Leg 8 (this is turning into a spider): Evershot -- Beaminster, 8.1 miles, 966 feet up, 1279 feet down
Ahhhh, half way. I always like this point. However far there is to go (and there is indeed some considerable way to go, but we'll gloss over that point) there isn't as far as we've already come.
We came to Evershot a couple of days go, for a pub trip involving ice cream, mid-way around the recce day. While I was there, I went for a walk up the high street of this sleepy little village (the wrong way, as it happened) looking for the Village Hall so I knew where the checkpoint was, I had got chatting to an elderly lady coming out of her house. I ran past it now, all quiet and the curtains tucked in neatly. It looked all quiet and cosy, I thought, as we headed back out into the darkness. It was now about 12.45 am, and although the drinks were still flowing freely, thanks to my refill of blackcurrant squash, it was getting to the point in the evening where my feet were getting fed up of my shoes, and I was feeling that the option of a warm bed was more vastly more appealing than pushing on through the night. Still, I had no choice, the poor lady hadn't even invited me to stay, so I must crack on. The next few miles were quite straightforward anyway, mostly along roads, so I got back into things quite quickly.
As we were running out of Corscombe, which even in the dark had a distinct air of well-to-do about it, we caught up with a gentleman running along. He was looking strong, but a few words uttered soon imparted that he was not feeling the same as he looked. 'Well' I ventured, in what I hoped was an encouraging but not irritating tone (things can easily be misinterpreted after 55 miles), 'we're almost at the breakfast stop now, so we will be able to eat something and set ourselves up again.'
'No' the gentleman growled, 'the trouble with the breakfast stop, is that you can never stomach it'. I wobbled mid-stride. Crickey, he seems in a bad mood. I totally understand why, obviously. I was torn. I wanted to help him feel a bit more positive, as so many people have helped me to do over the years, but he clearly was sounding like he wanted to be on his own, and I can understand that too. Nothing worse than someone wittering on at you about how it will all be OK really, when all you really want is a bit of time to yourself to be really really miserable how things are TOTALLY not going to be OK at all. And then something happens, and you snap out of it, and things are well again. So I left him to it.
Anyway, I've been dreaming after a bacon butty for a good 5 miles now, and we need to crack on up this blasted hill to get closer to the breakfast stop. We made it over another EXTREME CARE road, and into a field with waist high wet grass. I took a compass bearing (I just feel the need to drop this in every so often, now I know how to actually use a compass), and made it to a self-clip in a hedge. Then it was only a couple more miles down to Beaminster, and......long long-anticipated BREAKFAST STOP!!!
As we were approaching, I had a little panic that there might not actually be any bacon, but this was soon pushed to the back of my mind, as before breakfast we went into the Baggage Pavilion. This is were the bags we had left at the start had been transported to. It took me 25 MINUTES, yes, TWENTY FIVE, to get my bag, take off my trainers, change clothes, and address the problem of my feet. I've always been !*@? at transitions in triathlons, but this was a whole another level of slowness. In order to explain myself, we need to go back to my feet, which by now were becoming quite a problem. Or, two problems. My feet had got really wet over the last few hours. The blisters which I had burst about, I don't know, 25 miles or so ago, were now really sore again, and there were now blisters on blisters on the inside of both of my heels. I also had new blisters at the front of my feet and between my toes. It was awful. I cleaned them as best I could (sure am glad the essential kit list included antiseptic wipes, the people who wrote that list clearly know what they are talking about), tried to dry them as much as I could, put blister plasters on the blisters, and used a LOT of baby powder to dry them properly. My feet had gone white and wrinkly, and I am now going to plagiarize the saying of another runner, and say that my feet looked like tripe. As I was thinking this, I realised that I've never had tripe, and don't know much about it, and being a dietitian this is unacceptable, so afterwards I went to find out. I already knew that tripe was the lining of the stomach of cows. But then, cows have four stomachs don't they, and bet you didn't know that tripe is usually only the wall of the first three stomachs. And, if you ate 100 g of raw tripe (yummy - not that I recommend this) it would give you 85 kcal, and 12 g of protein. Twelve grams!
Nah. I'm still not convinced to try it. Especially now I think it looks like my feet.
I gingerly put new socks and trainers over my tripe-feet, and hobbled out to Andrew who was waiting (for ages) in the hall. Sorry.
We ran across the playing fields to the Breakfast Stop which was in the school dining room, and met my Dad. Andrew headed back to the house for some much deserved rest - thanks a million - it was so good to have company, and jokes (especially the bad ones), and someone familiar being around for a few hours to encourage and make me feel I was doing OK! I owe you one!
North Yorkshire were doing the breakfast stop and it was ace, I had a bacon butty (hurrah) with ketchup, and a cup of tea and everything. It was delicious. All too soon, the bacon butty was over, and it was off again, this time with my Dad who had kindly offered to keep me company for the rest of the time until it got light....
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