Some running in Sydney!

G'day from Down Under! 

And now I've got that out of my system, I promise there will be no more Australian jokes. For now.

After a long and arduous journey across the globe (involving luxury lounges, a day in Singapore, a Singapore Sling, and eating so much on the plane I could feel myself putting on weight) we touched down in Sydney on Thursday morning. Possibly the most significant piece of news so far is that today I've been in Australia for 5 days, and I still haven't seen a spider. A statement which I'm sure is going to come back to bite me fairly soon, but hopefully not literally. 

On Friday I started my Run Each Day While I'm Away challenge (a name that I coined whilst in Raffels having a Singapore Sling), after having woken up at 5.30am with jet lag, it seemed a good time to start. We were staying with our good friends Zoe and James, and Zoe does a boot camp early each morning underneath the Sydney Harbour Bridge, so she have gave us a lift, some instructions for a route, and in just a couple of miles we were here!

I had no idea, but the Sydney Harbour Bridge is 1.5km end to end! Almost a mile! It's beautiful running over it.

Day two of Run Each Day While I'm Away proved a little more challenging. Having not seen Zoe for nigh on 2 years, it seemed a good idea at the time to attempt to catch up with this amount of wine in one night which in hindsight (that wonderful thing) wasn't such a great idea. A 16 km run down to the bridge, over to the opera house, through the botanical gardens to Mrs Maquaries seat, and back again, soon sorted that out, and things were back on track!

The wifi here is not great. Not great at all. I am therefore reducing my standards of presenting a well formatted blog to whatever happens, so apologies for whatever mess I end up posting. 

Which is distressing as I font like this font which has suddenly appeared. Or, I don't like this font. Argh!!! I can't even get it to type properly. 

Anyway, I'll post this now before it somehow gets felted, and continue later.

Deleted! Felted?? Predictive text is puzzling. Who would use the word felted more often than the word deleted? Other than felters. 

A running blog about not running

It’s been three months since the hundred. During which time, I have been discovering that the hundred was the easy part, and getting over it the difficult bit. Which seems ridiculous, but there you go.

The whole recovery process has been completely tedious and I haven’t enjoyed it at all. Of course, it’s nice to sit around and eat tea and drink cake and get your thoughts back in sync for a few days afterwards, but after that I miss running and being out and enjoying myself. And sure, you’d expect to feel a bit tied and sore for a few days afterwards something like that I suppose, but after that I would have thought (and indeed, my experience tells) that then you start to feel gradually back to normal again.

Not this time. First the tiredness, and then the emptiness set in that it was over, and the frustration with myself for not performing as well as I wanted. All sorts of thoughts were flying through my head, that I should enter another one straight away and prove to myself I could do it better than I had done, or that I should plan long routes to run by myself, and run and run and run….I spent hours looking at events and thinking of routes…..cycles of thoughts that went round and round, even though I knew they were irrational and unhelpful.

But the weeks went by, and I tried long runs and couldn’t even get round at a snails pace without feeling completely exhausted, and I realised doing something similar again would probably end in disaster. I did try a 50 miler on the South Downs with Andrew and some friends, three weeks after, and everyone else was fine but I had to pull out half way around. Something in my head suddenly seemed to snap, and I went from generally being quite positive out running and keen to try to keep up with the others even if at a faster pace than me, to always sticking at the back, believing I couldn’t keep up, dragging myself round and hating myself for struggling.

I did manage an overnight 50 miler a couple of weeks later (mostly because I thought it was going to be a walk – long story – and the fear of being left by myself in the dark was apparently enough to give me a renewed energy) and had a few parts where I surprised myself by feeling quite good, but still this overwhelming exhaustion. I was having weird heart palpitations; my heart felt it was racing and beating really hard even from something as small as standing up and going upstairs, something I wouldn’t even have noticed before.

All in all, it was pretty pants. This hobby that had been such a large and positive part of my life for years suddenly felt like it had been taken away. All the good feelings I got from it had disappeared, all the trips and weekends away doing long-distance paths, all the events I loved doing and the friends and people I met, all felt like something from another life and something I couldn’t take part in any more.

So I stopped completely for a couple of weeks, and then only did very small runs for a while. It was a bit demoralising, but at least I was running again. Once I’d got used to that, I started trying to do it more regularly, and then that’s where I am now, just trying to build the distance up gradually. I think my body is getting there, but my mind is a bit behind things. It’s amazing when you think of it, that just a few bad experiences can have such an effect on your mental state, despite years of good experiences before that.

Although I know running 100 miles is physically and mentally draining, and everyone tells me that different people will recover in different ways, I can’t believe that that can be the whole story. I mean, I can compare myself to myself because I’ve done it twice now, and the first time I got over it fine. So why would it be so different now?

I’ve been reading into something called Over Training Syndrome, which I know can’t be exactly what I have, as I’m not an elite athlete (sob!) or anything like that, but perhaps it is something along those lines. I had a look at what runs I’d been doing over the last 18 months.

