Ok, so if you'll forgive me, this is the pretty much obligatory post to let you all know that my book, Ben on Foot, is out now! For you guys who pre-ordered the limited edition first print, they're on their way :)

It's about how I went from a complete non-runner, to running ultra distances in about a year, culminating in my showdown with a self-planned 130-mile jaunt across south-west England. It's not a training guide, more of a personal account with a few lessons sprinkled throughout - it's honest, at least haha.

Feedback from everyone who's read it so far has been humblingly positive - if you'd like to have a read yourself, it's available either through Amazon here or directly from my Createspace platform here. It's also available on Kindle through Amazon here.

I owe a massive thanks to the community on here, because without the support and camaraderie of members old (RWE represent!) and new, I don't think I'd have made it through the story that's in the book, let alone written it all down afterwards.

Ok, so that's my final bit of self-promotion done - if you grab a copy, I'd love to know what you think... and I'm sure your friends would too ;)

Speak to y'all soon.

- Ben

How do you help someone who doesn't want any help?

Possibly an unusual question to ask in a blog about running, but bear with me - I've been thinking some about a run last weekend and I reckon it's a question I'd like to open up to you guys.

Sunday morning, around 4am, was the start of my latest run to a nearby(ish) local beach, at Saunton. This is the same route that I wrote about here, incidentally. Having been up an hour earlier than planned, at 2.30, and unable to then get any more sleep before getting out of bed around an hour later, I was still feeling pretty rough around the edges as I met up with a couple of friends on the square of our town.

I say a couple of friends; it was a friend and a new friend really: I've known and run with Lee for a long time, but this was the first time I'd gone out running with Marcus. A friend of Lee's himself, I'd met him a couple of weeks back, when he'd approached me with 'I think I follow you on Twitter' and it had turned out that since March, he'd been starting his own journey towards planned ultra-greatness. Between the two of them, Marcus came along as he'd said he wanted the two of us to go out running soon and this would be his furthest distance run so far, at 30km; Lee is always up for pretty much anything, and he'd thought that a long night/dawn run would be a good craic.

After making sure we were all set to go, we started running through the darkness, along the river that passes through the town in the direction of its estuary in the beach that we would eventually reach.

We were running pretty easily (the route's pretty much dead flat on smooth terrain for a lot of it) and chatting away happily - making the time pass much more quickly than on solo runs. We made it to about the 8km mark before Lee started pulling up short and complaining that his knee was starting to give him some trouble along the outside - this continued until we reached the next town over, at around 10km.

We didn't really know what to do - Lee didn't want to stop; he was still game for reaching the beach and we were perfectly happy having the occasional walking break between running bursts, so there wasn't too much of a problem. Although I don't think he'd consider it his primary sport, Lee's a good, quick runner, at least over shorter distances (he rinsed his section of Man Versus Horse a little while back) so we weren't overly concerned - none of us really wanted to admit that aside from simply turning around and walking back, there wasn't really much of an alternative anyway.

This is where my current thoughts and the subject of this blog stemmed from: while Marcus and I had lights, Lee hadn't brought a torch and declined an offer of a spare to use; he turned down a drink from our water when he had none. He started insisting that Marcus and I left him to walk on as we were within a kilometre of the beach and then when we reached it, where we eventually took the decision to leave him to walk and get the first bus home, it was a struggle to get him to eat any food to try and stop him getting cold as he waited.

After that description, I should be very clear: I mean to imply no foolishness or any other negative qualities on Lee's part. He's not pig-headedly proud, he's just one of those guys who rarely accepts offers of assistance - and this brings me to my point.

What do we do in these situations? In a community such as running, we all see it all as far as requirements for assistance go, all across the spectrum. From being insistent that someone needs help (when their own personal experience is making them just as sure that they don't), to trying to decide who's doing the right thing for whom by a group splitting into the 'stand-a-chance-of-winnings' and the 'just-want-to-finishes', to a struggler keeping their mouth shut for fear of pestering someone that would quite eagerly help if they knew it was required, to even experienced runners who occasionally need to be told it's time to take on a few calories and that the end isn't that close yet.

How do we know which situation we're in? On the understanding that everyone, young and old, novice or veteran, can learn from each other, how easy is it to spot when you're the one who needs to offer help or guidance and when you're the one to take it?

Krissy Moehl has written a good, honest account here of her recent ill-fated FKT attempt on the John Muir Trail with Jenn Shelton and the emotional turmoil of taking a turn on the side of needing help; of not wanting to have to 'give up' when with someone else (she describes it in far, far better and more accurate ways than I've done here). On another hand, at Badwater, DNF stands for 'Did Nothing Fatal', highlighting the perils of not recognising the need for help at the right time.

To get super philosophical for a second and reference Seneca:

...yet as recruits cry aloud when only slightly wounded, and shudder more at the hands of the surgeon than at the sword, while veterans even when transfixed allow their hurts to be dressed without a groan, and as patiently as if they were in someone else's body, so now you ought to offer yourself courageously to be healed...

Experience lends itself to taking courage in being healed, to being brave enough to accept help.

By contrast again, though, what about the average age of the engineers and scientists who worked to put a man on the moon - 28! Certain companies (especially tech-centred businesses) deliberately mirror this youthful workplace today, specifically to ensure that they're staffed by thinkers who haven't been shown what they can't do yet; who still don't know their own limitations, even if that means they can't recognise when they need the old doctor.

