In all honesty I was not expecting the 30km dress rehearsal to go quite as well as it did, my left foot was still far from perfect and while there was no forced limping there was still some pain there. I was using a combination of paracetamol and aspirin to help numb that and running was almost a pleasure again. As much as running can be in the moment.

I took my time sorting out the belt and running vest at Watford station, making sure things were in the right pockets, the poles were strapped in and the soft items were packed against my back to make it as comfortable as possible. It was heavy before I added the 1.5lt of water, it was going to be a hot day, somewhere in the thirties, so I was going to need the water! I walked the bit from the station into Casiobury Park getting used to the pack and checking it was comfortable and everything was going to stay in place. It was a new running belt and I’d not carried poles or water in a belt before. I was running a 9:1 split again so after the first set ticked by and I was in the park I started a light run. It started well, I was more conscious of my left foot but there was no pain, just some discomfort. This might go well.

A couple of kilometres in and my breathing and heart rate had settled in for the ride, after the park it was along the side of the canal which was beautiful in the morning sun. It was just runners and dog walkers out at that time. The tow path gave way to dense woodland, the sunlight dappling the trail under a green canopy, the sound of the light breeze barely audible in the leaves. The ground was dry and rutted, it was easy to see how muddy this would be in wet weather. Roots crisscrossed the route and I was focused on not catching any. The hard packed mud and roots weren’t that kind to the pain in my left foot but there was nothing to worry about yet, it still wasn’t painful. Then the first hill, not much of a hill, but still enough of an incline to get the poles out and hear these for the first time. Locking in the wrist/hand strap system of the Lexi poles I climbed the hill. Reaching the top I unclipped and carried them for a little bit, practicing how I would switch on the day of the race. Holding them in my right hand, over to the left hand, one in each hand. Bang. Face planted in the middle of the wood. My left foot had struck a root and I went down hard. The Leki straps protected my hands and my knees came away dirty, no blood and no lasting pain/damage. I brushed myself off and pushed on, making sure to pay more attention to the floor and picking my feet up a little higher.

The ground seemed to continually climb in front of me, not by much, I wouldn’t call it a hill or a challenge to run but it never seemed to end. The sun was beating down and the air was already hot and midday was still a long way off. I was thankful for the boughs of the trees shading my route but knew this would come to an end at some point, the description of the route had mentioned meadows. Around 10am I called a break. I was sweating, my breathing had become a little more laboured and I needed to cool a little. In the shade of a country lane I propped myself against a gate and shared some texts with the family. It was not long after this where the woodland turned to those meadows and I was under the full gaze of the sun.

The pain in the foot from the trip had gone. It wasn’t often I noticed the pain there, my body had plenty of other stuff to process. The heat was probably the biggest factor now. I was struggling to maintain the 9:1 schedule and having to slow to walks more often to control my breathing and heat stress. It became a frustration, a focus. My legs weren’t tired, my body wasn’t complaining, it was the engine that was struggling. It’s here I started to think about adaption of the run/walk strategy for RTTK as the weather was meant to be comparable. Especially for the hotter part of the day, I’d need to shorten the run and lengthen the walk. I was a good way through the water I was carrying and would need to consider refilling at each aid station. A previous conversation  with Jenny had suggested skipping some of the early aid stations on the race, leapfrogging between them. I doubted that could be the case now, I’d have to hydrate and refill my flasks at each one. As if the hammer the point home I hit the 20k mark and realised I’d almost drained all of the 1.5lt I’d been carrying. All I could see ahead of me was meadow, lots of them. Rolling hills of the stuff all the way back into Watford. There wasn’t going to be much in the way of shade now and midday was drawing closer. The paths were becoming more and more overgrown, the nettles were punishing my legs for disturbing them, the brambles clawing at my skin as I waded through the narrowing trails.

I passed from on field into another where an old, disused, stile sat one the shade of the tall hedge. I sank down onto this and finished the water. There was about eight kilometres left to go. Checking the map on the phone I couldn’t see any sign of a collection of buildings between me an Watford that would hold a shop. It was going to be a tough march back. I paused once more when the trail veered from the directions on the Garmin. Was I really meant to be walking along the side of this narrow country road? Ahead I could see a walker id crossed paths with a few times in this latter section. He’d passed me when I had taken a wrong turn and had to double back, he was now marching along the road in the direction I needed to go. So I carefully followed him hopping up into the bushes at the side of the narrow road every time a car came along. Thankfully this didn’t last too long and I was back in the countryside heading down a track to a foot bridge over the M25.

