A Long Time Coming: Introducing Ultra Awesome.

 Sorry for the radio silence, friends. I have been working on something that I am finally ready to unleash to the world. And I am shitting myself about it. 

 Long story short(ish). I’ve been having a weird old time of it recently. I’ve been really heavily involved in some very, very cool stuff, especially with Rat Race and White Star. I’ve done some brilliant events (Man Vs Coast, Man Vs Lakes, Giants Head Marathon all AMAZING and I accidently won Cider Frolic last weekend – 60 lapped miles -  hurrah!) but one thing has become apparent. This just can’t go on.  

Some LOLS from the last few weeks.  

I’m working part time for a brilliant social enterprise to keep the wolfette from the door, and I have a couple of freelance clients, but I am spending more and more time planning recees, putting together teams for running projects and answering emails and social media messages from people that want to know about running stuff. One of my clients is Rat Race – I’m at the end of the “Ask Allie” email address and talk to people about some very specific stuff – you know the drill; Will I die in the jungle? How do you get a machete through customs? etc etc. It’s quite good fun (FYI answers are ‘no’ and ‘with difficulty’) but that is only a fraction of it.

Every week I get more and more people reaching out to me via the facebook/IG page, on my personal email or via the website.  I spend hours each week replying to them or even calling them to go through stuff. This stuff ranges from mental coping strategies on long races to complete lack of confidence to the best bag to run a trail marathon with. So, the question is if I am spending hours on this every week and getting results, why the fuck don’t I do it for a living? It’s what I’m good at and I love it. The reason is because I haven’t had the balls to try. Until now. 

 Let’s quickly got through the reasoning for this, mainly because I think it will ring some bells for people. As some of you know, I am not the best when it comes to my own view of myself. I say things to myself that I would NEVER say to anyone else. As much as I am way better than I have been in previous years, I hate on myself on a regular basis. From first thing in the morning (‘why are you always so fucking tired? Urgh you look like shit’)to last thing at night (‘what have you achieved today? Pretty much nothing - standard’). I am just the best at smashing myself repeatedly over the head with a metaphorical hammer. I don’t know why I do it. Well I do, but it’s a really long story. Maybe one for later.  As I said I would NEVER do this to anyone else. In fact, I do completely the opposite. 

 The last six months have seen a monumental shift in my life.  Moving to the countryside from the hideous hellhole that is London sounds like the dream, but it’s not when you have very few friends and no concrete job. It’s scary and weird. Think Hot Fuzz meets League of Gentlemen with a bit of Broadchurch thrown in. It is so, so different to the life I had before. It’s better in a million ways, but overwhelming in a few hundred as well.  

 The term failure has made an appearance more than once in our household over the last six months. And it’s always me saying it to myself. Today, I know that I am not a failure. Tomorrow may be different. Failing is just another word for learning. Failure on the other hand is another word for, well, failure. 

 I read a book recently that talks about the conscious mind vs the subconscious mind. The concious mind is our ego. It’s the bit that protects us from harm, which is great and awful at the same time. Not only does it believe it can predict our future but it also loves dragging up the past – mainly to illustrate how our future will be. It’s the thing that stops us in our tracks and tells us that things won’t work, people hate us and everything is falling to bits. The thing is (spoiler) the only future we have is right in the moment. The ego cannot predict what is going to happen in the next hour, day or year, yet it does this a thousand times a minute on a daily basis. It stops us from achieving things. And it stops us from trying things. It stops us from taking risks that might well pay off. 

 This affects every single part of our lives, from launching a new business or project to signing up for a race that we really want to do. I see the concious mind in every email I get. And I also see the doubt created by ego. I’m slowly coming round to this idea and I want to help other people to come round to it to. 

 I’ve always wanted to find the time to step up and genuinely help people to do some of the stuff that I have done. I never really had a crew to help me in the early days and until now, I’ve just not found the vehicle. But by gum I may have finally got it. It’s called Ultra Awesome and you can read all about it here. 

 Today is the day I am launching this. I’m going to do it softly, gauge interest and see who thinks it’s a good idea. I’m worried about it failing. I’m worried about it going all wrong. I’m worried about asking people to pay for it, despite knowing I have unique experience and I am good at talking positively to people. I would love for you lot, who read these blogs, to take a look for me. All feedback good and bad more than welcome. Drop me a line here.

It comes down to this. I am asking you to support me to support you. I’m asking you to have the belief in me that I often don’t have in myself. I want to find the time to be able to talk to people, time to be able to give them support, advice and maybe a bit of inspiration. Time to tell them my stories and make my experience theirs. Time to hold their hands as they step into adventure and experience that will change their lives for the better. 

 I don’t know if it will work. And I don’t know how far we can go. But in the words of David Bowie, I promise it won’t be boring. 

Anyway thanks as always for reading. Let’s try and build this thing together.

 AB x

 If you would like to find out more about Ultra Awesome click here

 For the Patreon page click here

 If you just want to buy me a virtual cup of coffee, click here


Groundhog Day - Trotting the Thames Path AGAIN

I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes. Two months after swearing that I would never run it again, I find myself on the train to Oxford to run 50 miles of my favourite worst nightmare, the Thames Path. 

How has this happened? Well, I was signed up to the Atlantic Coast challenge this year, but had to defer when my partner in crime and caravans pulled out - I just couldn’t afford to do it on my own, and this left a large gap in my ‘endurance training’ in the run up to Namibia and Panama. So, I got on the internets, and started looking for another race. The only thing I could find that was affordable and nearish my house was the Thames Path Trot. On the Thames Path. Thames. Path.

Organised by Go Beyond Ultra, a company I have never run with before, this is a “50” (it’s actually 48) mile run from just outside Oxford, to Henley-on-Thames. My rose tinted spectacles told me this was the “nice” part of the Thames. Here’s how my brain works: 

“The bit through Abingdon is lovely!”(Allie, you had a meltdown in the rain there) 

“Iffey Lock is glorious!” (Allie, the path was so overgrown you needed a machete) 

“The run out of Goring is AMAZING!” (Allie, you get PTSD from the A100 when you see the village hall) 

“Henley is so nice - some brilliant pubs there” (Allie, how do you know? You have only ever run through it in the dark). 

I reasoned it’s not so bad, it’s a course I know and I need to get the miles in, so I signed up (for a very reasonable £52), and got on with my life. 

But I had missed something hadn’t I? I had blocked out the horror that lies between Goring and Henley. My brain was protecting me from that dark place, a place I swore I would never run through again. A place of angry outbursts and discarded cheese sandwiches. A place where friendships with pacers are cast aside and minute mile records are smashed, out of fear rather than personal choice. A flat, dismal grey abyss, where the rich are separated from the poor by a river and Race Directors run out to accompany you for the sake of their own insurance. I had blocked out the horror that is READING.  

