Marathons #77, #78 and #79

It’s remarkable the gems of insight you find just wandering around. And it’s just as well. My inspiration for writing has waned somewhat of late, and so random guidance from accommodating signposts is always helpful the effort to get over writers block. So lo! A sign! I don’t mind admitting I have been floundering and worrying a lot lately about what the point of running 100 marathons is, in fact, what the point of me is. So much so, that I had neglected to notice the fact that whilst I’d been running around in circles in my head, I had actually been running round in an ever increasing number of physical circles as well, and hadn’t written a single word of a single race report about a single one of them. And soon, I ran across another sign, which although not altogether encouraging…

...reminded me that even if it seems a long way to your goal, you shouldn't mind, as that just means that there's still lots of good times to be had on the way. And so for my latest three race reports…..

#77 - Star Runners, 24^th June 2018, 32.8 miles

I was equally excited and full of trepidation for today’s run. Excited because it was my second run with Saturn Running, a new race organiser on the block which put on just fabulous events, and also full of trepidation because it started at the same place (Wraysbury Skiff and Punting Club, should you wish to go) as the Magna Carta Marathon I did a couple of months ago, where such was the depths of despair that my body sank to, that I thought my running career, if not my whole existence, was about to extinguish.

By a stroke of luck, the first feeling was accurate, and it was a wonderful day. I ran (literally, ha! – you must excuse the recycling of some old and dreadful jokes whilst I regain my writing mojo) into Gemma at the start and ran the marathon with her. The time flew past really rather fast with someone to talk to. And Gemma is really so lovely. It was genuinely quite an experience to run for 4 and a half hours with someone who was constantly nice to me and checking in that everything was OK every few minutes. Afterwards, I wondered why that was, and the revelation struck that if I ran a marathon by myself in 4 and a half hours, I spend about 4 of those hours being deplorable to myself, berating myself for not being quicker, or as good as the person who just passed me, for not doing this right, for doing that wrong, for just being useless. Sounds stupid, but I think you get so used to things sometimes you don't even notice that you're doing them. Anyway, it was food for thought for me.

And (it wasn’t going to be long before arriving on to the subject) on to actual food! And watermelon! This has long been my favourite food, and lo here we were at a lapped event, and there was watermelon every 5 km! Dreams do come true. 

It’s the first time, I think, that I’ve run a race whilst England (football) have been playing. And it’s definitely the first time I’ve run a race whilst they’ve won. George had set it up on his phone at the aid station, and what a hoot it was checking in every 35 ish minutes on the score! And they even scored whilst I was watching! Such is the time it’s taken to write this, that we all by now know the fate which eventually befell our beloved side, but fair play to them, good effort all round!

I completed the marathon distance with Gemma, and was feeling alright, so carried on for a couple more laps to do 32.8 miles. After that, it was too hot, I’d got a headache, and the watermelon had run out, so I called it a day. Thanks again Saturn Running for a top event.

#78 - Afoot In Two Dales, 7^th July 2018, 50 miles

Ow do! It’s a new Yorkshire 50! This was a re-invented event which hadn’t been run for a good number of years, but was back on the event calendar, and filling a gap left by the Woldsman 50 (my favourite 50), which alas was no longer in existence.

I was feeling full of excitement and tredipation again for today. I hadn’t done a run this far since the 100 last year, and the ghosts of that are still floating back into my conscious every so often. But I was excited as 50’s had always been my favourite distance to run, so maybe I would return to some semblance of my former self and manage to do it well. The run was up in the Yorkshire Dales, a fine place to be if ever there was one. Preparations in the 24 hours leading up the start didn’t follow conventional advice. I spent all day walking around the “Allergy and Free From Show” (for work), and trying a great array of new “free-from” foods for “research” purposes. Thus disregarding in an offhanded fashion that well known gem of running wisdom of not to try anything new in the lead up to a race. We then headed up north on a packed train with broken air-con, which usually in Britain wouldn’t make a scrap of difference, but today in the 28oC heat, after three hours of roasting like little pigs in blankets all squashed together in an oven, we emerged from the carriage red as lobsters, gasping in the fresh cool Yorkshire air. Which wasn't that cool, come to think of it. Heck, it was hot.