After The Hundred 2016, I took a few weeks to recover, but then got right back into marathons/ultras and did another 11 between July – November, to reach my goal of 50 marathons/ultras by the end of the year. I remember I then took December as a bit of downtime just doing short runs, and then in January started training for the 100 with Andrew, and in the first 21 weeks of this year (up until The 100 weekend) I did 23 marathons/ultras. Compared to the same period last year, when I only did 8. So maybe doing three times as many might explain some of it.

I also did more back to back marathons/ ultras this time around, and 14 ultras in this time period this year, compared to 5 last year. So maybe the cumulative amount of running from the start of 2016 without really having much recovery could have caused part of it, and then doing The 100 in a tired state to start with, and then having a difficult event, was the final straw. Who knows. It’s a not a theory I particularly like very much….basically that your body and mind can’t quite keep up with things. But then it’s important to get the balance right I suppose, to look after yourself in the long term and be able to keep running as what I always loved it for: to keep healthy, happy in mind, see friends, and explore the world.

I found this article quite interesting. 

Anyway, that’s that. 

In more exciting news, next week I am off on a trip to New Zealand and Australia with Andrew for a couple of months! As part of my rehabilitation programme, I am going to resurrect the idea of ‘100 days of running’ and try to run somewhere new each day - to get back to seeing running as a way to explore new places, and being an enjoyable part of my day. I will be keeping a track on here....so watch this space!

NYM Trilogy Part 3: The Battle of the Five Blisters

Apologies for the delay in part three! The last few weeks have been a little difficult, and I haven’t felt much like writing. But you can’t leave a story unfinished! So let’s wrap things up...

Stage 11: Fyling Hall to Littlebeck 6.1 miles, 680 ft up, 850 ft down

I set off. This section included the famous ‘random compass bearing over the moor’ instruction from the recce weekend, and I was very much looking forward to taking another wild goose chase over the moor, so much so, that in anticipation I had prepared for the event by wearing long trousers, so as to prevent further injuries inflicted by the heather. Alas! The compass bearing was now less random, and I made it over the moor and out the other side with hardly so much as a scratch.

My phone beeped. A message from Andrew! He was feeling better and still going, having buddied up with my cousin Sammy at the Glaisdale checkpoint, they had walked the night section together, and both were still going well. Good job lads! I was much buoyed to hear the news, and continued with a spring in my step. Which I soon realised was due to the ground becoming softer. And then boggier. Not as dramatic as the Botton Bog, but a bog none the less. 

The last part of this section was through a wood (woods really are delightful, so long as it’s daylight) and along a stream. It was very tranquil running along the stone path through the trees, with the dappled sunlight shining through the leaves, listening to the water, and hopping along rocks and over tree roots. I was almost starting to enjoy myself again.

Littlebeck checkpoint was coming up. This was manned by the Staffordshire group, who had the honour of ‘red-faced-angry-man’ being a member (see last years Dorset 100 write up for more info on RAM, as I shall hereby call him). I don’t like to hold a grudge, or dwell on things. I don’t. I don’t think it’s good for you. But I was still annoyed with RAM for his behaviour towards my Dad last year. I had given some consideration over the last few miles (mostly because I’d run out of other things to think about after 18 hours of running) as to all of the things I wished I said to RAM last year, but didn’t think of until afterwards. There were a few. Some really good ones. But I had come to the conclusion that I was going to take the moral high ground, and keep schtum. RAM wasn’t there anyway, which I was glad about. The volunteers at the checkpoint were terrific. They insisted I sat down, and proceed to offer an entire menu of food. Based on the advice of Alan, I plumped for a Staffordshire oatcake, which very excitingly turned out to be a hot pancake filled with melted cheese. Irritatingly I was feeling decidedly peaky again, and only managed a mouthful of the delectable morsel. I squirrelled the remaining pieces away in a pocket, with the intention of eating them later. But as we shall see, things didn’t quite go to plan, and I discovered them the next day, squashed beyond all recognition at the bottom of my bag, along with some painkillers (which I couldn’t for the life of me find when I needed them), a flattened jelly baby, and my enthusiasm for running 100 miles.

Stage 12: Littlebeck to Goathland 6.0 miles, 1200 ft up, 990 ft down

There are no words to describe this section. I will refer you instead to the above elevation stats, and also to this photo, taken at the bottom of one of the more ‘punchy’ hills.

At the checkpoint, I bucked up when I saw the two Lovely Ladies who I had met on last years 100, who had been supporting their husbands doing the event, and had also given me a lot of support and cheering-up on the way around through their lovely comments and big smiles. Both of their husbands were doing the event again this time, and as we were quite close to each other, I saw the Lovely Ladies a few times again (I wish I knew their names!) - thank you ladies!