The sun was relentless, there was no escape and from what Google Maps was telling me there wasn’t going to be a cafe or shop between here and the station. Less than 5k to go now. That annoying little mantra “less than a Parkrun” surfaced to annoy me. The thirst was real now, I’d started sucking on the bottles to see if I could eek anything else out. I hoped there was an open shop at the station, I needed to drink before the hour plus journey home. This had been a tough day out and not for the reasons I had been expecting when I set out. I’d imagined having to deal with a painful foot, a changed gait that caused other problems, the possibility I’d have to turn back when it got too much. Instead I had learnt that the planned run/walk strategy probably wasn’t the best for this weather, that I must refill my bottles at every aid station, pre-hydration needed to start now, I was going to be slower in the race than my original guesses. The coming weekend was going to be much tougher than I’d given it credit for and it would probably be the first time I’ll be happy to see the sun set.

The shop was open when I got back to Watford station. I gulped down a couple of litres of water and a coffee from the cafe next door. I sat in the shade on the platform for a little while, reversing the process from earlier. Unpacking the vest and getting the house keys and wallet into my pocket. Packed away the sweat dampened buffs from my neck and wrists, put my poles back into their bag. I took my time mulling over the lessons from today and how I was going to try and implement them on Saturday. Two trains had already left by the time I was ready to start the ride home.

I slept so well on Sunday night I didn’t hear my alarm and roused myself around half five. I wasn’t later but I didn’t have the luxury of time I usually do in the morning. The pain in the left foot had increased again, I’d expected that after being on it all day Sunday. I’d expected it to be more pronounced though, this was around the same levels I had experienced mid-last week. Limping, but only just. By Tuesday that would be gone. A conversation with Jenny through the notes section of Training Peaks settled on taking this week off and resting the foot which was fine by me. After all this is a fun run. It’s not a target. It’s all about the experience. If I DNF, if I time out, if I make it the whole way round, it’s all the same to me here. This is my summer holiday and there will be other chances to complete this distance if I don’t make it this time. Besides, I don’t want to go into the next training block carrying an injury.

That was my mindset as I walked to Victoria Station from work on Friday evening heading for my hotel in Chichester. On the train thought something akin to nerves were creeping up on me. More for the unknown, for doing this solo, for hoping all my plans were solid and I hadn’t forgotten anything and left it at home. Too late now. The city centre was quiet for nine on a weekend, not at all how I imagine things from inside my little London bubble. Bars were empty, restaurants had free tables, very few were out on the high street. I checked in, got into my room and unpacked everything onto the bed. I had a 06:15 shuttle booked from the station out to Goodwood for the next day so started sorting the gear into separate piles. The underwear, socks, shorts and Eagles top I would be attired in on the day along with the cap, sunnies, calf sleeves and a couple of buffs all stacked on the chair ready to slide into after the shower tomorrow morning.

The mandatory kit list seemed to be very limited compared to other Ultras I had looked at which meant I was probably carrying more than I needed to cross the start line, but I figured if I was going to do more of these I best get used to it now. Warm layer, waterproof jacket, first aid kit, head torch, sun cream, wet wipes. All packed away so the softest parts would be against my back. I would have three soft flasks with me for the day, one with Tailwind and two plain water, I’d learnt my lesson last weekend. Nutrition was a variety of things I’d trialed during training such as Naked bars, nuts, caffeine bullets, all to be neatly tucked away in the vest, belt or pockets of the shorts. Happy I was ready I settled down to sleep.

Marvelling at the 24/7 pizza vending machine outside Chichester Station I found the shuttle bus and met the first bunch of runners I’d chat to today and was soon on the way to the start line. I missed the first wave, described later as the wave for ‘those that want to win’ but get to say a quick hello and good luck to Din and Trev before they set off on their day out. My wave was another hour so I sat near the start watching the others getting released out into the countryside including the Dulux team that went off in a cloud of coloured smoke bombs. It didn’t take long for my turn to come round.

Loosely gathered in the pen we listened to the race briefing and performed some stretching and warm ups before we crossed the line. The day was slightly overcast and the morning was cool but it wasn’t going to stay this way. The group snaked its way out of the racecourse grounds and into the woods, single file up a small hill. I’d set my run/walk timer to 6:2 based on the previous weekends experience so I had a slightly shorter effort and a bit more time to fuel and hydrate. At the start there were trails so narrow that I didn’t want to be slowing those behind me or try to stand aside in the think nettle growth so I skipped a few of the 2 minute walks but kept the pace nice and gentle. As woods gave way to rolling hills and wide paths and trails in to Chichester it was easier to stick to the plan and let others pass as necessary. This led to leap-frogging some of the other runners as my run pace would be slightly faster than theirs with my walks allowing them to catch up again. My goal was to get to Pit Stop 1 which was 10k in and that came round very quickly.

