Leg 9: Beaminster to Blackdown, 6.6 miles, 1315 feet up, 959 feet down
Brilliant, only 10 km until another stop. And it's not even pitch black outside anymore, I can see shapes and things again in the dawn light.
I had been anxious about the next section, as my parents had recced this bit, around Lewesden Hill, and had made a great deal of the fact that it was very difficult to find the way, and that it would be a terrible and frightening place for me to be alone in the dark. I had therefore been studying this part of the map furiously, enthusiastically using my purple high-lighter, and reading and re-reading Section 9 of the Instructions. As it turned out, I don't know what all the fuss was about. Other than the hill was very big (at 279 metres it's the highest point in Dorset), and the zig-zag path up it seemed to have been drawn by someone who had been drunk at the time, I found it OK to find the way (by taking my compass bearings, did I mention I could do that?). There was a manned clip point at the top, where the two gentleman had been sat in their tent all night, clipping peoples cards. What a job. Thanks guys!
We came down off Lewesden Hill, and soon it was back onto roads for a couple of miles....a hugely long couple of miles on a never-ending road, until we eventually made it to the next checkpoint at Blackdown. Here I ate some cocktail sausages and raw carrots, and had some drink. My Dad ate one of his sandwiches (in true honest form, he refused even a crumb or drop of food or fluid from the organisers despite being offered!), and soon we were on our way.....
Leg 10: Blackdown to Netherbury, 7.5 miles, 795 feet up, 1235 feet down
The next part went up a hill and back along a bank above the road we had just run along. It was now really pretty much light, and it was lovely to watch the sky change colours, and see a new day emerge from the darkness. It was lovely and cool in the early morning air. I breathed in deeply, and basked in the satisfaction of running 65 miles. I had now gone further on foot than I ever had before, and felt for the first time quite pleased with myself. Not bad. Not bad at all. I breathed in the dawn air deeply, and felt at one with the world and myself.
Little did I know it, but that was the last time I was going to feel that for a while.
Yes. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Anyway, oblivious to the challenges ahead, we trotted off into the misty morning, and soon we reached the top of Pilsden Pen, which is the second highest point in Dorset, and has an Iron Age fort on the top. Soon after coming down from the fort, the route took us through someone's garden (I assume they were OK with this), and boom, we ran right into a unicorn:
I knew unicorns were real. We carried on for a bit, and soon after while running along a road we caught up with a lady and a man who were walking quickly, who I remembered from the last checkpoint. I called hello and they returned the greeting. After a couple of seconds the lady called out,
'Ah, is that right that it's you that's not registered on the event?' to my Dad.
I explained the situation.
'Ahhh' the lady said in what was an unmistakably patronising tone, 'so he's helping you navigate is he.'
'Nope' I replied 'I'm doing the navigating myself. This is my Dad, and he offered to keep me company through the dark section, which I was grateful for.'
'Ahh,' again, that patronising tone, 'so is he carrying some of your stuff for you as well?'
Can I swear at this point? No? Capitals? No? OK. Fine. The edited version of what I would have preferred to say is:
"Oh gosh! Hahaha! Ha! No madam! No, not at all! I am so sorry that you jumped to that conclusion! I am carrying all of my own things. LIKE THE RULES STATE. I spent several days preparing my kit, so that I would be able to be safe by myself, and be able to carry all that I need. I am not a child. Please do not speak to me like I am one. My Dad is carrying a bag, because HE ALSO NEEDS STUFF to be safe and to hold his own food and water, which again, HE IS CARRYING HIMSELF, BECAUSE HE ALSO TAKES THE RULES SERIOUSLY, AND KNOWS HE CAN'T HAVE ANY OF THE CHECKPOINT SUPPLIES BECAUSE HE'S NOT REGISTERED."
Oh gosh! I seem to have left the caps lock on. No matter. You get the picture.
I am aware that I am an overly sensitive person, I fully accept it as one of my character weaknesses. In general life, I have got much better at managing this, and not bothering an awful lot any more about what people who I don't particularly care for think of me. My carefully worked out strategies for this clearly don't still work after 68 miles on my feet, and I was simultaneously trying not to cry, and not to have a complete sweary-melt-down at the same time. Fortunately, my hair, face and general demeanour were such a state by this point anyway, that no one would have noticed if I had had full on hysterics, so I got away with it. I actually run quite well when angry, so we picked up the pace a bit. Things were going OK, and we were almost at the next checkpoint, when we ran through a dairy farm and up a track, and a flood appeared across the whole path. Typically, at exactly this point, after there being no-one else around for ages, there were about 10 people walking/ running, and I got pushed to one side, and put my foot down the deepest part of the flood, and went in up to my mid-calfs. I felt the cold, cow-poo-y water seep into my trainers and into my blisters.
