So I made it in the end. To the start. I’ve spent the last few weeks unsure if I’d make it to this race given what’s been happening with Dad. I’m absolutely shattered, but at peace that I made it. I don’t think I’ve got it in me to get to the end, and there were a lot of things that could have stopped me getting here, but I’m at peace now that the decision was mine as to whether or not I was able to, rather than outside circumstances.

 

I got back from New Zealand after repatriating Dad from Peru after the bike accident that should have killed him, but didn’t. My old man certainly has something watching over him.

 

So I got back, without a shave for two weeks and not a step run in a month after the Ridgeway 86. I looked and felt dishevelled, and spent the last few days finally making the last minute arrangements. I hadn’t been able to get the medical form sorted so that was a big effort and a hundred and fifty quid.

I flew over yesterday to Venice, Italy. From there I stayed in Mestre then today got woken by the staff at eight thirty, despite checkout not being until ten. I took various trains and buses and ended up in the wrong town twenty kilometres north of here as I got on the wrong one a few hours ago. Eventually I got here with a couple of hours to spare around four in the afternoon. To Vivaro.

 

I arranged my kit bags, with a slight problem in that there wasn’t the option to leave one here at the start and finish line. I’m supposed to leave it in the car I don’t have. Oops.  Oh well, I just lugged it in with the rest of the drop bag stuff.

 

So because of the hassle with the travel here all day and I guess the cumulative tiredness I’m not feeling entirely ready for the race. I head down to the race briefing which is detailed in both Italian and English, and realise I’ve missed half of it. They then call each runner through to the start line by name with a fanfare which is pretty fun for the first twenty or so, but does take a while. Nice touch though, and they clearly want everyone to feel special.

Then we line up. Six o’clock. They shout something over the loudspeakers in Italian and everyone starts roaring before we set off. Weirdly, I feel this surge of emotion. I’m here. At the start. This is the race I’ve spent the last year aiming towards. In the last eleven months I’ve run the entire Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series , then stepped up to the Three Rings of Shap 100k, the 12 Labours of Hercules, another 100k at the SVP and finally the Ridgeway 86 miler a month ago. Fourteen ultras. So I should be feeling prepared, right?

 

But I don’t. I feel completely underprepared for this undertaking. The wave of emotion is I think relief more than anything. The feeling that I can let all the worries go for a while and just, well, run. It feels cathartic and euphoric in a lot of ways. I thought this moment would never come at points over the last year. I’m not particularly good at this running lark so it’s been really hard to keep the motivation and determination going against the odds.

 

But screw it, I’m here now. I’ve done what I didn’t think I could and got to the finish of all the races I didn’t believe in myself enough to just get to the start line of this one. And now, after a year, it has begun.

 

I place myself nearer the back of the field. My game plan, considering my recent fitness and circumstances, is to just sit at the back of the field, keep the pace casual and just try to stay ahead of the cut offs. We move through the tiny quaint town of Vivaro in northern Italy and a lot of the townspeople have come out to support. Dozens upon dozens of people line the streets cheering us on. The whole area around here has a very rustic, very Italian feel to it. And I bloody love Italy so this is great.

I get over what has happened before the race and just put it aside for a while. There will be time for that, but for now I just want to get things underway. People are chatting to each other all around me in Italian. I’ve no idea what is going on, but that’s kind of part of the fun of picking this race.

The course profile of this one is daunting. A hundred miles over the Dolomites. There is seven thousand and two hundred metres of ascent with about three or four serious ascents including a vertical kilometre just after the hundred kilometre point.

 

Given the fact I’ve had very little time to prepare for this physically, mentally and practically I haven’t studied the profile much. I have it printed in my pocket, but I’m expecting to be straight into the mountains. So it’s a surprise when I’m not.

 

We reach the edge of the town and everything is flat. We take the roads out, then turn north down a dirt farm road and far down the other end I see the mountains. They look absolutely massive. Far bigger than any of the little ones I’ve been practicing on in Britain. Even Scafell looks like a hill in comparison now that I can see these. The road goes straight for a very long time towards them.