I guess I'm not trying to say that either end of the spectrum is right or wrong, I just found it interesting to consider the nature of how experience works and moves amongst runners after this weekend. After Marcus and I grudgingly left Lee at the beach and made our way back at a comfortably brisk pace, it was interesting to see slight old parallels of myself in Marcus. To hear him relaying familiar ideas through a new voice and to very much hear the 'don't know their own limitations' side of things coming through. The fact that 30km was his furthest so far, but he's very adamant that ultras are where his heart lies. Dreaming beyond fear and living beyond limits, for sure.

I think I'd rather stay on that side for a while longer yet.

- Ben

...heh heh, I actually said 'thinking some' back up there at the start - look at me, all American and such - you guys are obviously rubbing off on me.

I'm feeling a lot better.

Not that I've been feeling ill, or anything like that necessarily - just that now I'm feeling better.

I mentioned in my last blog post that once worrying about the b-word is all done and out of the way, I'll be able to relax and actually think about just running again and you know what? I think it's starting to happen. As far as the whole literary thing goes, I've set all of those wheels in motion and aside from occasionally lubing them over the next couple of weeks, I don't have to worry about it too much.

What was nice was that over the weekend, I managed to leave those wheels at home entirely and have what I realised with hindsight was my first proper clear-headed couple of runs in a long time.

I've been running a lot with other people over the last few weeks and so Saturday's solo venture out was a welcome change (nice as it is to have company). I was able to simply pull on shorts, t-shirt and kicks and run out the door, more naturally and naively than I've managed in ages. In that drizzly run around town and the surrounds, Old Ben was back - I ran around 10km I think (but have no real idea), for a while (again, no accurate guess - less than an hour I reckon?) and ran quick (no idea). After spending the last few weeks wondering a little, I'll freely admit, about what other people will make of my running through reading Ben on Foot, I was back to being the Ben who just went out and ran. I didn't and don't care how quick I am right now, or how far I need to train over - just that I can run when and where I want to. I feel a lot better.

I remember the guy with the insatiable appetite for getting up hills when his legs are screaming at him to go back to bed - that Ben made a reappearance the following day, on Sunday. This was also the Ben that loves dragging his mates out for said hilly runs too, so my mate Lee and I spend a sublime couple of hours out in the arse-end of hurricane Bertha, up and down the local rolling countryside. Dripping wet, cold and wind blowing almost as hard as our breathing. Perfect. When my chest started to get uncooperative on one climb, we both slowed and recovered; when Lee's knee started to feel awkward on a steep descent, we both waited and picked our way until we were ready to carry on. We ran because that's what we do; that's who we are now (apparently).

So right now, it gives me great pleasure to report: no racing, no set training plans... just running. My new Cool Impossible is to now cement this return to the form I want - remembering what I get from just running and encouraging other people to open the door to getting the same.

So, that guy who ran his bare feet to a bloody mess through excitement; the one who had to go out for the same 10 miles run twice in one day because it wasn't quite good enough the first time round; the guy who decided it was a good idea to run 28km just for a burger? I think he's here again. I'm feeling a lot better.

- Ben

Now, before I start this post at all, I really want it to be more 'telling about', rather than 'advertising' - I hope that it ends up coming across as such. On the one hand, I hate (in other forums and sites, thankfully) spammy, adverty posts... on the other hand, a lot of you guys here have asked me about the progress on my book, about my journey from non-runner to fledgling ultra-runner.

I'm hoping that this will be interesting to at least the guys who've asked before and that if you're not that bothered, I hope you'll bear with me :)

After spending twelve months going from writing on here about how I was struggling to run 10km home from work, I made it to running ultra distances and setting out to run 130 miles across the South-west... I wrote a book about what I learned along the way and it's going to be released at the start of September. There are still a few bits and pieces to add in and tweak before the ever-looming final-draft deadline of 22nd August, but it's pretty much there - and if you're here reading this, I'm guessing there's the chance you might be interested in reading the book :)

I've set up a Kickstarter page as a kind of pre-order hub, so that I can offer a bit more back to anyone who would like to pick up a copy (there are things like signed copies, your name in the book itself, limited-edition covers etc).

If anyone's interested in having a look, the link is http://kck.st/1An9Uhg.

Although I've said this before, I'm indebted to everyone here who's shown me even the tiniest bit of support on my running journey - I wouldn't be the capital-R Runner that I am today (and certainly wouldn't be posting now about having written a book about it) if it weren't for all of your kind words and encouragement along the way.

Also, the nice thing is that once the book's released, I can clear my head of it and go back to writing blogs about actual running ;)

Thanks again everyone, speak to you all soon, I hope you take a minute to check out the book.

- Ben

Pursuit. If I had to sum up what made this last weekend's race so amazing in one word, pursuit would be it. I suppose it means different things to different people, at different times too - sometimes the metaphorical pursuit of an ideal or goal is a great thing, sometimes the pursuit of the runner in front of you can drive you on.

Sometimes, being chased by a horse is exactly what you need on a blazing Saturday afternoon.

Last weekend, I went with Clare (my girlfriend) and our friend Lee to compete in the annual, original Man V Horse race in Llanwrtyd Wells, in Wales. The race originally stemmed from a bet between two locals as to whether it would be one's horse or the other's feet that would carry them fastest over a nearby hill - now in its 35th year, it's gained a couple of slightly larger sponsors and is structured around runners staying through the long weekend, but in the UK's smallest town (the population literally more than doubles when MVH rolls around), it's still got a really nice local feel, with around 10% of the town turning out to marshal and run stalls (and the bar).

Ugh, I've just realised how much that last paragraph started to sound like a press release for them, so pressing on:

We showed up on the Friday night, pitched our tent in a nearby field and headed to the central pub in the town, where we indulged in the complimentary pasta party and met up with a few other guys that we know from the local running scene. With our responsible-adult heads on, though (boo), we called it a pretty early night and headed back to the tent.

The next morning came and was possibly the most scorching hot day we've had this year. Without a cloud in the sky, we were up pretty early to get to registration and even at that time of morning, we were all feeling pretty uncomfortable. Lee was especially nervous as this was going to be his first time racing, ever - I think he'd call it fair to say his genetics make him a pretty good, spry runner as it is, but he doesn't exactly put in a lot of additional training. However good a runner he is in spite of this lack of conscious effort, he was still feeling like he should have done more to get ready. It was a nice experience to be able to see us together: me, the apparent 'Runner', Clare, the newbie who is just at the point of owning a dedicated pair of running shoes and has a handful of races under her belt, and Lee, the absolute neophyte who was experiencing all of the same nerves that we both had at some point.

The race itself is, for the runners, divided into three sections and can be run as either an individual effort, or as a three-person team. We were set to do the latter, with me taking the first leg, Clare the second and Lee the finishing section - we figured it would be nice for him to be the one to actually cross the line. It runs a total of around 24 miles of very rugged cross-country terrain, divided up into sections of 7, 7 and 10 miles (we only found out afterwards that we'd set Lee up with the longest section!).

The name of the race suggests, though, that this isn't quite all there is to it - the 600-or so runners share the course with around 50-60 horses and riders, all competing together. Watch this video here and tell me if, when the horses show up, it looks like any of them are giving any quarter whatsoever. The riders are just as much in it to win it as the runners and it makes for a very, very cool race indeed.

I really, really want to write another blog post at some point talking about how utterly awesome human beings are at running when compared to other animals, but I'll try and restrain myself and keep it short here: although one might automatically think that the horse would have a ridiculous advantage, both their inability to navigate rough terrain very quickly and their inability to keep themselves cool (hence my occasional race mantra of 'if you can sweat, you don't need a vet) even the odds pretty much right up.

It's kind of interesting to think about these kind of things before the race - now fast forward to when I'm running down a muddy hill, breathing my lungs up and hopping the biggest virtual logs I've ever hopped (over the biggest real clumps of grass stones that I've ever hurdled) with mud caked up to my waist and sweat burning my eyes while still mustering the energy to practically scream at the bloke in front of me to pick up his pace because there's a freaking horse coming right at my shoulder! The feeling of having a chance against a horse as I consciously use my little human pin-legs to navigate some particularly horse-worrying terrain that cuts of the corner where a pair of the beasts are having to cautiously navigate a more suitable path. The dream-like adrenaline of running as hard as I can, only to be overtaken by an unstoppable horse-and-rider team. That is the kind of pursuit I'm talking about. The kind that sets your blood running and awakens the primal place inside you. The place that says 'I remember - this is what you're a runner for!'.

My seven miles were, apart from very nearly turning my ankle quite badly towards the end (but who cares about that?), very tough, to say the least - around five and a half miles of steady uphill followed by a mile or so of ridiculous, steep, off-camber descent across slippery fields. Before I knew it, I was at the relay changeover to give my wristband to Clare, then descended into a world of friendly camaraderie with the other first-leggers on our coach-ride back to the finish line.

After wolfing down fistfuls of the generously-provided provisions from the elder local ladies of the town (and maybe sinking one or two cold ciders), Clare arrived beaming and very happy with her performance, telling similar tales to what I'd experienced; of mud, effort and horsing around.

We'd planned for Lee to take between one and two hours to complete his section, depending on how lucky he got with the terrain and how he coped with the race environment... I've never been more proud of one of my friends as when he came hurtling across the finishing section of field, very much on the earlier side. His red cheeks appeared to be permanently inflated as he was forcing himself through a handful of last-minute overtakes to cross the line.

He was beaming from ear to ear as we met him at the line and as he revelled in racer's babbling about how much he'd enjoyed himself and how awesome it'd been, I was pleased that his first race experience had been a positive one!

It turned out that, out of the relay teams, we'd come 71st out of 229 - this in itself was a result we were most definitely proud of, but the best part was that we beat a fair few horses into the bargain!

We rewarded ourselves with another cider or two before heading back into the town for a very cool barbecue with good friends at our tent, followed by the unofficial race after-party at the local pub. It was an amazing weekend and it made me think to at least suggest something here:

I think there are plenty of you here who would love it and I'm totally serious about at least suggesting maybe some kind of unofficial Cool Impossible meet-up next year.

If you're in the UK, just be there. Done. I'm not really going to try and persuade you guys too hard; just watch the video again and trust me, you'll love it.

If you're anywhere else in the world, come and visit us. I mean it. It's a year away, so there's a bit of time to plan it all. If you're an experienced traveller-for-races, then this is definitely a god one to add on to the list. If you've never travelled for a race before, then find my earlier blog post about running the Nice semi-marathon or about running up mountains in Iceland, or about learning to run in the heat of the Bahamas to maybe get some inspiration for how great a running trip can be. Lastly, if you're new to running, or have found inspiration through Eric's book, then maybe this could be a goal to aim for.

I would humbly suggest that this would make a good cool impossible for a lot of people.

I've just noticed how long I've rambled on for - I won't be able to find adequate words to describe it properly in a hurry, so I'm not going to butcher the description any more. It was a great experience and I really hope we can maybe make something work for next time.

Argh ok, I'm done waffling. How are you guys?

- Ben

In a bit of a break from the norm, sort of, I want to post up what is technically, I guess, an old running story. I thought I'd share as it's a chapter from the book I've written about how I went from not-running to running pretty far - I'm virtually ready to publish now, so I guess if anyone is interested in reading the whole thing, then it'll be around soon enough :)

I hope it's ok posting it here as a kind of toe-in-the-water to see if you guys like it. Anyway, here goes:

3

Two Beaches

Lessons #11-15

Sometimes, the most unassuming reasons to try something are also the best.

