the lighthouse, I give it a couple of minutes and decide to walk up to the lighthouse instead to regain my composure. 

I reach the lighthouse and gingerly pick the pace back up. It feels okay so I choose to ignore my stomach and pace it down the other side of the hill. For the second time I try to keep some momentum going into the slope over the other side and go that bit further than needed before I stop to walk. Again there is a steep walk up to the top of Beachy Head.

I try to keep moving at a good clip and seeing the guy I was just chatting to just up ahead gives me a good marker to work from so I just try to keep my pace close to his and not fall behind, which works fairly well. The walking uphill also helps my stomach settle ever so slightly. By the top I'm glad to see the flag marking the checkpoint. Just as I crest the top, though, thinking that's the last of the uphill, I see that there is another small down then a small up before I get to take that turn. Typical.

There's nothing much else for it though and I make my way across to where I can see the last marshals grinning in the distance at the final top. I reach then, grin back and ask if I'm right it's a mile and a half to go. They concur, I dib in my chip and ignore the feed table and start the descent back to the finish. No time to lose, I'm at fifty two and a half kilometres in six hours flat, which gives me nineteen minutes to get down the final two and a half kilometres. 

Mentally, I know this bit will be easy as it's all downhill pretty much so I just try to up the pace to keep a couple of minutes buffer. I reach the bottom of the hill, where the slight undulation is, and pass the one mile to go sign. I carry on, wanting to stop but telling myself to just suck it up and carry on. 

I can't stand slogans along the lines of 'pain is just weakness leaving the body' or 'pain is temporary, glory is forever'. I know they work for a lot of people and kudos to anyone who find they help I've no issue with that, they just don't work for me personally. At this point though, I find myself actually thinking such things and have to laugh at my hypocrisy. That said, the version I'm telling myself is mainly variations on 'stop being a pussy, you'll be done in ten minutes'.

I go through the final wooded section and down to the finish line grinning away, having had an awesome run and a great day. I cross the line in six hours, seventeen minutes and six seconds.

Here's the tracking: