Well, that didn't go according to plan, in fact it was a bit of a disaster!
Going back to where I left off on Friday, "The Emma" dropped me off as planned in Aldershot after tea and I settled in to my salubrious accommodation for an early night. One early night, a few hours of tossing and turning, a bit of door slamming and just after 03:00 I gave up trying to sleep and got up again! In all fairness, I had set the alarm for 04:30, planning an early start anyway, but as I was awake, I might as well just get on with it. Peering out into the darkness as I waited for the kettle to boil, I could see the rain teeming down, reflected in the light of the street lamps and pooling on the road. Not what I was expecting, certainly not as per the weather forecast, which was for light rain at lunchtime, and not the best start to the day. Luckily, by the time I'd had a couple of brews, a bit of breakfast and sorted my life out, the rain had stopped. Although as I stepped out into the cool night air just after 04:30 there was still drizzle in the air and an all pervading sense of dampness and more to come. Within minutes I was out of town and picking up the Basingstoke Canal tow path for the first few miles, heading towards Fleet and the section of route that I'd "reccied" a couple of weeks ago. With my head torch reflecting off the Canal and the puddle strewn towpath, the canal made a nice start to the day. Easy running on a good surface to warm my legs up and get settled in to the days task.
With the miles gradually building, accompanied by the glowing eyes of unseen creatures in the undergrowth, it wasn't long before I'd left the canal for the woods around Fleet Pond and pushed on towards the first crossing of the M3.
Surprisingly, Just after the Fleet Ponds section, I met the only other runner I saw all day, coming the other way. What was most surprising about our brief encounter was the fact that we were both in the middle of nowhere, it was still pitch dark and can't have been much after 06:00. I suspect that we both wondered where the other was going and how we got there, but I guess we'll never know the answer to that question. Pushing slowly on, accompanied by the breaking dawn, I arrived in Hartley Wintney with 12 miles under my feet at around 06:45 and grabbed the opportunity to pack away my head torch, hat and arm warmers, whilst grabbing a couple of photos for the record.
Through Hartley Wintney and out the other side, through Winchfield with it's commuter train station and little else, and into more open countryside for the next leg. With the low sun shining brightly, accompanied by the sound of bird song, and the odd glimpse of Deer and rabbits, caught by surprise in the open, as I ran slowly past their homes and hunting grounds, it was pleasantly warm ticking off the miles in the quiet early morning.
A momentary lapse of concentration coming out of Rotherwick saw me off track and despite knowing pretty quickly that I was wrong, it took me a while to work out how to get back to where I should have been. Probably adding another mile or so to the days total, which was somewhat frustrating.
Making steady progress, within a couple of miles of Bramley and fast approaching the Marathon mark, the rain returned. Gently at first, not enough to make you stop for a jacket, just enough to provide a nice cooling touch. But, soon enough, it became torrential, and arriving on the outskirts of Bramley I took refuge in a bus shelter, planning to don my jacket (although the damage was already done and I was soaked by then).
Typically, by the time I'd got my jacket out the rain was easing off, so I put it away again and waited for the worst to pass, before pushing on for the final mile or so into Bramley and the opportunity to resupply.
A bottle of water, a hot Cornish pasty and the best bit of Bread pudding I've ever seen, from the bakery and I was back on the move. The next couple of legs were stretches that I had concerns about. From my "reccie" runs I knew that this area was low laying, boggy and potentially muddy. Just how muddy it turned out to be, was beyond even my expectations though and from departing Bramley it was hard going.
The mud was slippery and every step had to be thought about. If I put my foot there will I disappear up to my knees, can I jump that puddle or will I end up slipping on the mud the other side, can I get traction up that bank, what's under this water that I can't see through? Every step a challenge, constantly trying to get your balance as you feet slip on the loose wet mud, feet constantly wet, with the oozing mud finding it's way into your shoes and socks to rub against the skin of your feet and the cold water splashing up your legs as you traipse through the puddles.
Despite the mud I was still making good progress, dispatching my next progress marker at Tadley in good time and more importantly, despite approaching the half way point, I was still feeling good. Between the day dreams that keep my mind occupied during these long runs my thoughts were starting to turn towards my next replenishment stop at Kingsclere and what goodies I could acquire from the shops there to see me through the next stage.
Additionally, I knew that if I could get to Kingsclere, which at that point seemed achievable, I should be out of the mud, as the route climbs slightly and moves onto chalkier, hiller terrain. Stepping awkwardly whilst wading through a flooded field at Ashford Hill I felt my left calf tense up, and coming out the other side of the lake I'd been wading through, I stopped to stretch it off. A few tentative steps and it seemed Ok, a bit tight but nothing too serious and I pushed on. Another couple of miles and with the aerial masts of Kingsclere (my lunch destination) clearly visible ahead of me I landed my left foot on a slippery muddy rut and felt my calf go again. This time it felt more serious though and I pulled up sharply, with the pain shooting through my calf!
Ok, stop, give it a rub and a stretch and lets see what's what. Once I'd stopped it didn't feel to painful, let's try walking it off.
I pushed on for another mile or so at walking pace, and whilst it felt a bit better, I knew deep down that it wasn't right and finding a convenient dry spot in the sun, I stopped to consider my options. I was just over half way, so realistically had another 35 miles still to go, walkable but not quickly and not much fun. Plus, by pushing on I was likely to just compound any damage that I'd already done to my calf. Looking at the map I was also in about the best location I could be for getting home again. Thatcham and Newbury were both within striking distance and both had train stations, and I knew that the area after Kingsclere was the bit of the route that I'd had the most concerns about from day one, as it's sparsely populated and there's no easy way back once you set off. Grabbing a sandwich from my pack I mulled over my options for a few minutes, but knew deep down that there was only 1 sensible choice!
Taking my dry, warm, clothes from my pack I got changed and plotted a course for Thatcham, the train station and the long trek down to Andover to recover my car. Having stopped to gather my thought's my calf had started to stiffen up and as soon as I set off again I knew that this was the right decision.
5 miles of slow walking eventually got me to the station and another two and a half hours and multiple train changes finally got me to Andover, where luckily the little Peugot was still where I'd left it. Not the end I'd hoped for, but a sensible decision in difficult conditions?
Sitting here now on Sunday morning I know that I made a sensible decision yesterday.
Yes, I could have pushed on, and if I was only going 50 miles I probably would have, but with another 35 still to go, no support and heading into the remotest part of the route, it would have been foolish. I suspect that I've torn, or at lest pulled my left calf muscle, judging from how it feels today. And I would guess that last weeks Marathon effort's probably didn't help matters. Going into a major endeavour on tired legs is never a brilliant idea, and that, on top of the endless slip sliding through the mud, has ended in defeat! Is it a defeat though? I ran well through some difficult conditions for the first 40 miles, pacing, eating and hydrating well, and still felt strong when I did have to stop. I made a sensible decision and extracted myself successfully, without drama or problems, from a pretty remote location and that in my book is a major success. It isn't the result I wanted or had planned for, but and it's a big but, if you succeed in every challenge or endeavour, it probably means that the challenge isn't hard enough. If it was easy and guaranteed to end in success then it's just another day out and not a challenge. So, I'll take yesterdays efforts as a positive, I'll learn from it and come back stronger and better equipped for the next one. And once my legs better, which will hopefully be sooner rather than later, due to yesterdays sensible decision making, I'll have another go. Watch this space, but don't hold your breath as I've got a whole raft of other adventures lined up before we revisit this one, but revisit it I will!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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