Stage 13: Goathland to Stape 6.7 miles, 680 ft up, 490 ft down

I ran through Goathland which I think is the setting for Heartbeat. I also think it’s very nice, but all I could think of at the time was that my feet were starting to hurt. And who could blame them, really. The next section was up onto the moors for a couple more miles along a stony ridge. Each time my feet hit the floor, it seemed that I whacked them against a rock, and it felt like a thousand needles were stabbed into my feet and ricocheted all up though my body. I tried to block it out. They were just blisters for heaven’s sake, just little pockets of friction, how can they hurt this much? I pushed on for a few more miles, until in the middle of a pine forest I could bear it no longer. I found a mossy patch in the sunshine, somewhere where I thought there might be a fairy nearby (that was actually a thought that I had that seemed completely rational, at 80 miles in), and sat down, took off my rucksack and laid out my first aid kit on the forest floor (I was secretly pleased to use it, after carrying it so far). I took off my trainers and socks and assessed the damage. And wished I hadn’t. At least there was no one else around to see the state of things (apart from the fairies, of course). The inside of both feet were covered the whole way down with blisters, with a massive one on each ball of the foot and another at the bit at the bottom of each ankle (at the final count there were 13 altogether, but I selected just 5 particularly bad ones for the title of this blog, to sty true to the Hobbit) . I pushed one, to check it was real. It was. I stared at them for a few moments. I’m never sure what to do about blisters. I know you’re not supposed to burst them, but I do anyway, based on the fact that right now at least it was too painful to leave them like they were. I took the necessary instruments from my kit and set to work. It hurt, it stung, I whimpered, and winced. I tried somehow to stick the skin back together using various plasters and tape and gingerly put my socks and shoes back on. I stood up. I screamed (the fairies fled). It felt like I was jumping on pins, burning pins with red hot chilli flakes on each end. What had I done?!

I waddled on for a couple of minutes, walking on the outside on my feet, but soon came to the conclusion that this was a) no more comfortable, and b) not sustainable to go on another 20 miles like this. I sat back down and got out the remainder of my first aid kit (now diminished), and tried making more padding using different plasters. I took some painkillers (the ones that weren’t hidden at the bottom of my bag with the Staffordshire oatcake). The revised surgery was slightly more successful, and I hobbled on, the fairies laughing and pointing.

I arrived at Stape checkpoint, which was manned by the Cornwall group, and had jelly and ice cream. Things were looking up (so long as you didn’t look down at my feet).

Stage 14: Stape to Lockton 4.8 miles, 800 ft up, 930 ft down

The good feeling lasted for a full 3 miles - downhill through more forests on wide tracks, to the bottom where a steam railway wound through the valley. I was in luck, and glimpsed the steam train through the trees! The final part was vertically uphill, and I suddenly remembered why I had renamed the next checkpoint as Lockton-in-the-Clouds on the recce weekend. As I crested the top of the hill, about ½ a mile from the checkpoint, a gentleman with a long lens camera appeared from out of the bushes. I was so tired as to not question things any more. Anyway, after couple of seconds I realised I recognised him, he was the official photographer for the event. Taking one look at me having by some miracle made it up the hill, and deciding photography wasn’t appropriate at that moment, he instead switched to talking, which he kept up for the full half a mile to the checkpoint, with barely a moment for breath, and requiring only a couple of encouraging sounding noises from me. It was nice of him to walk the last part with me, and his many varied and random stories (including a trip to a loch in Scotland, which involved almost driving, but not in the end because it cost around £70 to park a car for a weekend in Glasgow, so instead the train was taken, and….) kept me distracted whilst my body recovered from The Hill. And at the checkpoint, a surprise, as my Mum was there! With treats!

Stage 15: Lockton to Thornton-le-Dale 5.7 miles, 500 ft up, 910 ft down

There was now a mere 16.5 miles left! My Mum came the first ½ mile with me out of the checkpoint., which was good fun. Soon after, I started to have lots of stomach aches, and things generally started to unravel a bit more. I slowed down to the speed where I was probably moving faster backwards towards to the last checkpoint rather than forwards towards the next, but some time later, I stumbled into Thornton-le-dale, where my Mum had just arrived also. A man at the checkpoint tried to persuade me to take off my rucksack, but knowing full well if I took it off, that there was no way I was putting it back on again, I declined. So instead, he moved the nearby table to behind me, and balanced my bag, still on my back, on the edge of it. What a dude! I still smile when I think about that! And then, someone brought ice cream. Ice cream, and a 10 mile run left. Things don’t get better than this! My Mum also passed on the message that Andrew and Sammy were still going. And that Andrew seemed to have eaten some sort of rocket fuel, and had sped back up to his usual running pace and was nailing it. Good on him! I felt very proud that he was doing so well, and it gave me a bit of a kick up the backside to stop feeling so sorry for myself, and knuckle down and get the job done.

Stage 16: Thornton-le-Dale to Howe Bridge Farm 6.3 miles, 100 ft up, 170 ft down

My Mum came with me for another ½ a mile. Got a new running partner! It was so brilliant to be going along with her, on the event that we were doing to raise money to say thank you that she’s better – I felt very lucky that we were there together, healthy, and able to be doing something we loved (even though, reading back, I seem to have spent quite a lot of time complaining). Sadly, my Mum declined to come the whole way, and I felt a little lost again, as we went our separate ways.