Preparation is not always a bad thing.

At some point, I’m going to go the wrong way. Suck it up and run.

Clean clothes are overrated.

Being mental might be quite fun.

"Hello Joe, it's me, uh and as you might be able to see, ah, I'm at Saunton. I just got here, ah... because the sky's pretty dark, maybe that you can see, it's just about five in the morning and I've beaten the sun here; the sun's coming up over that way in about two minutes. There's a lot of rain coming from that way that I'm going back to, um, but I wanted to send you the video because I think we can look back on this as the point where me, ah, where I lost it. This is the bit where Ben went round the bend..."

This is from the short mobile-phone video that I sent to my brother from a very windy, cold, Saunton Beach at, as I mention, about five in the morning of 15th July 2012. This was only around two or three months after I'd decided to start running a bit more, but I think that run ended up being a pivotal one in my mental growth as a runner.
Rewind around one week from that early-morning jaunt to Saunton and you find me on what had been my longest (and most prepared-for) run so far – 28km roughly following the nearby coastline from Barnstaple to another local beach at Woolacombe for their annual sandcastle competition. I say 'for' the sandcastle competition, and that's the reason I gave at the time, but I almost don't want to sully the memory of my real intentions by attaching such a just-about-socially-acceptable reasoning to the trip. Pretty simply, I ran there because I thought I might be able to.

Lesson #11
Sometimes, the most unassuming reasons to try something are also the best.

I'd been toying with the idea of pushing my distances up from the now-standard 12-15ish kilometres I'd been happily running. Since I'd been without even mild injury for a while, I'd started to feel more confident in my abilities—maybe even a combination of cocky at having 'beaten' these distances and just bored with feeling like I wasn't trying anything new any more. In spite of this, I was still firmly resisting the title of 'runner' to both myself and other people; I was still just casually running from place to place, as far as I was concerned.
However, the French have an expression that says 'love, a cough, smoke and money can never long be hid'; I'd add 'wanting to run a long way' to that. When a few of my friends had been talking about going to the sandcastle competition which was then in a couple of days' time, I almost didn't think before saying that I'd go and meet them there, on foot. Announcing my plan—so casually, too—unfortunately couldn't be ignored and this was the first time that I had to fit together my own insistence that what I was suggesting was perfectly normal with other people's reactions of disbelief. I also, with hindsight, see them almost looking at me differently as I unintentionally took the stage from being just a friend who casually runs to... something slightly different.
Of course, this initial reaction passed quickly (I seem to remember we were enjoying a few beers at the time) and conversation moved on with my plan back under the radar, until I showed up at one of my friends, Sophie's, house with a bag packed with clean clothes for me to wear after arriving at the competition. Dropping that bag off was probably more significant than I'd realised it was going to be—this would be the first time I'd committed, to myself or to anyone else, that I was going to run at a definite time, with a definite plan. Dropping that bag off meant that turning back on my decision would be a lot harder to do (maybe not exactly insurmountable should I have really wanted to back out, but compare that with the difficulty of just saying to myself "I'm not going out today").
This commitment wasn't the end of my preparation, it turned out. Of course, I had to let my friends know what sort of time I'd be arriving—this meant not only planning out my route and calculating the distance, but then putting some thought into how long it would take me to run that far. Even when I realised I'd have to think about this, before I sat down to hash it out, I started to feel naïvely uneasy at this requirement to start doing things that I'd heard and seen 'proper runners' doing. Even something as simple as figuring out an unfamiliar route seemed restrictive, although looking back, I see I was close to being a bit childish about this desire to under-prepare.
Eventually I brought myself to do it all, though, and found an online running site that would let me plan out a route and then send it to my phone, so I could follow it by GPS. I also bought a small running water bottle, to add to my begrudgingly-growing collection of runner's paraphernalia, and filled it with a free sample of electrolyte drink that I'd received with my FiveFingers (I remember I was only taking the drink to use it up, though—who needed in-run electrolyte refuelling?). With that and some cash in my pocket, I was set. It makes me smile now to think about how that between clean clothes, a sports drink and a few quid, I was the most prepared I'd ever been for a run; it almost makes me think that there's some kind of genuine Zen lesson in that statement somewhere.

Lesson #12
Preparation is not always a bad thing.

I didn't need to start particularly early in the day to get to the competition on time, so I had a nice mid-morning start to the run, which started out covering the same section of cycle path between my home and work, that I’d covered many times before. Although I didn't have any real strategy for the run to speak of, I did try to keep my pace reasonably slow on this first, flat portion—so far, so good. I ate up the first 10km without really even thinking about it. Unfortunately, that's where things started to get a little more interesting.
As I hadn't been used to running with my phone for a GPS before, I was still enjoying the novelty of following my progress as a thin red line on a screen, following the blue of my planned route. Although it probably wasn't healthy for my running to be frequently fiddling with the display and checking my inexorably slow progress across the map, it at least meant that I noticed fairly quickly when the GPS signal got lost—the first moment of what would turn out to be it staying lost for the remainder of the run. On the plus side, I knew the general direction I was supposed to be heading in (the fact that the route could be summed up by 'keep the sea on your left' for most of the later parts helped), but unfortunately there were a fair number of winding country roads to negotiate before I got to the easy part of the directions, which I could at least remember as 'golf course, footpath, coastal path' when I got there.
Not so much worried as exasperated, I carried on in what I assumed to be the right direction, being forced to think less about my running itself and more about which way I was supposed to be turning at each junction. After about twenty minutes of this, I (rather anticlimactically) found the golf course.
It had turned out that the more difficult-to-guess part of the route, the part I was most concerned about, was fairly straightforward; unfortunately, the easy-to-remember next part was also easy-to-get-wrong. I arrived at Saunton Golf Course, which sits nestled inbetween the nearby marshland, fields and dunes from Saunton Beach, and immediately saw footpath signs. Stupidly, I ignored or didn't even notice that the footpath in question was heading west, towards the sea, when I wanted to be heading north, parallel to the beach.
Although I didn't realise my mistake at first, I soon started to think that something was up by the fact this 'footpath' had started to turn into a twisting, sandy track cut through distinctly beachy-looking flora. My error was sealed when I eventually crested a particularly tall bump in the path to emerge from the dunes and find myself on the long, sandy expanse that is Saunton Beach—around 2km south from where I wanted to be!

