Ups and downs

A week last Saturday I did my first marathon again after 4 weeks of almost no running. Physically, I was totally unprepared, but mentally I was ready to go again. I wasn't expecting much of myself, but I was determined to go out there and enjoy it, and I actually surprised myself by doing it quite well. I guess I must still have had my base fitness there, but I think the most important thing was that in my head I felt much less intimidated by running than I had for a while, and for some reason I just had this confidence that I would be OK. It was the Thames Meander Marathon, an old favourite, and it was good to be back and to prove to myself I could still do it.

It made me think again about my journey this year, and the ups and downs. When at the start of the year I was definitely on a down phase of my journey, I set some running challenges for the year ahead, as one powerful tool I've learnt to keep my depression away is to set goals to focus on, things that require a lot of planning, action, and focus. All year I've been true to my promise to myself to work on these challenges, and I ticked off the first one in May, to complete a 100 mile event. Since then, I've been working on the second challenge too, to get to 50 marathons by the end of the year. The Thames Meander was number 47.....

I always draw parallels between running and life, and I think the last few weeks have really highlighted it to me. I've had some really massive downs running wise with a couple of really bad experiences recently. And it gave me an opportunity to think. I've always thought of things in the following order - that running helps me to deal with depression. I think that if I can do something really hard running-wise, then it helps me to think that I can also deal with really hard things life-wise. But surely the other way round must be true as well then - if I can deal with difficult periods life-wise, then surely I can run even a difficult race? If I've been thinking for years that running has taught me that the following steps can help me manage feeling low, then it follows that if I just reverse things, then they are also applicable to coping with a difficult run:

• Break things up into small steps
• Set little goals, but still just outside of my comfort zone
• Go outside, even if it's rubbish weather, just wear warm clothes
• Choose a nice outfit so you feel nice
• Talk to people, even if you think they won't want to talk to you, or you won't have anything interesting to say to them, or they won't like you
• Smile, even if you don't feel like it
• Make sure you eat and drink properly to have the nutrients you need to be healthy
• Stop thinking about what has happened, it's happened and it can't un-happen however much you think about it. Take one lesson from whatever it was (e.g. a bad race), and move on
• Look around, at the world and the people. How beautiful the world is! 

I approached marathons 48 and 49 last weekend, thinking along these lines. It's A Numbers Game is a double marathon. What better way to spend Saturday AND Sunday than running along the Thames??? No better way. None at all! Even in the pouring rain on Saturday I wrapped up warm, expecting to be running slower than usual, and I had literally one of the best runs ever. On Sunday the weather was beautiful, and I had another good run, finishing faster than I did on Saturday. Belting weekend. They were the friendliest races I've ever done. The routes were laps up and down the Thames Path, so runners passed each other as we all settled into our own paces, and it being a small event it was soon easy to recognise each other. Everyone was shouting well done and smiling at each other....and as the race wore on and the ability to talk deteriorated, words were replaced with thumbs up, and then by eyebrow raises, but always the smiles were there, however much pain people were in. It was just brilliant. It restored a part of me that sometimes gets buried in all the bad news you hear each day and the rude people you see sometimes....that there are so many good people all around, and it's really easy to connect with each other. How simple it is to smile at someone, but how much of a difference it can make. I think this sums it up:

I also got a massive medal. That's a confidence boost in itself. I might not have an Olympic gold medal to my name, but I do have a medal that is so heavy that I can't actually put it around my neck without risking injury. 

So, just one marathon left now, number 50 will be on Sunday, The Steppingly Step Marathon....

Time out

Oh yes, it's Friday!

Time for some time out. Actually not true. End of time out!

Had a few weekends of back to back races, with differing degrees of disaster. 

Oh dear.

