Earlier in the day, before the problems started. Photo: Mike Tennant

I’m 12 hours in to the 2013 Vibram Tarawera Ultramarathon and my chances of meeting my target time of 14 hours are disappearing as fast as the contents of my stomach, which flow like a broken dam on to the side of the endlessly uphill trail somewhere between Lakes Okataina and Okareka. I’m totally over this. Yet again problems with my stomach are wrecking my chances of achieving a time I know I’m capable of. But more than that I am over the whole ultra-racing thing, pushing myself harder than my body wants me to go, all in pursuit of some arbitrary and ego-driven time goal. “This is not why I love trail running” I tell my pacer, Simon Clendon, “I love exploring, adventure, fun times with friends, not this shit”. And I meant it. As soon as I knocked off the final ten kilometres of this endless race I was retiring from competitive long-distance running. Absolutely, definitely, don’t try talking me out of it.

I said as much when asked for comment by Race Director, Paul Charteris at the finish line (which I had crossed in a disappointing 14 hrs 51 mins). “I lost my will to live out there on the Western Okataina Track” I explained, “I’d go back out to find it sometime but I never want to set foot on it ever again” I added to further emphasise my determination to be done with this competitive madness. Paul’s reaction was priceless and steeped in a deep understanding of the psyche of ultra-runners… “we look forward to seeing you back next year Mal!”

Support from Sarah Biss at Humphries Bay aid station

24 hours on and my stance had softened. I was already starting to reconsider my decision to withdraw from May’s TNF100 in Australia. And now, a few days and  several gentle jogs later, I am fully committed to chasing down that silver buckle in the Blue Mountains. Why? What has changed my mind so quickly? Because despite everything, and not withstanding the fact that racing is not my core motivation, I just LOVE being amongst large gatherings of long-distance trail runners. The weekend in Rotorua reaffirmed how at home I feel amongst this special tribe of people. It’s like I say in my book, One Step Beyond, when I recall lining up for my very first Kepler Challenge… “what I love about these events is the camaraderie that binds all the competitors together. Everybody has his or her own goals, but it matters not whether you are out to win or just out to finish; we are all part of the same small tribe that most outsiders would consider slightly deranged. We are all doing what we love and chasing our own dreams. Everybody is respected by everybody else, regardless of each person’s ability or aspirations. It is many ways a microcosm of the perfect Utopian society”. 

And that is why I am looking forward to racing 100 kms through the Blue Mountains in May and returning for another crack at the Vibram Tarawera Ultramarathon next year. Hopefully our paths will cross then.

Happy trails,

Mal

Running the Round The Mountain track earlier this year – it’s a rough & rugged trail!

Since returning from the UK in July, after the brutal assault on body and mind that was CoastPathRun, I have little by little been returning to fitness and starting to look ahead to more great running adventures.

Ticking away at the back of my mind is an awesome concept for a multi-day (well, actually multi-week) challenge that will combine my twin passions for trail running and scaling peaks. But it is a huge undertaking and 2013’s priority is to build our new family home in Wanaka, something that we have been dreaming about for many years now. So it will probably be at least 2014 before that mother of all adventures happens.

In the meantime my ever-present itch for audacious challenges continues demanding to be scratched. I have resolved therefore to undertake a few smaller-scale, but still epic missions, to keep this restless and insatiable part of my being from driving me totally bonkers. And it is time to reveal the first of these, which is planned for mid-December, just a few weeks away…..

The Tongariro Up, Down & Around is something which, as far as I know, has never been done before. Starting from the Chateau the plan is to circumnavigate the Tongariro National Park on the Round The Mountain and Tongariro Northern Circuit tracks, along the way climbing to the highest points of Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe & Tongariro itself. Starting and finishing at The Chateau, and accompanied by three keen, strong fellow runners – my good mates Steve Neary, Darren Blackwell & Hamish Travers – this will take in some 100 km of notoriously rugged trails, involve about 6,000 metres of vertical ascent & the same of descent, will call for the use of ice axes and crampons on at least one of the peaks, and will most likely take around 30 hours to complete.

We will be doing this largely unsupported, so there is much planning to do to maximize our chances of success. The sense of anticipation and excitement is building for all four of us. It’s going to be huge; it’s going to be memorable; it’s going to be AWESOME! We will keep you posted and attempt regular updates on our progress over the weekend of December 15/16. Let’s just hope the weather is kind.

Keep on running wild,

Cheers,

Mal

After talking about the idea with Vibram Tarawera Ultramarathon race director, Paul Charteris, for a long time, I have finally got around to organising the ultimate training camp weekend for February 2013. Based at Lake Okataina, near Rotorua the Tarawera Trails camp gives people the opportunity to familiarise themselves with the VTUM course. But you don’t have to be doing the race to get plenty from this weekend. Check out the details and if you fancy a fun & instructive weekend running wild with a great bunch of likeminded people flick me an email.

Happy trails,

Mal

The final blog in a series about the epic running odyssey that was CoastPathRun

Over the course of the previous 15 days I had run, walked and almost literally crawled close to 900 kms. I was totally exhausted, barely able to think my way through the simplest of tasks, no longer able to run, and I still had 130kms to go with just two days left to do it in. And before I could even start making inroads into the penultimate day’s trek we had to drive from Swanage all the way back to Exmouth.

We made an early start but the roads were slow and made slower still by the weather. Yes, just for a change, it was raining! It took almost 2 ½ hours to reach the day’s start point – the ferry building in Exmouth – and waiting stoically for us when we finally arrived was my 87-year old Auntie Muriel, who just so happens to live a few hundred metres away. It was lovely to catch up with her, albeit briefly, and the bananas and fruit & nut chocolate that she had so thoughtfully bought were gratefully received (and very shortly afterwards, eaten).

An eerie world of mist & silhouettes

By the time we’d said our hellos and goodbyes it was 9.30am and ahead of me lay at least 13 hours on the trail. Time to get moving. I must have cut a pretty sad and pathetic figure as I trudged off down the deserted Esplanade, a lone presence in a grey, wet world. I climbed out of Exmouth to the sound of gun fire from another MOD firing range and around what must be the world’s biggest caravan park. I dropped into Budleigh Salterton and picked up Phil for the hilly section to Sidmouth, which we reached by late morning. We continued on, slow and steady, through our collapsed world that began and ended just metres in front and behind us as the low cloud enveloped all around us. It was eerie and strangely beautiful but I’d have swapped it for just a spot of sunlight at the drop of a hat.

Beer? Yes please!

Passing beneath the spectacular Coxe’s Cliff, the top of which was shrouded in grey, was an other-worldly experience. Not too long after we rejoiced at the sight of a signpost that said ‘Beer 1 mile’. Alas, this didn’t mean free ale for anyone daft enough to be out in this awful weather; Beer is actually a place! When we got to this fantastically named village we were greeted by Sal & Beinn, but also by Tom’s parents Sheila & Richard who had continued following my progress and kept cropping up all along the trail to offer their encouragement and help. That’s the kind of wonderful people they are.

Sheila & Richard walked with me from Beer to Seaton, which is just around the corner from Tom’s home in Axmouth. It was wonderful to see the whole Bland clan, out to cheer me on despite the weather, but my heart went out to Tom who still looked to be in a lot of pain and was hobbling around on crutches. Also there, bedraggled in his wet business suit, was another cousin of mine, Iain, who had come out of his way to wish me well. This show of support was almost overwhelming and I’m not sure at the time I was capable of expressing to everyone just how grateful I was for it. The day may have been drab and dreary but my dwindling reserves of willpower were topped up with each handshake, hug and friendly smile that I was getting.

From Seaton to Lyme Regis there is a long, wooded section of trail that has earned near-legendary status amongst local trail runners. I’d now been joined once again by Chris who had offered to shepherd me through this tortuous, muddy, root-ridden piece of single track that reminded me so much of running back home in the Waitakere Ranges. I was having so much fun that without really meaning to I found myself breaking into a jog. Chris had thought we’d need at least three hours to get through this but we ended up doing it in just a little over two. What’s more, I was back to ‘running’ and it wasn’t causing excruciating pain. Some of the joy was returning.