 

This first section is a lot simpler than I was expecting. Given it’s completely flat it’s a good chance to get a bearing for how my body is actually faring up. To be honest, I’m struggling to get moving at anything close to a decent pace. Even now only a few kilometres in I can feel my legs feeling a bit tired. I guess the inactivity has taken a bit of a toll.

 

I take my mind off that, as it’s not going to help anyone. Instead, we take a turn to the west and are now on a dirt track that’s not lined with trees. This means there is a much nicer view of the mountains and they really are beautiful. The light is fading and I know that I’ll be all up in that in only a couple of hours. I can’t wait for the morning when I’ll be able to see everything and the mountains I’ll then be surrounded by.

 

I start to get a bit excited. I tell myself this is awesome. Instead of moping about, I start to tell myself that this is it. This is what I’ve been aiming for during the last year. One hundred miles. My first big finish. All I have to do is reach out, believe in myself and grab it.

 

It’s a steady first few kilometres, all still flat, just ever so slightly uphill. Not enough to notice. I hear people talking around me still but the field begins to thin out a lot more here. I notice that the few guys I was running around have mostly gone on ahead. I’m definitely no longer in the middle of the pack where I roughly started. I’m definitely nearer the back. But I’m completely fine with that.

 

We’ve been following roughly next to the big river that cuts through this part of the land. I haven’t seen it yet, but now we head directly to it and I realise it’s actually just a dried up riverbed. A handful of us make our way down to the stones and slowly move across. One guy trips quite badly and goes for the footballer approach of stumbling as if he’s nearly been killed for a few moments, then realising no one cares and straightening up. I say no one cares, we all check how he is and are waved off, then he realises he’s being a bit silly.

On the other side is the first checkpoint at twelve kilometres or so. I’ve not been expecting much as the route description said this would just be fruit. In reality there is a large spread of meat, cheese, cakes and drinks. People are drinking steaming cups of something and since it’s almost dark now I grab a cup. I’ve no idea what it is but it’s an incredibly sweet honeyed hot juice thing and fabulously tasty. I grab another cup, a cake and am on my way again. I’ve loads of food in my bag so don’t need much here.

 

We follow a road along this side of the river for a short while before going down another dirt road. Darkness sets in and I feel pretty tired. I didn’t sleep too well last night as the place I stayed, Camping Jolly, was a bit too jolly and my neighbours were drunkenly shouting at two o’clock. Probably should have come here yesterday instead of today. Oh well, I’ll know for next time.

 

The dirt road takes me into the foothills. As it’s now dark I can see them looming around to either side of me. I’m eager to get involved as I’d expected to straight away at the beginning so seeing the mountains either side of me feels like teasing.

 

Then the signs point left, off the road. I feel giddy as I unexpectedly turn towards the foothills rather than going straight down the middle of the valley as I was thinking I would. A few minutes later I hit the base and begin the first switchback.

 

Immediately it’s straight into the good stuff. I get my new running poles out. Now, people say it’s a bad idea to test out new kit during a race. These arrived while I was away, so I haven’t had a chance to practice. I’ve also never used walking poles in my life. So it’s going to be trial by error.

The ground is a bit messy and slippery as I think there has been some recent rain and there is a fair bit of cover with the trees around, so the poles do actually help. I’m not really sure what the hell I’m supposed to do with them, though so just start stabbing at the ground then hauling myself up with them.

 

After all of about two minutes my arms are aching and I realise that there is no point having poles if you have no upper body strength. And I never do upper body work. Oops. Oh well, I just ease off a bit and use my legs a bit more and slowly get a bit of a better balance going on.

 

Either way, I don’t really care. I’m climbing a frigging mountain. It’s awesome. It’s dark and I can’t see anything around me, but I’m enjoying it. I’m quickly out of breath, though, so have to tell myself to slow down a little. I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. I zig zag my way up the hill and try to sort out a rhythm.

 

After ten minutes or so I reach some civilisation and there are some people standing at the edge of a house who smile and say something in Italian, pointing at a bit of concrete jutting out near my bonce. I smile back and dodge the concrete as I move onto the road. To my surprise I’m at a checkpoint. The next one isn’t supposed to be until the half marathon point, so I’m quite surprised to see it. They shout for my number and I just point at my bib as I’ve no idea how to say it in Italian.