Lesson #13
At some point, I’m going to go the wrong way. Suck it up and run.

Undeterred, I gathered myself and started running along the beach to where I knew I could rejoin the main road and (hopefully) get back onto the coastal path fairly easily. Fairly sure now that I was behind time to meet my friends, I started to push my pace a little, just hoping that the extra bit of exertion wouldn't have too much of a negative effect on how I was feeling. In fact, I found myself enjoying the feeling of pushing myself on the damp sand's forgiving surface.
From the beach I found my way up onto the main road fairly easily, but the traffic on its several blind corners meant that it was unsafe to follow for too far. Mentally, it was on to the next task—figure out a way up onto the next stretch of coastal path and away from the main road as soon as possible.
Again, what I thought would be the difficult part of the plan ended up being fairly straightforward—from the main road, it was only a short distance to another footpath that led up onto a hilly set of fields overlooking the danger of the cars and linking up with the actual coastal path a way ahead. And, again, the easy part—actually following the fotpath—turned out tough as it ascended into a nightmare of boggy mud, herds of overly-inquisitive cows and finished with sliding down a final muddy slope on my backside after losing my footing on the slick surface. Just to top it off, as soon as I slid to a halt, a perfectly-friendly and well-meaning pair of hikers came around a corner just ahead of me and took great interest in what my FiveFingers were like to run in. I told them what I knew and gave them what was even by then becoming a somewhat-rehearsed short version of my reasons for minimalist running... they seemed genuinely interested and talked about how they were both considering trying it, but I'm not sure whether they would have had the same enthusiasm if they'd have seen my preceding tumble!
From there, though, luckily the run was fairly straightforward. I paused at another beach, adjacent to Woolacombe, to pick up my first ever mid-run scavenging refuel: a chocolate bar and juice to replace my now-empty bottle of electrolyte potion. Pleasantly re-energised by the food and by the rest I took to eat it, I set off at an easy, fresh pace around the final cliff-top point and along another seemingly-endless beach to where the competition was being held. Since then, when I've been out running with a friend of mine, Luke, along beaches, we've contemplated the pros and cons of running along the shoreline like this—on the one hand, the sand feels great, is conducive to great running form and helps build fitness brilliantly; on the other, it's so hard to tell how far you've come or got to go due to the featureless sand. Running the final stretch of beach into Woolacombe almost started to feel like an empty limbo—peaceful, sure, but as there were no points of reference aside from a very-distant town becoming gradually a bit less-very-distant, it was also getting perilously close to being soul-destroying!

When I eventually reached the sandcastle competition, which was being held in the vicinity of the main town part of Woolacombe, I didn't immediately reflect on it being any kind of achievement—I just felt great. I had a few minutes before my friends arrived, which I spent wandering around the town, not feeling particularly hard-done by the run there. My legs still felt fairly fresh, but more pleasingly I didn't feel like my breathing was laboured or my heart was bursting out of my chest—score one for moderate pacing! Although I knew I'd run further than I'd ever run before, the naïve part of me that shucked anything too prepared or complicated was also satisfied that I'd done it with only a little extra preparatory effort to accompany the actual 'putting one foot in front of the other'.
Eventually, my friends arrived, sporting bigger smiles than I'd been expecting (if I'd been expecting anything) and full of congratulations. It took me the rest of our time there, pacing around the sandcastles and eating ferociously hot beach-side prawns, until the thought started to work its way into my head that the reason they were smiling and asking me so many questions about the run there—'how long did it take?', 'don't your feet hurt?'—was that I'd done something more out of the ordinary than I believed. I certainly didn't think I warranted too much praise—I hadn't even run a marathon distance, I'd stopped for fuel along the way, I'd gotten horrendously lost and had had to explain a perfectly-positioned dirty brown smear on the back of my shorts from my muddy slide (as is perfect and unavoidable in this kind of situation, Sophie had forgotten the bag with my clean clothes in).

Lesson #14
Clean clothes are overrated.

In spite of my rationalisations, something had clicked inside me. Well, a few things—I knew I could run further than I'd previously been trying to without too much difficulty and still have enough reserve energy in the tank to tackle problems along the way that might make the going longer or more taxing. My desire for simplicity in my running had been introduced to the idea that just a little bit of preparation could make for a very good, fun run and so maybe planning wasn't that bad. I'd also been given positive reinforcement that going out and running not for the running itself, but for the idea of getting somewhere, could be very rewarding.
I hadn't had a problem with nailing my colours to the mast about doing something a bit unusual and committing to doing it, so what else, I wondered, could I do using running as a tool to get there?