First up was the Purbeck Marathon in Dorset. Had been looking forward to that one for ages. Andrew and I stayed down in Dorset for the weekend with friends Chris and Ellie, and Saturday night we spent carb loading (or, eating pizza and blackberry crumble). On Sunday Andrew, Chris and I ran the race. I loved the first half, heading westwards along the Jurassic coast in the warm sunshine with fantastic views. High up on the cliffs above the shimmering water I felt on top of the world! High up....oh, here we are in Dorset, and I soon remembered the relentless hills of the Dorset 100. But what goes up comes down and all that. And so it happened with my mood too. At around half way I suddenly started to find it hard, and Chris and Andrew were both doing amazingly well, and I all of a sudden started to struggle in my mind, left on my own behind all my 'team'. I get sometimes into a dark spiral of thoughts, but this happens less and less as I feel better lately, so at the time I also started to beat myself up for feeling like this right in the middle of something important. Which made it worse...etc etc... Some dark miles followed, but at the bottom of (another) long hill I got chatting to a guy who turned out to be from Bolton, so some Northern chat cheered me up. At the top of the hill the route went along a high ridge for a good few miles, and I soon started to overtake people, and my confidence suddenly came back and my mood lifted. The last few miles were much better and I felt strong as I finished the last couple of miles and had a nice little sprint finish along the seafront. Congratulations to Chris (his first official marathon) and Andrew who both did amazing!

The next weekend Andrew and I did the Sussex Stride, 51 miles around the South Downs area. I loved it, a beautiful hot day,  running, and in one of my favourite places! Also, good news in the bag front, after years of buying cheap backpacks and having trouble with them rubbing my back when running, I finally bit the bullet and bought an expensive proper running rucksack. It's an Ultimate Direction Adventure Vest and my,  I wish I had bought it ages ago! It fits like a glove, is super comfortable  (no back sores!!) and has 16 pockets. I love a good pocket. Had a little trouble remembering what was where with that many. It was totally worth the money. At about 40 miles in disaster struck as Andrew became ill, and started throwing up at the top of a hill. We made it to the next check point where he had to retire. I hung around for a while to make sure he was ok and could get back to the start ok (whilst also using the time wisely, and eating a bacon butty which the people on the checkpoint were brilliantly managing to make on a little stove, in the dark). Holy hell, it's dark. I've just realised. Now my running partner is laid out on the floor and is no longer working, I'm going to have to finish this thing by myself, and now it's dark and there are still 7 miles of South Downs to run across before the end. Crap. I don't like the dark. I hung around for a few more minutes in the hope that someone else might turn up who I could tag along with, but no one turned up. I headed off. It was just as terrifying as I thought, but apart from being sworn at by a drunk man coming out of a pub in a village I ran though, getting lost in a field, freaking myself out at least a million times that something was behind me and that shadows were ghosts, and talking out loud to myself the whole way, to keep myself company, I made it alive to the end! Where Andrew was, feeling better! Garry from the Chiltern Marathon was also there at the end, having finished ages ago, and managing to get heat exhaustion on the way around. My little cousin Sammy (who's actually 18 and over 6 foot, so technically not little) did a cracking walk coming in not much behind me - nice one! 

The week after we did another marathon, the Amesbury Amble near Salisbury. The less said about this one, the better. I have renamed it Amesbury's Atrocious Amble. Nothing at all to do with the event, it's absolutely fantastic, but due to my performance,  which was a shocker. I was really ill, had awful stomach pains, and barely even made it to the end. Ugh. I feel ill just thinking about it. 

So that was two weeks ago. I've taken it very easy the last couple of weeks. Have been a bit scared that something was wrong, as have been struggling with my periods and feeling weak too, but have been checked out at Dr and nothing wrong so far. Could just be a blip i suppose.

I'm going right back to basics and building up my running again. I actually feel like a run now, whereas I haven't for a while, so maube that's a sign its time to start again! 

Have a great weekend! X 

Average

I've written and re-written this blog post a load of times. It's always been rubbish, and it still is. This must be what writers block is like. My mind's gone blank, I can't think of anything to write, and when I do mange to think of something, it just sounds dull.

I feel a bit average.

Which reminds me..... 

