Round (Half) The Rock

It's around half past seven on Friday evening when Dean and I encounter a hotel lobby suspiciously full of Datchet Dasher runners in St Helier, Jersey. We've missed the race briefing for the Round the Rock ultra that we're taking part in the next day, thanks in part to someone on our flight not being able to last 45 minutes without a cigarette. The briefing room is empty save for the organisers, rows of chairs and a stash of cardboard boxes. We make our apologies, claim our race numbers, event t-shirts and the highlights from the briefing.

St Helier

Round the Rock is a rather small and exclusive-feeling event consisting of circumnavigating 48miles around the island in under 12 hours. No mean feat when you consider that much of the route takes in the coastal path. You can choose to do it solo, as we had, or as a relay team. All in all there were around 100 runners taking part, making this perhaps the smallest event I'd ever participated in. The only events I could compare this to, in my experience, were Tiree (35 miles around an island) and the Ultra12 (12 hours to do as many laps as you can - I covered 40 miles), neither of which ended up coming anywhere close to the experience I had on Jersey.

Pre-race dinner at Pizza Express. Thanks Nectar points!

We'd gone straight to the briefing from the airport so after satisfying ourselves that we knew where the start was and having a cheap eat at Pizza Express we finally checked into our hotel at about 9pm. An hour or so was spent organising race kit and negotiating an early breakfast with reception then it was alarms set for 4:30am and an attempt at some sleep. Neither of us slept that well, full of apprehension and excitement, but none the less we were fairly chirpy on Saturday morning as we had some food and walked to the Steam Clock in the wind and drizzle under brightening sky. Thankfully the rain didn't last and we set off at 6am on the dot.

Starting at the Steam Clock

The first part of the course is all on road and flat. We went out anticlockwise around the island and quickly found ourselves at the back of the pack. I was determined not to set off too quickly, knowing we had so many miles to go. It was a beautiful morning, and so warm that jackets and arm warmers were shed within two miles. We nattered, admired the houses, enjoyed a bit of Fleetwood Mac being played on loudspeaker by another pair of runners and started to see some views.

One of many biews

The first check point was at around 10 miles. We both felt fine and after a quick drink and a snack, we were off into the second leg. I know we were at the back still, but I wasn't worried. As Dean said, finish lines not finish times. We'd been working on the basis that as long as we managed a 4 mile an hour average we would be fine. We'd banked some time in the first ten miles and Dean was constantly doing the maths on how long we had to make it to the halfway point to be on track. What we'd failed to take into account were the checkpoint cut off times. I wasn't nearly as prepared for this event in terms of logistics as I usually am. I'd only given a cursory glance to the race instructions and not registered that although there was no cut off for CP1 and an overall cut off of 12 hours, there were cut offs at all the other check points. I'd over heard someone mentioning them at CP1 so took a moment to look it up. We had to make it to CP2 by 10:30am. That seemed ok.

Coming up to CP1, when things were still fun.

Then we hit the coastal footpath. Things changed very quickly. The path became narrow trail. We started to encounter steps. Not just any steps, big uneven steps made of sleepers with pins in to provide more traction. Up and down. Dean is more powerful than I am by virtue of a) being a man and b) having done a lot more cycling than me. I started to slow up on the uphills a lot. What was frustrating was that I couldn't even make up much time on the downhills, usually my forte, as there were also steps down, and sometimes the path was so narrow, rocky and close to a drop that I was terrified of losing my footing.

The views were second to none. Vast expanses of blue green sea, swathes of purple heather, butterflies everywhere, bright sky, sunshine galore. It was hard to see much of the route ahead, as it twisted and turned, dropped down and ascended steeply, but every now and then we caught a glimpse of runners ahead and made it our mission to keep them in sight. This often made it only too obvious what we had awaiting us around the corner in terms of ascent, which was quickly becoming soul destroying for me. Dean was motoring on and I was just trying to keep up. Handfuls of M&M's were administered, I finished my electrolytes, gels sucked down, sweat dripped off our noses and down our backs. Our pace had plummeted. The course was brutal.

We passed a pair of girls who were having to retire due to a twisted ankle, we found some marshals and spectators for a few encouraging words. My toes were sore from hitting the fronts of my trainers on the descents. I'd narrowly missed twisting an ankle, got a mini panic attack on an ascent, stumbled a few times. Despite the scenery, despite the fact I was doing this with Dean, who I love running with, I was not having fun. I by-passed the "power sob" phase that I end up in when things get tough and went straight to the "lost all hope" phase. Dean was still fixated on making the half way point by a particular time but I knew we'd missed the CP2 cut off. I think that was part of my undoing.