Still, the last two sections of the event were actually the two sections we had done first on the recce, and so I felt like I knew them pretty well. They were also extremely flat. Flatter than a Stafforshire oatcake. Now, where had I put that? I‘m sure it’s here somewhere.

I arrived at the end of a track, and was confronted with a dilemma. The route description quite clearly said to turn left down the road, whilst a large neon sign attached to the fence opposite, said ‘LDWA’ and had a massive arrow pointing right.

Huh.

I went with my instinct, which was to follow the route description AT ALL COSTS, and tootled off left down the road. I soon gained in confidence, as I passed right down a track, past a farm and through a couple of fields, all of which I remembered from the recce. The sign must have been a trick, to test at the last moment the faith of the runner in the route description. I had passed the last test!

Oh. The path through the field on the route description appears to be entirely covered by 7 foot high rapeseed plants, as far as the eye could see, which isn't far from 5 ft 4 inches up. No matter, this must be the way, I’ll just shimmy on through. I pushed my way about 5 feet into the plants, turned round, and stared back at a solid wall of plants. I tried to quell the rising panic that I would be forever lost in the field, but failed, and started flailing my arms about and scrambled my way back out the way I had come. Wimp. My brain function seemed to have slowed to the speed of a tortoise dancing through treacle, and it took a few minutes for me to 1) accept the route description might be less than the absolute truth, 2) remember I also had a map, 3) read the next instruction on the route description and match it onto the map, and finally, 4) put this into practice.

After an absolute age, I was back on track. I made it to Howe Bridge Farm, the LAST checkpoint! Manned by Vermuyden (Little Holland) Group. Remember Rainbow Drops, the little sugary rice sweets? They were here! In small retro style packets! Disregarding the fact that sweets I had enjoyed as a treat in my childhood were now considered as retro, I instead took them for what they were (sugar), and bounced out of the barn. I was now at 30 hours and 49 minutes, which was hours after what I was hoping for, which in a strange way, made me more relaxed, and I determined to run the last section as best I could.

Stage 17: Howe Bridge Farm to Malton 4.5 miles, 180 ft up, 60 ft down

I nice man from the checkpoint walked me out to the busy road and helped me cross it safely. I ran (or, what I now considered to be running) the rest of the 4.5 miles, with every step knowing I was closer to our aim – completing 100 miles (or, 102, just to remind everyone of that) all at once, and raising money for the fabulous Rosemere Cancer Foundation, to say thank you for making my Mum better. The last few miles passed quickly (as I suppose things do when you take out the hills). Before I knew it, I was back in Malton and heading up the road to the school, where this whole crazy thing started, and where it was about to finish. I saw my Mum in the distance, with one of the Lovely Ladies! I sped up to what I imagined to be a Usain Bolt type speed, but actually a whole minute passed, and I had barely got any closer. This had the added advantage of allowing me to collect my thoughts and my emotions, before I actually got there, and Lovely Lady snapped the moment!

I ran the last couple of hundred metres with my Mum! Got a clap, a certificate and badge. People always ask me how it feels to finish something that lasts that long (32 hours exactly). The truth is, was too tired to really appreciate how it felt. And of course, as soon as you sit down, blisters stop hurting, and things seem a lot better. I even managed a pie and mash, as for some reason, in the last half an hour my appetite had returned from wherever it had gone for the last 24 hours, and I was suddenly ravenous. Sat in the hall with my Mum, and met up with Alan who had of course done brilliantly, and before we knew it, Andrew was back as well! And Sammy was still going well and would of course also finish in a fantastic time too. 

So, that’s the end of The 100! Funny to think that all of that training, and all that focus over all those months, towards one thing, is now over. Was it hard? Yes. But was it worth it? Of course! The hardest experiences are usually the ones that are the best, and that you take away the most from. And of course, thanks to you lovely people, we have raised over £750 for the Rosemere Cancer Foundation. £750!!! Still can’t quite believe it. Thank you a million times over. I would do all of this again and more, if it could help other people in the same situation. So thank you, thank you, thank you! 💗💗💗

NYM 100 Trilogy Part 2: The Desolation of the Bog

Stage 7: Botton to Glaisdale, 6.8 miles, 1230 ft up, 1420 ft down

I peered out of the checkpoint into the night. It seemed very dark all of a sudden. Still, on the bright side (ha!), you can't see hills in the dark. Or bogs. A lesson I learned a few moments later, as we climbed a hill, which, as well as taking up the full 1230 feet of ascent in one go, also won the prize of boggiest hill on the route. Or maybe even, in the world. The Botton Bog Hill was visibly claiming victims the whole way up it's boggy backbone, as a slow snake of head-torches slithered and careered about dangerously close to the shadowy edge. Andrew had started shaking, and throwing up over the side of the Botton Bog Hill, just to make the evening even more exciting. At one of the highest points on the route, we had reached a low point. 