Just returned from a holiday to Scotland. While we were there, we climbed Ben Nevis. We were a little bit disorganised, and by the time we got to the bottom it was about 12.30 pm. We also didn't have a map. Or any mosquito spray. So I went into the visitors centre, where I was reassured that I can't have been the only one to not have brought map, as there was a whole stand of them. Unsure as to the best choice, I asked the lady behind the counter, who recommended one. 

"Are you going up the mountain now?" she asked, and I detected a note of admonishment in her tone.

"Yes" I said, because I was. 

"Well you'd better hurry up, it takes the average person between 6 - 8 hours to get up and down, and it's 12.30 already." 

Yes, I know. I can tell the time.

Hang on.

Average?

Do I look average?

I tightened my boots, applied a liberal helping of mosquito deterrent, and turned in the direction of The Mountain.

4.5 hours later we were back at the visitor centre.

Average. 

Ha.

It was even sunny at the top, which only happens once every 25 years or so.

Back in England, and ran marathon number 43 on Sunday with Andrew - a really great marathon, the Chiltern Marathon. A beautiful September day, a friendly bunch of people, a lovely route....what more can you want from a Sunday (excluding bacon and eggs, a lie in, etc etc)? 

Some of the directions were a little open to interpretation, but we actually managed the whole way around without getting lost, which was a big confidence boost, as I've had quite a few navigational mishaps over the last three events, and I was concerned I might have lost my skills, and become a little average.

Met Gary along the run, and we ran the second half along with him. What a great bloke, a genuinely nice guy who loves running a long way, and encouraging others to enjoy the same. He also did the Dorset 100 this year, in just over 22 hours! Have got loads of tips for training now, kit, helping blisters, and some tips for spending less time at checkpoints (it's a sad fact, but time spent at cake stops has got to become better controlled). 

I think that's about the average length of a blog post now, so I'll stop here. 

Little by little

This blog is long overdue some motivational thinking. So here goes. 

I think I'm starting to identify one of the areas I'm going wrong with life. I've recently started a new job, which is working in weight management; so I've been learning a lot about psychology, as our relationships and behaviours with food, and also our ability to change long established behaviours, is really complicated. When I say I recently started, I mean 2 weeks ago, so about as recent as your can get; so I've only so far absorbed a tiny iota of all of the psychology involved, but what I have learnt so far has given me cause to ponder on things.

It always feels like I have a million things to do, in my own time and at work. I never feel like I get enough done, there is always more to do. It feels like there is never time to think about things after they've happened, because there's always something else to rush on to. Looking back, I think this stems from when I first had depression, and ended up dropping out of college for a year. Afterwards when I started to feel better, I felt like I had missed a year of my life. At the time, I think I almost blamed myself for being that way, and felt I had wasted those days, although now I know more about depression, I know that of course that's not true. So I wanted to catch up, and I think that mindset has always stayed with me. There is so much I want to experience in life, and the thought that I missed out on that year really pushes me to do even more now.

So, I feel there is always a lot to be doing. Plus, I work within the environment of the NHS, where everywhere is under-resourced, but the high workloads keep growing. It's very target oriented, and the pressure is constantly there that however much you have done, it's not enough. 

So, and I suppose this makes sense once you step back and think about it, I never feel like I've ever achieved what I should have done. Which makes me anxious. And that part I'd never really realised until after I'd got help and started feeling better this time. I never realised I was anxious as well. Feeling like something is squeezing your heart, can't think clearly, heart beating faster, sleeping badly. All the signs are there, but so easy to ignore when it's there all the time in the background. I honestly didn't even notice I had been feeling like that until I started to feel better. and realised how good I felt!

So, how to manage these feelings to prevent me from going back there again?

I feel so privileged that in my job patients allow me into their lives and to work with them. I really learn as much from working with them as I hope they do from me. Working with clients and making action plans, the evidence all shows that if we try and change something big all at once, we won't succeed or maintain this in long term. Rather, making a small change and embedding this, then adding another, and another etc etc, until eventually, all the small changes have added together, is the most effective way to change behaviours and maintain them.