 

I realise my English ignorance and ask how to say it in Italian. Barate sinkay. I think. I repeat it over and over a couple of times, no idea if I’m getting it right. There is a much smaller spread on this table so I just grab a biscuit, fill my water and start moving. A woman on the other side asks where I’m from in an American accent. I say New Zealand and start moving on. It’s only after I’m already moving I realise I was actually a bit rude just stating a country and buggering off. Oh well, not much I can do about it now.

Just after, her and her husband catch me anyway so I let them past and tag along briefly, apologising and asking where they are from. She’s American and he’s Scottish. It’s nice to have a bit of a chat with some English speakers as I really wasn’t expecting to find anyone on the race. I hadn’t realised how isolated I was going to feel but do now. All part of the fun.

 

The path continues steadily upwards and I end up moving on a little ahead of them. I notice that on one switchback I’m about twenty metres above them as the y are directly below me on the hillside and he slips, nearly falling down the mountain. I’m suddenly reminded exactly how high up I am already. I shout down asking if they need help as I can see him on the ground but they say they’re okay. It’s deceptive climbing a mountain at night, you’ve no idea how high up you are or how steep it is, but looking down now I realise it’s actually a bit dangerous where I am. And I’m not even anywhere near the top yet. Oddly, my fear of heights seems almost gone and it doesn’t bother me, whereas only a couple of years ago I’d be terrified at this.

 

So I plod on ahead and the path levels out a bit. Nice. A bit of a chance to do a bit of running. I start to smash my way down the hill and catch a few other people who are being a fair bit more tentative than I am. I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do with the poles and feel a bit unnerved by them. It feels a bit like a hindrance while descending and unsafe in case I slip and need my hands.

 

But I don’t slip and I feel pretty good considering everything. This section is quite undulating, and opens out a fair bit as well. I get a bit of a view back towards the towns we’ve left behind. There are a lot of lights looking very small back there.

 

Soon enough I’m back into the forest, though, and climbing again. It feels like I’m a bit ahead of where I was expecting so I feel quite good. Back into a lot of switch backs and I feel a bit on the tired side of things again. I make sure to eat something as the poles make it a bit annoying which makes me less likely to do it.

 

The weather starts to take a bit of a turn and I’m really moving slowly here. I leave off from putting my waterproof on as it’s actually still fairly warm and only spitting a bit so I figure I should be alright. Not long after it takes a bit of a worse turn and I decide to stop in a rare clearing to put it on anyway, if for no reason more than as a windbreaker.

 

Another kilometre or so up and after passing a few more supporters who have studiously walked into the middle of the forest to see their friends pass, I reach the checkpoint. This one is under a mountain shelter of sorts. No walls, but a roof to keep things dry. Again there is a massive spread and I take a few minutes to grin and pretend I understand what is going on around me and eat as many chunks of ham and cheese as I can grab. I drink some coke and more of the sweet honey, then grab a couple of cakes and start off.

 

Just before I do I see notes on the side of the van they drove to get here. It says this is the second checkpoint. I don’t understand. I thought I was past that? I wander on, feeling very confused. Then I realise that the one earlier was just a water stop. So I wasn’t as far ahead as I thought. I’m actually behind where I thought. Looking at my watch the distance matches up so it should be no surprise, but it does affect me a little. My fault for not knowing and studying the course of course but it gives me a small knock.

 

All the same, I head back up the hill on my way. There is a long slog ahead going on the route map. A very long slog. Sounds good. I am feeling a little cold though if I’m honest. The rain is still pushing down a bit and I’m starting to feel it.

I continue climbing through the trees. It’s still enjoyable, I guess, but I’m quite out of breath. I try to slow down, but I’m really feeling pushed and daunted at this point. I head up one section then realise I’m going the wrong way. But what’s the right way? I saw two head torches moving up the mountain only a minute ago in the same direction, but the ground I’m standing on has no path. I climb a bit more and reach a path. Okay, good. Left or right? I see markers in both directions. I retrace back down.