I did still feel a bit peaky the next morning. Maybe the combination of free-from foods didn’t agree with me as a pre ultra diet. I managed ½ a bread muffin and some fruit and yoghurt, and a little coffee. I was also feeling decidedly nervous about the day, not a feeling I often have or relish. I felt momentarily better on arriving, as there were heaps of familiar friendly faces loitering around at the start. But oh! It was 50 miles! Who was I kidding, I hadn't done this in over a year! 

We congregated as a great mass outside the hall, and I surreptitiously inched towards the back of the crowd as the race briefing was underway. If I was really, really quiet maybe no one would notice if I hid in the toilets for a bit and then bailed it, and spent the day eating Wensleydale cheese and ice cream sat under a nice cool tree. Mmmmm, ice cream. The shrill peel of the starting whistle interrupted my daydream, and a sea of faces covered in interesting patterns of suncream and a variety of hats, all belonging to several hundred people suddenly turned and stampeded towards me. That will teach me to read the route description and check the direction for the first point. I was now accidentally right at the front, and faced with the option of being trampled by a crowd of people all about to traverse 50 miles on foot (and therefore as mad as a box of frogs), I started running. I was completely useless. I couldn’t even not start a race properly. Ee cudna stop a pig in a ginnel, to coin a popular Yorkshire phrase. I realised that within approximately 5 seconds of starting I was already being negative towards myself, and that following my recent reflections, this must not do. Fortunately, I soon got chatting to Julie who I ran the rest of the way with, joined by Kim a bit later, and Jesse for the last few miles, and I was extremely lucky to meet them, and picked up a huge amount of tips from their extensive running experiences along the way.

The heat was just too much for me today, and I really struggled in it. I felt sick all day and couldn’t eat much, and also got a great number of new blisters, which was devastating as I was wearing new shoes (i.e. had just spent a lot of money on new shoes). Other than that, which I kind of got used to after a while, it was a wonderful day. The scenery was out of this world. 

I’ve got to say, there’s nowt quite like the Yorkshire Dales on a sunny day. The route took in Wensleydale and Swaledale, and the scenery was literally so stunning it was difficult to look enough to take it all in. My eyes hurt from it all. The only part of the route that I’d had any apprehension about was the section over Great Shunner Fell (which are three words that I don’t like, altogether at once, to describe a hill). It was fairly tough, a long 4 mile uphill, but not as bad as I’d feared. 

The descent was actually worse – as we came down the other side into the valley the slight breeze that had been blowing on the top suddenly ceased, and it felt like the heat from the valley was pushing back up, whilst the sun shone on the bright white rocky path and reflected back up to the blue sky. It was literally like running in an oven. Eh by gum. 

But we were rewarded at the bottom – England were playing again, and by the time we reached the next checkpoint were winning! I also sourced some more watermelon, and thus fortified we set off again for the second half.

I can honestly say I have never drunk so much, or sweated so much in my life. It was like a reservoir passed through my body, and I still felt thirsty. In a lack of organisation prior to the run I hadn’t managed to get any electrolyte tablets, so was experimenting with dioralyte instead, which usually makes me heave at the thought, but I was so thirsty that even that was going down a treat. It worked quite well actually, and it's cheap, and as I've now got loads of the stuff, I shall use it again.

We made it back before dark. Although it was tough, I had a brilliant day, met some wonderful people, and learnt more about running ultras than I have in a long time. Thanks to Julie, Kim and Jesse who helped me through! And to my Mum and Dad and Andrew for the support along the way. And of course to the Irregulars LDWA for a brilliant event, I hope it stays a firm fixture in the event calendar. 