So the last few days, I've been trying to work this way myself, and have been trying to break things down and tackle one thing at a time. Sure there's loads to do. But it's important to enjoy it too. Life's a journey, and the important thing is to enjoy the journey, not just to get to your destination.

So, in the last 4 weeks I have achieved 5 things:
1. The Elescar Skelter Marathon 
2. The Vanguard Way Marathon
3. Move to London
4. Start new job
5. The Three Forests Way 54 miles

And it's important, I realise, to think about these, and celebrate them. With regards to my running, I'm now up to 42 marathons, and by my maths (which is getting better with all the bigger numbers involved with ultra-marathons), means I've 8 left to do before the end of the year. 

Which seems like a lot, and I felt quite anxious about how I was going to do them all. But what would be the point in doing them, if all it did was cause these negative feelings? I realised I needed to enjoy this journey, otherwise it would be a waste of precious time.

So I broke it all down into small bits, sorted out each one, stuck it all back together, and have now got the whole list (bar one): 

1. Chiltern Marathon 11.09.16

2. Purbeck Marathon 18.09.16

3. Amesbury Amble Marathon 09.10.16

4. Thames Meander Marathon 05.11.16

5. It's a Number's Game Day 1 (6 hour run) 12.11.16

6. It's a Number's Game Day 2 (6 hour run) 13.11.16

7. Steppingly Step Marathon 20.11.16

It's great. They're all booked in and paid for, written in my diary, and I now they're all in there, I know there is also plenty of other free time to do other things that are important to me, like seeing friends and family, holidays, evenings out etc etc as well.....

And there's still one left to book, but that's OK, because that's just one little piece, and that seems completely achievable. 

Red balloons

Gosh. It's been almost 2 months since The 100 finished, and all I talked about for a whole month afterwards was The 100, and then for the next month I haven't written about anything at all. How dull.

So, let's catch up. I'm quite an emotional person, and make no apology for it; from sadness to happiness, our emotions shape us, and therefore I don't think we should be afraid to show them (apart from anger, which makes me anxious, see previous posts on red faced angry people). But enough of the deep and meaningful, I digress, I meant only to introduce my next topic: Emotions Following A 100....

• Day 1: Thank God that's over. I've never doing another! I'm tired, my feet hurt, and so does my mind. I feel quite tearful (for no reason). I'm so tired that I can't even form coherent thoughts, and I'm so tired I only managed two sips of wine at dinner. Anything that makes you feel like this is not OK.
• Day 2: I finished it, hurrah! But in 30 hours and 1 minute. I wonder if I could do one in under 30 hours? And it only hurt a little bit really. I think I might do another.
• Day 3: I love 100s! It was brilliant! I'm doing another. Definitely! Thank goodness I kept the leaflets they were handing out for next year's 100 in Yorkshire....

I've always found that, following a really big event that you've been working up to for ages (a running event, or a big event in your life etc), that after it finishes, there is always a period where I feel lower in mood than usual. I suppose that makes total sense. I think of it like a balloon.

Take The 100, for example, because surely no one can be bored of this topic by now. Can they? Well, imagine you're not then, just for a bit longer.

Pretty much most weekends leading up to it had been based around running even more than usual; lots of travelling to events, hours and hours running. This was the blowing up of the balloon part. 

Then leading up to the event, all the the planning, kit buying and trying and checking, plotting routes...it was almost like another job (but less stressful). This is the blowing up the balloon right until it's about to burst, and it's all red and shiny (if it's a red balloon, of course, which mine is, because it reminds me of red-angry man. If red angry men still don't make sense, part 6 of The Dorset 100 blog will put their red shiny faces into context).

And then you do the event, and this is where you let go of the balloon and it makes a funny rude screeching noise (which is always funny, no matter how old you are, even if you're really really really old), and shoots all around the room.

And after the event, you're all tired out, and emotional for completing it....and then you have a huge gap in your life where the preparation for it used to be. And that's where the little balloon is lying all deflated on the floor, in a corner of the room.

Sob.

