Apologies
for the delay in part three! The last few weeks have been a little
difficult, and I haven’t felt much like writing. But you can’t
leave a story unfinished! So let’s wrap things up...
Stage
11: Fyling Hall to Littlebeck 6.1 miles, 680 ft up, 850 ft down
I
set off. This section included the famous ‘random compass bearing
over the moor’ instruction from the recce weekend, and I was very
much looking forward to taking another wild goose chase over the
moor, so much so, that in anticipation I had prepared for the event
by wearing long trousers, so as to prevent further injuries inflicted
by the heather. Alas! The compass bearing was now less random, and I
made it over the moor and out the other side with hardly so much as a
scratch.
My
phone beeped. A message from Andrew! He was feeling better and still going,
having buddied up with my cousin Sammy at the Glaisdale checkpoint,
they had walked the night section together, and both were still going
well. Good job lads! I was much buoyed to hear the news, and
continued with a spring in my step. Which I soon realised was due to
the ground becoming softer. And then boggier. Not as dramatic as the
Botton Bog, but a bog none the less.
The
last part of this section was through a wood (woods really are
delightful, so long as it’s daylight) and along a stream. It was
very tranquil running along the stone path through the trees, with
the dappled sunlight shining through the leaves, listening to the
water, and hopping along rocks and over tree roots. I was almost
starting to enjoy myself again.
Littlebeck
checkpoint was coming up. This was manned by the Staffordshire group,
who had the honour of ‘red-faced-angry-man’ being a member (see
last years Dorset 100 write up for more info on RAM, as I shall
hereby call him). I don’t like to hold a grudge, or dwell on
things. I don’t. I don’t think it’s good for you. But I was
still annoyed with RAM for his behaviour towards my Dad last year. I
had given some consideration over the last few miles (mostly because
I’d run out of other things to think about after 18 hours of
running) as to all of the things I wished I said to RAM last year,
but didn’t think of until afterwards. There were a few. Some really
good ones. But I had come to the conclusion that I was going to take
the moral high ground, and keep schtum. RAM wasn’t there anyway,
which I was glad about. The volunteers at the checkpoint were
terrific. They insisted I sat down, and proceed to offer an entire
menu of food. Based on the advice of Alan, I plumped for a
Staffordshire oatcake, which very excitingly turned out to be a hot
pancake filled with melted cheese. Irritatingly I was feeling
decidedly peaky again, and only managed a mouthful of the delectable
morsel. I squirrelled the remaining pieces away in a pocket, with the
intention of eating them later. But as we shall see, things didn’t
quite go to plan, and I discovered them the next day, squashed beyond
all recognition at the bottom of my bag, along with some painkillers
(which I couldn’t for the life of me find when I needed them), a
flattened jelly baby, and my enthusiasm for running 100 miles.
Stage
12: Littlebeck to Goathland 6.0 miles, 1200 ft up, 990 ft down
There
are no words to describe this section. I will refer you instead to
the above elevation stats, and also to this photo, taken at the
bottom of one of the more ‘punchy’ hills.
At
the checkpoint, I bucked up when I saw the two Lovely Ladies who I
had met on last years 100, who had been supporting their husbands
doing the event, and had also given me a lot of support and
cheering-up on the way around through their lovely comments and big
smiles. Both of their husbands were doing the event again this time, and as we
were quite close to each other, I saw the Lovely Ladies a few times
again (I wish I knew their names!) - thank you ladies!
Stage
13: Goathland to Stape 6.7 miles, 680 ft up, 490 ft down
I
ran through Goathland which I think is the setting for Heartbeat. I
also think it’s very nice, but all I could think of at the time was
that my feet were starting to hurt. And who could blame them, really.
The next section was up onto the moors for a couple more miles along
a stony ridge. Each time my feet hit the floor, it seemed that I
whacked them against a rock, and it felt like a thousand needles were
stabbed into my feet and ricocheted all up though my body. I tried
to block it out. They were just blisters for heaven’s sake, just
little pockets of friction, how can they hurt this much? I pushed on
for a few more miles, until in the middle of a pine forest I could
bear it no longer. I found a mossy patch in the sunshine, somewhere
where I thought there might be a fairy nearby (that was actually a
thought that I had that seemed completely rational, at 80 miles in),
and sat down, took off my rucksack and laid out my first aid kit on
the forest floor (I was secretly pleased to use it, after carrying it
so far). I took off my trainers and socks and assessed the damage.