As we got closer to CP2 and found some road I tried to run again but the hills had sapped everything from my legs. Dean kept waiting for me and I knew that whatever I was doing wasn't quite enough. At the checkpoint we were told that although we'd technically missed cut off, we could carry on if we wanted to. I desperately wanted to be able to continue for his sake but deep down I didn't want to carry on. I doubted I'd make it to CP3 on the remaining coastal path. I was afraid of what would happen if I was between checkpoints and unable to continue. Knowing that Dean wouldn't carry on without me, knowing I was letting him down, having had some proper food, rest and more fluids at CP2 I made the call. I wasn't going to carry on. 21 miles in just under 5 hours. My first DNF. I promptly burst into tears on the poor checkpoint volunteers shoulder.

I normally only have to make these decisions for myself, but knowing I was impacting someone else race with my decision made it so much harder. I do think, now, with some perspective, I made the right decision but I spent the rest of the day beating myself up about it, trying to justify it, feeling like a failure and getting angry that I'd not managed it despite the things I've achieved before. Even the next day, when my legs didn't feel too atrocious, I struggled with my decision, thinking that if I could move today, maybe I didn't push myself enough.

The elevation map

We got a lift back to our hotel from the volunteer with the wet shoulder, in a mini van along with some lovely ladies who benefit from the charity that the race supports. We got cleaned up and wandered over to the race finish and back along the race route to support those coming in. It was bittersweet. We saw the medal and were relived that it wasn't a super duper spangly thing to be coveted. One of the finishers told us how she fell over three times on the route, had to call her mum for a pep talk and that the third leg was still really brutal.

Post run refuelling.

We enjoyed the rest of our afternoon exploring the town. Pasties were consumed, beers supped and we fell asleep in front of the athletics on telly. The next day we played tourists as our flights weren't until the evening, visiting Elizabeth Island and meandering along to St Aubin. In the event it felt as though we had a really great holiday. We talked about whether, given what we know now, we would return to try and complete the race another time. I would only do it if I felt prepared, if my legs were stronger and if the weather was fine. I can't contemplate attempting the route in the rain. It may have been folly to even begin the race and it's taken me some time to come to terms with what happened, but it's onward, preferably not too much upwards, and use this to learn from and fuel my determination to be better. Jersey was tough, but I will become tougher because of it.

Have you ever made the decision to DNF? Was it difficult? Did it affect someone else?
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Event Review : Sunset to Sunrise Ultra

I've got a lot of pending event reviews that I fully intend to publish in the next few weeks but I thought I'd start with this one as not only is it one of the more recent but it is also my engagement story, which I'd like to share with you in one of my more self-indulgent moments.

My partner, Dean, and I are both pretty active people and endurance athletes in our own right. He's an Ironman and I'm an ultra runner. And so, as we both have fairly pliable arms I'm signed up to a half ironman distance triathlon and he decided he wanted to run an ultra together. After looking around we settled on the Sunset to Sunrise challenge as one that fitted well into our schedule, allowed us some control over our distance and had the extra feature of being overnight, giving us the extra challenges of sleep-deprivation, cold and darkness.

The event was organised by How Hard Can It Be events... really the clue should have been in the name, and had options of 9 mile, 18 mile, half marathon, full marathon and ultra marathon distances on a 4.5 mile out and back course along a disused railway track near Telford. We roped my ever-supportive parents into driving us up there, on the promise of a B&B and a cheese and wine evening the next day. The B&B was just a 15 minute drive from the event start which meant that we could be left to our own devices in the dead of night but should we need picking up before sunrise, we wouldn't be waiting too long. We installed mum and dad at the B&B, and nipped over to the start to pick up our race numbers. It was a little... sparse... a couple of gazebos with a couple of tea urns, a porta loo (just the one) and some space to stash bags under cover. We felt mildly nervous but headed off to prepare, check kit and grab a bite to eat before the start at sunset which was at 4:20pm.

At the start

It was a small field of runners milling around at the start. We stashed our rather large kit bag, full of clothing and food and joined the "masses". Dean was a bit later joining us as he'd wandered off somewhere to chat to my dad... I suspected something was afoot. All distances started at the same time with strict instructions about checking in at each end of the course and having head torches with us at all times. Mum and dad waved us off then took themselves to a pub just a few hundred yards away. Good spirits all round and a gorgeous sunset to distract us in the first few miles.