After a couple of days of recovery from the run to Woolacombe on the Sunday, I was itching to get out again. I ran a couple of shorter-length runs around the park near my house, but I kept coming back to thinking about the enjoyment I'd had from my excursion around the coast (this was shortly before I pretty much stopped running anything less than 5km at a time, as I started to feel like it was a bit pointless to even go out the door otherwise). It came to Saturday afternoon before I had the next idea for a run, which was to watch the sun rise on the beach. Since it was summer, the sun would be rising pretty much at the earliest it was going to through the year (around 5am), meaning that I would rarely have to rise as early to do it. Almost because of this extra aspect, I must have figured I couldn't make the plan any more difficult – so I decided there was no time like the present and settled on going out that night.
I traced out the route from the previous Sunday's run and estimated that it would take me around an hour and a half to get to the beach at Saunton again, followed by a different route home that would come back partly along the main road (which I hoped would be a lot quieter at that time of the morning) and through another nearby village for a route that was around 25km in total.
With literally a few hours to go before I would have to set off, this time constraint happily forced me into minimal preparation. I decided on taking just a handheld water bottle, torch, a phone and some cash, knowing that I'd be able to pick up some food from a small newsagents along the way back if I desperately needed to.
That evening, I had a 'social engagement' already planned with a few friends and although I didn't exactly party hard (it also being the first time I had to explain this sobriety using running as a reason, getting some fairly quizzical looks from my friends), I didn't get to bed until about 11.30pm. Once there, the act of setting my phone's alarm for 3am was the first thing to actually give me pause over what I was plotting to do; the screen helpfully pointing out that this alarm would go off in around three and a half hours' time. Thanks for that.
A little doubt started to creep in at this point, not about whether I could do such an early morning jaunt, but over whether there was any point. Afterwards, when people asked me why I went, the answer of 'to watch the sun rise' seemed to make less sense, almost raising more questions; luckily at 11.30pm on that Saturday, this answer was enough to renew my faith and get me off to sleep.
It felt like approximately five seconds had gone by before my alarm started going off. Although I'm normally a snooze-button addict, I've fortunately always been able to at least remember I'm supposed to be getting out of bed for something especially important. Thanks to this, I was up and tackling my 'preparation pile' (easily mistaken for a pile of clothes slung on my bedroom floor) within a few minutes and blearily made my way to the kitchen. Here, I was greeted by the first stark reminder that I was doing something a little strange – my flatmate, Ben, getting in from the same night out that I'd joined him on a few short hours before.
In the classic manner of two very sleepy or very drunk men, we exchanged a few mumbled greetings and 'good luck's before he dove into bed and I dove into a cup of strong, black, sugary coffee. I stupored my way through a couple of slices of toast and, pretty much on autopilot, found myself standing on my front step a few minutes later.
There, I took a few moments to mentally centre myself. The coffee and food was already starting to wake me up a bit and it did feel good to be breathing in some cold fresh air. The dark briskness of the air was only stopped from being completely tranquil by the residual noises of people making their way home through the town after various nights out, but if anything this helped me to visualise a personal deception: I wasn't going for a run at 3.30 in the morning, it was simply an evening run after a day at work. I took a final heavy breath to watch it hang in the air and then I set off.
The simple act of running soon warmed me up against the chill of the night and I was thankfully distracted further from the cold by the local 'social wildlife'. I've never been much of a clubber anyway, but it was an experience to be running, stone cold sober, through groups of the local clubs' clientèle, who ranged from stumbling around drunk, to fumbling around with each other in the dark shadows that lined the path, apparently far from normal people's eyes. I chuckled to myself that I was only (reluctantly) privy to these trysts because that night, I wasn't a 'normal' person.
Soon, I was running along the cycle path out of town – my first time running in near-complete darkness – and I'd never felt so alone. My own steady breathing was the only sound now and my eyes kept darting to every movement by the side of the path. Oddly, I wasn't particularly afraid of having to deal with possible unfriendly acquaintances along the way, but the darkness gave my more primal instincts a firmer grip on the reins, keeping me overly alert to any moving shadows.
Constantly running into the small pool of torchlight ahead of me was a novel experience in itself – because I couldn't see much more than a few feet in front of me, it helped me to very much focus in the present. The effect was almost meditative and I found it very easy to fall into a rhythmic loop of placing one foot after the other, not worrying about how far I'd come, or had left to go. I was able to find good form and run not only fairly quickly, but fairly easily too – it almost became as if I was a passenger on this journey, just 'sitting tight' until I got there.
The first few kilometres were over before I'd really begun to think about it and because of the time of night, I'd been virtually undisturbed, other than by a couple of people making their way home who were equal parts merry and terrified when I came padding out of the darkness.
I came to the spot where my GPS had given up the ghost the week before and allowed myself a smile as I checked my watch to get an idea of my pace (this was in my pre-Garmin days). I was still on track to get to Saunton for 5am. Good. I knew the route, knew it was flat and I was feeling very strong. I pressed on and started to really relax into my running. Because the sun was starting its final approach towards rising, I was gradually able to see around me more easily and take in more of the scenery as it started to get a little lighter. As the pre-dawn light began to cast fields and buildings in slate and navy, I started to remember why I enjoyed running in the first place; I enjoy seeing things I wouldn't have seen otherwise, or seeing them in a different or unusual way.
I got to the golf course in what seemed like no time at all and I was soon making my way beyond it along the foot-rollercoaster that was the undulating sandy path through the dunes. Soon, it was light enough for me to ditch the torch and as I did, 'Natural-runner Ben' came out to play – dispensing with even this basic bit of technology made me feel a burst of freedom and I started quickening my pace.
At that point, it all came together. Both physically and mentally, everything clicked: my breathing was comfortable; my pace, form and cadence all felt great and inside, I knew at this point that I'd made it—the sun was still a way from rising and I wasn't far from the beach. All of this together filled me with a great sense of joy and I was soon starting to laugh as I ran, almost sprinting up each mini-ascent and virtually bounding down each downhill.
I reached the larger rise that bordered the beach and it was there that I became aware of my own exuberance, which spilled over when I hit record to send Joe the video message. Sure, the run back home was beautiful, passing lone surfers on their way to catch an early wave, passing a couple out training a nervous pair of young huskies to pull a wheeled sled and enjoying the misty beauty of the early morning; it was that moment of watching the sun rise at Saunton, though, that was by far the most important to me. Right then, I realised that I'd achieved something that I thought was on the limits of my physical ability, dreamt up by something towards the edge of my mental attitude. If I could do something like this after only a few weeks of making an effort with running, what other more incredible things might I be able to do?