I soon recovered from the heat, and was able to fully enjoy Wensleydale by partaking in a bit of cheese tasting. More cheese, Gromit?

And celebrate my Mum's birthday with cream tea (thanks - and Dad - for your support this weekend, and all the time!): 

Refuelling. An essential part of any recovery.

#79 - Shark Run Grey Reef, 14^th July 2018, marathon

And from a Yorkshire twang, to the dulcet tones of Essex. Bee-ayve! Yes. My Jaws medal from last years Jaw Dropper marathon was looking hungry:

No cake would pacify it: 

Nor a small deer:

And not even some Royals:

And so I decided it was time for another shark medal to join it, and dueley headed to Essex for the Grey Reef Shark Run, in search of a fellow shark medal. 

Phwoar, it was another scorcher. I celebrated by putting out two different bottles of suncream, and promptly forgetting to take either. Fortunately the awesome Rik and Phoenix Team let me borrow some, and so I was spared a red face (and other parts). Phwoar it was hot. Yes, I’ve said it again, but it’s worth emphasising. This was a 5 km lapped run, and I managed about one lap before the engine overheated and began a gradual decline in performance, before settling on spluttering along in that irritating bit where you can’t quite make it from neutral to first gear, that makes a horrid screeching noise. Fortunately, I ran into George from Saturn running around about the third lap, and he kindly distracted me for a while with a lot of entertaining running tales on route to his 52 in 52 (that’s 52 marathons in 52 weeks). As always at lapped events there's plenty of people to talk to on the way around, so I always love them, and today was no exception. Despite these distractions, my engine had now stopped trying even to make first gear, and my last couple of laps were spent in an unpleasant place, my head feeling very light, and my legs feeling very heavy (which I suppose if you take an average, means I was about right). There must be some sort of physics phenomena to describe this. I made it to the end, where such was my patheticness that I was knocked over when Rik gave me my medal.

Aside from my physical failings, it was a lovely run. Beautiful route along the River Stort, and great to come back to a route I did in the winter, and see how the changing seasons completely change it. 

Not even a drop of mud today. Not one! A great friendly event, amazing aid station, and good fun to be had as always at Phoenix events - thanks Phoenix! And Jaws finally is satisfied with his new partner, and has stopped trying to eat the other medals:

PJs In The Park & The Pick and Mix - marathons #75 & #76

If there's anything I love more than running, then it has to be wearing my PJs in a park, whilst eating pick and mix....so how could I refuse these two lovely marathons.

PJs in the Park was a couple of weekends ago, and fresh from watching 100s of people walk/ run 100s of miles the weekend before, I was inspired and ready to go. So inspired in fact, I even changed out of my PJs and into running clothes, thus I turned up feeling slightly under (or over?) dressed when I realised many other runners had taken the name to heart and gone for the full blown PJ look (although a fellow runner did say to me that he liked my pajamas, so I'm not sure what that says about my fashion, but hey, you can't please everyone's taste all of the time). The run was organised by the ever well dressed Rik (today in an Old Mr Go-to-bed outfit) at Phoenix Running, and I love Phoenix Running because you know for sure that you're going to have a great day at their events. 6 hours lay ahead, in the quite fabulous Nonsuch Park, and as many 5km laps as you so wished.