The course was nigh on flat but with some puddles, pot holes and rather stoney areas. We had fields on one side and a river on the other but aside from that there were few distinguishing features. We reached the checkpoint, got ticked off the list, helped ourselves to some cake and did an about turn. Before long we were back at the start. First out-and-back done. A smidge over 9 miles completed. No worries. My parents were demonstrating their finest cheerleading, the only spectators present, and after being reassured that we were fine, went back to the pub for some dinner. We got updates during our second outing that there was a fire... lovely... we donned extra layers...

Dad taunting us with fireside relaxing

We'd hoped to cover 54 miles overnight, making it my longest ultra marathon to date, but we tried not to think about the big picture. The field had already thinned out a lot as we started the next out-and-back, many of the shorter distance runners already finished or at the other end of the course, so it was nice to have each other for company; we had agreed to run side by side for the whole event. No reflect on the company but it was during the second 9 miles that we started to identify, and name, some "landmarks" on the course. There was the concrete patch near HQ, areas of cold air coming off the river were the hedges were missing, a hi-viz "7" on a post that I called Len and a broken branch that I named Michelle for reasons too oblique to mention here. The old railway platform, a hub cap on a fence and various sizeable pot holes also gave us things to tick off as we ran ("Have we passed Len yet? Did we miss him?").

Fuelling up after 18.5 miles

That second 9 miles passed fairly uneventfully and as 8:30pm approached we found ourselves back at HQ for a second time, my parents returned from the sanctuary of the pub with applause and hugs. More layers were applied, pasties, snickers bars and jaffa cakes consumed. We were about to set off on what should have been our half-way lap, had things gone to plan. But of course they didn't. Mum and dad retired to the pub for dinner and off we went, chatting and happy for a couple of miles. Then, around mile 20, things started to twinge and ache. First Dean's knee, then my hip flexors. We slowed down a bit, mustered up smiles for the few runners we saw and each other and were grateful as the landmarks passed us by and we finally arrived at the checkpoint.

Upon being asked if we would be back we politely suggested that we probably wouldn't be and started our walk and limp back. Moving more slowly meant that we were colder. Every layer we had was now being worn and we were grateful that it was dry and still, even though we had cold, damp, fog to contend with. I started to worry that we were keeping my parents waiting. We'd agreed that they would wait to see us in one last time before heading back to the B&B for some rest and it was now getting close to midnight. Eventually we saw the lights of HQ, my folks still waving madly. We exchanged hugs, explained how we were faring and made the decision to call it a night. Although energy levels were fine, it would have been folly to limp out again so after 28.5 miles and 6h55 we collected our medals and some 9bars (sponsor of the event) and allowed ourselves to be ferried back to the B&B.

A bit broken but still smiling.

I had visions of sleeping on the floor but thankfully there was a lumpy sofa bed. We slept in compression tights, socks and jumpers that night; showers could wait until daylight. A cooked breakfast was demolished the next morning and a glass of bubbly enjoyed in the back of the car on the drive home. Those of you who were waiting for the proposal... don't worry, you haven't missed it. You may have expected it on the finish line of the event. That's when I hoped it would happen. In fact I think he may have asked if then was a good time but on the tiredness, pain and confusion we misunderstood each other. To be frank if he'd gone down on one knee then we may not have got him up again. My mum even whispered to me as we arrived home "so when's he going to ask you then?"

So we got home, feeling mildly fuzzy around the edges from fizz, had tea and some of the amazing banana bread cake that my mum had made, then set about getting cleaned up and unpacked. Dad was having a snooze, mum was getting changed and we were lounging in our room. And that's when it happened, amid the chit chat about the race, what we were going to do with the rest of the day, he got down on one knee in a very understated way and proposed. And I, of course, accepted, with a huge grin on my face. And that's how it happened folks! The ultra was, I think, a bit of a test for both of us; if we can get through that without falling out, seeing each other at our best and worst, then it bodes well for the future. We've many more races lined up for the year ahead and are even considering a honeymoon that includes a marathon. We've joked about my "something blue" being compression socks.

Double race bling

But that's enough about us. This is, after all, meant to be an event review. So. Was the event good? Yes, it was well organised although small and the crew were friendly. There were plenty of snacks and despite there only being one loo there were no queues. Having a ground sheet on which to put our bags would have been nice, rather than just the muddy ground, but we new it was a no-frills sort of thing. At £40 it may seem pricey but the crew are out there for over 15 hours so I'm not going to quibble about it. Would I do it again? Probably not, I've been there, done that and it wasn't interesting enough to draw me back although I would consider the daylight version.