No. Just no. 

The race is on a Saturday which is a wonderful thing because it means you can get drunk after - and this year was their 11th edition. The 8.30am start meant a 4am wake up call for me to get to Oxford, which was nice, and it was a stunner of a morning. My Head of Crew ™ Lorna picked me and a lovely stranger called Sylvia up from the station at 7.30am. Sylvia was running too - I didn’t just ‘pick her up’ on the train. Not that kind of party. 

Race HQ was at a REALLY nice hotel, and when we arrived it was full of runners - the nice kind, not the awful kind - and couples trying to have a romantic break that was being ruined by discarded banana skins and people in lycra. I haven’t felt so welcome and positive at the start of a race for ages. Everyone was chatting and there were all sorts of weirdos. Serious guys who were nice with it, the first timers, the chancers, the plodders; it was a brilliant reflection of the ultra community in one posh room. 

I went to drop my bag and bumped into Simon, the RD, who asked me if I was “that girl with the blog who wanted to drop pasta at the aid station”. I confirmed I was that very person. There can be only one. We had a quick chat about stuff that I was doing, and turns out Simon has the exact hammock I need for my Panama travels. And he offered to lend it to me. HOW NICE IS THAT??? This is why I love us Ultra lot. Simon doesn’t know me at all, yet he offers me this mega expensive piece of kit to borrow, just like that. He’s a legend. I like him a lot. Today is a good day. But still. READING. 

Doing some running

The race starts at 8.30 - I am running the first 10 miles with Lorna (a little Saturday stroll for her) and we run along faster than we should, having a catch up chat and paying ZERO attention to pace. It was one of those really cold crispy mornings and I start to feel guilty for hating on the Thames Path, because it’s actually quite magical. Totally different from the shitshow it was back in August. Sunbeams and glory, and I am running too fast. Lorna leaves me at the first aid station, where I make my first mistake and decide to eat a GU gel. I bloody love GU gels, but I have self inflicted rules about sugar - nothing during the first half of a race. Why I ate it I don’t know, but I did. It was yummy. I was like a child at a birthday party for all of 10 mins. I didn’t really have anything else in my stomach - breakfast was long gone, and because I had been chatting, I hadn’t paid attention to actually eating real food. This will come back to bite me on the arse. Almost literally. 

Snacky McSnackFace making some bad decisions

I trot on alone, listening to 6Music, still running too fast, having a chat with random strangers. The usual. I get to 20 miles and realise that I am well ahead of time in what I thought would be my “training run”. I start to get a bit worried. I managed to cover 25 miles in about 4.15, which for a race of this length, for someone like me, is punchy. BUT YUMMY GU GELS! It’s very flat, and I needed to slow down. And then I realised I was properly hungry. 

This was pre-Reading…..

Also pre-Reading

I had been snacking on nuts and stuff a tiny bit, but had totally failed to get any crisps or real food down me. I kept doing that thing where I was like “a couple more miles then lunch” which is stupid. If you’re hungry, eat. By the time I got to 30 miles, I was starving. I stopped and got out my lunch - cheese and onion rolls and crisps - and tried to get it down me, but I didn’t want it. The sugar monster was in me and wanted sweets. I’d left it too late and I felt sick. After a mile of walking and stuffing my face I realised that the sugar rollercoaster wasn’t my only issue. I was in Reading. 

It’s just so shit, isn’t it? I can’t work out what’s better, running through it scared for your life in the dark, or seeing it in the daylight. It just depresses me that we, as an intelligent race, can come up with a place like Reading. By this point, I felt really sick and had utilised natures toilet, aka the bushes, a number of times (RIP Buff) and I knew it was because of the too much sugar thing. 

Natures toilets. Spot the bush. 

I was managing 4-5 miles an hour and not enjoying myself AT ALL when I saw the ray of light that is Julius running towards me. Hurrah! I am not alone! 

Poor old Julius. Why he comes out to pace me I do not know. To be fair, I had emptied myself of the sugar monster and just felt tired, so we trotted and chatted and generally had a nice time for the next 10 miles. I love the fact he doesn’t push me to go faster when he knows there is literally NO POINT. He had a massive bag of snacks (not a euphemism). What a winner that man is. 

Me emerging from Reading…..

Once you come out of Reading (think about coming out of the Upside Down in Stranger Things - it’s the same) and start to hit Henley, it becomes quite nice, but a bit technical on the old nav, and there is the chance you could get lost. I’ve done this route a lot in the dark, but I was lucky Julius had run from the end to meet me, so he knew where we were going. Sometimes you feel like you are running down the end of a posh persons garden, when it’s actually the Thames Path. About five miles from the end, it started raining which was not in the plan, but I have learnt now to always pack my jacket and I kept thinking “the pubs will be open!” so we made OK time and I got in at about 9 hours 5 mins. Perfectly acceptable - better than I thought I would do. Thank fuck that’s done etc. 

At then end we are greeted by Simon and his team. There was a stand with hot drinks, cake and snacks (no beer BOO!) that was brilliant PLUS changing rooms and toilets - a stroke of genius at the end of a 50 miler. I drank a coffee and went to the pub. As is my way. 

The spoils…..

So overall I had a lovely time. I fucking hate the Thames Path. But this run was actually OK. The race company are brilliant. Aid stations well stocked, brilliant medal, lovely runners and a wonderful RD. I am now looking at their races for next year because they are DEFO my people. A serious note - this is the perfect first 50 miler. Flat, good cut offs and amazing support from volunteers and race company. I might even do it next year for a laugh. 

Also look how knackered I am in this picture. 

Next up - New York Marathon! 

Crafty Fox Marathon, Downslink Ultra and Pacing a Pal…..

Well, I’ve been shit at this, haven’t I? I’ve just had loads on and so have totally not had time to do the writing thing that I love doing the most. I have, however, been doing a fair bit of running. September saw the inaugural Crafty Fox marathon - a classic White Star marathon ish in the lovely village of Ansty. For reasons known to nobody apart from myself, I decided to wear a fox tail. Calm down everyone, it’s not a real one. I left that at home. This was 2 loops of a beautiful working farm, with cows and views and posh schools and loads of lovely runners. 



It was my first marathon in a couple of weeks, and my training had been less than satisfactory. At this point in the year, I’m just trying to keep things ticking over rather than win stuff or beat my PB’s or even do anywhere near ‘well’. My “A “races have been done, and I have achieved what I set out - there’s just the small matter of 3 weeks of running across deserts and jungles in November to deal with, so ultimately I need to keep fit for what will be day after day of ‘challenging’ endurance running. 