Lesson #15
Being mental might be quite fun.

Two years. Two years.

104 weeks since I decided I'd make a bit more of an effort with what used to be a very alien pursuit for me. I've gone from being a panting mess that struggled to make it a couple of times around the local park to running literally thousands of kilometres over the last twenty-four months. I've run through the night, I've run for hours to see the sun rise, I've headed out to find peace and time to think. Sometimes, I've done it with hundreds of other people to be a part of a tribe and specifically to be bombarded with noise and activity. I've run a marathon to get to the start of the hilliest cross-country race I've ever run; I've run seventy-five miles on my own and plan to have another crack at 130 miles later this year.

The point of this isn't 'what I've done', it's definitely more how I've got here - that's what it's always about. Maybe it's a fractal-like situation where however large or small a scale you look at, the message is the same:

It's not each step you choose to take, technique is about how you move your body to make each one. It's not about how far you've gone on a particular run, it's about what you've done and learned on the way. It's not about how many runs, or what kind of runs you've been on in year, it's about you through that year. How, never what.

My 'how' of the last two years has already been told here, but that's not to say there aren't always new horizons to cross - and it seems I'm always in need of new horizons.

If I'm honest, I'm at the end of a few months of what was probably resting on my running laurels. I spent a period of time where I wasn't trying too hard to actively improve my running, I was just enjoying being able to do it fairly well. For my own pride's sake, I hope that this is an easy trap to fall into - I can comfortably run distances that would make other people squirm, so there was little impetus to really examine my technique. If anything, I was feeling not just like my running was going well, but also that I was a good Runner.

This was all very well, but my body decided this wasn't enough of a journey. While my mind was obviously quite happy with the state of things, my body decided I needed a reminder that getting better is kind of a good thing. It did this in a way that I had thought I'd grown out of - it gave me shinsplints.

Finding myself struggling through this to run even half of my normal times has driven me back to a place I quite enjoy being: the start. Sort of. The start of a period of fresh growth, at least. By having my carefree enjoyment randomly curtailed by a nagging pain, I'm being forced/allowed to re-examine everything about my running again. Even though it sucks that I'm working through an injury, it's actually infinitely better to feel like I'm at least working at it.

One last thing: it's nice to not only see the development in myself, but in others too - I think I've mentioned before that my girlfriend and our friend Luke have been inspired to start running a bit more. This continues apace - last weekend we all had a great off-road 10k race around Arlington. We ran it together, so there was no looking to shave seconds off my previous year's time, but what can I say - in this case, running slowly with other people seems to feel like it has more rewards than running quickly alone. Who's have thought it?

And who'd have thought shinsplints could be a good thing?

- Ben

Back to basics

I'm not sure whether this is entirely running related, but more sort of me-related, I guess.

One of the reasons why I've been quieter on the blogging front is that I've been spending the last few months writing a book about running - specifically, how I spent a year going from a complete non-runner to someone able to comfortably run marathons and even run ultra distances.

I figure there might be people out there who want to read about an ordinary guy's experiences and lessons learned along the way, but we'll see, I suppose :)

I'll keep you posted as to how I'm getting on with it as I go - it's in my final draft stage now, where it's ready to go out to potential agents and publishers. Also, I promise I'll go back to writing about the running I'm doing soon (it's going pretty well!).

- Ben

So, yesterday was the day of my return to a nice little 10-mile race around the local area, the Braunton 10. I ran the race last year, just as I was starting to get my eye in on racing in general and it was great to come back a year later, knowing a bit more of what to expect and how to go about tackling it.

The route is all on-road (that is, mud-slicked, flooded road at this time of year) and is more than a little undulating - in particular, there are two significant category 4-5 climbs along the way. Fortunately, I'd run the course the week before with Clare and Luke, just to remind myself of exactly where these hills came and exactly how brutal they are. I reckon preparation is the key for a good steep, long climb that turns enough corners to hide its true end from you!

I ran with Clare, Luke and my brother Joe - the last few times I've run with this guys, we've all stuck together around the course; this time we decided we might not stick together and I'd go for it as much as possible. The strangeness of leaving Clare and Luke at the start line was balanced at least a little by being able to focus more on my own running (Joe was going to try and keep pace as best as possible).

Although I'm feeling great with my running at the moment, I don't know... something wasn't feeling 100% as we got around the first couple of miles. Heartrate was too high, breathing too difficult to keep controlled; not my finest moments to be honest. As we hit the first steep climb, I guess having the ascent to focus on reined in all of these loose ends though - we were determined to keep running up the hill, rather than throw in walking breaks, and I suppose because that meant I had to truly focus on my gait and tempo, everything else snapped into a good place. Not sure. Either way, once we were on the ensuing downhill section, I started to feel a bit better; my heartrate started to creep back down and I could begin to enjoy the run; it was almost as though a tough climb had hit my 'reset' switch.