First point of call was the toilet queue. I would learn in the first half of this race that when consuming the quantity of calories needed to keep the body going would also result in a lot of waste product that needed to go out the other end. Then a quick scan of the array of food on offer before filling the now empty soft flasks with plain water in two and Tailwind in the other. The first 90 minutes had been warm and I’d drained 1.5 litres of fluid but felt like I was on point with the hydration, constantly measuring how I was feeling today with the experience of last Sunday. A turn round of less than ten minutes and I was off over the foot bridge across the train tracks and toward Chichester Harbour and its wetlands. The terrain here varied a great deal. Tarmac, stoney packed paths or tops of concrete walls to avoid the uneven stones, narrow baked mud tracks through the reeds and scent of decay from the seas low tide. The going was slow in places. Sticking with the 6:2 when I could, slowing along behind a small group of runners picking their way through when I couldn’t pass them.

It was around this time, some 18k into the race that I was sure I could feel the end of the middle toe on my left foot blister up. The nail never grew back correctly after loosing it in the last Ultra Marathon/Half Marathon double I pulled last year and I was expecting this to happen at some point. I had just hoped it’d be later. There was no pain, just a feeling of unusual mobility of the end of the toe that hadn’t been there before. I was wearing toe socks so there wasn’t far it could go so I put it to the back of my mind. My left foot had been it’s usual painful self since the start, the same nagging across the arch and heel with every step. It never changed, it was just there, sometimes ignored, sometimes the fleeting focus of my thoughts. All in all everything was going pretty much how I’d imagined in. It had become so much hotter now though, the earlier cloud cover burnt back by the sun, the trails and paths all very exposed. Very little shade existed at all and there was barely a murmur of a breeze.

16k lay between Pit Stops 1 and 2, the sun was beating down, the sweat was pouring off and I was getting through the water. In the walk breaks I had been eating the pretzels I had grabbed as I left PS1 as well as some of the other snacks I had tucked into my pouch. At one point crossing a road a man was handing out small paper bags of candy and runners know that you happily accept candy from strangers at the roadside! So I popped a few of these into my mouth and tucked the rest into a side pocket of the vest for later. I was destined to forget about these until sweat dissolved the paper and the combination of the sun and body heat melted the sugary snacks, seeping through the vest, tee shirt and onto my skin sticking all three together.

The wetlands and harbour edge gave way to meadows which gave way to country lanes. There were around 2k until Pit Stop 2 and I’d just finished all of my water. I consciously slowed my pace when in a run phase and happily took a longer rest if the way ahead was even slightly inclined. In the distance I could hear music, singing. Were those flags I could see peaking about the hedgerows of this road? I turned a corned and Pit Stop 2 came into view, choir and all. I hit the flat coke hard, washed it down with more water and then refilled the three flasks I had strapped to me. I had planned to stop a little longer here and helped myself to watermelon slices, an egg sandwich, some salted nuts and a coffee. Eating all of these sat on the grass like it was some sort of picnic.

Around me sat other runners, in groups, alone, in chairs, on the grass, under shade. A couple had their shoes off and were tending to their feet. I had visions of how it would look if I took my shoes off. The toes of the toe socks all wet when the blisters had popped, maybe blood? No, I didn’t think they would be bleeding just yet, there was no pain. I decided I’d leave that surprise for later and kept my shoes on. I needed the loo though before I left, a good sign that I was taking on enough liquid. Maybe not, the urine was dark, not yet too dark but a few shades beyond where I wanted it to be. Back to the hydration stand and I refilled my little collapsible cup with water, electrolytes and flat coke for another ten minutes, getting the liquids and salts on board before heading off. A little over 10k to the next stop, my three flasks would be enough for that distance.

I soaked my hat with cold water and set off on the trails again. This time leapfrogging a group of four also run walking, there were narrow trails through crops, wider baked mud paths through woodland and some short bits along the side of country roads.  Time was passing irregularly for me, I still felt like it was morning, when I greeted other runners or passers by that is what I led with, but it was midday and the sun was really beating down now. The podcast I had been listening to had cycled through many episodes this morning but I couldn’t tell you a thing about any of them, my mind had just been switched off, meditating, for the last four hours. The last time I had done something like this I managed to cover 55k in under eight hours, this wasn’t too far off pace but I knew there were some hills coming. I’d tried to be controlled, save it for later, I was happy I’d done that so far.