I turned up with about 30 miles in two weeks under my belt, telling myself it was “only” a marathon (epic mistake). I also didn’t pack anything substantial to eat because, again, I just thought it’s “only” a marathon. I am a twat. As is the way with White Star races, this was not flat. I was running with Julius, who was taking it easy as he had the half marathon the next day (where I was marshalling) so we set off, almost immediately walking up a massive hill. The course was lovely - farmland tracks, mega up hills and cows trotting next to us. The downs were as steep as the ups and, after about 6 miles, I started to get hungry. The aid stations had the usual mix of WSR stuff, but I really needed a sandwich and I didn’t have one. The fact that I was hungry, basically meant my run was a slog. It took away from the beauty of it -  all I could think about was food. As it was a test race, the usual Love Station was less full than it would have otherwise been, which led this vegetarian to eat 71 mini sausages on the first loop. Sorry everyone, but a girls gotta eat. If I am honest, I hated that second loop, but it is my fault entirely. Food is important. 


Another hill…….


Not a cult……

This is a beauty of a race - as long as you’re not starving. The race village felt like a party zone - so many great faces and the brilliant Piddle Brewery delivering the goods on the booze front. The medal is awesome too. Would I do it again? 100%. Will I make sure to eat and get a bit more training in? Yes. As I said, I am a tail-wearing twat. 



After a month off events with weddings and other stupid normal human stuff in the way, it was time for the Downslink Ultra. This is an event run by Jason McCardle - A Do-Badder and all round good egg. A race director who is also an endurance runner is a good thing - they know what’s what. I had been promising him for ages I would do a Sussex Trail Event, and had to this point failed, so I was really looking forward to this. It’s basically 38 miles down a disused railway track, running from Guildford to Shoreham-On-Sea. It’s flat - I LIKE FLAT! And I totally loved it. 


Start line pose…..

The wonderful Lorna Spayne (Head of Bailey Crew OBE) picked me up in the morning, and drove me to the start, and then went off on marshalling duties. She’s so brilliant. I love her.  The run is point to point, so Julius had parked his car at the end and got a bus up to meet me at the start. Clever ain’t we? 


Dream team….

Navigation is simple - follow the signs. The route is packed trail, with some stunning trots through forest and old tunnels. Although it’s a long, straight line, it never gets boring to look at - the weather was AMAZING - we lucked out with one of those cold, sunny autumn days, but once again my lack of midweek running was showing, and at times I found it a struggle. The start was at the top of a hill (approved) where we all whizzed down sandy trails and across very quiet roads to reach the first aid station at around 6 miles.


I mean……….


Dat Autumn sun filter….


At the second aid station, I bumped into Jay and mentioned how lucky we were with the weather - the day before had been appauling. “I know” he said “I ran it yesterday to check the route”. That’s what you want - and RD that does that is a keeper, and believe me a lot of them don’t! 

Aid stations were stocked with stuff for everyone - props on the vegan bites Jay! - and with super lovely marshals. I can only compare this to White Star for it’s organisation and support. You can tell Jay is a runner - he knows what runners want to eat for a start. The other runners were great and happy to chat as we clattered along - no Salomon men here (well a few but I didn’t see them because SLOW). Once again, Julius ran with me - I am trying to train him to run slower for the longer races we have booked in next year - not easy. He reminds me of my dog. I have to shout “WITH ME” every 5 mins when he tries to run off. I don’t have a lead for him though. Not that sort of party. 


Welcome to the jungle….


A train……

This is a race for people that like to be sociable. Of course, it’s a great course for a PB - it’s flat and trail - nothing stopping you smashing it out - but it’s also very social, with wide paths and loads of space. It would be great for groups of people wanting to take on their first Ultra, as the cut offs are pretty decent and you don’t have to run in single file at any point. I think if I had been on my own I would have got bored at points, but the autumn light was so brilliant and the changing scenery also made it seem less like a never ending railway track. 




It’s alright this…….

We went through fields, trails and small towns, under tunnels and through bits of ‘british jungle’. The main aid station is right next to a pub, and holy shit was it epic. Everything from sandwiches and mini wraps to cheese and pineapple on sticks to melon. This time, I had been sensible, and packed sandwiches and snacks and nuts, but I didn’t need too. There was even coffee! I was so happy I gave Jay a cuddle and 11 out of 10 for aid station glory. He just looked at me, confused.


Pro running shot courtesy of Lorna!

After this point it started to get a teeny bit more industrial on the run into Shoreham - not the worst end to a race I have ever experienced (Newcastle anyone?) Head of Crew Lorna met us about 2 miles from the end and ran us in. I was pretty happy with 7.14 on the back of no events the previous month and the chilli at the end was delicious, as were the showers. Sussex Trail Events know how to put on a good value, fun and achievable event. It’s safe, beautiful and genuinely a runners race. Jay understands what we want and need, and there’s nothing more to it. I am now eyeing up pretty much everything else he has on offer for next year - go and have a look for yourselves here

The following week I had the pleasure of being asked to pace my good friend Dan at his first 100 miler - the Autumn 100. As many of you know, this was my first 100 mile event this time last year and I was over the moon to be asked to help Dan out from the 50-75 mile mark. I know what a huge deal your first 100 mile race is and I know how important those pacers can be, so I was both scared I would fuck it up, and thrilled that I got to be part of his story. 


Dan looking better before I got to him……

The Ridgeway is leg 3 of a 4 leg race. It’s 50 miles in to the A100. Usually runners run it in the dark - and it is DARK up there - no light at all. I worked on a pace plan with Dan in the weeks before, giving him an A, B and C plan so he wouldn’t feel he was failing at any point. I worked out that to be on course for a sub 24 hour time, he should be with me at Goring at 8pm and ready to go at 8.10.  If we could do this 25 mile leg in 6 hours, he would be on for that sub 24 with 7 hours for the final leg (always keep an hour for aid station faff and procrastinating).

I got to Goring at 7pm (just in case) and had been watching his tracker like a hawk all day - he looked like he was on target. Sadly, in the last part of the second leg, he slowed slightly and came into Goring 40 mins later than planned, which means we didn’t leave until 8.50. I would have to try and get him through this leg slightly faster than planned and let his next pacer Kieran know that he was going to have to think more 6 hours than 7 for leg 4. 