 

I start to wonder if I really did see torches or if I’m just imagining it. Then ahead of me I see others coming up the hill. But I’m going down and don’t recognise the bit I’m on. None of this makes sense. I get a bit further down then see I’m in the same place. I think. I turn around and go back up the hill a second time then carry on from where I was. This makes more sense. Why would I be going down the mountain here? Then I work out I’d just cut a corner rather than go up a switchback. Finally I understand what’s going on and move in the right direction.

 

There are a couple of points where the path is going alongside a very steep drop, with a sign from the organisers to be careful, and as I look down the hill into the dark mist I realise this actually is quite dangerous. Best not fall.

 

The ascent is a bit hard going and I have a bit of a sense of humour failure here. I realise my hands are starting to blister from the poles, so get my gloves out to help stave that off. I also realise more importantly that I’m getting a bit cold. I notice that I’m also quite wet. I stick my hand in my shirt and realise my waterproof is soaked right through. No wonder I’m getting cold. How the hell am I going to carry on like this? I’m barely even beginning and it’s already turning to shit.

 

Again, I think about how woefully underprepared I am. I could have sorted out and reproofed my waterproof. I could have been more aware of the course. I could have done this and I could have done that, but I didn’t do any of it. Now here I am up a mountain on a wing and a prayer. I’m not upset, just a bit annoyed at myself.

 

I start to have one of those existential moments where I wonder what the hell the point in all this is. Why am I putting myself through all this? I’m soaked and miserable. I’m hurting, both emotionally and physically. But I tell myself to suck it up. If it’s really that bad I’ll just call it a day at the next check point. The idea of that takes the pressure off and lifts my mood again. No point being miserable, or blaming anything. Best thing to do is make the most of it.

 

Slowly, the path opens out a bit more as I get a bit higher above the tree line. Again, I get a good view behind me to the towns down below and even further away. I really am high up now. About thirteen hundred metres, I see as I check the altimeter on my watch. It’s a great view even though it’s the middle of the night and helps put things back in perspective. I’m in Italy, no idea what is going on r what I’m doing or supposed to be doing, completely underprepared and need to look at the funny side. It’s not miserable. This is exhilarating. Life on the edge, quite literally, I think as I look down the slope to the cliffs directly below the slippery rocks I stand on.

 

The path flattens and again my mood picks up further. I realise that part of my misery was the fact that my body was tricking my mind into hating it so I’d slow down. Now that there’s less incline, my mood picks up again. It’s all mental, running these things. Sometimes we remember to remain calm and objective, sometimes we don’t and settle into the subjective. I try to stay conscious of my surroundings and still my mood continues to increase.

A cross a misty scree slope, trying not to look down at the massive drop of death below me and still not feeling too worried even when I do. What will be will be. I do everything I can to stay safe on the mountain, consciously, which keeps my head level and in turn everything safer. The path undulates and weaves in and around the ridgeline up here. I enjoy this. This is what I’m used to from home. This is the terrain I train on. Wet, slippery and miserable. I’m in my element in a lot of ways. Past some more eery misty scree slopes and carefully avoiding taking too many risks along this section I reach the next aid station at thirty kilometres with a better mood.

 

I eat a fair bit here. After the mental battle the last section I want to take a few minutes to reset. I remember also that I carry a bin bag for emergencies. Why the hell didn’t I think of that earlier? I’m such an idiot. I get it out and, as if drunk, punch some holes in it for my arms and head. It’s a very poorly executed job, but it does work and I put it on and my bag over the top. Suddenly I feel a lot more confident about the rest of the night ahead. The cold and wet was starting to worry me. I am soaked completely through underneath, but this will stop it getting worse and will also help warm me back up as my body heat will be reflected back. It’ll be sweaty and yuck, but I couldn’t care less about the breathability right now.

One of the other guys points and laughs at me. I try to explain my waterproof is failed then realise he’s pointing at my shorts. I guess it probably is funny seeing a man in Hawaiian shorts wearing a bin bag in this weather up a mountain in the middle of the night. I see the funny side and laugh with him.

Now that I’m feeling rejuvenated I head out. I tend to try not to spend too long in checkpoints as the mental battle to leave again isn’t ever worth it and am pleased that I’m eating well and keeping to that strategy. At least I don’t have anything to worry about on that front.