A quick check in led me to believe that my blisters were no worse, the pain in my foot was still nagging maybe even got a little bit louder, hydration was spot on but I wasn’t sure about the calories. I felt like I wasn’t taking enough on. I had eaten loads at the last stop though, so I put that thought to bed. Approaching 36k into the race and the run/walk had become a walk/run, especially in the heat of the noon sun. I was tiring, I could feel the fleeting touches of fatigue, the tiny wave of discomfort in the hamstring, the groin reminding me that I still don’t do enough strength and conditioning in my training. I made a mental note of this and promised myself I’d do more knowing that it was a complete lie.

Pit Stop 3 was in the gravelly yard of some farm buildings. More flat coke, more electrolytes, more water. I filled all of my flasks again and wondered just how much liquid I’d be taking on today. I got some brown bread with marmite and peanut butter on, a coffee with sugar this time, some of the cold pressed fruit puree snacks and more watermelon and took a sat on one of the chairs until the coffee was gone. It was a brief respite and one where I noticed that my coordination and dexterity wasn’t firing on all cylinders, filling my flasks and screwing the tops back on had taken a lot of concentration. Maybe I was more fatigued than I had thought. I grabbed a couple of bags of the fruit snacks, smashed a few more flat cokes, soaked my hat and buff and was back out on the trail. Next stop was Goodwood and the halfway point.

Hills. This is where they started. The first section had been so flat I heard some runners later talk about how they managed to match their road Half Marathon times. That was all very different now. The first hill climbed for 170 meters in 5k. It quickly left behind the shade of the trees for the open farm tracks through meadows and pastures. This was the first time I got the poles out. I was worried I wouldn’t make these next 16k with the 1.5lt of fluid I had with me, it’d been close earlier when the same distance was on the flat. There were other things dropping off the wagon now though, different preoccupations to keep my mind off the adequacy of my rationing skills with water.

My stomach had started to churn, bloat. The safety valve was letting off steam more and more often. I was doing everything I could to stay away from other runners so I didn’t end up crop dusting them. In a conversation with friends or in a lift with strangers, I’d find this situation funny and would have to work hard to suppress a laugh if one got away from me. Here though, stomach churning like it was, all of the different foods and liquids I’d put in me, could I be sure this was just a gas and not a (loose) solid? I was regretting not having a little loo break at the last stop. Up and down the hills I went, every elevation gained led to losing it all again immediately. I wasn’t enjoying this stage. Unsure my water would last, not knowing what I was holding back, wondering what would happen if I dared put anymore food in behind it, all the time climbing these stoney paths under the gaze of the sun.

Around the top of the third hill though was a most wonderful sight. Two blue chemical toilets, a water bowser and some bananas. The immediate need was a visit to the toilet where the echo of the ridged plastic box announced to everyone in earshot that I had made the right decision in holding this back. This must have been shit number four today such was the quantity of waste left from all the fuel I was consuming. Lesson learnt here, visit the loo at each stop and offload what you can while you can. I came out to the knowing smile of two runners filling their water bottles. “Room for a banana now.” said one handing me the fruit. We chatted for a short while before they headed on. I finished the banana and made sure the soft flasks were all full. There were 8k to go until the halfway point.

The trail dropped only to rise sharply again. There had been zero running in this last section. The heat from the sun was stifling, the ups punished the glutes and calfs, the downs hammered the quads and slammed the toes into the front of my shoes. There was pain from the toes now, not much but was it wet in there? Had the blood started? It wasn’t coming through the shoe yet but I had these images of a degloved toe fixed into my mind. Maybe I’d have a look at the half way point. The stones poking up through the chalky soil were taking their toll on my injured foot as well. Punished by the uneven terrain, the baked mud, the pebbles and stones, the rocky ground. The pain had set up a permanent little home in my head and living there rent free. The additional stretching on the incline was not helping. I had begun to look ahead for distance markers, willing the halfway point to come to me rather than the other way round. Up to these hills, this last few kilometres of the race, it’d been about managing the physical. The hydration, fuel, fatigue, pain. Now it was all about the mental. Goodwood was just round the corner though, let’s see how I feel after a proper meal.

The trail changed to woodland again, this gave way to a road, the gates into Goodwood on the other side. Through the Horse Walk and between the array of benches there was just lawn between me and the point from which I’d started. Arrows directed you right for the 50k finish or the 100k two day race. The left path took you on the nonstop route. I wanted to stop, had I not done enough? Could I do what I have just done all over again? The impulse to stay in the right hand side and call it a day was so strong, I was running again and kept running straight towards the end of the barrier that split the courses. I was a couple of meters away before I edged left and could hear the compare over the tannoy announce another straight througher! A wave of applause from the crowd of finishers gathered at the side and I passed the finish line for the 50k. It was around 5pm, I’d been out there for nine hours so far, one more than the Ultra last October.