The rest of the section was tortuous. Andrew was throwing up alarming often. It was a bleak time where I wasn't sure what was best to do. I wanted to stop and pitch camp somewhere, and rest for a bit until he felt better, but my head told me that we were at the top of a moor, it was the middle of the night, I didn't have a tent, and if we stopped then things would just get worse. The logical part of my brain, which had been shrunk somewhat over the last 40 miles, advised to keep moving forward to the next checkpoint, where at least it would be warm and bright, there would be food and water, and other people around to help. So on we went, Andrew alternating between throwing up and trotting forwards - a true trooper! Somehow, we made it to the next checkpoint, which was manned by the South Wales group, and we were welcomed into the hall by people dressed as daffodils and miners. No, really, we were. We rested for a while. I still didn't know what to do. The last time this happened on the Sussex Stride 50, Andrew had had to retire at the last checkpoint, so I thought that maybe that would be best for him in order to get better, but I also really wanted him to carry on, because he'd put so much in to training for this. In the end, Andrew decided to stay and rest a while longer and see how he felt and if he could eat something, and we agreed I would set off again, but with the promise that if he still felt ill, then he would retire. I felt awful, we were supposed to do this together, and here I was leaving him. The logical me was starting to get annoyed with the emotional me, and in order to avoid further conflict, I agreed to carrying on, but secretly hoping he'd set off again in a couple of minutes, and catch up. 

Stage 8: Glaisdale to Sleights, 7.7 miles, 750 ft up, 1160 ft down

For the second time that evening, I peered out of a checkpoint into the night. It was now devilishly dark out here. I had a moment perched on the edge of the front step, where my foot was balanced equally between launching off solo into the night, and stepping back into the warm brightly lit checkpoint. More through lack of balance than any particular resolve of will power, I ended up outside, staring around in a confused fashion, the opposite of a moth who finds itself in a room full of light, and doesn't know which way to head first. 

Crap. I was going to have to do the night part on my own.  

Well, it was already past midnight, so there were only about 4 hours until dawn. 4 hours, that's all. And once through the 4 hours, the finish of The 100 would be within my grasp (sort of, apart from the remaining 40 miles or so). 

I berated myself for a few minutes for being a wimp. I am 33 years old. That is too old to be scared of the dark. It is, it is, it is. 

It is not. 

I realised I was talking to myself already. And I hadn't even left the front of the village hall. 

I passed a few people for a while on leaving the checkpoint, who all seemed very friendly. It seemed pretty busy out here, a steady stream of headtorches weaving their way through the night. This was all going to be fine. Just because it was dark, didn't mean it was a problem. I mean, what was there to be scared of? Ghosts? Ha!

Oh. Now I'm in a wood. Where has everyone gone? They aren't here that's for sure. What should I do? I faffed for a few moments, with the hope that someone might catch me up, pretending to consult my route description, even though I knew full well where I was, and where I was supposed to go. I was in a wood, and I had to go further into the wood. 

Ghosts!

I heard a whimper, and jumped, before realising it was me. 

Poopity poop. The A to Z of alliterative swear words was starting. 

I stared fixedly at the centre of the light of my headtorch, refusing to look towards edges of the circle and see the dark shadows that I was convinced were gathering ever closer around me. I made it through 1.5 km (a mile!) of this dreadful journey and emerged finally from the wood onto a road. Where I ploughed forwards a little more confidently, until an owl started hooting and things started fluttering about in the dark. I ground my teeth and stared straight ahead. Which soon turned right, down a track past an old manor house, Edgton Manor, a track surrounded by trees. I could see the silhouette of the manor house. Just like the house where The Woman in Black lived. 

Oh, for God's sake. Shut up.

But it is just like the house on the island where The Woman in Black lives, where she swoops around, causing misery, and making people jump. 

She doesn't live anywhere. She's a  ghost, you fool. She's not real.

I realised I was talking to myself again. Out loud now. 

Then I realised it was making me feel better. If the ghosts can hear me talking, they'll assume there's more than one of me, and leave me alone.

I also realised there were several issues with that statement, but it was all becoming just a little bit too much for me to cope with, and so I continued along the rest of stage 8, alternately humming to myself in an increasingly high pitched and tortuous tone, pausing to hopefully look behind me to see if any head-torches might appear, and discussing with myself out loud what I was doing. 

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard other voices. I stopped talking to myself and tuned in. All was dark. I was confused. They seemed to be coming from a hedge. I looked at the hedge. The hedge looked back, still talking. That was weird. Even I thought that. I wandered over to the hedge to investigate. There were some tents pitched in the field the other side. Oh.

I continued on, and in a further eternity, I spotted two tiny pinpricks of light up ahead. Fellow participants - triple hurrah! And then there seemed to be more and more head-lights appearing. I had made it through the lonely night in one piece. I finally made it to the checkpoint at Sleights. I managed to eat one square of melon, one fig roll, and one cheese triangle sandwich.