Being a pacer is frought with difficulties. I know Dan quite well and I love him, we have run together before a lot - he came and ran with me on the Thames Path for 40 odd miles - but working out how far you can push a person is hard. I didn’t want to piss him off, but I had a job to do. We weren’t allowed to crew the runners - that means you can’t touch them, help them get changed or get them food and drink. They have to do it themselves or get a centurion member of staff to do it - that is massively frustrating. I got him out of the hall as soon as I could, and we started walking at 14 min miles up the hill towards the ridgeway. I explained we were late setting out, and we would have to do some running. Dan did not look impressed. He has already run 50 miles. I was fresh out the box. 


Halfway through the night shift…..

I was so worried about time and I tried to make Dan run as much as possible, but it was hard. When we walked, we walked at 13-14 min miles and I made him run down most of the hills. I could see him flagging. That far away look you get in your eyes - he had it. I kept on trying to be helpful. You need to be able to read when it’s ok to chat and when you should shut up. I pushed him to run as much as possible, and tried to get him to eat more. He wasn’t eating or drinking enough - I know exactly how he felt - but I also know you have to keep shovelling it down. The second half of the leg featured our best friend the “hammering side rain”. We were cold and wet - I ALWAYS run through this weather - to get out of it quicker - but Dan was only managing 2 mins running and then 5 - 10 mins walking. I texted ahead to tell Kieran to get ready to smash the next leg out in 6.30 rather than 7. 

As we came to the end of my leg I did a bit of home truth chat. I told him he could do it in sub 24 IF he could manage to do a 6.30 on the last leg. I told him about how you feel towards the end, and I hope that I helped him and didn’t scare him. We got in to the hall at 6.06 for my leg. Kieran was waiting, got him fed and changed as quickly as possible and got him out. When I saw him in the light of the hall I felt terrible I hadn’t fed him more. He was flagging. He had been running for almost 17 hours and he was half the Dan he usually was. I gave him a cuddle and went to get in the car home. It was 3.30am. Dan had over 7 hours more running to do.

The last leg was appalling for Dan - the weather was awful and his feet were playing up very badly. Despite this, he managed to get back in just over 25 hours - which is a fucking epic time for a first 100. I was lucky on mine - I didn’t have that driving rain and wind. With it, it would have been a very different story. Dan has achieved what 99% of people can’t, and for that I am immensely proud. I loved pacing him and being part of his journey and I learnt a lot from it. Huge thanks to Kieran for bringing him home in one piece. And thanks Dan for allowing me to annoy you for 6 hours. 

So that’s where we are at! Next up for me is the Thames Path “Trot” - 50 miles of Thames Path - because we all know how much I love the Thames Path right? (Kill me now) Then I am off to New York for the marathon. And then Namibia and Panama. Jesus christ, will this hell never end? (I hope not…..) 

To Live A Life Less Ordinary.....

So here’s something a little bit different. This week there was discussion in the Bad Boy Running group on Facebook about adventures. My pal Lorna posed the following question “On a scale of 1 to 10 how much do the adventure podcasts such as Sean Conway, Anna Mcnuff etc make you feel inadequate?! 10 for me! If you had no responsibilities and could just up and leave for an epic adventure what would you do?” Much discussion ensued over this - head over to the Facebook post to take a look, but something about it really got to me. 

That post…..

For some time now, there has been something not right about how I am living. I haven’t been running as much as I would like - down to a little bit of my mojo being sapped by the Thames Path, the arrival of Pickle the very nervous but totally wonderful rescue dog, and my crippling anxiety about the thing that enables me to run. My job. 

As some of you know I have worked for many years in the music industry, marketing bands and making you buy music you don’t want. Living the glamorous life that you all read about. Parties and festivals and famous people. I am partially responsible for Ed Sheeran. But please don’t hate me (I love him, he’s great). I am so lucky. Or so I was constantly told. 

When we were young - in the years PR (Pre Running)

Two years ago I decided that I didn’t want to do it anymore. Or I thought I didn’t. I was fucked, to be frank. Tired out, abused, taken for granted, under paid, miserable, on the receiving end of some pretty #metoo behaviour.  So I went and started my own business as a freelance marketing consultant. To the music industry. And it’s gone well. I had good clients and the money was coming in. I was making a profit. I was doing things on my terms most of the time and I had time for the running adventures and the money to pay for them. Then I lost my biggest client. My bread and butter. And I haven’t been able to replace them as yet. And I don’t think I want to. And I have had a lot of time to think and worry. When Lorna posed this question in the group, it came at a time when I had agreed to take part in a reccee of a race across Namibia and then one across Panama in November/December of this year. A reccee that was not only going to cost me about five thousand pounds, but was also going to put me out of work action for 3 weeks. It was OK though - I had my big client and I had money coming in. And then I lost them. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? 

That’s there to be run……the Namib desert

So is that - The Panamanian jungle 

I read through people arguments on Lorna’s post, looking for some answers. Should I cancel the trip? How was I going to afford it? Was I being spectacularly stupid? How was I going to get a client when I had 3 weeks of ‘holiday’? There were a lot of people saying if it wasn’t for job/kids/partner etc they would do something epic. Some people even said they wished they could go back in time and get these things done before they had “settled”. I have never settled. I did for a while (the married years pre running) but I never really settled. 

People like to tell you how to live or how you ought to live, especially on the internet. Good education, stable career, pension, husband, wife, children, save, mortgage, sensible, safety, plan. Saving it all up for a rainy day. But what if every day is a rainy day? What if it’s raining from day one and it only stops occasionally to allow a glimpse of sunlight into the otherwise black room of your brain? What if everything that you have been told you want is wrong? What if the things YOU thought you wanted are wrong? What if the thing you love starts to destroy you? Was that part of the plan?

Losing my biggest client was not part of the plan. The plan was long term. I want to make a living from my running. Something that is NOT the done thing. I am told by people that I am inspiring and clever and engaging and funny. I do not necessarily believe this, but the proof is in the pudding and I do know people that have gone out and done their first 10k, marathon, ultra because I have talked them into it - whether that is inspiring or whether I am a good sales person, I don’t know but there it is. I have done some pretty great adventure runs and I love to talk about them, I love to see people finish their first marathon or ultra and I love to be able to help with advice that I believe is contrary to most of the stuff you get from magazines or online. The CEO of The National Running Show recently referred to me as the first of the “Rock and Roll runners” - a description I totally love. Running is my passion. It has changed my life. Even if I don’t get out and do it every day like the shiny people on instagram, I am always thinking about it. What sort of races I could do, where I could go and how I can help other people make their races and race companies great. How to makes things accessible and brilliant. how to make people glorious. 