But first, a word on Nonsuch Park, because something with a name like that deserves a mention. Should you have spare time on your hands, and an interest to delve further into the colourful history of the place, the Epsom and Elwell gov site gives a good overview. But, in short, Henry VIII, delightful man that he was, began building a palace here in 1538, on his 30th anniversary of becoming king. And why not. If I had been king for 30 years, I believe that I too may choose to build another palace to add to my grand collection, to mark the rapturous occasion. And what's more, I would move all of the poor people out of the way of where I wanted my palace to be. Which is what dear Henry did, as inconveniently there was a village on this site called Cuddington, which “was cleared away and the owners compensated” as the Epsom and Ewell website so delicately puts it. And what’s more, should I build such a thing, I wouldn’t stop at just one palace, no. Nonsuch was built as part of Henry’s new hunting estate. An entire hunting estate. And I would as well, while I was at it, decorate the walls to celebrate the birth of Prince Edward, born the year before. I’m not great with architecture, but by all accounts it seems these decorations were quite something, covered 900 feet of walls, and hadn’t been seen in England before. Blimey. Such was the extravagance and huge undertaking, that Henry VIII actually died before it was finished, which he must have been quite enraged about. Never mind though, it stayed in the royal family until 1670, when King Charles II made an error of judgement by giving it to his mistress Barbara Villiers who demolished the palace in 1682 to pay off her gambling debts. She did such a good job, that only tiny fragments of the palace remain today, but there is a wonderful manor house and a quite stunning park left in its place.

 

Three events of note today. One, I got stung by a bee. Two, I had a good run. Three, I ran the second furthest of all of us there, which is probably the only time in my life that my name will be second on a results list. These were all of them very exciting events, not least of all being stung by a bee. I haven't been stung by a bee since I was very small, and having had the pleasure of renewing the experience, I hope it doesn't happen again until I'm really old. Being somewhat out of practice in how to deal with bee stings, I figured that after a couple of minutes, as my arm hadn't dropped off, and I didn't seem to be having any sort of awful reaction, that it was probably OK. Which was more than could be said for the poor bee (although, as it stung me in a completely unprovoked manner, my sympathy for it was limited slightly), which lay still on the floor, having bee(-n) trod on by John, who helpfully had made sure that it would sting no more. 

A few moments later, it was time to start, and as I stood under a tree lathering on a final layer of suncream and listening to the race brief, I found the bee sting still stuck in my arm. It was really quite big, now I looked at it. Bees really are remarkable creatures, literally sacrificing themselves when threatened, for the benefit of their species. My bee must have skipped class on the day of this lesson, as the only threat that I seemed to have posed to it was to be standing in it's flight path, when it must have been flying in reverse, sting first, straight into my arm. Whether the bee community at Nonsuch Palace will miss this particular bee's unique survival strategy or not, I remembered that never-the-less when bees sting you, they release some kind of chemical, which attract other bees to the scene of the crime, and so the rest of the gang were probably on their way. I hastened a nervous glance up to the sky, where I was sure a shadow was forming on the horizon, but at the very moment the starting hooter went off, and I shot off to escape the wrath of the bees.

I really enjoyed the run today, and settled in well to the lap, which had a pleasing number of things going on. There were meadows filled with swaying grasses, and a children’s birthday party going on, complete with very small children lining the course for a few laps high-fiving everyone, and shouting such encouragement such as “I hope you win!” on the first lap, “I REALLY hope you win!” on the second, and by the third "I REALLY hope YOU win!". Then a woodland, more meadows, some paths, lots of dogs (all looking a little bemused about why they should be out walking on such a hot day), the odd peeved looking bee buzzing backwards, and a lovely flat out and back section along a shady path which must have been a mile or so long, and was lovely after being out in the meadows in the baking sun. And a fabulous aid station, which was situated such, that so great was the heat  from the baking sun that all the sweets had melted into one. Yum. I ran 10 laps, 32.8 miles in 5:46 and enjoyed every minute. The only trouble was getting the medal home, such was it’s bulk, and my diminished strength from the day’s endeavours.