 

The next few kilometres is a bit more of the same. More undulations. Little ups and little downs and I’m moving at a pace I feel okay with so my mood definitely remains much better. I am noticing I have some blisters forming, but there’s not a hell of a lot I can do about that right now. My shoes are soaked, so I’m guessing the tape I applied is now slipping off and causing friction. But stopping to fix it won’t help as it’s too wet for any solutions to hold and solve the problem. I’ve not brought the right things to fix something like this in this weather. Again, lack of foresight. So for now I ignore it, resolving that I’ll fix them at a checkpoint if I can.

 

Time passes and I continue enjoying this bit, reaching as high as fourteen hundred and forty metres and dropping up and down around there a few times. It feels now like I’m actually getting somewhere and my sense of humour isn’t doing too badly.

 

I do notice, however, that the first cut off is at the next checkpoint, a life base with drop bags and more supplies. It’s at two o’clock and time is ticking. I think I’m still a couple of kilometres away and its one thirty. Really? I’m that crap at this that I’m going to get timed out here?

 

I meet another guy with extremely limited English, better than my Italian, and we leap frog a bit before running together. We’ve appeared out of the wet forest onto a road and it’s a bit downhill so we’re hoping to be very close to the checkpoint, unsure exactly how far it  is and if we’ll make it.

 

The road descends into a town and we make our way through it. Then at a roundabout we go the wrong way. We end up on the other side with no idea which is correct. My watch is telling me to go back and turn, but he’s sure we go straight. We point and talk at each other and then I just go the way I think is right. He stops a car to ask directions and doubles back up a road.

 

I approach the road he’s now on and realise it’s a hill and I need to double back again to the roundabout. I’m a bit annoyed at this given the time sensitivity, but again let it go as there’s no point worrying about such things after the fact.

 

I head up the hill and catch him again a few minutes later. It’s now quarter to two with no checkpoint in sight and I get myself ready to accept defeat. We press on, running uphill for the first time in hours then he points at a big building with lights on. We’re here. With ten minutes to spare.

I ask how long I have before needing to leave again and they say I have until half past. The room is buzzing with people shouting and laughing. I’m given my drop bag and a plate of pasta on go to the long table to eat and swap gear.

 

This drop bag has all of a sandwich bag full of food in it. Considering the bag they supplied could fit an eighty litre back pack it’s almost comical. Yet again I see the lack of foresight in that I could really do with a fresh pair of shoes here to fix my blisters properly. Oh well, I bung the food in the boot and get on with eating my pasta.

 

There are still dozens of people here chatting as if at a party and I really just can’t understand why no one is bothered about the imminent cut off. Surely they must be worried? I finish my food, deliberate about the fact I should be doing more here, realise I have no supplies to do anything with and scarper out the door.

 

I think I must have gained about two dozen places with that quick turnaround but am still baffled why. I catch up to another guy who doesn’t seem particularly interested in talking once he realises I can’t speak Italian, which is obviously fair enough as there wouldn’t be too much point. Luckily he does call me back after a wrong turn.

 

I don’t know why I’m taking so many wrong turns. There is literally a flag every twenty metres at most, usually less. I’ve never seen so many but continue daydreaming rather than looking where I’m going.

 

There is a fairly simple but long ascent here. It’s not steep, and a lot of it is on a farm road so not even particularly hard, it’s just three or four kilometres long and I’m looking forward to the descent down off this section of the mountains. I know it’s soon.

 

Eventually it does come. I reach the top and realise I’m around the part of the course profile where it’s going to start getting a bit more steadily downhill. Great. I can make up a bit more of the time on that cut off. I like descending.

 

But it gets pretty steep pretty damn quick. Which is not particularly good for or with blisters. My feet are a bit all over the place and I notice I’m struggling to see a bit. My head torch doesn’t seem to be holding as well as it should. So I take it, frustratingly, a bit more tentatively.

I’m caught by a couple of people and step aside to let them past but they insist I go first. I don’t know why they want that, as they’re clearly moving a bit faster, but I do.