Directed to the food tent I headed in for a hot meal before I set out again. The baked potato, vegan chilli and cheese tasted wonderful. Two cups of coffee and huge gulps of water to wash it all down. I took my time, I relaxed into the chair, I replied to the text messages from friends and family. Then I filled my flasks with water and Tailwind and prepared to head back out. This was going to be a guts it out slog to the end now. The first 30k of this race had been either down hill or flat. From here on it would be hills. The toilets were on the way out so I stopped off and tried to squeeze the baked potato through, having learnt the lesson earlier. It didn’t work but I still ended up a few grams lighter.

In my head now the only goal I had was to reach Pit Stop 5 just a meagre 14k away. One Pit Stop at a time I told myself. I made my way out of Goodwood and into the surrounding woodland. It was immediately clear this was going to be a lonely stage of the race. There was no one in front, no one behind. Most, I guess, had either done the 50k or doing the 100k over two days. There was just me now. Walking through the woods out onto the rolling pastures and fields with the shadows lengthening and the sounds of sheep emanating from somewhere nearby. I was less than 2k out from Goodwood when my tired legs failed to pick up my feet up high enough and I tripped on a root. I didn’t fall, but the shock through my left foot was agony. The feeling that had been localised to the arch and heel had spread like wildfire with the ball of my foot boiling in pain. “Turn back now, you’re close.” said one voice. “Walk it off.” countered another. Of course I listened to the second voice. 12k, then make a choice.



So I continued through fields of crops taller than me, undergrowth of nettles and brambles grabbing at my legs, stinging the back of my hands. Gloomy tree lined avenues being slowly abandoned by the suns light. Paths of mixed baked mud and stone filled chalky soil. Without realising it I had allowed the negative to begin leading the narrative. The podcast episodes were still ticking by, my mind in its own little pocket not really paying attention to anything other than the immediate situation. So it wasn’t until I was passed by a couple of hikers going straight through for the 100k that I realised I’d not been running for some time now and that my pace had dropped right back. Garmin was predicting a finish around 3am, another six hours out on the trails not including for the time spent in the pit stops. I had one question, was I enjoying myself?

I’d asked it so many times by the time I got into check point five a little after 9pm. I’d answered it so many different ways. I’d said “no” to it, I’d said “take it one pit stop at a time” to it, I’d said “let’s just see how far Pit Stop 6 is away and decide then” but I had never answered with “yes” so when I crossed into Pit Stop 5 and the girl who greeted me told me I was smashing it and asked how I was feeling I just said “I’m done.”

An immediate wave of emotion came over me as I sat in the chair offered and took the hot sweet coffee from her. There were almost tears. Of relief? Of joy? Of failure? I was overwhelmed at first. I was done. There was no need to keep falling forward anymore tonight. I would jump into the mini bus back to Goodwood with another DNF, get a tent, have a pizza and make a miserable attempt at sleeping. I’d managed 39.768 miles.

That night saw a bad storm come in with lightning strikes close enough for the organisers to pull some of the runners in to a barn for shelter, for those at Pit Stops to shelter in bus stops, for those caught out in the middle of nowhere to get soaked through. It’d have been an experience to have been out in it, but in all honesty I do not regret missing that adventure. I don’t regret pulling out either. This was only ever meant to be for fun, and when it stopped being fun then I would stop. Exactly what happened. I challenged myself, covered more distance than before and learnt so much in doing so.

Once in the tent I finally got round to checking out my feet, I was imagining some nightmare carnage, blood, missing nails, degloved toes. Thankfully none of that was true. Sure, there were some small blisters but no blood and none of the blisters had opened up. What was worrying me more though was the swelling in the left foot, and was it discoloured? Time will tell. As I write this now, on the Monday after, it is beginning to look more and more like I have bruised it or exasperated the PF to a point where it has swollen up in protest. Walking is painful, almost impossibly so at first, and feels like a sock has rolled down and bunched up under the soft part of the foot. Today has been a day of RICE and blog writing. Hopefully tomorrow will bring improvement.

So, has it put me off? Not at all. I always knew this wasn’t a serious attempt, Seven weeks after a training block dedicated to marathon with three of those doing very little running due to recovery time or injury, it was more a journey of discovery, and that box got ticked. The train ride home was thinking about next year, wondering if there was a series of Ultras I could fit in around the Berlin Marathon. Start smaller though and get a series of 50k races under my belt first.

Time to get Googling.