Before I lost my client, I was branching out and doing all the extra curricular I could around running - going out to Mongolia with Rat Race - the ultimate adventure, becoming their only female ambassador, doing the various bits of press etc. Running all the White Star Races, bringing the White Star community into the Bad Boy Running community to make it the most glorious and dangerous group of all time. Working with the National Running Show to secure a partnership with Bad Boy Running, becoming and ambassador for them and being lucky enough to be asked to speak at their event. I was running races most weekend - winning some of them - and triumphing in all my A game races for the year which I am very proud of (SDW100 sub 24 hour, winner  and now course record holder of the TP184 and winning the Ox Epic 2018). Everything I wanted to do with regards to running this year I have achieved, and that to me is amazing. So why have I managed to achieve these things but NOT managed to secure another music client? Maybe it’s because I don’t actually want to. Music and me, I think we are finally done. The long drawn out process of splitting up and getting back together is over. 

From when I did a win. 

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, petrified and afraid. I cannot afford Namibia and Panama. I can’t afford the flights or the time off. I have very little money coming in and no savings. I have no 9-5 bread and butter money. I am fucked. So, so fucked. I am going to have to cancel it. And then I thought of Lorna’s post again. I thought about the people that I admire and look up to - the Sean Conway’s and the Anna McNuff’s. I thought about Mongolia and how much that experience can NEVER be taken away from me. I think about my own mantras - see the world through your eyes not your phone. Relentless forward progress. You have more in you. I think about being old and the regrets I may have. I can’t go - I have a dog and I need to make money. I need to be sensible and grown up. I am going to have to email Jim and cancel it. I am going to have to do what society tells me I should do. 

I think about when I am most happy. I think about the Crafty Fox marathon at the weekend and how much I am looking forward to seeing the White Star lot and how much I am looking forward to running. I think about how kind Jim and Rat Race have been to me. I think about how happy I am when I give a talk to a bunch of people that think they could never run a marathon or a 10k or an ultra and how, when some of them email me months later to tell me they have done it, I feel like doing a little cry. I think about my breakdown. I think about the death of my dear friend Scott. I think about my future. I can’t see further than tomorrow. I call my sister, my most wonderful sister, and talk to her. And I make a decision. Based entirely on gut. Based on my sister being spectacularly supportive and kind and talking to me from her heart.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. I know what I want to do. I want to inspire people, I want to live a positive life, and give back the joy running has given me to people. I want to make people believe in themselves. I want to show people they are capable of so much more than they think. I want to write a book. I want to run all over the world. I want to be an extraordinary, ordinary person. And I want to be happy doing it. I don’t want to be rich, or famous or the best or the fastest. I want to be the kindest and the most honest and the most accessable. I need money to live, but there has to be a better way. I don’t have children. I have Pickle the dog, but she will be well looked after. I have nothing left to lose, and even the tiny bits I do have to lose mean nothing. I want to live a life less ordinary. 

So I am going. I am going to run 300km across the Namib Desert to the Skeleton coast. Then I am going to run 200km across Panama from the Pacific to the Atlantic coast. I will be poor. I will have to move out of London. I want to move out of London, so this is not a problem. I will have to work hard to secure talks and part time work. I will have to scale back my whole life. But I will do it. And I will do it fucking well. 

Normal service will be resumed next week after the inaugural Crafty Fox marathon. Now go and sign up for something extraordinary. 

How To Run 184 Miles Along The Thames Without Going Completely Mentile.

So this months Strava stats suddenly look pretty good. Over the last 4 days I have run the entire length of the Thames Path with the lovely people at Ultra Running Ltd. That’s 7 marathons in 4 days, pals. That’s 184 miles (plus 5 bonus ones getting lost), 41.5 hours, 18,000 calories and I think about 405,000 steps. That’s quite a lot. 

It all started last year when I signed up to the first two days of the BRC Thames Challenge knowing that I had another ultra in Salisbury on the Sunday, which prevented me from doing the whole thing (excuses in early). I thought I’d give it a go and see what all the fuss was about - at the time it was my longest multi day - and to be quite honest it broke me. By day 2, I was in my hotel room having a cry looking at the withered stumps that were once my feet. Fast forward a year, and, boosted by experience and stupidity, I was going to give the whole thing a go. 

The race is organised by Ultra Running Ltd, a company that are basically a one man show run by Steve Worrall, the worlds nicest man, from the back of his big orange Land Rover. The race is over 4 days and is split into 4 individual stages that can be done together, or independently, depending on how much of an idiot you are. 

Day 1 is the Cotswold ultra, 44 miles from Kemble to Bablock Hythe.  

Day 2 is the Oxford ultra, 65 miles from Bablock Hythe to Hurley. 

Day 3 is the Windsor ultra, 43 miles from Hurley to Kingston-upon-Thames. 

Day 4 is the Richmond Ultra, 31 miles from Kingston-upon-Thames to the Thames Barrier. 

Seems legit right? It’s a river, you can’t get lost, “it’ll be fun”, they said.

Day 1: The Cotswold Ultra - 44.3 miles 

I decided to stay in Kemble the night before the race, and met my first match in the local taxi drivers who do NOT like to pick people up or drop them off anywhere. This is strange as I did think it’s what they existed for, but they really don’t like doing it. I got to the start at 7.30am to meet up with some of my pals from Putney Runners who were also running, and the rest of the 4 day challengers. There were 12 of us attempting all 4 days, which was a pretty good turnout. It was lovely to know that I wouldn’t be on my own, and I hadn’t seen Jean-Marc since Sierra Leone, so I was looking forward to catching up with him.  

No bells and whistles here…

Apparently this is where the Thames starts….

We set off at 8 am, running across fields to the post and stone that mark the start of the Thames and then doubling back on ourselves to head out towards Bablock Hythe. The day was pretty uneventful, animal count was high - delicious cows and sheep - and I was feeling pretty good. Weather was overcast and hot. 6 Music was playing some bangers.  As is the way with these things, I eventually found myself on my own as the pack stretched out. The classic game of “hold it back Bailey” had begun, and I felt like I was right at the back of the pack. I was averaging an 11 min mile pace, which even I felt was too fast but I didn’t see anyone for AAAAAAAGES and I felt sad and lonely (what’s new?) so I started talking to all the animals I met along the way, including the imaginary ones. 

The company that run this event are tiny and the aid stations are few and far between - on average every 10 or so miles. They do sandwiches jelly beans, a bit of cake, coke and squash. Anything else you want, you have to bring yourself. Which is why my pack had 3 tins of Peppa Pig pasta and 700 packets of salt and vinegar squares in it. It was fucking heavy. 