A week later, and it was time for the Pick and Mix, an event organised by the Beds, Bucks and Northants group of the LDWA, which had been cancelled during the winter due to snow, and re-arranged for today. I hadn’t done an LDWA run for a couple of months, and had missed them, so had been looking forward to the day. Due to a long and tedious story which I won’t bore you with here, I ended up needing to catch the train, which on paper looked, if not quite a doddle, at least like a train might get you to within spitting distance of the start, within a reasonable time. As it turned out, this wasn’t true, and following a 5 am start and a four hour journey (in which time I could have made it to Italy, or half way to America) including a 5 mile walk, I arrived in a startlingly bad mood, at Great Missenden where the event started. Looking on the bright side, which I wasn’t inclined to be doing at that moment, I hadn’t missed the start, as the event was literally a ‘pick and mix’ - you could choose to do any number of any distances of laps you liked, as long as you had started sometime after 8:00 am and and were finished by 6:00 pm. As it was still, even after all that, only 10:30 am, I had plenty of time. 

After a few miles, once I started to get over my bad mood, I did really enjoy the event. I never really managed to get out of first gear, and never really felt in the mood to be running very fast, if I’m being quite honest, and so I didn’t, to be quite frank. But I loved being out in the countryside, which is really beautiful around these parts, and the 12 mile, 8 mile and 6 mile loops which I did, showed it off to it’s best in the sunshine, with the red kites soaring overhead.

It was a little unusual, in that as I was running on my own, and because everyone started at different times and was doing different things, I didn’t really see many people all day, other than back at HQ between laps and at the end, where as usual there were plenty of familiar faces to catch up with. It was an excellently organised and relaxed event, and I recommend it to anyone wishing to try a walk, or a run, from anything from 5 miles, up to 10 hours. 

And so, having picked and mixed my loops, I began the long journey home, where I returned to my PJs, to consider my next event, which is the Stars Wars IV Run on Sunday. I have noticed, the names of events seem to have got much more creative since I started doing them. My first few marathons had names like the London Marathon (a marathon in London), the Blackpool Marathon (a marathon in Blackpool), the Richmond Park Marathon (a marathon in Richmond Park); all quite self explanatory. Even the Bolton Hill marathon (a marathon up some hills nears Bolton) and the Midnight Marathon (a night marathon) were all very logical. Then I started doing LDWA events, and the names became instantly more fanciful; The Elescar Scelter, The Amesbury Amble, The Punchbowl, The Steppingly Step. It must have caught on as now there's all sorts; Cake-a-thons, Jaw-droppers, Groovy Babies, Magna Cartas, Right Royal Runs - you can run to almost any theme you wish. 

And with that, may the force be with you.

The Cinque Ports 100 - from the other side

Some exciting news! At 6.33 am last Monday morning after 44 hours and 33 minutes of walking, my Mum and Dad successfully completed their first attempt at a 100 mile walk, the Cinque Ports 100! Absolutely sterling effort by the pair of them, totally in awe, I am very proud, as well as maybe a little concerned of their sanity.

After dropping them off at the start of their epic adventure….

...Andrew and I headed over to checkpoint 3, which was 18 miles into the route, at Whittersham Village Hall, and manned by the London LDWA group. I haven't helped at an event before, so it's high time I did. I'd been worrying (briefly) what it would feel like to be there but not running, but as it turns out, manning a checkpoint is way more fun than 18 miles of running to it in the heat (which, unusually for a bank holiday, was hitting the tropical highs of the top 20s) would be. 

Upon arriving and meeting the lovely London team (about 15 strong and a force to be reckoned with), my first task was taking over sausage roll cooking from Melissa. I have never seen so many sausage rolls in all my life. 2 hours followed of putting them in and out of the oven, rotating trays, keeping track of the vegan versus the carnivorous ones, trying not to burn them. It was fairly successful, there weren't any soggy bottoms (Mary Berry, please note), and I only burnt a few (which was intentional, of course, in consideration for those, like my Dad, who prefer their baked goods ‘crispy’). They were added to the by now quite substantial table, with hundreds (no, perhaps thousands) of scotch eggs, cherry tomatoes, cheese scones, fruit scones, swiss roll, and bananas....