Stage 8: Sleights to Hawsker, 4.6 miles, 580 ft up, 340 ft down
It was a bit lighter now, and the next section was quite short. I temporarily felt a bit more energetic after the food, and I was confident I knew the route from the recce. I trundled along for a whole mile, looking at Whitby Abby which had come into view in the (very) distance, just in time for dawn. 

It's quite magical to witness the dawn, having been up and moving through the whole night. Some of the shadows that haunt you in the darkness are suddenly erased as the first rays of light touch them. Lost in my thoughts, I shortly became actually lost. The words on the route description just didn't match reality. I wandered up and down three sides of a field looking for the 'soon bear 1/2 right to look for a stile on the left' in the description, but alas without joy. I joined up with a gentleman also on the same quest, and eventually we spotted some others right back at the first side of a field climbing over the fence. Just over the fence, that is, not over a stile. Well, obviously, that's what the route description meant when it said stile. Of course.

A little while later in Sneaton, I happened upon Nigel. Nigel is a a great bloke who I first met a few years back when I was running the Woldsman 50 miles, which I ran most of with his daughter Tanya. Nigel was out of action then, awaiting a knee operation at the time, but was supporting Tanya on her way around, and so I spent quite a bit of time with them both that day. It's always great to see them at different events, and it was brilliant to see Nigel back moving well after his operation. We chatted for a while. Nigel mentioned he was having a rough time, and was just seeing how far round he could get. I mentioned I was also having a bad time, my list of aliments now extending to nausea and stomach aches, headaches, low mood, a frightening number of blisters, and a concerning drop in pace. As always, even when he was feeling rubbish himself, Nigel had only positive things to say, and I owe a lot to him for giving me a boost at a time when I wasn't sure what I was doing, or why I was doing it anymore. I was made up to check the finishers list and see him on it - nice one Nigel! 

I popped in to the checkpoint at Hawsker, and ate a mini flapjack and a strawberry. I just wanted to get to the breakfast stop now. 3 more miles to 1) see my Mum, 2) sort out my feet which were now burning like hot chilli powder had been poured into my shoes, 3) try and eat something, and 4) once past breakfast at 62 miles, the finish seems a little closer to reach.

Stage 9: Hawsker to Fyling Hall, 3.0 miles, 420 ft up, 320 ft down
I hobbled around the next three miles in a little less than an hour. Although I was still ahead of my hoped for time, I knew I was slowing in my legs and mind, and was struggling to keep it together, and spent the hour internally beating myself up over this fact. By the time I got the the breakfast stop I'd had just about enough of everything, especially myself. As soon as I saw my Mum (wearing the Checkpoint Super Hero outfit of apron, ready to cook breakfast for 500 people) I lost it, and dissolved into a blithering useless wreak. A few minutes of Mum Motivation, a change of clothes, some minor foot surgery and new socks and shoes later, I felt almost positive again. I had some breakfast (some coffee, a whole sausage, some beans and a whole piece of bread and butter- more than I'd managed in 18 hours!) with my Mum and her lovely East Lancs LDWA friends who were manning the checkpoint, and who were all ace and cheered me up no end. Gosh, maybe this whole thing was even a good idea! There were only 40 miles left!

It was 6.30 am by the time I left, I had started to think that I could do it. Even if I had to slow down and walk, I was going to get to the end. Helped by an immediate energy boost from a bit of cystallised ginger and a jelly fruit, and with 3 jaffa cakes that my Mum had found in the kitchen squirreled in my bag, I set off into the new day. Honestly, I have the utmost respect for those who take close to the full 48 hours to do it, and who go through two nights. The main thing on my mind as I set off was that however hard it was going to get and however much it hurt, it was all going to be over by that evening. This was the last day of all of my training and all of the build up, and tonight I was going to sleep in my own bed! And have a shower! Hurrah! To be at this point and to think that you are already so wreaked, but to know you've still got to stay up and go through another night must take a tremendous amount of mental strength, and I am utterly in awe of those who can do that. 

NYM 100 Trilogy: Part 1, An Unexpected (-ly hot) Journey

Well, it's taken a while to get over The 100 (two weeks, to be exact). My legs and all the running bits of me seemed to get better much quicker than last year, but I've been totally tired and feeling a bit unwell until today, and I've been feeling quite low. Still, I suppose that your body and mind must have some kind of reaction to doing a long event like that. Feeling more back to normal now, and therefore it feels like time for another trilogy...

The Start

After a final, final, final kit check, it was time to leave (sigh) the comfort of our holiday cottage and a delicious breakfast (thanks Mum!), and embark on the first leg of the journey, which fortunately was to be by car. There were an army of butterflies fluttering about my stomach. I wish they'd sit still for heavens sake, or at least lend me some of their wing power, I've got 100 miles to do. 

