Monday 21st June 2010

For reasons unassociated with the run I need to deliver my car to a village the other side of Malmsbury. I decide to run back. Between 80 and 90km is my best guess. I cut up lots of bits of map and mark a route. The first 30 or so km on road and trail then the rest along the ridgeway. Forecast is warm with no wind. I fill the back pack with as much liquid as I can carry. Some scooby snacks, shorts and t shirt for when it warms up, a phone and the bits of map.

I forget to put in a proper map and head off at 6am in order to give myself an hour to enjoy the roundabouts of Swindon. Bad start to the day.

I set off on my first long run. Immediately worried about the weight of the back pack and the difference it makes to my running. I hate it from the start and were it not for the fact that it probably saves my life I would have hated it all the way to the end. The GPS watch, on the other hand, I immediately fall in love with. It chunters away to itself (and me I presume) about nothing in particular. Talks to the stalactites in the sky and tells me how far I am going and all sorts of other useless information. Unfortunately nothing I can do persuades it to tell me where I am when I get lost in the woods around Wooton Bassett - the carefully disected maps long since having disolved in the persperation accumulating in the back pack.

I pass my first and last shop at 30km, refill the back pack and drink as much as I can. treat myself to an ice cream then head off up the Ridgeway. It's tough. Hilly, rocky and hot with no signs of civilisation. At 65km I use the last of my water. At 75km the perspiration dries up and my feet start to swell up. I start to boil. The anticipated gentle jog down the long hill into Streetley becomes a slow stagger. I get as far as the Swan where much-loved-wife comes to collect me.

I remember getting out of the shower shivering uncontrollobly but nothing else until the next morning. Apparently I didn't look very good but then I don't normally.

Tuesday 22nd June 2010

By the time my 9am meeting arrives I am feeling pretty ok - legs a bit sore but otherwise not too bad. Mentally I am struggling though. I try to imagine how I would feel if I had to head out for another 70 km that morning. I wouldn't be able to do it.

Then the good Lord throws in his two penneth. He sends down a couple for lunch who ask to see me afterwards. This doesn't usually bode well. But they just want to talk about the run.

'We think you are incredibly noble', the gentleman tells me.

I have to say I have been called all sorts of things - plenty unprintable - since I announced the run but none of them has been 'noble'

'Our son spent some time at Helen & Douglas House' he tells me. 'They are fantastic there. Really worthwhile cause'

'I'm glad you approve' I reply, 'but it's a bit early to be calling me 'noble'. I hope it all worked out for you in the end'

'No - not really' was his reply.

I am going to do this. Your money is not safe.