The checkpoint opened at 14.40 pm....ready for the 448 people who were barmy enough to walk/ run 100 miles in this heat. There was a flurry of people initially, then a steady stream, and from about 3-6pm it was complete chaos. I was on the water table, and it was pretty much like being in the middle of a very heavy downpour for several hours, such as the volume of water being poured into jugs in the kitchen, run into the hall, poured into participants bottles, mixed with squash, splashed around a bit more for good measure, and empty jugs run back to the kitchen to repeat. Most people wanted water and squash, as it was so hot, and such was the demand that we twice ran out of squash supplies and emergency trips to the village shop were embarked upon. Others opted for a caffeine kick, but alas, my overseeing of tea brewing skills were not up to standard, and several complaints were made that the tea was too strong. I thought this was a bit harsh. I mean, can you have too much caffeine going on to your first night on a 100 mile event? Can you really?

It was brilliant to see so many people I know come through. My parents, obviously. And my cousin Sammy, Gary, Tara and Fabrice, the two lovely ladies who have been so kind to me on the way around previous 100s and their husbands, Neil, Davo, and many others I recognised, even someone who follows my blog (who I saw completed the 100 – so congrats!). 

At about 7 pm we started attempting to return the village hall to its former pristine glory, by moping up the flood which had by now reached severe warning levels, and sweeping up mud and sausage roll pastry (in equal measures) off the floor. Thanks London Team for a great afternoon and induction into checkpointing! I enjoyed it hugely.

Enough rejoicing. Time was marching ever onwards (along with 400+ people) and it was time for a quick dash over to checkpoint 5 at Appledore to meet my parents at around 9.30 pm, before they set off across Romney Marsh into a spectacular thunder storm, in the pitch dark....Oh God, I hope they'll be OK. I had a fitful sleep, where I awoke several times thinking I'd been hit by lightning, whilst Thor the god of thunder (I’m not sure if he actually was that, but he sounds like he might have been someone loud and forceful) chased me along the edge of a cliff with a pitch fork, for a hundred miles… 

...I woke in a cold sweat the next morning to check the live tracking system, and was relieved to see my Mum had made it to the breakfast stop.....but what about my Dad? His last check in was still showing as the checkpoint before. I tried not to panic, after all, the live tracking system was known to be slightly less lively than actually live. It was probably that, rather than anything to do with Thor and his pitch fork. Yes, of course that would be it. Nothing to worry about! I was convinced for half an hour or so, but after a while, Thor’s pesky damned pitch fork started poking back into my mind. Where was my Dad! He could have been hit by lightning, fallen in a ditch, fallen off a cliff, wandered off route slightly and been engulfed in the marshes, been bitten by an adder (I don't know if you get them in these parts, but on a night of storms of last nights proportions, who knows what beasts would rise from the marshes), had a medical emergency.... When you come to think of it, the list of perils is endless. Why would anyone do this? Oh God. I text my Dad, but knowing him, he wouldn't reply for a week (actually, it's over a week now, and he still hasn't replied), so then I text my Mum, and then my Auntie. Eventually, my Mum replied, with the fine news that my Dad was still alive, and still walking - a thousand splendid hurrahs!

We hurried to meet them at Folkstone, about 64 miles in to the route. Supporting is far more difficult than running it, I appreciate that much more now. With the event, someone gives you a route description and you basically just have to follow it, whist trying to stay upright, keep breathing, and not get lost, not necessarily in that order. With supporting, you have to plan  your own route to the checkpoints for a start, and then coincide this with your own schedule and the potential schedule of your supportees, which can change at only a moments notice, due to any of the aforementioned perils. It's highly stressful and am am much less component at this than my parents are...yet another of their superior skills I aspire to one day equal.

We found them! They were looking strong, if a little haunted after the night's endeavours (maybe there were mysterious things in the marshes after all), and I was fortified to see them still looking well. On further discussion, the night seemed to have been quite an event, with a fine show of lightening, a chorus of marsh frogs, and a lady falling in to a ditch. But now it was day time again, the sun had come out, and cold lemonades were in order, some minor foot surgeries were to be done, and a whole days walking ahead (and then some). Following the foot surgery, which went as well as could be expected (everyone still had two feet each), we walked a few miles together along the coast from Folkstone...