From Lyme Regis there are a few navigational challenges as the Path has been re-routed due to major slips. With visibility down to about 20m these challenges would probably have been too much for my sleep-deprived brain but with Chris’s local knowledge we made it through to Charmouth without any unnecessary detours.

Chris’s job as the local guide was now done and he once more passed the baton to the Lean Mean Running Bean. With cloud hovering just above sea level, the temperature in very unseasonal single digits, and fading daylight, we struck off uphill to take on a series of sharp climbs and descents. I’d been feeling mentally exhausted for days but now for the first time I was starting to feel really physically weak as well. Climbs that would have been challenging on fresh legs started to take on epic proportions as I slowly wobbled my way up them. We passed over Golden Cap, at 191m the highest point on the South Coast of England, but with nothing to see except the inside of a cloud it could have been just about anywhere on the planet.

With darkness falling fast we descended to Seatown where we pulled on an extra layer of clothing, donned our headlamps and continued on over another succession of rises. It was quite surreal being in a slowly moving world just 5 metres in diameter contained by wispy white walls. Our headlamps could not penetrate the boundaries of this world and the trail was faint at best. Had Garry not run over this route a dozen or so times in the past year we could be staggering around there still. I was profoundly grateful for his company and his local knowledge and shudder at the thought of what it would have been like trying to find my own way over those hills.

A final farewell to the Lean Mean Running Bean

At around 11pm, some 13½ hours after setting off from Exmouth, we finally hit West Bay where we’d found a pub to stay the night in. Sal offered Garry a lift back to his car but instead he elected to run alone back over the same hill we’d just descended. And I thought I was obsessed!

I wanted my bed badly but more than that I wanted some hot, stomach-filling food. However there was nothing available other than yet another cheese and ham sandwich, the sight of which had me retching. But needs must and after forcing this down I set the alarm for 4.30am and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Just a few short hours later that same alarm awoke me to usher in the final day of the journey. Leaving at 5.30 a.m. I ventured out into a moody, bleak morning full of puddles and brooding clouds. Straight away there was a series of short, sharp climbs but once these were done the way ahead flattened out considerably. My plan, based on the successful flirtation with gentle running that I’d had the day before, was to run 5 mins, walk 1 min, run 5 mins, walk 1 min and move at around 7 kms per hour. That way this last day need not last forever.

But right from the word go I felt flat and listless. The simple fact was that I was totally and utterly exhausted by all that gone before. Grabbing just a few hours sleep and a totally insubstantial ‘dinner’ the night before probably didn’t help either. Try as I might I just couldn’t find the energy to run for more than a minute or two at a time. The rain was falling steadily and the trail was getting greasier and greasier. When it wasn’t muddy it was because it was traversing the soft shingle banks that marked the start of Chesil Beach. Mud or shingle it made no difference, the going was slow and I was getting increasingly desperate. And just to add to my misery my stomach started playing up. Half a dozen times over the next few hours I’d need to crouch in undignified fashion at the side of the trail and let it all out. My despair was complete. This last day that I’d hoped would be a celebration of all that had been achieved, was instead turning into a nightmare.

At Abbotsbury, some 3 hours into the day, the Path started a big detour inland. I met up with Phil for a support stop and then trudged off again into the rain. The next two hours were across wet, soggy, cheerless farmland littered with cowpats that lay like land mines in my path. In the distance I could see the lagoon at the back of Chesil Beach where I knew the Path would once again come into contact with the coast. Surely then things would improve?

Wrong! The trail alongside the lagoon was the slippiest I’d encountered at any time since leaving Minehead. And still the rain came down, making it yet worse. This section was perhaps 10kms long but it took me over 2 hours – what seemed like forever. I was an hour overdue but eventually popped out at Ferrybridge and met the waiting support crew. I think I was more miserable at this point than at any other time during the whole adventure.

That place whose name shall not be mentioned but begins with ‘P’

Next on the agenda was the Portland Circuit – a 22km loop around the Portland Peninsula to get back to where we sat! It seemed pointless, futile and downright cruel. But it is the official route and it had to be done. I cried at the prospect before finally leaving the van and setting off with Phil. We didn’t last long – just 5 minutes later I realised that the 3 layers I was wearing weren’t going to be enough to keep me warm (hey, we were at sea level in summer so what would you expect?!) Phil called Sally on the mobile and got her to drive up the road so we could get a fourth layer on.

I’d rather forget all about the next 4 hours but I guess for the sake of completeness I should risk permanent scarring and relive the experience. I concede that Portland has its charms but it also has the ugliest housing estates on the planet, a cement works, disused quarries, a very noisy working quarry and a maximum security prison. We got too close to all these and saw them all through a veil of very cold rain. I came to the conclusion that modern day Portland was founded by someone looking for a beautiful natural setting in which to build a shrine to all that is bad about England. And they succeeded in their mission. Right, that’s it. Any more will be too traumatic. It’s time to move on….

Back at Ferrybridge it was now late afternoon. We climbed into the Spaceships and set off to drive to Swanage. This was skipping the section of the Path that I’d done out of order a couple of days before. As we drove I realised that I’d just ticked over the 1,000km mark. I now had just 11kms left to do. The end was that close. But still the rain fell. It was the most dire weather we’d had and even though I could smell the finish my desire for more was non-existent.

In Swanage we met up with Paulo, a running friend of mine from New Zealand who was over in England for his brother’s wedding. He’d driven several hours to offer his support and was now going to do the very last section with me. I’m not sure what he made of my mental state as I reluctantly left the warmth of the Spaceship and starting babbling inanely as we walked up the hill through the town. I was getting excited about finishing but I was also on the verge of delirium. I must have made very little sense. Never mind, Paulo smiled and nodded and offered lots of encouragement, which was all I needed in a companion right then.

Soon enough we crested what I realised was the last hill. Ahead was flat along the cliff tops, then downhill to the beach, then flat along the sands to the finish. The finish! I could barely believe it! Like an over-excited school child on the last day of term I started finding new energy from nowhere and was once again running (well, kind of anyway). I ran most of the final 5kms or so and we found ourselves within sight of the finish way ahead of the time we’d told everyone we’d be there. I could make out a small huddle of people in the distance but wasn’t sure if this was Sal & co or not, so I sent Paulo on ahead to check them out. I did not want to reach the end and find I’d beaten the reception committee there!

Done! Now give me a hug please.

I don’t really recall what went through my mind over those last few hundred metres, other than the thought that it was all done and tomorrow I wouldn’t have to put on running shoes and head off for an insanely long day on a beautiful but brutal trail. I felt like I was flying over the last hundred metres (in truth, it probably took me close to a minute!) but soon enough I was in the arms of Sal and choking back the tears. Then Beinn joined in for a family hug and for a few short seconds I was, without a shadow of a doubt, the happiest man on the planet.

It was done. CoastPathRun – 1,014kms of ups & downs for Mental Health – had been everything I’d expected it to be and then some. It was without doubt the hardest thing I’ve ever undertaken. But because it was tough and because it was a physical and emotional rollercoaster it serves as the perfect metaphor for the battle against depression. Life and long-distance runs rarely go to plan, and often in our darkest moments the temptation to throw in the towel is hard to repel. But by adopting a “never, ever give up” philosophy we get through and emerge as stronger, better people for the experience.

Never ever give up!

And speaking of strength, Tom was there at the finish, leaning sheepishly on his crutches. It was his dreaming, scheming and planning that had made this whole adventure possible. Every fibre of my being ached for him. It can’t have been easy to watch me finish without him, but with a great show of selflessness he was there to say “well done mate”. For that and for so much more I will always be grateful. Tom’s dream of running the entire length of the South West Coast Path may not have worked out as he wished, but his absence from the Path is temporary. He too has adopted the “never, ever give up” philosophy and he WILL go back and finish it once he is recovered from his injuries. Please join me in wishing him the very best of luck.

THANKS for all the support,

Mal

Massive thanks to Spaceships UK, Inov-8 New Zealand, YHA England & Wales, Bodyneed Ponsonby and Telecom NZ for their wonderful support.

I ran the South West Coast Path to raise funds for Mental Health Foundation NZ. If you are inspired by the story, please consider a donation to the cause – just click here to do so.