Nice to see some familiar faces - Alan, Tara, Gary - at the start. I tried unsuccessfully to drink some coffee and eat some toast and jam, but The Butterflies weren't having any of it. At 11.50 am The Bell rang, and we all trotted outside to the start area. After a safety briefing in which a wide range of potential dangers were mentioned, including (but not limited to) bush fires on the moors, adders (adders!!!), dehydration, getting too hot, getting too cold, and disqualification for not having the right kit (The Butterflies did a flutter), we were asked if anyone had any questions. Why? Would be an obvious one. But I felt now was not the right moment to ask this, out loud at least.

To Checkpoint 1 at Easthorpe: 4.5 miles, 520 ft up, 340 ft down

Phew, that's it, it's started! I'm so glad to be started, and just to be jogging along, instead of worrying about it. I really don't know what I was worrying about back there, I'm completely fine, and everything is going to be OK. Everyone has said that your first hundred is the worst, and that was over with last year's event, so this year is going to be much better. I can even remember all of the route from the recce so far! Everyone else must be feeling the same, as the nervous atmosphere before the start has evaporated, and everyone is relaxing into their rhythm. Ahhhh. It's good to be here! And it's not even raining yet! 

Oh. The rain has started. Well, we got a mile in at least before getting wet. It's quite nice actually, quite cooling. And there's some thunder rumbling around in the background, which The Butterflies must be scared of, as they seem to have gone. It wasn't even that bad, and stopped in a few minutes. Don't know what all the fuss was about. Everywhere looks much greener than it did a couple of months ago on the recce. But, should we become complacent, a sign reminded us that the bog is never far away....

Despite being in a car park, the first checkpoint set the impossibly high standards of the LDWA catering, with tables groaning under the weight of pies, homemade cheese straws, liquorice allsorts....and we'd only had to run 4.5 miles to get here. This was brilliant. I'll probably even put on weight in the the next 95 miles. 

To Checkpoint 2 Hovingham: 5.7 miles, 370 ft up, 610 ft down

No problems on this bit. Nice views (nothing like a good view to take your mind off your current situation), first of all back towards Castle Howard, and then later over the North York Moors. Although, if you look closely, they do look quite high up (but let's ignore that fact). A few more miles through the woods. There aren't even any bogs left now, this is going to be a breeze! Up a hill, and then a wonderful view of Hovingham on a nice long downhill into the checkpoint. Another great checkpoint. Although I was actually feeling a bit sick, come to think of it. Why was I not hoovering up the delicious food? Bit odd. Oh well - ever onward.

To Checkpoint 3 Wombleton: 8.5 miles, 430 ft up, 370 ft down  
A quick stop at the legendary Wombleton general store for some chocolate coated coffee beans (which if I was in charge of the Essential Kit List...would definitely be on there). Managed to navigate the confusing section through the fields that we got lost in on the recce (gosh, I feel so well prepared for this!). Through Stonebridge, which seemed just as pretty as last time. Climbing the next hill, I looked back. A familiar site of dark clouds gathering awaited. If I'm not mistaken, this is exactly where it started raining on the recce. I raced the clouds to the top of the hill. They won.

Thunder! And lightening! Very very frightening. Passing quite a few walkers now. Nice to say hi and exchange good wishes with other clearly unhinged people embarking cheerfully on the same journey, marching confidently ahead as the thunder crashed and the lightening stuck down into the nearby fields. The storm came just in time to be honest. Firstly, my engine had been getting quite close to overheating back there, plus there was the added excitement of possibly betting hit by the lightening - a sure incentive to skip ever faster and more nimbly along the country lanes. We arrived, soaked but unscathed, at Wombleton checkpoint, which was so busy, it had run out of sandwiches. Fear not though! The ever capable LDWA were on the case, and in less time than it took to eat an apple (which strangely enough, a walker had mentioned he would like, and a marshal magically materialised not one apple, but a whole sack) fresh plates of sandwiches started appearing from the kitchen. I still wasn't feeling very well to be honest. I sat down in the sunshine on the grass outside the village hall and nibbled the sandwich, but I just felt sick. And also deeply annoyed by this fact.  

To Checkpoint 4 Hutton-le-Hole: 6.3 miles, 710 ft up, 550 ft down
Still, worse things have happened, and we must continue, nothing was achieved by sitting around eating sandwiches. Was it? I'm sure things have been. But, a mere 19 miles into the event, I recognised that now was too early to start having arguments with myself. Anyway, excitingly, the next section included the initial inspiration for the A to Z of route description words. I was glad to discover that other than the addition of a compass bearing, the original genius of instruction 4.6 had remained marvellously unchanged "continue generally ahead through a number of small fields".  

Thus instructed, we continued in the general direction of Hutton-le-Hole. We stayed in a B & B here at the end of the first day of the recce, and the logic of stopping to sleep at the end of a days running was becoming ever more apparent to me. But enough of that, these thoughts are unhelpful in the current situation. And anyway, more pressing matters were at hand, as here was to be The Kit Check! The Butterflies swooped. A large queue of people was snaking out of the hall. Who were all these people?? In the nicest possible sense, of course, but how had we all ended up here at once? And what were they checking in there? Were we having to dress in full emergency gear and stand under a shower to check the waterproof-ness? Was I going to have put my waterproof trousers on after years of carrying them around in the bottom of my rucksack? And why couldn't I go into the checkpoint before the kit check? So many questions. So many. And I needed some tea.