I was pretty much at the end of my tether now, and was only still attached to it by a tiny tiny thread, invisible to the naked eye.
Finally, we reached Netherbury. As we went in to the checkpoint, I handed over my card to a tall and ferocious looking man with a red face, whilst my Dad stepped to the side and said he was supporting so didn't have a card to stamp. The effect this had on the gentleman was what happens if you take one of those squeezy tomato ketchup bottles, and with the top still sealed, you squeeze it hard, and the top of the bottle goes all red and bulgy, and looks like it's about to blow its' top (really, don't blame me if you do this, and then wish you hadn't). "You can't walk if not registered! It is not in the spirit of the event!' he shouted! Let's add some more exclamation MARKS FOR MORE EFFECT!!!!! AND SOME CAPITALS LETTERS TOO! BECAUSE HE IS REALLY REALLY ANGRY!!!!
"Yes I can" replied my Dad calmly.
"NO YOU CAN'T IT IS NOT IN THE SPIRIT OF THE EVENT THE RULES SAY YOU CAN'T" shouted red man. By now there was a queue of people behind me, with cow-poo water filled shoes, who were getting irate (including the woman who thinks I can't map read or carry a bag).
"No they don't" said my Dad, in what, looking back ,was a comically quiet voice compared to red man's bellow.
"YES THEY DO!!!!!!!" - red man.
"Can someone PLEASE stamp my card" - lady who thinks I can't map read/ carry a bag/ and now destroys the spirit of events.
Red man stamped my card, which looking back was a strange thing to do on his part. He could just not have stamped it. But then, I suppose he must have realised that he was spouting out a whole lot of old cod's-wallop and if I had taken him to the LDWA court over his decision, he would have lost, and had to pay me a large amount of compensation.
My tether was now dangling somewhere several feet above my head. If I could have reached it, I would have flicked it in angry man's eye.
I went to the toilet and locked myself in for a bit, so that no one else would see my now inevitable melt-down. The lady who thinks I can't map read/ carry a bag/ but destroys the spirit of events, came into the loos. Seriously. Am I being followed? And considering I can't read a map? I mean.
I came out to see my Dad sat down eating his sandwiches (HIS OWN), and being attended to by several ladies (typical) all whom were trying to make him have a cup of tea, having just seen the kerfuffle in the doorway. My Dad, ever the gallant gentleman, still refused. My Dad is amazing. Stubborn, but amazing. And that made me want to cry even more. I was refusing to have any food from the checkpoint, then realising that this could also be seen as being stubborn, I accepted some mandarins and rice pudding from one of the lovely ladies, and pretty much inhaled it, and I am convinced still that that bowl of pudding saved my life. The lovely ladies appeared relieved that I had taken on board some more energy, and I slowly started to come down from the roof. Really, what was I thinking. How many people had I seen over the last 24 hours, giving their time up to help support us at the checkpoints? Tonnes. And how many of them had been nasty? One. Was it fair to let that one man spoil everything, when every single other person was so lovely? No, no it wasn't fair, and it wasn't fair that I was still upset by it, when I was trying not to be. So then I got upset again, and continued in this cycle for the final 30 miles....Wow! 72 miles can really mess you up emotionally.
My Dad was leaving at this point, to get picked up by my Mum, as it was by now daylight. Going back for a well deserved cup of his own home made tea ;-)
I set back off up the road, having called a cheery thank you to shouty man, which made him even redder.
Leg 11: Netherbury to Powerstock, 4.6 miles, 762 feet up, 710 feet down
I thought about what he had said about 'the spirit of the event'. After my initial thoughts of gin (gosh a gin and tonic would be lovely right now, oh no wait, it's only 10 past 8 in the morning), I focussed on what the spirit of the event might be. I got quite upset for a few more miles (I am not looking for sympathy here, this is just the reality that running for almost 24 hours and not having any sleep can have on your perception of things), and I actually considered dropping out at the next checkpoint, as if, I reasoned, the spirit of the event didn't include 1) following the rules, 2) keeping yourself safe, 3) supporting each other as human beings, 4) spending time doing something you love with people you love, and 5) doing an activity that keeps you well and healthy, then I did not want to be part of such an event. Thanks, but no thanks. I was off.