Blog no.7 in a series about the epic running odyssey that was CoastPathRun

For the fourteenth day in a row the alarm went off early, but I was excited by the prospect of the next section of the Path, that I’d heard rave reports about, and was keen to get going. The trail climbed out of Kingswear (across the river from where we’d finished the previous day) and worked its way around a stunning peninsula to Brixham, along the way taking me up and down some big and very steep climbs. I had the trail to myself, the weather was fair and I was back to loving it, even if I was only able to walk.

Big hills and stunning beaches – Kingswear to Brixham

As I neared Brixham I saw a familiar figure haring along the track towards me – it was Garry, the Lean Mean Running Bean – back out for some more Coast Path action. I’d become oblivious to the days of the week and hadn’t realized it was now the weekend, so there’d be no way that Garry wouldn’t find me and offer his support, even if it meant another long drive from his home in East Devon. It was great to see him again but as we walked he broke some bad news….

Towards the end of the Coast Path there is a section of the track that passes through a military firing range. This is frequently closed to the public and the only alternative route involves a massive inland detour on sealed roads. We had thought it would be open on Tuesday when I was now scheduled to get there. But Garry had been doing some more research and found out that it would actually be closed on that day! The only time I’d be able to do this section was the next day (Sunday). This was heartbreaking news and we spent the next little while figuring out our alternatives. The best solution, even though it involved an additional 4 hours driving, was to head east at the end of the day, stay in Weymouth for the night, do a long day on this section of the Path, then double back the next morning to pick up where I’d left off. It disrupted the flow of things and was going to cost both time and money, but it was the only way it could be done.

On arrival at Brixham we briefed the support crew on the change of plan – lots of smiles there (not!) – and met up with my sister Hilary and brother-in-law Alex, who had driven down to join in the fun. Because I was walking, not running, it meant I got to do the next section with Hilary. This turned into a trip down memory lane as we approached Paignton, as this is where my mum grew up and was the place we had family holidays until I was about 6 years old. Of course we had to have an ice cream for old times’ sake!

Whose dad? Not mine! Beinn denies any connection with deranged father. Paignton.

We passed by the waterfront hotel where my parents had their wedding reception some 62 years prior and on through Torquay. This is one of the most built-up sections of the Path but on a sunny day it was pleasant enough.  I now had Chris, another of Tom’s running club buddies who I’d last seen on Day 1, to keep me company and navigate our way through the maze of suburban trails that did a great job of keeping us off the roads and close to the sea. The pace had been gentle all day and was not about to change now.

Further along we picked up Garry again and then a little while later I got the shock of my life when I saw, standing at the top of a hill just ahead of me, my cousin Graham, who had driven some 4+ hours from his home in Lincolnshire to show his support. Further on again we picked up Mark Owen, one of the Coast Path managers who had been keenly following progress and also came out to show his support. This was starting to feel quite special!

One last hug before setting off from Teignmouth

Early in the evening we reached Teignmouth, but again were too late for the ferry. For once it was just a short drive around, but while we were doing that the rain started once again. Under a spectacular rainbow, Phil & I set off on the final leg of the day, a 12 km haul to the Starcross ferry. We were 10 mins in when we realised we’d forgotten the map and the Path guide. This oversight had massive repercussions when some time later we found ourselves staggering through the twilight over sand dunes and mud flats, with not a Coast Path sign in sight. It took us well over an hour to blindly follow our noses in a circle back to the exact point where we first went wrong. After almost 15 hours on my feet  I didn’t need this and the swear words fell like confetti from my mouth.

The day’s exertions finally finished well after darkness had fallen over the Exmouth estuary but we still had an hour and a half’s drive east to Weymouth so I could tackle the firing range section of the Path the next day. Once again it was gone midnight before I could finally put my aching body to bed.

There was a strange sight out of the window the next morning – a clear blue sky! We were staying in a hastily arranged B&B and this time I wasn’t going to miss out on a full English breakfast, that came complete with a 70’s era BBC-sitcom entertainment package provided unwittingly by the other guests and the landlady. It was one of those things that you had to be there to truly appreciate, but it was a golden moment that lightened my mood considerably.

A quiet 65km Sunday stroll. Weymouth.

An hour later I was lost on back streets of Weymouth where the Coast Path signs had sent me on a wild goose chase and my mood was once again taking a dive. I’d knocked out the short section from Ferrybridge to Weymouth and was now meeting up with an expanding cast of supporters. This was ‘Family Day’ – I was being joined for much of it by my sister Hilary, my nephew Gordon and his wife Sarah (who had also run the very first few kms with us two weeks prior). Needless to say both Garry & Chris were in on the fun too.

Putting the poles to good use on another big climb – beyond Lulworth Cove

It was a glorious English summer’s day – at last! Ahead lay around 60kms of stunning coastline and big hills. It passed largely without incident and for the most part I was able to keep my shin pain tolerable through medication and a ‘Walk Only’ policy. Being a sunny Sunday the tourist attractions of Lulworth Cove and its surrounds were heaving with people, all of who were oblivious to what I had been through to get there. It was hard not to chuckle and feel even just a little bit smug as I watched the beer bellies sweat their way up the hill from their cars parked just a hundred metres away.

Beyond Lulworth Cove we passed through the MOD firing range and marveled at the irony of the place – a stunning bit of countryside ringed by a high wire fence and in places littered with burned out tanks. But keeping our eyes seaward provided a visual feast and helped take my mind off the energy-sapping succession of sharp climbs that stood like a line of petrified breaking waves stretching off into the distance.

The hills don’t get any easier late in the day

In the late afternoon Gordon, Sarah and I reached Kimmeridge Bay and said our farewells. It had been wonderful to share just a small part of this experience with some of my family, but now it was time to say goodbye. The final part of the day called for a 4-hour solid walk around St.Alban’s Head and more stunning (and yes, hilly) coastline, this time with the faithful Phil chaperoning me. I was thrilled to have had an incident-free day under blue skies and the opportunity to see this glorious bit of the planet at its best, but I was getting very tired as we neared our goal. We spotted Durlston Head lighthouse from some way away but it seemed to vigorously resist our attempts to get any nearer. But eventually we reeled it in, traversed a last cliff-top section and dropped down towards Swanage. It had been another 13-hour day but I’d survived and right now that was all I was asking for.

Read Part 8 – The Finale – by clicking here

THANKS for all the support,

Mal

Massive thanks to Spaceships UK, Inov-8 New Zealand, YHA England & Wales, Bodyneed Ponsonby and Telecom NZ for their wonderful support.

I ran the South West Coast Path to raise funds for Mental Health Foundation NZ. If you are inspired by the story, please consider a donation to the cause – just click here to do so.

Blog no.6 in a series about the epic running odyssey that was CoastPathRun

It’s 6am. Yet again I awake in a building that is shrouded in cloud. The sound of rain on the windowpane is like that of a knife cutting into my flesh. I’ve had enough of this. I just want to stay in bed and sleep. But for the twelfth day in a row I drag myself out, put on the porridge, and try to focus my befuddled brain on the task ahead. Think Mal… once you’re out there it’ll be OK. Think of why you are doing this; the importance of the cause. I try every trick I know but still I want to crawl back under my duvet and hide.

I seek out Tom, eager to find out whether he can rejoin the quest today. One look at his face gives me the answer – it’s all pain and disappointment. I’m bummed for him and I’m bummed for me because right now I could really do with the company.

It was all a little slow but eventually we got going. There were no theatrics, no big goodbyes with Tom, because we thought we’d catch up with him later in the day somewhere. We climbed into our Spaceship and headed west for the hour’s drive to Plymouth. As we drove the rain eased a little and a chink of brightness appeared in the western sky. Perhaps it was going to be okay after all?

Studying the trail guide before heading off from Plymouth – a classic trail running image not!

Or perhaps not. As I set off a light rain once again started falling. My plan was to walk the first couple of kms to get warmed up and then break into a jog. But straight away the pain from my shin was intense. It was close to unbearable. Dark thoughts crept into my mind as I crept around the historic waterfront. Was this the beginning of the end? If just walking was going to be this painful then what were my chances of knocking off another 350kms over just 6 days? I genuinely thought this might be my last day on the Path but I was determined that the end would not come in the middle of a big city. If it was to happen prematurely then it had to happen on a wild stretch of trail. I had to keep going if only to find somewhere more fitting to throw in the towel.