Do you or would you race with your partner? Are there any honeymoon destination events (November/December time) that you'd recommend?

Event Review : Stour Valley Marathon

It's 6am on a Sunday. I'm awake, cup of coffee on the go and somehow in my running gear (have you any idea how difficult it is to get into lycra before 7am?). I have an hour and a half drive ahead of me, but I've allowed for two hours, to get me to Nayland which is on the Essex / Suffolk border about 10 minutes from Colchester. All this because I read a race report last year that made me want to run a marathon through the countryside.

The Stour Valley Marathon is a trail marathon through Constable Country following parts of the Stour Valley Path, Essex Way and St Edmund Way. It measures slightly short of 27 miles on Garmin devices and so could be classed as an ultra. It certainly would if you got lost, which is a real possibility as the course isn't marked. Instead participants are given a narrative route or can choose to download a GPS track for their Garmin devices. As my Garmin isn't fancy enough to handle that I was to be following the narrative version, not unlike that which I followed for Gatliff, my first ultra.

Parking and registration was a breeze and so I milled around with a cup of tea, wondering how quickly I'd need to lose the long sleeves and how my legs would react today, it being less than a week since my last marathon. There were only around 200 participants, so a small field, but many from the local running clubs. The advantage of being local is that you can try the route before hand, something that I appreciated not too far into the run. We started fairly promptly at 9am, heading out of the village and towards the first stile (thankfully there weren't as many as Gatliff). The first couple of miles were a bit bottle-necky as you might imagine, but we soon spread out. The plus side to this was that after the first mile I was roasting my my long sleeves and someone very kindly offered to hold my race vest while I peeled it off. Temperature was a big issue that day, rising quickly throughout the morning to hit around 25 degrees in the afternoon. The event has a seven hour time limit and as a slower runner I knew I'd need a lot of that time, so was running during the hottest part of the day. Beautiful, but hard going.

Pretty but no shade

As we wound through some enclosed footpaths I started to lose the people in front and had a mild panic about the instructions. As I stumbled through some undergrowth near a church thinking to myself "surely this isn't right" I glanced sideways to find a fellow runner taking a comfort break. Apologising profusely I stumbled on but as happens on events like this she caught me up and we started chatting, running together with another lady for at least half of the event. Being a local she was able to keep me on the (not very) straight and (very) narrow path, pointing out the footpath signs we should be following as well as views I shouldn't forget to look at.

A view. At the top of a hill. I didn't appreciate it as much as I should have.

Challenges on the course included the aforementioned stiles, footbridges, kissing gates, brambles, stinging nettles (how I came away unscathed from that I don't know) and rabbit holes you could lose a leg down. In addition there were crops to avoid trampling, ploughed fields that necessitated leaping from furrow to furrow as if on the moon, and hills. Oh the hills. In fairness there weren't that many but I took my ultra strategy of walking them all very seriously. Oh and cows, quite a lot of cows, with young, and a field with a bull in it. Mostly they moved out of the way but one seemed intent on guarding the gate I was trying to get to. I was never good at vaulting at school and I didn't have a sprint in my legs at that point so was glad it stood its ground rather than charging me.

I checked in with my parents at each check point, sending a quick text message home. They weren't with me today but amused themselves and cheered me up by sending me videos and pictures. Unfortunately I had barely any signal most of the time so didn't get them until afterwards but I appreciated them all the same.

Helpful photo from mum

There were four check points in total with an additional two water drops towards the end of the course. The checkpoints were attended by wonderful volunteers who plied us with lemon and orange squash, tortilla chips, biscuits, jelly babies, nuts and jaffa cakes. I had my own water and gels but wasn't going to turn down lemon squash or jaffa cakes, even the melty ones at CP4!

A local lady was standing outside her house, somewhere around mile 15 I think, with plates of orange wedges and chic chip cookies whilst some other kind souls had left a huge bowl of jelly babies outside for runners to help themselves to.

Looking at the scenery, deciphering and following the instructions and avoiding rabbit holes served as good distractions, stopping me from thinking too much about the distance I had left to go. In fairness I don't think it was until the last 6 miles that I started to get a bit fed up with it all, which sort of coincided with a mile stretch of very sloppy, muddy footpath that I just couldn't run on. That was hard going. But I was still managing to jog and my knee and hip flexors weren't painful, which had been my main concern. The between event massage, skins shorts and CEP calf sleeves clearly helped.