I start to feel a bit rubbish again. I start to wonder what I’m doing and what the point is. My feet are hurting quite a bit. These guys are putting me off a bit as it’s unnerving having them right behind me. I try to step aside a couple more times but they’re quite insistent I have to go first. I tell myself that I’m going to get to the next checkpoint, rush through, then down to the next one after that and call it a day.

 

I’ve had enough. I realise that I just don’t want to do this. I just don’t want this finish bad enough right now. I’m wet, cold and miserable. I just want to go home. It’s annoying that I had to spend all this money, fly to Italy using annual leave I just don’t have and put  myself in this situation, but hey that’s life.

I realise that right now all I want to be doing is sitting at home with Jess. I’ve spent the last year focusing so much energy into my running and I guess I’m just burnt out. I’ve had it. I’m not upset about this. Oddly, I feel quite content with this feeling. I guess because there were so many stumbling blocks contributing to me getting here at all; all I really wanted was to be able to make the decision for myself. To have a measure of control over my life as I don’t feel like I’ve been able to have much of that recently. I realise all I want is to be happy right now and I’ve been focusing all my energy into outside things in recent months and never actually looking inside at what I want.

 

And right now, I just don’t want this. It’s just not the right time for me. I can come back next year and do a proper job of it, putting myself on the start line in far better circumstances than today. But for right now, I’d just like to sit down in some warmth.

 

As before, this gives me a bit more sense of peace. A feeling that I’m in control. It removes the panic of finishing and the pressure of cut offs so that I can try to enjoy this bit. Half an hour later we hobble into the checkpoint. It’s a very quaint little stone mountain hut with a roaring open fire. Busy with loads of people. I can’t really be bothered with loads of people having been followed by the pair for the last while so I dip out quickly, again gaining several places. The idea of dropping here doesn’t cross my mind. For some reason I want to get down the mountain then make the decision. Well, I do love a downhill and was looking forward to this one for a few hours.

 

I’m straight back into a very steep and slippery downhill. I can barely see a path, most of the time just smashing and slipping down the hill. I think it’s only about three kilometres to the bottom and I was quite looking forward to this bit so am a bit annoyed I can’t just boss my way down it.

 

As my sense of humour fails once more I stop pushing and am caught by most of the people I skipped past in the hut. The tow people who were following me earlier find me again and again insist I go first. For the first time I notice their bib numbers don’t have numbers on them. They have a random word on there. They must be race officials. That must be why they are following me. Does that mean I’m last? It can’t do because there were a fair few people looking cheery in the hut and dozens in the life base before that.

 

They keep pressing for me to go first. My head torch is really fading now and as they are following me so damn close I keep falling over as their bright torches are casting my shadow so I can’t see where I’m going. As they’re literally only a metre or two behind permanently I find it really unnerving and try to go faster. I slip over as I’m trying to go too fast and can’t see where I’m putting my foot.

 

This is actually quite dangerous. The camber on this mountain is bout forty percent at a guess. I’m dropping nearly six hundred and fifty metres of ascent in only three or so kilometres. The ground is soaking wet, covered in autumn leaves and extremely slippy so I fall over again. And again. And again.

 

They keep patting me on the back but all I want them to do is leave me alone. The shout to the last guy to pass me to see if he speaks English. He does a bit and translates they are worried about my torch. I try to explain the issue with the shadows and they need to back off but it gets lost in translation.

We set off again in exactly the same situation. Now that I’m really pissed off I slip over constantly. If they’d back off I could see well enough but I just can’t get that across and when I think the guy has got it he plain refuses to do so, saying something in Italian, presumably about safety. I get my other torch out and that seems to appease him a little.

 

This really isn’t any fun. It’s four in the morning. My torch and waterproof have failed. I’m up a mountain wearing a bin bag being shouted at in Italian by two other jokers wearing bin bags. Surreal to say the least.

 

We go on like this all the way to the bottom over the next hour or so until we reach a road. At this point I start running again just to try to put some distance between us, but they must have only started at the life base, or are far better runners than me, and annoyingly continue joking and laughing between themselves as they casually keep up with me. It just pisses me off even more.