In mournful mood I boarded the ferry across the harbour to Mount Batten. On the way I fell into conversation with a couple walking the Path who handed me a generous cash donation as we disembarked. It was a timely reminder of why I was doing this and my fear of letting people down resurfaced. Another good reason to just keep on plodding one step at a time.

Maybe it was my endorphins kicking in or maybe it was a return to trail instead of tarmac, but before too long the pain receded to a more tolerable level – so long as I stuck to a walk. Any attempt at breaking into a jog was met with excruciating shots from ankle to knee. I resigned myself to the fact that this was now a walking mission, not a running mission. But 60kms a day walking! Could it be done, especially with the return of the big hills that I knew awaited me further east? For the moment I chose to shelve that question and concentrated instead on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The first time I’d seen Poole on a signpost

In a misty cliff top car park on the outskirts of Plymouth, I met up with Sal and the support van. I asked her to see if we could get some walking poles. They seemed to have helped Tom so perhaps they could do the same for me. I trudged on around the coast toward Wembury, my foggy brain struggling with the simple arithmetic of how long I needed to walk each day to cover the required distance. The answer was at least 12 hours, so long as I could maintain 5kms per hour. It doesn’t sound much but with the fatigue, the injuries and the big hills that were still to come, it was a daunting prospect. Daunting but possible. And that’s all that mattered – it was POSSIBLE. This thought was a revelation and it immediately galvanized me. I walked around a corner in the track screaming “I can f***ing do this, I can f***ing do this” and was startled to confront the shocked face of a tweedy English lady out walking her spaniels. I mumbled an apology and carried on, a wry smile now adorning my haggard features.

The River Yealm – I wish I could swim!

Three hours into the day I reached the River Yealm, which needs to be crossed by a small ferry that only runs from 10am to midday. Had I been able to run I’d have made this comfortably but I’d missed it by 15 minutes. I hoped I might thumb a lift from a boatie with a dinghy but the only one in sight was rowing off into the distance oblivious to my cries. There was nothing for it but to backtrack 1km up a 100m high hill to rendezvous with Sal in the Spaceship and do the half hour drive around to the other side. More time lost, more frustrations. But at least the rain had stopped.

On the far side of the Yealm, in the picturesque village of Noss Mayo, I learned that Tom had gone home. I couldn’t blame him. Unable to continue it would have been purgatory to hang around. But I was a little upset not to have got to say goodbye. Still, there was talk of meeting up later at some point. The most pressing thing now for Tom though was to get some medical attention.

Bigbury-on-Sea… end of Day 12

Along with this news, I was presented with a brand new pair of walking poles. With a sigh of resignation I strapped these to my wrists and with Phil for company, set off on what was to be a lovely stretch of trail that after 15kms brought us to the next river crossing at Erme Mouth. This time the tide worked in our favour and the sun even graced us with its presence as we waded to the other side. Another couple of hours on a very hilly section of the Path got us to Bigbury-on-Sea. It was about 7.30pm and I’d only covered 43kms. There was enough daylight to do more, but instead we decided on a slightly earlier finish so we could properly plan out the remaining days and revise our accommodation plans. For the first time in ages it felt like things were back under control and there was a clear plan for just how I could make it through. With a good meal and a cold beer inside me I went to bed a much happier chap than I had been for quite a while.

The next morning – the 13^th of the journey – I’m back on the trail by 7a.m. I’m a man with a mission. I want to bang out 5kms an hour and make it to Dartmouth, some 57kms and 2,000+ meteres of climb away, within 12 hours. Conditions are good and the scenery is spectacular. I’m getting used to my poles and finding I can use them to get some rhythm and tempo to my stride. My shin is painful but it’s manageable, dosed up as I am on Nurofen. But I’m coming to realise that walking long distances is every bit as hard as running long distances. If I were running this I’d be doing it well within my comfort zone pace, with time to look around and take photos. But to get through the required miles by walking I have to stay at the upper end of my speed threshold. I become obsessed with the pace, constantly looking at my GPS watch to see if I’m on target or not. This is not relaxed; it’s almost like a race. I’d rather be running.

Wild coastline & primo trail beyond Salcombe

I reach Salcombe almost bang on target, the first 16kms covered in just over three hours. But I’m already feeling a little tired and am aware that I’m starting to get grumpy with support crew – and that’s never a good thing! A ferry takes Phil and I across this beautiful stretch of water and we pick up the Path on the other side. It’s good to have some company again and the kms tick away nicely with idle conversation and great views to help take my mind of the nagging pain.

Sal shows how it’s done. Start Point lighthouse in background.

Another couple of hours and we reach Lannacombe Beach where Sal takes over from Phil as my minder. The weather is holding and the coastline is spectacular. I’m tired, struggling to keep up with the required pace as the trail becomes a bit more technical in places, but still it’s been a good day and all is going well. Then everything changes in an instant. Descending an innocuous set of steps I slip and a red hot shot of pain rips up my leg from my shin. It feels like I’ve just torn tendons from the bone. I lie at the side of the track in tears, struggling to find the will to get up and carry on.

When I do finally move the pain is intense and I have to hobble the next 3kms or so to where Phil is meeting us at Torcross. Along the way Sal pulls a master stroke of motivational psychology… around her neck she wears a netball medal that was my mum’s from her school days in Paignton, the Devon seaside resort that we were scheduled to pass through the next day. Mum died last year and the medal came to Sal for safekeeping. She took this off, suggesting I might like to wear it for a while. I put it on and there it stayed for the next week. There was no immediate change in the pain but Sal had handed me a precious weapon to wage in my mental war. I had mum with me and I knew she’d be looking out for her boy.

In Torcross I took time to ice my shin, rub in a liberal dose of Voltaren gel and knock back some more Nurofen. I was still some 15kms from Dartmouth but thankfully the next few kms were dead flat with the path running next to a lowland swamp. I set off again, still with Sal for company, but the pain remained unbearable. Every second step was agony and I really thought that the end was nigh. I could fight a certain level of pain, but this was too much. I figured I was now risking serious permanent injury if I stopped listening to what my body was so obviously trying to tell me – that it was time to throw in the towel. I sobbed as we walked, my head filling with negative thoughts of letting people down and being a failure. I wasn’t ready to give up, not totally, but the wise thing had to be to pull off the Path for today, rest up and try again tomorrow. I asked Sal to text Phil and get him to pick us up as soon as he could.

Fortunately Phil didn’t get that text straight away. I wandered along, hand in hand with Sal, waiting for the bright orange of the Spaceship to pull up on the road which at this point ran adjacent to the Path. I wondered what was keeping Phil. Then something extraordinary happened… little by little the pain started to back off a bit. By the time Phil appeared it was almost back within the tolerable threshold and I told him I’d try another km or so. Fifteen minutes later and the pain was little more than a severe discomfort. I’ve no idea how or why this transformation came about, and I’m not a superstitious sort of bloke, but it’s perhaps no coincidence that my mum was a nurse!

Phil later told me that this was the point when he realized that I really was going to make it all the way to Poole. I was not yet convinced but as we walked out the final couple of hours of that 13-hour day I was one mightily relieved man. I was still standing and ready to fight another day.

Read Part 7 by clicking here

THANKS for all the support,

Mal

Massive thanks to Spaceships UK, Inov-8 New Zealand, YHA England & Wales, Bodyneed Ponsonby and Telecom NZ for their wonderful support.

I ran the South West Coast Path to raise funds for Mental Health Foundation NZ. If you are inspired by the story, please consider a donation to the cause – just click here to do so.

Blog no.5 in a series about the epic running odyssey that was CoastPathRun

Clagged in at Portscatho

Day 10 kicked off with another long drive through mist and rain to return to where we’d left off the day before at Portscatho. This was to be the last day that we had Tom’s brother Mike with us so we made the most of his mule services while we could. The three of us set off into a grim morning, the cloud hanging oppresively just above sea level. The trail was, for once, relatively gentle and although we were getting soaked in all the long, rain-sodden grass our progress was good, at least by recent standards. We climbed up and around Nare Head through a still and silent world, with visibility down to as little as 10m.