While the balloon was lying there, I had 9 days off from running after The 100 finished, but did do some yoga, and ate a lot, and enjoyed talking about the event a lot, but not actually doing anything. 

On day 9, I decided to pick the balloon back up, and start to dust it off and start putting some air back in it again. I did a 4.5 mile run. It was quite hard. Then a few days after that, I ran the first half of the South Downs Way with Andrew (28 miles on Saturday, 20.5 miles Sunday).

I thought I would be totally wiped doing it so soon after, but it felt brilliant to be back out running again, although I did feel pretty tired. So the next week I cut it back down, and started to build up again, with 5km, 10km, and 12 mile runs, and 2 yoga classes. The next week I built it up a bit more to 5 mile, 10 mile, 20 mile runs, and 2 yoga classes, Then the week after that I took it easy in the week with a couple of short runs and yoga, because at the weekend we finished the second half of the South Downs Way (35 miles on Saturday and 20 miles on Sunday). This time I felt much better compared to the first half a few weeks ago. It felt like the spring was back in my step. In fact, I felt like this:

The balloon was re-inflated.

But the next couple of weeks turned into a bit of a disaster running wise, as work got in the way, so I didn't get chance to get much running done. The balloon shrivelled up again, Although, thinking about it, I did do a 20 miler at the weekend with the trail running group of the Serpentine Running Club, along the Stour Valley Way in Essex which was brilliant (although I gave myself a migraine by forgetting to take sunglasses and migraine tablets). And, I met Alan, who was the man in a red top (but this time a nice red man) who ran past me 10 miles before the end of The 100, and who was really happy and friendly, and who really cheered me up! Thanks Alan!

Then, very excitingly, I went to France with Andrew for my friend's wedding, and spent a week and a half there. It was genuinely the best holiday in ages....the first time in forever that I've felt totally relaxed. The wedding was beautiful, and it was fantastic to spend time with friends celebrating. The South of France is beautiful; the landscape of sunflower fields, fields of sweetcorn. and pretty villages all bathed in sunshine, and french wine, it was divine.

We fitted in some running too. Early in the morning, before it got too hot. We made up a 3.5 mile route around the countryside around our gite, and set up a little aid station by the gite on the way past, with a banana and extra water.

And now it's now. 

What next.....

I had a look back, and right back at the beginning of this year, I wrote a blog about my depression, which was causing me trouble at the time. At the time I'd set myself some aims, as this approach helps me to deal with the depression, and take back some control. So, my goals were to try my first 100 mile event, and to reach 50 marathons by the end of the year. So, now the first of those goals is done. And I'm feeling so much better in myself as well. I don't believe in standing still though, always move forwards and challenge yourself. So now is time to tackle challenge 2. Altogether so far, I've done 39 official marathons/ ultras, so there's 11 to do before the year is out. There's 22 weeks left, so that's one every 2 weeks. And a whole lot of red balloons to get.

The Dorset 100...finally, the final part...

....and it's only taken a month to finish this off!

Leg 14: Long Bready to Portesham, 4.5 miles, 624 feet up, 634 feet down

I summoned my remaining strength, which took 2.5 nano-seconds, and pointed my feet in the direction of the door. There can be a balanced argument to be had about recceing the route. The obvious plus is that you (fingers crossed) have more of an idea of where you are going. The downside, which I hadn't considered before this point, was that I knew where I was going next, and I didn't like it. 

The hill stretched up into the clouds. I climbed. I saw that the friendly guy who had run past me earlier was a long way up ahead, an untouchable red dot climbing higher and higher. The path was stony and uneven, and each time I jarred my foot against a stone I cursed the hill and all it's stupid stones, and the sun that was too hot, and my bag which hurt, and my knee which felt like something had snapped in the back of it, and, and, and.....

Argh.

Sob.

I reached the top.

And came down the other side. 

And kept going for a couple more miles.

And arrived at Portesham, the final checkpoint. And also where our holiday cottage was, which was just a cruel twist of fate. A few hundred meters away was a shower, and my bed. My bed!!! Or, 10 km further past that was The End Of The 100.....