 

It’s even more frustrating that I can’t be annoyed at them. They are looking out for my safety. I’m in their country and can’t speak their language. That’s not their fault, it’s mine. If I could communicate I could find out exactly who they are, what they’re doing and what they want with me. Mainly I could find out why they won’t leave me to explore the mountain on my own as ironically that would be safer as I could control my own safety. I’d also not have shadows and could see where I’m going. But I can’t communicate and that’s my problem certainly not theirs. So I try to smile and be nice wherever possible.

 

We get to the bottom of the hill, go past a monstrous dam and viaduct that appears completely out of nowhere, disappearing two hundred metres below to the river. It’s truly spectacular, especially as it’s still dark and ominous.

 

Around the corner there is a car waiting and someone who they recognise and must be an official. Thankfully he has some English. The first thing he says, though, is that they are asking if I want to quit. Nice.

 

I say I don’t understand what’s going on and I’d like to carry on, on my own. I ask if I’m last and they say there is one other guy behind, who they think is quitting. I say I don’t want to. I feel like I’m being robbed of being able to make the decision for myself. The next cut off is seven hours away and I’ve plenty of time to get there.

 

I start off then say I’ll just wait for the last guy. I want to see what he’s doing. I guess I selfishly want to cop out and put the decision onto him to stop myself feeling bad for quitting. As if it would somehow feel better.

 

He arrives and is definitely quitting at the next aid station in five kilometres. We set off to the trail then out of nowhere I feel my blisters and get a gut instinct to turn around. I throw a strop and say I want to quit. I guess I just don’t want to walk it in like this.

 

Now they’re convincing me to carry on. Just to the next aid station. I calm down and agree. The other guy is also accompanied by two officials. The six of us set off together. They’re all chatting happily away. We get back to the road and they all have an argument about which way to go. I say that my guys are wrong that the guys above are right but they want to follow the road.

I’m ignored and eventually everyone agrees to follow the road. So now we’re walking it in and not even on the right track. My heart sinks even further and I try to set myself aside. They try to comfort me, but right now I just want to be left alone.

 

I’m just sulking. They are trying to be nice to me, but I just feel like there’s no point and I’d be ahead of where I am right now if I could be alone. Plus the sun has come up and the mountains look like some of the most amazing scenery I’ve ever seen, just to rub salt in the wound.

 

We walk into the next aid station, the other guy hands in his number and I’m asked again if I definitely want to quit as if there is any other option. If I opt to carry on I’ll have four bloody minders! It’s my fault, I have to keep reminding myself. It’s all over, and I can’t blame anyone else.

 

We get a ride back to Vivaro, I check into my hotel a day early, which is absolutely lovely. It’s a small but good consolation. All my clothes and even my glasses are in my drops bags up a mountain somewhere. I’m covered in mud so I take a shower and wash all my clothes, shoes included in the shower. I get into bed and lie on them to use my body heat to dry them.

 

The next morning I walk into town to collect my bags. Unfortunately I also see some of the last competitors coming in. I cheer them on. Fair play to each and every one of them. I go back to the hotel and have a little cry that it’s not me finishing.

 

The next day I head back to Venice. I have a couple more days here, but get quite ill from the cold so end up spending it entirely in bed. It gives me a bit of time to reflect.

 

I didn’t finish. End of. But why?

 

Obviously there were some circumstances out of my control. But most of them were. All of the important pieces of kit failed me. I should have checked my waterproof, made sure my torch was good enough and had fresh shoes, even clothes in my drop bags. Importantly I need to be prepared for blisters in bad conditions. I can manage the little races in the UK with blisters, but not something like this.

 

I need to lose weight. I need to get faster. I spent this year focusing on endurance, and believe I do have that. Next year I focus on getting faster. I won’t be getting caught by any sweepers then.

 

At the end of the day I can blame my torch or my circumstances, but that’s a cop out. It wasn’t the sweepers fault I was too slow, they were doing their best to help a sulking foreigner. I failed, and me alone. If I take responsibility I can fix it and come back stronger. So I do take full responsibility and will come back stronger.

I’ll beat this beast of a race next year.

Very slow tracking is here: https://www.endomondo.com/users/5020477/workouts/619350496