Mist, mist, mist…. and oh, a tree!

There followed a long section along the cliff-tops that is rumoured to be a very beautiful part of the Path, but we were none the wiser given all we could see was the inside of a cloud. We’d been discussing the need to speed up our support stops and we put this into practice at Portloe, some 14kms into the day, quickly grabbing some food before climbing back out of the village. Things seemed to be going well and our morale was higher than it had been for some days. But all that was short-lived. Tom’s main pain had shifted to his shins and was steadily building. My left shin was coming out in sympathy and was also joined by regular hot shots of pain from my right achilles and some horrible sciatic twinges that emanated from my left hip. Little by little the pace slowed, the groaning became more voluble and our mood darkened to match the weather.

Cold ice & hot tea – Caerhays Castle

The stop at Caerhays Castle was not fast. We both needed ice treatment for our shins and a cup of warm, sweet tea to warm us up. Ahead there was another big climb around Dodman Point and now my sciatic pain was really making life miserable. We staggered into Gorran Haven where I asked Phil to find a small rubber ball that I could sit on. This may sound strange but I knew from previous experience that it might just help release the trigger point in my bum that was the source of this pain. I made a sorry sight sprawled on a wet pavement in the rain wriggling around on a small ball! However, it did seem to offer some relief and for the next hour or two I ran more easily.

All smiles at Portmellon

The Path was now a roller coaster ride along the coast that threw lots of short, sharp hills at us, while long sections of overgrown trail further slowed our progress. We were both hurting big time but we’d now resigned ourselves to the fact that we were on a survival mission. The goalposts had moved. We’d both well and truly let go the idea of finishing within two weeks and had instead calculated that a steady 65 kms a day, done at whatever pace we could manage, would still get us through in 17 days. With this change of focus we found ourselves in a much brighter mental place. In fact I fondly recall that long afternoon as being one of the best that we shared in terms of camaraderie. Adversity seemed to be bringing us closer together and our respect for one another’s qualities grew some more.

Heading for Fowey – Tom the pole master!

As we rounded another promontory Tom pointed out a ghostly column on a headland way off in the distance across St. Austell Bay. It was the day marker, a navigational aid to ships, which was no more than an hour from our end-of-day destination, Fowey. It was 20 kms away, but looked much further in the mist. Nevertheless it provided a great target to focus on as little by little we drew closer and closer. I started to use an old visualisation ploy that I’ve used before in races, imagining a bungy cord attached at one end to the top of this marker with the other end attached to my chest. I could feel it pulling me towards it and with each step my resolve to see this through grew.

Another landmark reached

Briefly the cloud lifted and we enjoyed an hour of evening sunshine, but as we approached the day marker the shroud fell back over the land. Rounding this point we had just 5kms left to go to Fowey. I couldn’t get to it soon enough because I knew that waiting there, fresh off the plane from Auckland, would be my wife Sally and son Beinn. This thought had sustained me all day long and I think Tom was probably getting sick of me telling him how much I was looking forward to seeing them. Those last 5kms seemed to take forever, not helped by the fact that we were both in too much pain to do little more than walk. But at around 8.30pm, after another 12 hours on our feet, we were there. The hugs were worth the wait.

I hit the sack that night feeling a little more optimistic about our chances. But in the morning there was a bombshell waiting. Tom’s shins, both badly swollen the night before, had now grown some alarming lumps too. He was distraught but felt he had no option but to seek medical advice on whether or not he could continue. He was adamant that I continue on alone but hoped he’d be able to rejoin me before too long then come back to fill in whatever sections of the Path he missed out. It was a big call but at the time it seemed like the right one. With the added benefit of hindsight it was definitely the right one. Very tough, but right. I was gutted but felt more determined than ever to see this through. Part of me was now running for Tom too.

The Path continued on the other side of the River Fowey at Polruan, which is reached by passenger ferry. But on arriving at the jetty we found it didn’t start up until mid-morning! This meant using the vehicle ferry and a bit of a drive. I was frustrated and bad tempered; I just wanted to get moving. But the good news was that Sal had decided to keep me company as far as Polperro, some 12kms along the coast.

Start of Day 11 – me and my girl

The climb out of Polruan was steep but once over the first hill it flattened out a little. I was delighted to find that my legs were feeling okay and the pains of yesterday had subsided. For the first time in days I was able to run at exactly my own pace, not struggling to keep up with anyone or having to hold back for anyone. As we trotted along I told Sal the story of the run so far and how gutted I was for Tom. It was great to have her at my side and the way forward started to seem so very possible.

However, I should have learned by this stage that every emotional up is followed by an emotional down. And the next one wasn’t far away. We got to Polperro in good time but then spent 20 minutes or so searching for the support crew, but to no avail. Cold and bedraggled (did I mention it was raining!) there was little choice but to carry on and try to get in touch with them by phone as we went. Sal, less than 24 hours after flying from the other side of the world, said she’d keep going with me, which was a massive bonus. She tried to keep me rational while I, in my tired and irrational state, fretted about where the support crew were and whether they’d been involved in an accident. It was an enormous relief when a little while later a text came through to say they’d been held up in traffic and would now meet us at Looe.

Looe was 20kms into the day and still Sal hadn’t had enough. Well, maybe she had, but bless her heart she decided to keep me company for another 12 hilly kms. It was on this section that both my shin and sciatic pain started firing up again, getting steadily worse as I tired. Things were starting to feel grim again and didn’t improve when at Downderry we met up with a very dejected Tom and found out he was unlikely to be rejoining us on the Path.

I was now having to dig really deep. The cumulative exhaustion of 11 days and some 620kms on the Path was taking its toll on my mental state as well as my physical wellbeing. I was feeling more and more desperate and for the first time a genuine doubt about whether I could finish this seeped into my mind. I tried to fight it but didn’t seem to have the reserves of emotional energy that it required. My stores of positivity were running low. And I was alone on the trail.

Just when I was least able to handle it I took a wrong turn, losing 20 mins and adding an extra 100m of descent and climb. Then the Path started a series of seemingly pointless drops from the road down towards the shore and back again. The sciatic and shin pain were becoming excruciating and the day’s end, let alone the Path’s end, was feeling impossibly far away. On a cold, windswept headland I met up with the support crew again. Beinn gave me a big hug, looking genuinely concerned for his daft old man’s predicament, and a little bit of fight returned. But I had resigned myself to walking for the rest of the day as this seemed to be the only way of keeping the pain levels manageable.

The joy that I often feel when alone on a trail was now replaced by loneliness and self-pity. I was dreading this next section. So I was extremely grateful when Phil, who had been doing such an awesome job of looking after me from the start, now pulled on his trail shoes, loaded up a backpack with food and fluids, and joined me. We needed to get to Cremyll, from where the ferry to Plymouth departs, but I’d asked the crew to meet us 5kms short of there at Kingsand, thinking that was about as far as I could make it.

It was a slow plod around Rame Head and Penlee Point but little by little I got my sense of perspective back, helped no doubt by the quiet support of Phil. By the time we got to Kingsand I’d resolved to push on for the extra hour or so that was needed to reach Cremyll, although my resolve faltered slightly when we found the rest of the support team enjoying a well-deserved ale in the village pub. Fighting back the urge to settle in for the evening, Phil & I both downed a swift half for the road and suitably fortified, continued on.

It took over 12 hours to cover the 58kms and 2,500m of ascent that this day had thrown at me, but nevertheless it felt like a major victory to have made it this far, knowing that the next day could begin in the city of Plymouth itself. However we were far from done. Ahead we had what should have been an hour’s drive to reach Salcombe YHA. That would have been long enough at the end of such a tough day but as we drove into the night the cloud descended, the heavens opened, and the road became narrower and more and more twisty. We were down to a crawl with Sal just about falling asleep at the wheel and I had to take over the driving for the last 15 minutes or so. How we ever got there in one piece I’m not quite sure, all I know is that it was very late when we did. By the time we’d had a hastily prepared dinner and got into our beds it was well past midnight and the alarm was set once again for 6am. Such are the joys of long distance adventure running!