...and to the deceptively charmingly named ‘The Warren’, which initially lived up to the images it’s name conjured up; of green winding paths through the verdant undergrowth, with trees overhead intertwining into tunnels, and small doorways set into the trees where the hobbits and fairies lived, and a man lay half sleeping under a tree in a bed of leaves…. and only one of those things isn’t quite true. 

And then the dreams of The Warren abruptly ended, and The Cliff began. 

There's not a chance, judging by their commentary on the way up, that they will ever forget The Cliff, but just in case, here's a snap from a handy cave half way up...

At the top of the path, there was a most entrepreneurially placed cafe. With less than 10 steps extra walking off the path, was an opportunity to partake in all sorts of refreshment, but today (which in an even odder turned of events for a bank holiday weekend, was turning out to be even hotter than yesterday), there could only be one choice - the cooling calories of the humble ice lolly. Having replaced a tiny fraction of the now thousands of calories my parents had ploughed through since starting, they set off across the fields towards the next checkpoint. I felt terrible by abandoning them to return to the cafe to meet Andrew for lunch, and spot Tara scale the cliff (Tara for some unaccountable reason had decided to continue on the route after having completed her 'sweeping' section, and go for the full 100, which she did, wearing only one set of clothes, socks and shoes, but did have time to buy a straw sunhat in Rye on the way though. Amazing!)

Early in the evening I rejoined my Mum and Dad at the checkpoint at St Margarets at Cliff (thanks Andrew for getting up at all hours to provide a terrific taxi service). I think they'd had some low points during the afternoon, but they were looking so good still, and the lovely ladies doing the food on the Cornwall checkpoint did a fine job of finding some food they could both manage to eat and enjoy (home grown rhubarb and custard, to quote a fine example), and to raise their spirits. Then it was off into the evening. There was about 25 miles left, they had done 3/4 of the 100! The remaining route was split pleasingly into sections of about 6, 6, 5, 4, and 3 miles, so basically each section got easier and easier (or, at least, shorter  and shorter). I walked overnight with them, and what a privilege it was to be able to walk with your parents overnight on such an epic challenge, and to witness just how amazing they both are. I knew they were fit, but I couldn't believe how good they still looked! And they were still in such good spirits! I learnt a lot from them (again) that night.

On the way to Deal I was heartened to see our friend Neil, who I think had had a very tough race earlier on, come past, having turned things around and really picked up his pace. By a punctilious stroke of luck, my Mum fell down a rabbit hole at the exact moment he passed, and so 'operation pulling out of rabbit hole' was a success with several pairs of hands to help, and my Mum was saved from an adventure with Alice in Wonderland. By the time we'd got the Deal, the next checkpoint, news of the 100 had apparently travelled ahead, and several people, who on first appearances just seemed drunk and ready to cause trouble, came over from the pubs lining the prom and were genuinely interested in the event, asking all sorts of questions, providing enthusiastic support and slaps on the back. 

On leaving Deal, it was time to tackle the most dreaded line on the route description "follow prom for 3.6 miles." It sounds simple, but by jove, it's dull. Even in the dark, with the night fishermen in illuminated tents on the shore to look at, and a giant spider running across the path, it doesn't get away from the fact that it's 3.6 miles in a very straight line, with not a lot else to do but walk, and think about the fact that you're walking in a very straight line. After an eternity of walking along and along and along, it was time to leave the coast and head inland across a golf course. This was pitch black, but helpfully, someone had put up reflective arrows to guide the way. If only we could thank them. "Hello" came a voice out of the dark. I jumped, almost as high as The Cliff. I knew it. These parts were haunted. "Well done!" continued the voice from the darkness. Odd. This ghost is a) super friendly, and 2) seems to have a good grasp of currently earthly matters going on in his patch. At that moment a flash of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating a black figure lurking in the darkness. "You're looking great" continued the ghost. Gosh, he really is kind. "I've only done 5 miles and I'm done in!" he continued. That's odd too. I mean, presumably if you're a ghost you're 1) already done in, and 2) do you even get tired, if you're a ghost? Another flash of lightning, and I realised that while I was perusing these thoughts, my parents were fully engaged in conversation with the ghost, and he actually looked quite solid. Pretty solid, in fact. I think he was a man. And I think he'd put up the reflective arrows. But quite why he was then stood in the middle of the golf course in the pitch black, with no light, will remain a mystery. But then, this is about mile 80 of the 100, and mysteries abound. 