And wished I hadn’t. At least there was no one else around to see
the state of things (apart from the fairies, of course). The inside
of both feet were covered the whole way down with blisters, with a
massive one on each ball of the foot and another at the bit at the
bottom of each ankle (at the final count there were 13 altogether, but I selected just 5 particularly bad ones for the title of this blog, to sty true to the Hobbit) . I pushed one, to check it was real. It was. I
stared at them for a few moments. I’m never sure what to do about
blisters. I know you’re not supposed to burst them, but I do
anyway, based on the fact that right now at least it was too
painful to leave them like they were. I took the necessary
instruments from my kit and set to work. It hurt, it stung, I
whimpered, and winced. I tried somehow to stick the skin back
together using various plasters and tape and gingerly put my socks
and shoes back on. I stood up. I screamed (the fairies fled). It felt
like I was jumping on pins, burning pins with red hot chilli flakes
on each end. What had I done?!
I
waddled on for a couple of minutes, walking on the outside on my
feet, but soon came to the conclusion that this was a) no more
comfortable, and b) not sustainable to go on another 20 miles like
this. I sat back down and got out the remainder of my first aid kit
(now diminished), and tried making more padding using different
plasters. I took some painkillers (the ones that weren’t hidden at
the bottom of my bag with the Staffordshire oatcake). The revised
surgery was slightly more successful, and I hobbled on, the fairies
laughing and pointing.
I
arrived at Stape checkpoint, which was manned by the Cornwall group,
and had jelly and ice cream. Things were looking up (so long as you
didn’t look down at my feet).
Stage
14: Stape to Lockton 4.8 miles, 800 ft up, 930 ft down
The
good feeling lasted for a full 3 miles - downhill through more forests on wide tracks, to the bottom
where a steam railway wound through the valley. I was in luck, and
glimpsed the steam train through the trees! The final part was
vertically uphill, and I suddenly remembered why I had renamed the
next checkpoint as Lockton-in-the-Clouds on the recce weekend. As I
crested the top of the hill, about ½ a mile from the checkpoint, a
gentleman with a long lens camera appeared from out of the bushes. I
was so tired as to not question things any more. Anyway, after couple
of seconds I realised I recognised him, he was the official
photographer for the event. Taking one look at me having by some
miracle made it up the hill, and deciding photography wasn’t
appropriate at that moment, he instead switched to talking, which he
kept up for the full half a mile to the checkpoint, with barely a
moment for breath, and requiring only a couple of encouraging
sounding noises from me. It was nice of him to walk the last part
with me, and his many varied and random stories (including a trip to
a loch in Scotland, which involved almost driving, but not in the end
because it cost around £70 to park a car for a weekend in Glasgow,
so instead the train was taken, and….) kept me distracted whilst my
body recovered from The Hill. And at the checkpoint, a surprise, as my Mum
was there! With treats!
Stage
15: Lockton to Thornton-le-Dale 5.7 miles, 500 ft up, 910 ft down
There
was now a mere 16.5 miles left! My Mum came the first ½ mile with
me out of the checkpoint., which
was good fun. Soon after, I
started to have lots of stomach aches, and things generally started
to unravel a bit more.
I slowed down to the speed where I was probably moving faster
backwards towards
to the last checkpoint rather than forwards
towards the next, but some time later, I stumbled into
Thornton-le-dale, where my Mum had just arrived also. A man at the
checkpoint
tried to persuade
me to take off my rucksack, but knowing full well if I took it off,
that there
was no way I was putting it back on again, I declined. So
instead, he moved the nearby
table to behind me, and balanced my bag, still
on my back, on the
edge of it. What a
dude! I still smile
when I think about
that! And then, someone brought ice cream. Ice cream, and a 10 mile
run left. Things don’t get better than this! My Mum also passed on
the message that Andrew and Sammy were still going. And that Andrew
seemed to have eaten some
sort of rocket fuel, and had sped back up to his usual running
pace and was nailing it. Good on him! I felt very proud that he was
doing so well, and it gave me a bit of a kick up the backside to stop
feeling so sorry for myself, and knuckle down and get the job done.
Stage
16: Thornton-le-Dale to Howe Bridge Farm 6.3 miles, 100 ft up, 170 ft
down
My
Mum came with me for another ½ a mile. Got a new running partner! It
was so brilliant to be going along with her, on the event that we
were doing to raise money to say thank you that she’s better – I
felt very lucky that we were there together, healthy, and able to be
doing something we loved (even though, reading back, I seem to have
spent quite a lot of time complaining). Sadly, my Mum declined to
come the whole way, and I felt a little lost again, as we went our
separate ways.