Read Part 6 by clicking here

THANKS for all the support,

Mal

Massive thanks to Spaceships UK, Inov-8 New Zealand, YHA England & Wales, Bodyneed Ponsonby and Telecom NZ for their wonderful support.

I ran the South West Coast Path to raise funds for Mental Health Foundation NZ. If you are inspired by the story, please consider a donation to the cause – just click here to do so.

Blog no.4 in a series about the epic running odyssey that was CoastPathRun

Day 7 dawned clear and sunny. We had only about 10 kms to go before turning the corner at Land’s End and then who knows, we may even have the wind at our backs. This should have been a primo day on the trail but alas it was to all work out rather differently.

Land’s End, a pivotal point in the journey

From the start it was clear that Tom’s knees were giving him a lot of pain, but we were both hoping this might ease off as he got warmed up. We ran around a lovely headland into Sennon Cove, all the while looking across the waves to the great psychological prize that was Land’s End. There we met the support crew for what should have been just a brief refueling stop but Tom was slow to get going again. Things were clearly not right and the pain was etched on his face when we finally reached the lighthouse. We stopped here for the obligatory photo, but despite the sunshine and the significance of the location, the mood was somber.

We carried on along the spectacular cliff tops but the pace was slow and Tom was feeling his way cautiously down all the descents. Somewhere along here he made the first mutterings about not being able to continue. He was distraught and I was feeling devastated for him. I really did think the next support stop would be his last, but with a rev up from brother Mike and a stack of gutsy will power he left Porthgwarra and we continued heading west with the wind at our backs (at last!)

Tom descends painfully towards Porthcurno

Another couple of kms found us at the astonishing Minack Open Air Theatre, set high on a cliff above a wild but beautiful cove. From here a long series of steps leads down to sea level, the prospect of which brought tears to Tom’s eyes. The fella was in agony and down steps were the most painful of all. He pulled out his mobile, called Mike and arranged an unscheduled pit stop at the bottom of the hill in Porthcurno. He was convinced this was the end for him.

A long conference followed at the close of which it was decided that we had to get Tom to a physio for appraisal and treatment if possible. So while Mike took him off into Penzance, Phil & I drove to the nearest pub for a little extra carbo-loading. What harm could a pie and a pint do at this stage of proceedings?

We had to wait several hours for the verdict on Tom’s condition. While really feeling for his predicament I have to confess to a more selfish frustration too. We’d started the day some 30kms in arrears of our schedule, run just 18kms, and now we were losing more precious time. What’s more we had one of the nicest days we’d had and we were stuck in the pub rather than out on the trail eating up the miles. But we were in this together so there was nothing for it but to wait it out and make the most of the pub’s warm hospitality!

The verdict when it came was that Tom could continue the next day. The physio had got stuck in with some deep tissue massage and reckoned there was very little risk of long-term damage. This was the good news. The bad news was that we were now a long way from where we should have been finishing the day and had an hour’s drive to reach our pre-booked accommodation at Coverack YHA. In fact our schedule was totally up the gurgler now and long drives at the beginning and end of each day became a necessary but time-consuming chore from hereon in. I hated them and could only view them as trail time lost.

Smiling in the rain… early on Day 8

So after an unprecedented rest and good night’s sleep we reconvened at Portcurno early the next morning. Of course it was now pissing with rain! We were however fortunate to be once again joined by Tom’s running club mate Garry, the Lean Mean Running Bean, who I came to think of as being like an excitable but faithful dog. Show a dog a stick and he just has to chase it. Show Garry a trail and he just has to run it!

Despite the conditions, the first couple of hours around rocky headlands on wet, technical trail went well and Tom’s knee seemed to be holding up well. But on the short, steep stretch of road into Mousehole (yes, there really is a village called that!) the pain returned. Running at all became really difficult for him and we were reduced to a walk all the way through Penzance and out the other side.

Our plan for the day was to get to Lizard Point or beyond. Now that the rain had cleared, we could see it stretching out into the sea, unfeasibly far away. Moving at the pace we were doing it felt like an impossible ask. And to make matters worse my achilles had flared up again and was giving me lots of sharp, hot pain. It felt like the wheels were well and truly falling off.

The Lean Mean Running Bean

Most frustrating of all was the fact that the landscape was now a little gentler, the Path a bit better formed, and the wind was at our backs. Without our injuries we could have made great time but instead it became a grovel. We met up with the support crew regularly as the afternoon wore on, stopping each time to apply ice and stock up on painkillers. We’d jog a bit, walk a bit, jog a bit, walk a bit. The scenery was stunning but our mood wasn’t. Once again I was grateful for Garry’s chatty company to stop me slipping into a dark place that I really didn’t want to visit.

Tom was performing heroics. Every time we stopped I didn’t truly expect him to get up and get going again. His pain was obvious and clearly of a different order to any that I was feeling. But Mike was doing a great job of keeping him psyched up and fighting and Tom somehow kept going.

Tom gets to grips with his poles!

At Porthleven, yet another chocolate box Cornish seaside village, Mike succeeded in borrowing a pair of walking poles from a woman in the surf shop who, it turned out, was an ultra runner! These seemed to help Tom greatly, especially on the downhills and as we set off towards Lizard Point, still some 20kms away, his mood seemed to lift a little. We could see our target and little by little it was getting bigger as we got closer. It was barely what you’d call running but we were getting there.

The picture that tells a thousand words… so that’s what pain feels like?

The final few hours of this memorable day were bitter-sweet. For me it was one of the highlights of the Path. In the warm, low light of a sunlit evening the surroundings were seductive, the trail good and my mood lifted immensely. But for Tom the pain just kept on coming. Once we rounded Lizard Point we thought we were just about there, but a misunderstanding about where the support crew were picking us up meant we had another tough hour of trail to knock off before we could call it a day. Tom was desperate and I was feeling desperate for him. But after almost 13 hours, 68kms and some 2,000m of ascent we made it to the tiny hamlet of Cadgwith. We had survived another day, just.

A misty start to Day 9 on the trail to Coverack

The next day – Day 9 – we set out in a thick mist that we thought would clear and make way for the sun. Ha, dreamers! Instead it just got lower and lower and eventually turned to rain. Not only that but the section of trail we were on was one of the toughest we’d encountered – very technical, overgrown and muddy – so it made for painfully slow progress. It took us over two hours to reach Coverack, the point we should have reached 36 hours earlier by the original plan. Mentally we were still gauging our progress in this way, which in hindsight explains a lot of the negativity that we were feeling.

We were now so far behind our original schedule that really it was meaningless. In a way we were now running blind, with no clear idea of how long it might take to finish the entire Coast Path or, for that matter, where we might get to at the end of the day. Our sole aim was to push on as best we could and see how far we could get before pain or tiredness got the better of us. The lack of clear goals made it really tough mentally. We had enough on our plates without making it worse for ourselves in this way, but I guess we were both so tired that the need to reformulate a clear plan that would give us achievable goals to strive for just didn’t occur to us. Perhaps because of this I found this day to be one of the most mentally challenging of all.

Playing in boats with Captain Mike

Around midday we came to Gillan Harbour where the Coast Path takes a low tide route straight across the inlet. But the tide was high – it would be wouldn’t it! However, just when we thought we’d have to add in a few extra kilometres detour inland, Mike revealed his cunning plan. He’d borrowed a dinghy from a local and would row us across to the other side. This lifted our spirits immensely and provided for a welcome diversion from the never-ending game of putting one foot in front of another, albeit for just 10 mins.

Another wet hour or so along the trail we came to a second estuary – the Helford – that requires a ferry crossing. On the way over the ferryman informed us that we were now half way along the Coast Path. Hmmm, 8½ days into a 14-day run and we were only half way. Our predicament became even more evident.

I can recall absolutely nothing about the next couple of hours, even with the map spread out in front of me to jog my memory. I think we’d got into a zombie-like plodding state, head down against the rain, left, right, left, right, on and on we go.

The next thing I recall was arriving in Falmouth in the early evening and discovering we’d missed the last ferry across to St. Anthony. There was nothing for it but to jump in the Spaceships and drive around – and it was no short drive either.