My parents made it to Sandwich, and the only thing in the whole event that they disappointed me with, was that neither of them ate a sandwich whilst here. North Yorks were manning this checkpoint, and they are just a splendidly friendly group. My parents were starting to look quite tired. I hadn't fully appreciated before how hard it is to watch people you love put themselves through something that is on the one hand totally amazing, but on the other very difficult, and really quite painful. I just wanted them to be comfortable, and relaxed! But I knew there was no way that was going to happen for another 12 miles, which was now all that was left between them and 100 victory. And so, with bags and sticks back in place, it was once again out into the night....

5 miles now, to Northbourne, and another splendid checkpoint. The man checking people in called me over. 
"Are they your parents?" he asked. 
"YES!" I replied, "aren't they doing well!"
"Yes!" he replied. "You know what you can tell them?" 
"What? That you have replacement feet here? That the route has been massively mis-measured, and this is actually the end?"
"No! That in a couple of minutes, they will have been walking for 41 hours! How amazing is that!"
"Super amazing! Mum and Dad - guess what! You've been walking for almost 41 hours!"
Mum and Dad: "Yes! We'd noticed!"
I stuck some more plasters on my Dad's blisters. I didn't like to say, but his feet were being pretty much held together by plasters now. But he couldn't see them, so as long as I kept up an encouraging dialogue, and didn't take off the existing plasters which were now acting as skin, I was confident his feet would last another 7 miles....

...because 7 miles were all that was left! My parents were starting to get 'the tilt' a curious phenomenon that afflicts walkers after a prolonged amount of time on your feet. Think it's something to do with muscles spasming or something. Anyway, my Mum was tilting to the side and my Dad was tilting forwards. I could tell they were starting to hurt now. I know that feeling. So close to the finish, but each step literally feels like a herculean effort. The night was turning to day, that magical time when the air feels all still, in anticipation of a new day.

The next section was not popular with anyone, too many straight lines again, and going along the sides of fields for miles at a time (who knew the fields were so vast down here). Still, a few straight lines weren't going to stop them now, and soon the final checkpoint was reached, manned by Dave from BBN LDWA. I was amazed that my Mum was still able to have a coherent conversation about kit with Dave. They'd been awake for 48 hours, walked 97 miles, and were still able to talk about the benefits of having a bag with front pockets so that snacks could be taken from the checkpoints, stored, and be easily accessible. Incredible. My suspicions are confirmed - they are actually machines. At the same point for me last year, I remember being lost in a field of 8 foot high rapeseed plants, and crying because I couldn't find a way through them and realising I had to retrace my steps for 1/2 a mile to get back on the route. 

My Dad stood up. I asked him how he was. "I've lost control of my legs now." 

Never mind! 3 miles to go! All plain sailing from here, along the North Downs Way. Stopping for regular stretching stops and re-grouping, they marched ever closer to the finish at the Duke of Yorks Military School just outside of Dover, where at 6.33 am on the Monday morning, they marched right on through the door and completed their challenge!

A completely amazing achievement. I know how much effort that went into that, physical and mental, before and during. Well done on a job well done! 

And congratulations to everyone who completed it, or tried to. And all the volunteers and supporters. Such success!