Then I got to the next checkpoint, which was manned by the Wales group, and everyone was so nice and cheery that I instantly changed my mind, and realised that I had been being silly. And while we're on the subject, I would like to take this chance to say thank you to all of the people who volunteered their time and made the checkpoints such little hubs of cheer and kindness, filled with smiles and encouragement, offering words of wisdom, an extra slice of cake to take on the way, a reassuring hand on a shoulder, and a final smile to send us on our way. That is the true spirit of the event, and I won't forget that - thank you all! You make my heart feel all warm inside when I think back to being inside the checkpoints.
Leg 12: Powerstock to Loders, 6.4 miles, 979 feet up, 1027 feet down
This was one of the most challenging sections for me. Actually, more accurately, it was the first part that I found extremely challenging, and then the rest of the sections until the end were basically just as bad.
If anyone ever tells you that you are to walk up Eggardon Hill, prepare yourself for an ordeal. It's another hill fort (there's flippin loads around here, and I swear we have climbed up to ALL of them). It goes on, and on, and on, and on........I can only assume that the people who measured the hills in Dorset and said that Lewesden Hill was the highest, must have just forgotten to do Eggardon Hill. It's much, much, higher. At the top, there as a man sat in a deck chair, who jumped up and pointed me in the right direction over the crest of the hill. I was so tired, I didn't even think that was odd. I think he was an official person. Anyway, his pointing was good. I came down off Eggardon Hill, and glared back at it resentfully. Presently, I came upon the excitingly named Spyway, but nothing much seemed to be happening. Then I just sort of kept going really. It had got to that part of the run where time (or, more realistically, me) had slowed down, and each line of the instructions took about an hour to complete. Eventually, some time later, I came up to Loders, the next checkpoint, which was again a treat to behold. I think I had some more rice pudding, and there were loads of volunteers looking after me and who made me feel better, and a nice man gave me a good pep talk and some good advice. he said, "you've under 20 to go now. It will take a long time, and it will be a hard 20, but keep at it, you can do 20"....and with that, they sent me on my way.....
Leg 13: Loders to Long Bredy, 7.8 miles, 1342 feet up, 1272 feet down
7.8 miles. Holy cow that's a long way. Never mind 20. Stop it, stop it, stop it. On line at a time. That's all there is to do.
Soon it was time for another hill. This one was called Shipton Hill. I didn't care, all I saw was the word hill. This one was smaller, and very pretty, despite being a hill, covered in gorse and flowers and woods. A man who was running near me pointed out a good route up the hill. I thought he sounded like he knew his stuff, and I found out that he had been part of the group who planned the route for the event - it took 7 years!
I zoned out for quite a lot of the next part, reading instructions, finding my way, reading instructions, finding my way, taking a compass bearing (did I mention, I've learnt how to use a compass?). Time seemed to have slowed down again. It was another scorching day.
I knew that once I got to the next checkpoint at Long Bredy that I was going to be OK. Only two more sections after that. The first one I knew as I'd recced it, and the second one was the last one, and I was going to finish that if it killed me. As I ran over some gently undulating fields in the baking sun, a man skipped up beside me, with all the bounce and agility of a gazelle. In comparison to his gazelle, I was a heffalump with two broken legs. He had started 2 hours after me, and at the moment all I wanted was to be like him. still do to be honest. He was a lovely person too, cheerful and encouraging, and he really motivated me to want to be better. As he sprang off into the distance over a stile, I saw Long Bredy come into view, and lots of tiny colourful dots which must be people at the checkpoint. I wondered if Andrew or my Mum or Dad might be there.
As I ran down the road to Long Bredy, a fluorescent man ran up the road in the opposite direction, and I saw it was Andrew! I immediately felt better. He ran down the road with me to the checkpoint, where my parents were also, and had made friends with all the volunteers. Two ladies who I had seen at a few other checkpoints were also there, and they were just so nice, they kept telling me how fab I looked, which was so nice considering I hadn't slept or washed in over 24 hours, and still had cow-poo shoes. The volunteers were so welcoming too, and being from North Yorks were busy drumming up business for next year's 100.... I felt really boosted from that checkpoint, I can tell you! I remember that everyone kept telling me to sit down for a bit, but I just wanted to get on with it. I knew what was coming next....and I wanted it to be over....
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