It was still raining when we finally got around there. By then I’d stiffened up and every last fibre of my being wanted to stay put in this nice warm van. It took a massive effort to get out, pull on the raincoat, and get going again. Once more as I write this, I look at the map and draw a total blank. I see we passed around Zone Point and Porthmellin Head on our way to Portscatho, the point at which we finally decided to stop after 12 hours that had taken us just 58 kms closer to our ultimate goal, but I don’t remember a single thing about it. The day’s end could not have come soon enough for me. It was the first time during the nine days we’d spent on the Path that I could say I was well and truly over it. All I could think of now – a thought that would occupy my mind for the next 24 hrs – was that Sally & Beinn would soon be here. I wanted to see my family so badly I could cry. Actually, I did cry.

Read Part 5 by clicking here

THANKS for all the support,

Mal

Massive thanks to Spaceships UK, Inov-8 New Zealand, YHA England & Wales, Bodyneed Ponsonby and Telecom NZ for their wonderful support.

I ran the South West Coast Path to raise funds for Mental Health Foundation NZ. If you are inspired by the story, please consider a donation to the cause – just click here to do so.

Blog no.3 in a series about the epic running odyssey that was CoastPathRun

By the end of the third day we’d covered over 230kms with around 8,300m of altitude gain, but there was to be no respite. With more huge days stacked up we were keen to avoid another late night finish, so we grabbed just a few hours of sleep before rising to an early alarm and making our way back to Crackington Haven for a 6.30am start.

The hills keep on coming!

The weather seemed set fair but we were going straight back into more big climbs as we headed south along the wild, rocky, cliff tops back to the village of Boscastle where we had overnighted. It was a sign of things to come that the first 11kms took over 2 hours to complete. My achilles started out very tight and sore but seemed to warm up a little as we got going. Instead it was my stomach’s turn to complain and for the next few days I was to experience a fair bit of acid reflux that forced me to follow a largely Perpetuem (liquid food) diet while running.

At Boscastle I said goodbye to my sister Jacky who was leaving that day to head back to California. It was a bit emotional as the next family I would see wouldn’t be for almost another week when my wife Sally and son Beinn were due to join us.

The next few hours were for me quite a lonely battle against the hills and the increasing headwind. Tom was leading the way out front and I’d only catch up to him at the support stops, then watch as he once again pulled away. Much as I’d have liked the company I knew I had to do this at my own pace and not be tempted into chasing him down. For his part I know Tom was worried about another late finish and wanted to keep moving at a decent lick.

We continued on in this way past Tintagel (of King Arthur fame) and along the spectacular clifftops that lead towards Port Isaac. This deeply dissected landscape was very poignant for me as it was while running this section on a cold winter’s morning early last year that I had the idea of one day running the entire Path. On that occasion I was in the UK to farewell my mum who had just died and I clearly recalled the stretch of track that I had run that day with tears in my eyes as I composed the eulogy in my head. None of this was helping my increasing feeling of loneliness that seemed to be sapping my already exhausted body of much-needed energy.

Raining in Port Isaac… do we have to go on?

As we approached Port Isaac (the setting for the BBC series Doc Martin) the rain started again. On the climb out of this impossibly quaint fishing village Tom was happy to stick with me. His company helped lift my spirits again, but this was perhaps the first indication that Tom was feeling the effects of skipping dinner the previous night. As we sat with our support crew at Port Quinn he started feeling dizzy and left there to battle on around the spectacular rocky promontory of Pentire Point in not so good a shape.

Psyching myself up to leave Padstow

We’d done the hardest parts of the day but the signs were ominous and our pace was slow. We were staring down the barrel of another very late finish and when we missed the ferry at Rock by just a couple of minutes our morale hit a new low. Rather than wait half an hour for the next boat we elected to drive around to Padstow instead and en route it started raining heavily again. It took all the will we could muster (and a hot Cornish pasty) to get us out of the vans and moving again. We were wearing three layers by now and were down to a walk. By Stepper Point we accepted that we weren’t going to reach our initial target for the day and pulled out 18 kms short. It was disappointing and weighed heavily on our minds, but on the up side we’d still got ourselves 57kms closer to our ultimate goal on a day when things had got really tough. Besides, we told ourselves, there was still plenty of time to make up the shortfall over the coming days.

After a night in a hastily arranged farmhouse B&B we were feeling a little more chirpy at the start of Day 5. But the headwind was doing its best to erode our spirits and it took a good 3 hrs for us to reach the point that we should have got to the previous evening. Clearly making up time was not going to be so easy after all.

In the early afternoon we reached the large seaside resort of Newquay, which was totally joyless in the rain that was once again falling steadily from the lead grey sky. At Crantock, just the other side of this holiday hellhole, Tom’s brother Mike, who had flown all the way from Aberdeen to join the support cast for a few days, met us. We ran as a threesome around a series of stark but strangely uplifting grassy promontories, oblivious to the wind and rain, our morale and pace somewhat restored by the addition of a fresh pair of legs and a new source of banter.

On Ligger Pt, Perranporth Beach in background

A long battle with soft sand and headwind got us to Perranporth, where we sat in the Spaceships with the heaters on, supping hot tea and trying to muster the will to get out there and take on the elements again. Phil wryly noted that this was Midsummer’s Day and he was no doubt wondering what the hell he was doing there when he could have been diving in warm waters off Malaysia instead. When eventually we got going we were rewarded with another lovely section of awesome cliff top running in slightly easing conditions. By the time we reached Porthowan the rain had pretty much stopped but we were well and truly done. We’d been on our feet for 11 hrs and made 64 kms of progress. A good result in trying conditions but despite that we’d slipped another few kms behind the original schedule.

The Bland Brothers dig it in close to the end of Day 5

The reality of what we’d taken on had now well and truly sunk in. The chances of getting through this at all seemed to be diminishing. The chances of doing it in 14 days would have seemed remote had we had the mental faculty to stop and think about it rationally. But we didn’t. For the time being at least we continued to believe that we could make up the lost time and still knock this off in two weeks.

That night, which we spent at YHA Penzance, severe leg pains made sleep difficult for me. These would continue whenever I got horizontal for the next two weeks and were the cause of much nighttime groaning and moaning that was not particularly appreciated by my roommates. It just seemed so unfair that the pain should be so ever-present, even when not attempting forward motion of any kind. It was not something I’d really experienced before. It took its toll on me mentally as well as adding to my sleep deprivation.

Another uphill start to a day!

Day 6 dawned and the rain had thankfully retreated – but not the headwind, which now seemed stronger than ever. This made what should have been a pretty easy, gentler section of cliff top running at the start of the day rather harder than expected. But there was no denying the beauty of the surroundings and we ran around Godfrey Head in good spirits.

Mike was with us again and he led the way down the 4-km long beach north of Hayle. With Tom & I tucked in on his shoulder we tried to draft off Mike who was being buffeted by the ferocious wind that was whipping in across St. Ives Bay. Finding firm sand was tricky too and it took 45 mins and way too much energy to complete the distance.

Our ‘reward’ at the end of it was a long detour inland through the town of Hayle, consisting of building sites and tarmac surfaces. When we finally reunited with the support crew I was feeling about as low as I’d been at any stage. With my left foot up on the chilly bin, icing my achilles, I browsed messages of support that had come in on Facebook. As happened whenever I could access these my spirits soared and my determination doubled.

Glorious trail south of St. Ives

After running through St. Ives we found ourselves on one of the most remote and inaccessible sections of the Path. It was classic trail running, much of it rocky and technical, for the next 22kms. The views were spectacular and for once the sun was shining. I just wish we could have done it on fresh legs. It took 4 hours to complete this and reach the Pendeen Watch lighthouse, but it was definitely one of the most memorable bits of trail for me.

On the signpost at last – Land’s End – a pivotal point of our journey

As we left for the last leg of the day Tom was in a lot of pain from seized quad muscles. No amount of stretching seemed to help and our pace slowed considerably. We ran/walked through a massive complex of old tin mines and on towards Cape Cornwall, en route passing the first signpost for Land’s End and gaining our first glimpse of this pivotal point in our journey.