Still, the last two sections of the event were actually the two sections we
had done first on the recce, and so I felt like I knew them pretty
well. They were also extremely flat. Flatter than a Stafforshire
oatcake. Now, where had I put that? I‘m sure it’s here somewhere.
I
arrived at the end of a track, and was confronted with a dilemma. The
route description quite clearly said to turn left down the road,
whilst a large neon sign attached to the fence opposite, said ‘LDWA’
and had a massive arrow pointing right.
Huh.
I
went with my instinct, which was to follow the route description AT
ALL COSTS, and tootled off left down the road. I soon gained in
confidence, as I passed right down a track, past a farm and through a
couple of fields, all of which I remembered from the recce. The sign
must have been a trick, to test at the last moment the faith of the
runner in the route description. I had passed the last test!
Oh.
The path through the field on the route description appears to be
entirely covered by 7 foot high rapeseed plants, as far as the eye could see, which isn't far from 5 ft 4 inches up. No matter, this must
be the way, I’ll just shimmy on through. I pushed my way about 5
feet into the plants, turned round, and stared back at a solid wall of
plants. I tried to quell the rising panic that I would be forever
lost in the field, but failed, and started flailing my arms about and
scrambled my way back out the way I had come. Wimp. My brain function
seemed to have slowed to the speed of a tortoise dancing through
treacle, and it took a few minutes for me to 1) accept the route
description might be less than the absolute truth, 2) remember I also
had a map, 3) read the next
instruction on the route description and match it onto the map, and
finally, 4) put this into practice.
After
an absolute age, I was back on track. I made
it to Howe Bridge Farm, the LAST checkpoint! Manned by Vermuyden
(Little Holland) Group. Remember Rainbow Drops, the little sugary rice sweets? They were
here! In small retro style packets! Disregarding the fact that sweets I had enjoyed as a treat in
my childhood were now considered as retro, I instead took them for
what they were (sugar), and bounced out of the barn. I was now at 30
hours and 49 minutes, which was hours after what I was hoping for,
which in a strange way, made me more relaxed, and I determined to run
the last section as best I could.
Stage
17: Howe Bridge Farm to Malton 4.5 miles, 180 ft up, 60 ft down
I
nice man from the checkpoint walked me out to the busy road and
helped me cross it safely. I ran (or, what I now considered to be
running) the rest of the 4.5 miles, with every step knowing I was
closer to our aim – completing 100 miles (or, 102, just to remind
everyone of that) all at once, and raising money for the fabulous
Rosemere Cancer Foundation, to say thank you for making my Mum
better. The last few miles passed quickly (as I suppose things do
when you take out the hills). Before I knew it, I was back in Malton
and heading up the road to the school, where this whole crazy thing
started, and where it was about to finish. I saw my Mum in the
distance, with one of the Lovely Ladies! I sped up to what I
imagined to be a Usain Bolt type speed, but actually a whole minute
passed, and I had barely got any closer. This had the added advantage
of allowing me to collect my thoughts and my emotions, before I
actually got there, and Lovely Lady snapped the moment!
I
ran the last couple of hundred metres with my Mum! Got a clap, a
certificate and badge. People always ask me how it feels to finish
something that lasts that long (32 hours exactly). The truth is, was
too tired to really appreciate how it felt. And of course, as soon as you
sit down, blisters stop hurting, and things seem a lot better. I even
managed a pie and mash, as for some reason, in the last half an hour
my appetite had returned from wherever it had gone for the last 24
hours, and I was suddenly ravenous. Sat in the hall with my Mum, and
met up with Alan who had of course done brilliantly, and before we
knew it, Andrew was back as well! And Sammy was still going well and would of course also finish in a fantastic time too.
So,
that’s the end of The 100! Funny to think that all of that
training, and all that focus over all those months, towards one
thing, is now over. Was it hard? Yes. But was it worth it? Of course!
The hardest experiences are usually the ones that are the best, and that you take away the most from. And of course, thanks to you lovely people, we have raised over £750 for the
Rosemere Cancer Foundation. £750!!! Still can’t quite believe it. Thank you a million times over. I would do all of this again and more, if it could help other people in the same situation. So thank you, thank you, thank you! 💗💗💗