The hilarious tan lines you get when wearing shorts and calf sleeves.

The last two miles were the hardest. I wasn't tired as such, just weary, hot, achey, and in need of a lot of wet wipes to get rid of the grime and sweat build up. Oh yes it's all very glamorous this running malarkey. My Garmin also died around that point (I hadn't charged it fully) and so I wasn't able to check how far I had left to go. I started to recognise landmarks as I neared Nayland again. There were more spectators cheering and being very encouraging. I turned the corner back to the village hall and the finish line. Most people had already finished and were lazing on the grass with cold drinks, picnics and friends and families and on any other day I would probably have joined them but I'd had enough sun so after collecting my ridiculously huge meal (unexpected) I headed inside to find food and fluids. A huge spread was laid on for free for the runners and volunteers including sausage baguettes, salads, scones and cider. I nigh on inhaled my plateful! While I thought I was struggling in the last few miles it seems I was actually helping others. I was approached by a woman about 5 minutes after finishing who said she'd been following my blue socks for the last 5 miles as she couldn't focus on her instructions any more. I'm mighty glad I didn't get lost!

Post race meal. Cider was saved for later.

Once fed, semi clean and in fresh clothes I started the two hour drive back to my parents'. Tired, happy, sun tanned. I reckon I finished in around six hours, which isn't great but it's not dreadful. I had always intended to approach this as an experience, which it certainly was, and so finish time is somewhat irrelevant, especially in that heat.

Huge bling

Would I recommend it? Yes. Would I do it again? Maybe - although I'm sure there are others out there that would be just as cool to do rather than running the same route again. For £28 you really can't go wrong with this event. Small, friendly, special. Entries for 2017 should open in August...

Event Review : Tiree Ultra Marathon

What do normal people do on a Sunday? I'm not sure I know, nor care to join their ranks. It's probably not lining up on a beach on a far flung Hebridean island with a couple of hundred other people at 8am ready to run around the entire thing. Crazy? Yes. Fun? Strangely, YES!

I booked my place in the 2nd Tiree Ultramarathon a year ago after the resounding success of the first one, and so it was that I found myself boarding a flight at Gatwick, being driven three hours from Edinburgh to Oban, spending four hours on a ferry and then cycling half an hour along the Tireean coastline to find our cottage for the weekend. It didn't seem real.

Feeling like something out of an Enid Blyton book

Tiree is well worth the trip. It's the only place I've ever felt truly safe cycling around, as it's so quiet and due to the flatness of the place you can see cars coming from a long way off. It's incredibly picturesque and as I cycled with my little group of running friends I felt as though I was in a Famous Five adventure, even more so as I had a canvas bag of supplies from the shop on my back, sorely lacking in lashings of ginger beer.

Our cottage

We got settled into the cottage and then negotiated the rush hour to visit a near by cafe before cycling the mile and a half to the race HQ for pack collection and the briefing. I started to get quite giddy about it all. Being around like-minded people can do that, especially when you realise what you're about to take on.

Rush hour on Tiree - sheep!

Race briefing time!

A dinner of buttery, tomato-y pasta and garlic bread was hoovered up before the ceremonial laying out of race kit and retiring early. With eight of us in the cottage the kitchen and dining table were fairly buzzing at 6:30am the following morning as porridge pots were made, weetabix consumed and energy drinks diluted. The cycle to race HQ and the start line was magical. It was such a beautiful morning. 

Off to the start line!

Bagpipes greeted us on the beach. A flurry of selfies, hugs, kit adjustments and we were off! The pack spread out fairly quickly and I felt quite lonely as I exited the beach onto one of the few road sections of the course. The majority of the route is along beaches or hillside, with the odd boggy bit thrown in for good measure. The largest section of this was in the first few miles, so those without gaters could get a nice helping of grit in their shoes early on for the best blisters. There was a scramble to deal with and then it all start dot even out a bit. I over took a few people, started having a few conversations and got into my stride a bit. That's not to say I was fast or consistent but I settled in to the idea of what I was doing.

About to start

Reminders

The first check point seemed to come around fairly quickly; 8.4 miles an fly by when you've stunning coast line to look at. It was one of the things I kept reminding myself to do, look around, appreciate and enjoy the scenery. Ok we got some drizzle but really, that just meant rainbows! In any case, CP1 with it's bananas, oranges, drinks and jelly babies was welcome.