Which was it to be???

There wasn't even any competition. It was The End that I wanted, that I'd always wanted, and now was only 10 km away, and I was going to get there if it was the last thing that I ever ever did (at least, the last thing before bed).

But let us not get ahead of ourselves. The final checkpoint was yet to be experienced before tackling that. And here occurred my only food related disappointment from the whole event; that I didn't feel up to the chips that were being cooked and filling the hall with their crispy delicious goodness-y smell. Sensing my physical and emotional distress at this realisation, the man at the checkpoint instead magiced a plate of fresh watermelon and offered me a slice. It was delicious. Cool, sweet and thirst quenching. At that moment, it felt like the elixir of life. If I was allowed only one food for the rest of my life, it was, and still would be, watermelon. My Mum ran off back to the house to get my freeze spray so I could blast my knee. My Dad went off to find Andrew, who had got lost trying to find me. The two lovely ladies who were supporting their husbands were there again, and one of them was so nice to me that she made me cry.

I pulled it together. I had to run past a photographer who was outside the hall, and I wanted to look OK in the photos. I don't co-ordinate my outfits for nothing.

Leg 15: Portesham to The Finish, 6.5 miles, 762 feet up, 870 feet down

As I was running up the high street in Portesham, a big white duck was waddling down the road towards me in a rather zig-zag fashion, in the direction of the pub, and causing all the cars to slow down and wait for him, while he gave them a fowl look.

I climbed the hill that we could see from our house, up to Portesham Quarry. As I got near to the top, a couple sat on a bench called out to me that it was 'easier going the other way.' Haha! 

In blatant disregard for this advice, I continued on to the top, and turned a corner. Oh nope, that's not the top yet, must be just over that rise there. Oh, oh no, still not there. Nope, still going up. 

Sigh. Ooooh, no wait! Here comes the self clip! Ohhhh, no wait. It's at the top of a stile. Are you having an actual laugh?? At the top of a stile. I ask you. At the top of a stile after 97 miles. And why are there so many stiles on this last bit anyway? What's wrong with gates? Ran in a straight line along the top of the ridge for a mile or so, which was actually quite nice, if I ignored the pain in my right knee. That thing I mentioned before about something snapping? Yeh. I think something has actually snapped. And it feels like it might be something quite important. And that freeze spray has started to wear off. Why didn't I bring it with me? I'm a complete buffoon. Well, I'll just have to get on with it. At least it hurts all the time now, even if I walk, so at least that's not a temptation any more. 

To come down off the hill, the instructions said we had to go in a sharp zig-zag pattern down the side of the hill, which reminded me of the duck from before, and I started laughing to myself. Quacking up. I was also having a bit of a panic, because as well as all these self clips I've been going on about on the instructions (which are basically little clips at points of the route where you could technically have taken a short cut by cutting a corner), there are also two 'surprise' clips, which I presume are there to keep you on your toes, and on the straight and narrow for the whole event. Only thing is, I've only got one of these stamped on my card, and there's only about 3 miles left, and there's already a marked clip on this part of the route, so I can't imagine they'd put two clips in the last 3 miles. What if I've missed one? Will I be disqualified? Oh my days. I can't cope with this. It's all too much.

At that point, I was saved, as I arrived at the charming 13th century church of St Bartholomew, which is interestingly located in a farm yard, although, I suppose, the 13th century church was probably there first. I had reached the final manned clip point at St Bartholomew's Church, and as well as saving my blood sugar levels from siking further to the floor, it saved my spirits, as the man at the checkpoint reassured me that I hadn't missed the surprise clip, the surprise was that there wasn't one. Ha. Ha. Ha!

Right then, that's it, now that's cleared up. One more push to the end. There was the inevitable hill, which by now I had become so used to that it didn't stir any emotion in me any longer, and I resigned myself to the climb.