Aid Station 1: Enjoy your lunch while I tape my trotters, people…

Last year I won this stage of the race before I had even started, as I was the only woman (pick your races, people) but this year there was a fair bit of competition with 5-6 ladyzzzz on the start line, and I knew there was lovely Emma Putney Runner in front of me, so I was taking the whole thing relatively easy, because of the “long game” plan. I had to finish the 4 days and so I couldn’t go all batshit mental competitive and ty and win individual ones.

Always yapping…

This is one of the best days route wise - it runs through villages and fields and along the rural parts of the Thames. I entertained myself buy taking selfies in cornfields, and listening to Adam and Joe podcasts. People along the route are lovely, always saying hello and I was having a relatively nice time. I particularly enjoyed it when the Rob, the first man as far as I was concerned, came running up behind me after about 4 hours, on the phone. He’d got lost (HOW??? HOW??!) and had spent 1.5 hours going in a massive circle. He seemed OK about it - I would not have been OK about it at all. This route is not marked. You have to follow signs. And there are lots of signs. And some of them are the wrong signs.

On and on and on…

Some nice bits….

A thing that I saw. 

Professional race nutrition was tins of children’s pasta, salt and vinegar squares, caffeine bullets and squash. It worked. I came in an hour earlier than the previous year feeling brilliant, and was, to my surprise, handed the first lady trophy - Emma had taken a wrong turn and ended up shin deep in a ford (it happens) so came in second. I chucked my legs in the river for ten minutes and grabbed a beer and all was well. I felt a LOT better than the previous year. The camaraderie was brilliant, and we all waited for the final people to come in before having delicious pub dinner and going to bed. God this blog’s boring isn’t it? Hopefully something bad happens to me later…..



Day 2 - The Oxford Ultra - 65 miles

Day 2 started cold with glorious sunshine, so for some reason I put on a compression base layer. This just proves what a twat I can be. I’d had a brief look at weather and it said we might be in for “a bit” rain so I packed the jacket and we started off from the car park we had finished in the night before, just after 8am. Rob (or Lost Boy as we shall now call him) sped off up front. With everyone else shouting not to follow him. With good reason. 

It all started SO well……

We all had a days running in our legs and we had already lost 2 challengers so the atmosphere was a little more muted this morning. We knew it was a long way, plus we had to risk out lives running through Reading at about 6pm. It was like we were all marching into our own funeral. 4 miles in and I was too hot and on my own Base layer off, trotters trotting nicely, and I settled in for the long, lonely slog that was going to be day 2. I didn’t have a strategy for the day other than finish it. I ran at 11 min miles for as long as I felt like it, walked at 15 min miles when I wanted to and was making good progress into checkpoint one - where as you can see, I was still smiling. 

Happy face. This would not last. 

It had started to rain a bit, so I debated putting on my jacket then thought “nah, it’ll pass”. Then it really started raining. Then all that is good in the world was sucked out of it in a vortex of armageddon like rain clouds, and it started fucking shitting it down. It did this for 3 hours. THREE. HOURS. 

Here comes the rain……

No pictures of me totally drenched because my phone would’t work it was that wet…….

This part of the route is basically though the British jungle. It’s overgrown national trust path, which in the sunshine would be glorious, in the rain is horrendous. The path had got super slippery where it had been so dry for weeks before, and I was wearing my lightest trail shoes as I had been expecting hard packed trail. Cue me being like bambi on ice, with my rain jacket on but sticking to me as the wind blew and making me cold, everything soaked, EVERYTHING. No let up. My sense of humour was failing. I couldn’t even use my phone because it was too wet. My hands started to wrinkle like I had been in the bath. 

Welcome to the Jungle. 

At mile 17 I stopped under a railway bridge to take stock, and attempt to look at the weather and eat some crisps. I managed to get through to my boyfriend who told me that I was indeed running away from the weather and it would get better. I thought he might be lying. I decided to believe him for my own sanity. Mega props to Ultimate Direction for the Fastback 25 and it’s waterproof qualities - my dry warm kit for the night section was still dry. I had to keep going. But my mood was 70% rat at this point. It continued to hammer it down for the next 10-15 miles. Spikey sideways rain. Big sloppy rain. Think-it’s-going-to-stop-and-then-it-doesn’t rain. When it finally did start to stop, the pain was almost worth it for the relief. And then the sun came out. It was momentarily joyful. 

Sun’s out! Face out! 

By the time I reached checkpoint 2, we had lost a further 2 people due to the weather. Lost Boy had got lost again. There were now 8 of us left in the challenge. I got my pasta down my neck hole and a sandwich for the ‘journey’, and started off to the next checkpoint. It was at this point the demons started chasing me, and eventually caught up around mile 30. 

Being alone on these long runs is hard, especially for those of us that suffer with mental health problems. I didn’t want to use my phone because I knew I needed the battery when my watch inevitably ran out. I was slipping further and further into the “not good enough” hole. I was completely out of love for what I was doing. I couldn’t run properly, I was too slow, I wasn’t a real runner, I was a let down to people, what I was doing was worthless, nobody cared and I was probably going to fail so might as well give up now. I know that I portray this image of wonderment and idioticness, but the monkeys on bicycles in our brains can get to us all, at any time. Instead of fighting it, I let it sit on me for a few hours. I did an instagram update, I had a mini cry and I got on with it. Little steps forward, all of them a bit more towards the end of the day. I was trying to find something to take my mind off my hideous self, so I decided to take photos of all the discarded clothing that I was seeing on my little trot. There is a LOT of it. I decided I would make it into a coffee table book to sell at Christmas in Urban Outfitters and call it “DUDE WHERE’S MY BRA? The Thames Path - A Pictoral Guide”. Please see my instagram for exclusive content.

One of my exclusive shots of some underpants on the Thames Path. 

After the third checkpoint I started to see out of the fog of misery. Steve (head marshall) had gone and got me a veggie sausage roll, a banana and some peanuts and I felt like kissing him. They really do look after you, this race company.  He also gave me a tracker   (an electronic on, not the snack bar)and said we all had to have one because Lost Boy was getting constantly lost and also READING. LOL Rob. LOL Reading. LOL. I was very tired, but I knew that at the next CP, I would meet my sister so have someone to shout at, I mean run with, for the night section, and that spurred me on. A lot of this part of the path I had covered on the Autumn 100 back in October and obvs in the same race a year ago, so it was easy to follow and I didn’t need to do much nav. Reading was horrible, but when I got to the final checkpoint, my sister was there and I had someone to chat to and moan at. She’s so lucky. Also, the sun had come out (the massive bastard). Sadly, even that couldn’t make Reading look good. Even painting Reading gold and parading unicorns through it can’t make Reading look good. 