The next 9 miles to CP2 were really fun. I struck up conversation with a lady called Rachel and we stayed together for several miles, even cracking out some faster paced miles on another road section. After picking our way over rocks and soft sand it was quite welcome for a while. We stayed together until CP2, where we found our drop bags and a caravan for shelter. Cheese and onion pastries, crisps, cola... a fine lunch indeed. 

Lunchtime!

We'd encountered some heavy drizzle and I started to cool down so I popped on my long sleeve layer before setting off again. Rachel had left a few minutes before but I managed to catch her up, and a lady called Joey, who was doing her first ultra. The three of us ran and walked together for the entirety of leg three, helping each other across rocky parts, through bog, and through pain. I started to get discomfort in my hip and knee so walking breaks were welcome. If I hadn't been with Rachel and Joey I wouldn't have run as much for sure. We found the fort ruins that had been mentioned in the race briefing and got a picture with one of the Tiree flags for good measure.

CP3, the last check point, could not come soon enough. I was starting to go quiet, a sure sign I was struggling. I had eaten enough but the discomfort was starting to get to me. I inhaled a few pieces of cake from the amazing spread on offer and although I left with Rachel and Joey I soon made them go on ahead, knowing I wouldn't be able to keep up. It was hard to watch them slowly get further and further away and I felt lonely immediately, but it was for the best. I walked the next 5 miles, trying to run now and again, each time feeling my body saying "no... not yet".

Desolate

During this time, my Garmin died. I had no idea how far I had left to go or how fast I was moving. It was raining again. I swore at the weather. I wondered how on earth I was going to manage the cycle home after the event. I sat on the verge at the next marshal point I came to, after two miles of beach, and sobbed a bit. It just felt good to let the emotion out. The lady there said all the right things and soon after leaving her I was able to run again, or at least master the ultra shuffle for the remainder of the course. 

I encountered two more lovely people with a box of haribo just before entering the last stretch of beach. "You are amazing" they said, "I don't feel it" I replied, "That's why we're here to tell you that you are!" I almost wept again. The last beach, the last few miles. As I reached the end I saw messages that others had written in the sand, finishers who had scone back out onto the course to cheer others on, and finally, race HQ and the bunting marking the finish line. I ran. Proper full on running, right across the line to unexpected cheers of my name. My house mates and running friends had left their pizzas and coffees to give me that final push and I could not have been more grateful. It was wonderful.

I claimed my medal, found my bags and rewarded myself with pizza, cake and beer. I sought out Rachel and Joey; congratulations all round! I hugged my friends, sent messages home and even managed the cycle back to the cottage. Everyone was a bit emotional and it was wonderful to share in everyone's successes. I will confess to not making it to the dance that evening but instead drinking pints of nuun and eating peanuts in the cottage. It was exactly what I wanted to do.

Post race rewards

There's something about this event. I'm not sure if it's going on such a journey to get there, that it's shared with others who really understand why you do these things. Or perhaps it's the wonderful windswept, tree-less wildness of the place. The scenery, the locals or the peculiarities of the terrain perhaps. Who knows. This isn't the most difficult 35 miles one could tackle but it is a very special race. It's superbly organised, well worth the entry fee (which includes medal, race shirt, bag, after-party and some other knick-knacks) and the journey. The course presents it's own challenges without being out of anyone's abilities and despite a map being part of the essential kit, it's so well marked that I didn't need to refer to mine once.

Two days on and I'm still exchanging excited messages with people on the Facebook group. I'm only nursing four blisters (two on each foot and in exactly the same place each side) and mourning the loss of a pair of socks, too worn to save. The hip and knee are fairing ok and the DOMS haven't made much of an appearance. I'm yet to find out my official time but I know I was a good hour faster than Gatliff, which I'd hoped for.

People are already asking when entries open next year so if you fancy it, get in quick! I imagine the numbers will stay small, limited as they must be by the available accommodation on the island. I won't be back next year but I might go back some other time. And next time I'll stay longer and discover what else Tiree has to offer.

Huge thanks to Will the race organiser, Alexa our trip organiser and general all-star, Rachel and Joey for getting me around and chatting non-stop, all the marshals but especially those who fed and tended to me, Jen, Jilly, Frank, Vicky, Jo, Fi and Brenda for being such fun house mates and everyone who cheered me over the line.