I was keeping an eye on my watch. It was creeping closer (obviously) to 6 pm. My goals for The 100 had shifted, ever so slightly, from before starting to this point:

1. November 2015 (on entering): brilliant, I've got a place, I can totally win this and set a record and I can quit work and travel the world as a professional ultra runner/ adventurer 
2. January 2016 (midway through regular winter ultras): this is quite hard, maybe I'll just aim for finishing first
3. February 2016: I am so ridiculous. I'll just try to finish in 24 hours
4. March 2016: Well, maybe 26 hours
5. Beginning of April 2016: No, maybe 28 hours
6. Mid-April 2016: 30 hours?
7. End-of-April 2016: Whatever, I'll just try not to get timed out
8. Start of 100: yes, number 7 sounds sensible
9. Miles 10 - 50: no, I am underestimating myself; repeat steps 1-8 
10. Mile 55: repeat steps 4 - 8
11. Mile 65: repeat steps 6 - 8
12. Mile 70: repeat step 7
13. Mile 75: Sod that, I'll just try not to meet that man from earlier in A&E (I really hope he's not there either)
14. Mile 80: never mind that, I'll just try not to meet him at the mortuary (I really really hope he isn't there either)
15. Mile 90: get it together girl, enough of this, back to step 6
16. Mile 95: chuffing nora, time's getting on, better step on it if step 6 is still on the cards
17. Mile 96: oh my days, how has only one more mile passed
18. Mile 97: seriously?
19. ................

Ya-de-ya-de-yah. Don't think. Just run. Just do it.

Coming down off the ridge now and into this town, wherever that is. Upwey I think. Oh goody. The end is here. Somewhere. I can see an man up ahead. As I got nearer, I could hear he was singing. It was lovely. I smiled and said hi, and he sang something back. It was beautiful.

Upwey was beautiful too. All pretty old houses and a meandering river and everything. I had a last panic, as the instructions instructed to continue down a lane passing a LH bend followed by a RH bend and under old railway bridge, but didn't instruct for how long there would be until the old railway bridge. After a few minutes (which was magnified to half a millennia in my warped sense of time) I was about to turn back and throw in the towel, when I saw the blessed railway bridge. I was now on the very last point of the instructions. Point 15.7.

Point 15.7 said I had to run along the main road, to the second pelican crossing. I could see it in the distance. there was a little group of people gathered by it cheering. They pressed the button on the crossing, and as I approached the little green man lit up, and I crossed the road to the school. Hurrah!!!! The end!!! 

Oh no, wait a minute. It's not quite here, it's up the road, across the grass, up the path, and into the hall.

NOW we're finished!

30 hours and 1 minute. 

1 minute. Are you serious? Yes? OK, fine. 30 hours and 1 minute. I'll take that.

I had wondered for a long time what it would feel like to finish. And here's the point where I was expecting to say, modestly, that well, it didn't feel any different, it was a bit of an anti-climax, I was too tired to be bothered etc etc, like you often here people say. 

Whatever!

It felt FANTASTIC!!!!

Even through feeling a bit tired and sore, I was so excited to have finished it, although I wasn't able to express it very well at the time. I sat down in the hall with Andrew and my Mum and Dad, and a nice lady brought me a cup of coffee (my first in 30 hours!) and a tub of ice cream. Then I went to the St John's Ambulance people to get my blisters sorted out (we won't even go into detail, well not much, I just had 10 blisters in the end). I really wanted to stay around and cheer in all the other people who were making it back, but eventually the tiredness won, and we headed for home.....

I had a shower, a lovely meal cooked by my Mum, and an enormous slice of chocolate cheesecake. Plus that celebratory glass of wine that I'd been going on about for ages, but I only managed two sips before I started to fall asleep in it.

Clearly I'm too old now to pull two all-nighters in a row.

Bed by 8.30 pm, and slept for 11 hours solid. 

When I woke up the next morning I was feeling much less emotional about everything, a bit sore, and a bit confused that it was all over.

For almost the whole day, I swore that I would never do another.

Almost.....

The Dorset 100...part 6 (we're getting there now, I promise)....Sunday morning

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....