I passed the kit check (which consisted of a record number of items...waterproof jacket, waterproof trousers, compass, whistle, survival bag, demonstration of working torch). The Butterflies, having had a final party in my stomach as my kit was checked, no longer had purpose, and fluttered off into the gathering dusk. Meanwhile, I had a big cup of tea, in my new collapsible mug, and ran (almost literally) into the guy who I ran the first few hours of last years Dorset Hundred with.

To Checkpoint 5 Rosedale: 6.8 miles, 840 ft up, 710 ft down
Met up with my cousin Sammy, who has recently finished the South West Coastal Path, but irritatingly doesn't even look slightly tired despite of this. We were approaching Rosedale, which despite it's idyllic name, I distinctly remembered as being a low point from the recce. The checkpoint was busy. I sat down and managed to drink a mug of soup. I felt like pants. But on the plus side, other people were starting to look like I felt, so that gave me comfort (despite making me an awful person). 

To Checkpoint 6 Botton: 8.0 miles, 1380 ft up, 1130 ft down
Now the hills were really getting started. Just in time for dusk as well. Sob. The big hill up to the Lion Inn Blakely (that's Blakely not bakery - another sob) was back. I remembered this from the recce - how could I forget? The long drag went on and on. And on. Up over the moors. It was quite atmospheric now, if nothing else.

I played a game with the light. How long could I see before stopping to get my head torch out? Andrew had started to pull back a bit. There was a "technical" bit down a rocky gully in now what was pretty much the dark. Side to side, over on ankles, hands and knees. Andrew still seemed to be having some trouble. I hoped he was OK. Still, we managed a jog into Botton. Home of The Famous Botton Cheese! Which was specially cast one year ago in The Botton Creamery ready for the NYM 100!

Managed to eat the cheese and the Botton fruit cake, slowly. I was determined to - as this has been my first aim of the event, to get to the Botton Cheese at 40 miles. Anyway, it was delicious. Managed some more soup as well (soup is my new lifesaver). And a cup of tea (when you're feeling really rubbish - having two lifesavers lined up is always good). Despite feeling pants we'd made it to 40 miles in a little over 10 hours, which was well within my plan, so at least we seemed to be moving well.

I finally lost my game with the light, and dug my torch out of my rucksack, aimed it in the direction of the darkness, straightened myself up, and prepared to face The Night Section..... 

I would walk 100 miles and I would (never) walk 100 more

I've just regained the physical and mental capacity needed to write, so this is just a quick post.  The 100, or what I've now come to know is more accurately the NYM 102.7 (and never has 2.7 miles seemed such a long way) is finished! 

It wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done. Definitely not. In fact, it leap-frogged right to the top of most difficult things I've done, even replacing last year's Dorset 100 (which I've been reminded that at the time I confidently stated was the hardest thing I would ever do). But I've just been reminded (again) by Andrew (who successfully completed his first 100!) that whenever he says he's finding a run difficult, that I say that you don't do this because it's easy, but to rise to the challenge and prove yourself you can do something you initially think you can't. And what better time is there to eat your words than when you're so emotionally and physically wrecked that you can't stomach anything?

I've noted before that spell check corrects '100' to 'woo'. In this post, I've realised it also corrects '102' to 'wow'. Wow, really! That was worth the extra miles!

When the going got tough (which was the last 30 hours of the 32 it took me to do the thing) I thought of what the money we're raising was for, and if everyone could be so kind in supporting us through sponsorship, the least I had to do was finish the thing. We've raised over £600, but I refused to think that we had raised that much until I'd finished all of it. So basically, I was thinking that for each mile, we were raising £6...and that's how it went on...and on...and on...

...until finally, the magic mile 100 appeared! And then there was the small matter of the extra 2.7 miles at the end. And then finally, the finish! 

So......THANK YOU EVERYONE!!!

Here is the proof! My tally card, which I got quite attached to by then end (literally, by a piece of string) and emotionally (as here seemed so many checkpoints to get it clipped at):

And my finishing badge (funny what you will do for a badge):

I also found this in my finishing pack....

... a little bit soon to be broaching the subject of doing this all again? I can't even think about that right now. I can barely even think. 

So, I will write more when I have recovered enough energy to write more coherently.

Thank you again everyone!

uk.virginmoneygiving.com/100milesforrosemere

The 100 is about to start!

😲

About to head to start. Yikes! Feels funny to think after all the training, this is it! There's a live tracking link here:

Link to see if we are still going

Andrew's number is 156

My number is 306

And this is my story:

uk.virginmoneygiving.com/100milesforrosemere

And the weather has improved! A bit. No lightening at the start now, just a bit of rain, which is standard:

Thank you again everyone for all of your support, sponsorship and messages! 💗💗💗 Means an awful lot. And also means I'm going to have to finish it now!