The day finished with a few short, sharp hills and Tom’s pain became even more evident. For the first time all week it was me that got away from him on the final downhill to a lonely, nameless stretch of road where the Spaceships awaited us. This was to be the turning point in Tom’s fortunes but he’s a tough cookie and was a long way from done yet.

Read Part 4 by clicking here

THANKS for all the support,

Mal

Massive thanks to Spaceships UK, Inov-8 New Zealand, YHA England & Wales, Bodyneed Ponsonby and Telecom NZ for their wonderful support.

I ran the South West Coast Path to raise funds for Mental Health Foundation NZ. If you are inspired by the story, please consider a donation to the cause – just click here to do so.

Blog no.2 in a series about the epic running odyssey that was CoastPathRun

The start at Minehead – a great sendoff from loved ones

Our plan for the first three days was ambitious – 236 kms and 8,350m of vertical gain – but what better time to get in some big miles over big hills than when fresh?

Still just a few days off the plane from California, where I’d stopped en route to run a marathon through the giant redwood forests south of San Francisco, my body clock was in disarray and sleep had been hard to come by. Starting this mission already dog tired wasn’t ideal but after a hearty Condemned Man’s Breakfast at our hotel in Porlock and a short drive by Spaceship to the start on the esplanade in Minehead, I was feeling relaxed and eager to get going. We got a great sendoff from family and friends, including both my sisters (one of whom had come all the way from California to be there).

It was a little surreal chasing Tom’s 4-year old son Finn down the seafront as we set off into the unknown. After a year of planning and preparing (much longer in Tom’s case) we were finally running it, not just talking about it. With us for the first stage to Porlock Weir were my nephew’s wife Sarah and Garry from Tom’s local running club. Garry’s name will reappear frequently as this story unfolds, along with that of Chris, another Axe Valley Running Club stalwart, both of whom lent tireless support to our campaign.

Just keep following the acorn symbol for a thousand kms or so & we’ll get there in the end!

I had only met Tom in person for the first time just 48 hours earlier and this was the first time we’d run together. Twenty years younger than me, with a very impressive triathlon CV (he was ranked 7^th in UK at one point), I always knew he’d be the stronger and faster of the two of us. So I was relieved when the pace over the first few kilometres remained relaxed. That said, I’d done very little running in the last 3 weeks (apart from that one marathon the weekend before) and my body seemed slow to wake up. The first 20 kms were full of tweaks and groans that played on my mind for a while, but little by little these eased and I relaxed into things. The weather was looking good, the scenery was uplifting, the banter was lively and the trail was in great knick – what could be better?

Hills & woods – very much the theme of the early stages

Much of the first day was spent running through classic English woodland, with the sound of the sea always close by. But it was seldom flat. We’d climb and drop, climb and drop, as we cut across the grain of the land and the deep valleys that spilled into the sea off Exmoor. This of course would be a constant theme of the entire journey and was why we’d tagged our running shirts with the line “1,014 kms of ups and downs for Mental Health”. We fully anticipated those ups and downs to be mental and emotional as well as physical, but for the time being at least they remained very much the latter.

Some 6 hours in we brought up the first marathon of the run. I stopped to take a quick video, thinking it’d be great to record our thoughts and feelings every 42.2 kms along the way. Ha! That was the first and last time that we managed to do it as very soon the weather was to start conspiring against us, and the mental arithmetic required became too arduous for our addled brains.

Late in the afternoon we passed over the Great Hangman, the highest point on the Coast Path at 318m. We joked about it being “all downhill from here” and pushed on towards our end-of-day goal, Ilfracombe. By now I had well and truly got into my stride, was feeling strong and full of energy, my confidence building. We’d enjoyed a stunning variety of vistas and trail conditions and ran down the final hill to meet Phil & Sheila (The A-Team Support Crew), soak our legs in the cool waters of the harbour and dine ‘al fresco’ in the car park on fish & chips. One day down and all was well. It had been a great start and morale was high.

Tom takes off across Woolacombe Sand

Day 2 gave Tom & I our first chance to run just as a pair and we got to know each other a little better as we headed south in sunshine along the crumpled coast of North Devon. At Woolacombe Sand we had our first soft sand beach run, before climbing up and around the wonderfully named Baggy Point.

We’re both hill lovers and were quietly dreading the only extended section of flat running that awaited us at the mouth of the River Taw. But soon enough we were there, running first on a stop bank and then on the smooth tarmac surface of an old railway line. I loathe tarmac and know from painful experience that my body soon rebels if the rhythm of the run isn’t broken up from time to time by a hill (there weren’t any), an uneven surface (there weren’t any) or a walk. So we knocked off some 30 kms, around two large estuaries and through the towns of Barnstaple and Bideford, following a ‘run 10 mins, walk 2 mins’ routine. While running we stuck to a 6-6.5 min/km pace which seemed pedestrian at the time, but was probably the only time during the entire quest that we got close to doing 10 kms in an hour. A week later, battered and exhausted, we’d have considered this to be lightning fast progress.

Towards the end of the day we were relieved to get back on to some single track but now it had starting raining and mud was becoming our new enemy. The final few kms of the day skirted a golf course. A low fence, unseen through its camouflage covering of vegetation, took me out at the knees. Then the heavens opened and we had a stiff headwind to contend with, but at least there were no golf balls threatening to take us out. 11 hours after starting out we’d clocked up 75 kms and were sitting safe and relieved in Westward Ho! (the only place name I know of to use an exclamation mark in it’s name – shame, there should be more).

Looking at it now on the map, and considering what we’d already done, the next day’s run seems rather infeasible. It was always going to be one of the toughest days of all, but the 79 kms and 3,600m of climb that we covered over 14.5 hours was brutal. It was to be the warmest day we encountered too and the battle to remain sufficiently hydrated added to the challenge.

The hills don’t stop coming!

From the outset we were taking on a relentless series of climbs and descents as we worked our way around Bideford Bay, through the village of Clovelly and out to Hartland Point. This marked the point at which the open Atlantic Ocean took over from the slightly more protected waters of the Bristol Channel and the landscapes beyond felt wilder, the sea more primal, the physical battle that much more demanding. On we went, climbing over the next headland and dropping into the next improbably steep-sided valley, reuniting with Phil, Sheila and the Spaceships every couple of hours to take a break, pig out, replenish fluids and get some much-appreciated TLC.

Spaceships – the ideal support vehicles for the mission

I was becoming increasingly aware of Tom’s greater strength on the hills and my fear of dragging the chain, holding him up, was growing each time I saw him pull away from me. At times I’d be at the top of a descent and look down to see Tom already starting up the next climb. He seemed to be moving at a pace that was well within himself but I knew I’d blow up if I tried to match it. As a result we weren’t spending a lot of time together as a pair and I also started to fear for our team unity. But I kept all this to myself and tried to focus on plodding it out one step at a time.

Well into the evening, after we’d been at it for some 12 hours, we dropped down to Widemouth Sand and had to work our way through some soft sand at the back of the dunes. Out of nowhere my right achilles started to ache quite badly and I feared for the possible consequences. This made it even harder for me to keep up with Tom, and my morale started to plummet for the first time.

The sun sets half an hour before we reach Crackington Haven

At the top of the next hill we met up with the support crew for the last mobile aid station of the day. The finish was now just 8 kms distant, a mere 1.5 hours away, or so we thought. In fading light we kept going, thinking Crackington Haven was just over the next hill, but there was always another ludicrously steep rise in the way… then another… then another. It was more than 2 hours later, with the sun well below the horizon, that we finally dropped down off the last headland and into the waiting Spaceships.

We were exhausted, I was very concerned about my achilles, and we still had to drive to Boscastle YHA to find our beds for the night . It was gone 11pm when we got there. Phil heroically cooked up a stir-fry but Tom decided to skip dinner and head straight to bed. This was to prove a decision he’d regret and was partly responsible for the wheels on our wagon becoming decidedly wonky the next day. But that is the subject of the next installment… Read Part 3 by clicking here

Mal

Massive thanks to Spaceships UK, Inov-8 New Zealand, YHA England & Wales, Bodyneed Ponsonby and Telecom NZ for their wonderful support.

I ran the South West Coast Path to raise funds for Mental Health Foundation NZ. If you are inspired by the story, please consider a donation to the cause – just click here to do so.