Beautiful Reading

Top tip, kiddos. Yabbering away with your sister will make you miss signs and I missed a very obvious one, putting me on the wrong side of the river and giving me a 2.5 mile out and back that I certainly didn’t need. It was getting dark and I was exhausted. I had a very high calorie deficit and I managed 9.30 min miles in my anger at going wrong, which was not my best idea. Head torches on for the last bit (which I have done before) AND I GET LOST AGAIN! This time in the deer park.  So my 13 mile run with my sister turns into a 17 mile run and I come in at about 14 hours for this stage at 11.20pm. No dinner. BUT FIRST LADY TROPHY! Always good when you come first but you have also come almost last. That’s really winning. 

Beautiful end to a shitty day 

When I get to my hotel, there is a massive glorious spider pal above my bed, that I politely ask the man at reception to remove for me, so it doesn’t get in my mouth when I am asleep. `The man refers to me as one of those “hysterical women” who jumps on chairs. The man doesn’t realise who he is talking to. The man gets ‘the stare’ and the following sentence: 

“Hysterical woman? Cool. Here’s the thing. I would remove spider guy if there was a big enough glass in my room. There is not. I have just run 70 miles and have paid quite a lot to stay here.  Also, if I was a man would you have described me as ‘hysterical’”? The man looks scared. The man should be scared. 

The man comes to my room with a glass and is scared of the big spider and has to go get a bigger glass. He then produces half a bottle of red wine as a sorry. I forgive the man. 4/5 on TripAdvisor. 

I go to bed with no dinner, and no spider pal.  

Winning and losing is quite something. 

DAY 3: The Windsor Ultra - 43 miles. 

Breakfast of campions this morning - some hotel biscuits. TripAdvisor rating down to 3/5. I’m almost late for the start, due to me thinking the start is closer than it is (5 hours sleep not great) but the lovely Steve picks me up and I literally jump out of the car and start running with BBR’s very own Dan Barratt. Today will be better because he is here and he is wonderful. 


It’s sunny and glorious and me and Dan are hammering out a good pace of 5mph. The first ten miles fly by. My calves are killing me but I medicate with caffeine bullets and dips in the Thames. There are a lot of what I am calling “day trippers” here today - people only doing one day - so there is no way I am going to win. I am going to try and not let my legs blow up, although I don’t really know what blow up means. Me and Dan talk about it for a bit. We wonder what it would look like if someones calves ACTUALLY DID blow up. We get to Windsor - I have never been there before- and its really quite nice. I can understand why people have weddings there. We stop in the shop for a San Pellegrino and it is delightful. 


Dan produces some magic treats from America. These include birthday cake flavour GU and Ginger Beer Shot Bloks. I feel like I love Dan. About 12 miles from the end, at the last aid station we are met by the beautiful face of Ultimate Hell Week winner and all round total badass Claire Rees. She is wonderful and I love her but I am scared because she is the fastest of all the beasts. She’s come for a run and a chat and has bought pizza. I decide I no longer love Dan, I now love only Claire. 

It’s funny what running with other people does for you. I am so lifted by Dan and Claire and we run more than walk, laughing and catching up and generally having a nice time time. My calves don’t hurt anymore and I am having the best time. About 6 miles from the end we stop for a beer - why not? I’m not going to win and I am thirsty. I know I am tired but my two pals are making it so much fun. We trot out the last 6 miles with fizzy beer tums, and as we come into the finish, it starts to rain. I feel happy and strong and that is totally down to the company that I have kept today. This little community I am part of makes everything better. 

The Dream Team, end of day 3. No trophies but smiles all round. 

That night I stay in a hotel in Kingston. There is a wedding on. But I do get dinner. And a bath. One more day to go. One more day until I can say I have achieved what I set out to do. 

DAY 4: The Richmond Ultra - 31 miles.

I wake up and attempt to get out of bed, promptly falling over because my legs don’t work. I feel like Pinocchio with rickets. Breakfast this morning is a delight - one smooshed up banana I found in my bag, hotel biscuits and a packet of salt and vinegar squares. I am such a winner, I think to myself. 

I head down to the start and am astonished to find about 40 people there - it’s a London Ultra on a Sunday - of course it’s gonna be busy, but I am so used to my little group of pals I am kind of annoyed that everyone else has crashed the party. But then I find a running dog and it’s all OK. 

Final day. Lets do this. 

31 miles seems like nothing after the last few days, but don’t be fooled - it’s a long way. I have told my friends that I will be in at 5pm - giving me 9 hours to do the distance. I now realise that this is stupid and text them saying I will be there nearer 3, It can’t take me 9 hours to do 31 miles…can it? 

The klaxon goes and we start - literally everyone apart from the full challengers runs off at 7 min miles. I feel pathetic. I trot along with a few of the slower people having a chat and visualising the finish. My legs don’t feel as bad as they did yesterday and I know I am going to finish. I keep feeling like I might cry, but I push it away, Now is not the time for crying. I know this stretch of the run - I have done it a million times before - it’s my turf and I am very much at home here. I remember when I trained for my first marathon, and diligently ran up and down here at the weekends, and then I think about the journey I have come on since those days, 6 years ago, and feel like I might cry again. I distract myself by continuing to take pictures of discarded clothing for my best selling coffee table book. 

Last bits of green on the way home…

The first aid station comes and goes and I am very much at the back of the pack. I don’t care. I am making good time considering. It’s funny, but people keep coming in behind me having got lost - I have no idea how this has happened to them. It’s a straight path! 

Just after 12 miles, I spot a familiar red vest and see it’s one of the BBR crew in the shape of Richard McDowell, possibly one of the best marathon runners that we have in this country. This year he ‘accidently” came 11th British male (this includes ALL the elites) at London Marathon, with a time of 2.27.56. This man is a fucking MACHINE. He has his son Wilf in a running buggy. I pray this slows him down - he’s come to pace me. 

Familiar sights start to come into view. 

I always feel really bad running with these mega fast runners. Sometimes I feel like a science project, like they want to see why I go slow and how I go slow, but Rich is nothing but supportive. We chat about what happened at London and his plans to rip Bournemouth  Marathon a new one. I know I am running too fast, but again I am having the BEST time chatting to him. Again I run more than walk. Wilf is a funny distraction. He’s eating cucumber sticks. I am running 9.30 in miles over 150 miles into a race. The world is a funny place. We come into town and suddenly there are cars and buses and people and I hate it. I want the quiet of the trails back. We go past the Houses of Parliament and down Embankment and at Waterloo Bridge, Rich leaves me. I am slightly relieved, and walk the next mile as recovery. I now have only 11 miles to go. I have covered 21 miles in 4 hours. I text my friends to tell them I might be early.

Double whammy - clothes AND bridge  

I get to the final aid station at Wapping and give Steve a hug. I can almost smell the finish and I know the route. I press on with a couple of other slower runners, still running with walking breaks in between. I cannot wait to finish. Under the tunnel at Greenwich and through the nightmare that is the building site round the O2 and I catch a glimpse of the Thames Barrier. I am over 3 hours earlier than I thought I would be. 

Such an ugly, beautiful sight……

Finally I see the end. There is a slide in the kids playground that I slide down, and I am done. I have finished the BRC Thames Path Challenge. I am the only female finisher for 2018, and only the 3rd female finisher over the events 6 year history. I have broken the female record for the course by about 3 hours. I am overjoyed and relieved. Nobody is there to meet me because I have come in too early. I have a really big trophy. 

Finish like a pro. 

Professional photo shoot. 

My best friends turn up and I am jubilant. We go to the pub and I am full of happiness and bravado. It’s not until later, when I am at dinner with my boyfriend that I finally burst into tears. I have achieved something that I honestly did not 100% believe I could do. I am immensely proud of myself, I am exhausted but I am not broken. I hope that every single person that reads this blog can take from this that YOU have more in you than you think. There were times when I wanted to stop. There was a full 8 hours of darkness on day 2. This is not an easy race. It’s mentally challenging, it’s physically hard in that its so flat (hill means enforced walking, flat does not) and the drop out rate is high, mainly due to the flat, monotonous and brutal (when it rains) nature of the trail. But completing something like this - it will make you strong. And it will make you believe in yourself. 

Massive thanks to every single person who helped me finish. Huge props to Ultra Running Limited, who are a brilliant, small company that deserve to be recognised and supported. The way they treat their runners is second to none. Make sure you look at their races and get involved. 

Thank you to all the people I ran with and met along the way, and my family and friends for being kind and putting up with me nagging them. Thanks to the Do-Badders for pacing and to my sister for putting up with my ratty nature. And massive thanks to Julius and Oscar for looking after me post race. 

So what’s next? I have a few more marathons this year (like 10 more) a few more Ultras this year (maybe 3 more) and then it’s adventure time come November and December, when I set off to Namibia and Panama to attempt to run 300K across the Namib Desert and 200K coast to coast through the Panamanian Jungle with the lovely Rat Race Crew. All standard stuff. 

Until next time…….

Stuck In the Middle With You: How to get a Strava segment in the middle of the English Channel.

My trainers look REALLY clean at the moment. Like REALLY clean. This is probably because I am spending most of my running time semi submerged in water. 

After attending Love Trails festival the previous weekend (no blog on the because I pretty much hated it although the running was good!) I trotted out to Dover for attempt number 487 to recce the Rat Race Project Explore: Goodwin Sands 5K. We have honestly tried to do this about 6 times and every single time it has been called off with hours to spare due to “weather”. Let me explain. 

Goodwin Sands is a sandbank situated in the English channel between Deal and french France. It’s about 10 miles off Dover, in the middle of the worlds busiest shipping lane. It pops up for about 45 mins a day and then it’s gone. Basically, this is a 5K in the middle of the sea and the only one of it’s type in the world. Sounds legit, right? 


So the day came and it looked like we were actually game on. After a few beers the night before and some map checking, we headed to Dover Marina on Tuesday morning, where we jumped on a pretty nifty little boat and sped out towards the sands. Submerged during the day, this is the site of shipwrecks and plane crashes, with the submerged bank often catching mariners off guard. On the way out we spotted wrecks on the rocks and heard tales of buried war planes. You can see some of the wreckage as you speed out to sea, leaving the white cliffs behind you as you bounce along the waves.

Dover from le bateau. 

After a 20 min boat ride we were given our life jackets and escorted off the boat to start the recce. As we dismount the boat, we start to see the seals. In my eyes, seals are the wolverine clowns of the sea, with sharp flipper claws and cute bitey faces. They were bobbing along next to us, like curious dogs, as we appeared out of the water. I was beside myself with joy, I decided I wanted to cuddle a seal. I was warned against this and it did prove difficult. (Spolier - the seals did not want a cuddle from me)

There she is! Goodwin Sands starts to appear. 

Myself and Lee (of Mongolia fame) were given flags and told to find a 5K route. Why does Jim trust me with this stuff?! So Lee took the lead and we decided to attempt to run the ever changing edge of the sands and mark out a 5K loop using the flags. 

The sand looked flat and compact. It is neither. Much like the frozen lake it is VERY hard to judge the terrain - what looks flat is actually undulating, rippled and quite technical. And in some places, very, very soft - stand there too long and it will suck you in and not let go. Pools of water are everywhere and there are constant rivers of water running up and down the bank, some of them a lot deeper than they look. 

Wettest MDS ever. 

Boats waiting for us to hopefully not die. 

Lee before the incident we don’t mention where his life jacket went off because he “splashed” it. 

Lee and I soon learnt that the edge of the bank is the flatest and easiest part to run on, so started making our way around the edge. There were seals everywhere, sunbathing on the bank and looking slightly pissed off at having to move as we approached. They slithered into the sea like massive slugs and then stayed there bobbing up and down and waiting for us to leave so they could get on with their hectic schedule of sunbathing. They were massive and funny. 

“Please be my friend!”


We made our way round, dropping flags, going back on ourselves and trying to navigate to 5K, working out how we would mark the route for the actual event in August. It was stunningly beautiful, quiet, almost eerie and being able to run towards the white cliffs while being in the middle of the sea was just amazing. The solitude was beautiful, the fear that you could get stuck was real and the sand was deep and very wet. 

Spot the seal.

NOT my friends. 

We eventually came back to where we started an hour after we had been dropped off. Longest Parkrun ever. But we had done it and we now know other people can do it in safety. 

On the way back we talked about the type of runner the event would attract - would people be smashing it out? Would they be going hell for leather, trying to get round in the faster possible time or would they stop, walk a bit and take in just how amazing this experience is? Is it possible for the fast people to actually do 2 loops for a 10K? I guess we will find out in August when the first intrepid Rat Racers get to try it for themselves. 

Dover from the sands. Epic. 

Goodwin Sands 5K is all booked up for this year but you can still register interest for next time round here. I would recommend you do. This is once in a lifetime stuff. Just don’t even thing about seal cuddles. 

Also massive thank to Lee for being my personal videographer on this one - I will miss you pal. Strava segment after the jump!

LOL Strava.