Although I'm not super-competitive against other runners at races, it was nice when we hit some of the steeper downhills and I found I was still flying down them confidently (all that downhill work must have paid off and stuck somewhere!) to help us gain ground on some of the more cautious racers. Likewise, it felt good that on the second major ascent, our (Joe was still with me) careful dialling-down through the gears kept us slowly running past people who'd started up it too quickly, or just plain ran out of juice.

The second steep hill comes just after halfway on the course, leaving around the remaining four miles as a mix of downhills and flats, which would normally make for a good, easy, quick section. Yesterday, though, this was tempered just a bit by howling winds and horizontal rain pushing back against us as we ran. This was one point where mild brotherly competitiveness actually came to good use, as neither of us was going to be the first to let the conditions slow us down.

In fact, Joe kept pace all the way to the finish line - one last steep downhill saw us gain another couple of places and then we eventually crossed the line in about the same time as I'd run the course last year. Considering how nightmarish the rain was for the last few miles, I'll definitely take that.

That wasn't the best thing about yesterday, though. Clare and Luke finished a while after us, towards the back of the field, but not last! Neither of them were runners at all before I started running and gradually, as we wanted to spend more time together as girlfriend and friend respectively, they've come into their own. Now that they're both choosing to enter races, I figure it may even have transitioned from 'running because Ben does' into 'running because we want to' (I guess Clare counts as my household, but Luke means one more household with a runner, Eric!). I was so proud - and they're still in early running days. One day, I reckon they'll be cheering me over the line, if things keep up like this...

- Ben

I was wondering what the small pang in my heart has been over the last couple of weeks and I've eventually realised what it is: It has been an absolute age since I've posted here. This is a situation I intend to rectify, so for now, a very brief bloggy update:

• I'm wondering whether to drop the 'how many weeks I've been trying to be a runner for' titling of my blogs, since after my twenty weeks in the 'wilderness' of not-blogging, I have returned actually considering myself a proper Runner. I never, ever thought we'd see the day, but it has come!
• I've run a load. Since I last spoke to you all after my Barnstaple-to-Bristol attempt, I've been racing, training and ENJOYING. I'll save the teetering Zen-ness here for a later post :)
• In the words of El Gavilan, I think I've finally, truly begun to 'inspire to inspire' - at least two people have taken the plunge into running as a direct result of my own efforts and a few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of running ten hilly, sweaty, brutal miles with them as a way to celebrate Christmas. For fun.
• I've started working on something... else regarding my running. I won't be able to keep it to myself for too long as it is, so I'll at least savour my restraint for now.

So, as I say, I'll keep this brief. I'm not dead, I'm running more than ever and I'll write something proper and more meaningful soon. In the meantime, I look forward to going over all of your posts that I've missed :)

- Ben

So, last week I set out on my Cool Impossible and kind of, sort of achieved... something. I don't mean to spoil the end of this post, but I set out to run 130 miles and ended up running 75 and I'm happy with that :)

I know I've waffled on about what the plan was on here before, but just to recap, I set out to run the 130 miles between my place in Barnstaple and my brother's apartment in Bristol. It wasn't part of a race or anything too organised, just something I kind of wanted to do (and that I raised around £1200 to help people in the third world see by doing so).

I set out from Barnstaple at 8pm on Saturday; the thinking for the late start was that I'd get the first half of the run done and out of the way in the dark (so in theory, only having to worry about navigating in the dark, saving the worrying about my legs for when it was light again). It was incredibly humbling to be surrounded by a large group of my friends who'd gathered to see me off - especially as they had no reason for being there other than to see one of their friends set off to try something a bit stupid!

The plan was for me to run in 10km sections, where at each break I'd take five minutes with my 'support crew' (consisting of my girlfriend, brother, dad and friend Bob) to restock on water, wolf down a bit of food and switch over maps for the coming section. Even though they're unlikely to ever read this post, I should point out straight away how amazingly the four of them performed - these are people who know nothing about running except what I've told/instructed them, but who worked so hard to find their way through the experience with me where a lot of other people could have just thrown their hands up and said 'I don't know what I'm doing'.

The first couple of 10km stretches went off absolutely without a hitch and I was settling into a really good, easy pace - darkness came in pretty quickly until I was navigating just by the light of my headlight and torch. I'd never set out to try anything like this before and there was a peculiar mix of thoughts going through my head for these first parts - a combination of paying absolute attention to every aspect of my running (through worry for my performance over the whole distance) and it not really feeling like I'd set out to run anything more than my standard training runs.

We had a couple of more sketchy sections towards the 40-50km mark, which took me over nearby Exmoor in the pitch black, misty night - I started to get a little... not scared, but 'concerned' that I was getting lost a couple of times, but it mostly turned out I was on the right path! There was only one part where I ended up going really wrong (unfortunately, it was a couple of miles of really-wrong-up-a-massive-hill, which didn't help), but to be honest, I'm not sure that that made too much difference in terms of time or my running comfort.

Eventually, the sun started coming up around the time I got to around 80-90km and it gave me a renewed energy - in fact, I think I was more awake than the guys in the van! My nutrition was, I think, spot on - I'd been eating pretty much when I was hungry, which hadn't been a lot through the night; as 'breakfast' time rolled round, I started comfortably eating more and more. I'd been breathing comfortably (nose-breathing had finally become a habit a week or so before, mercifully) and my muscles felt good and strong. My feet were in good condition, surprisingly so in fact - I'd been taping my normal hotspot zones and hadn't worked up any real damage at all by this point. I'd been running a cycle of 9min/1min alternating between running at pace and 'moving rest' to try and keep myself loose and this seemed to be working really, really well.

This energy, good form and resultant confidence continued all the way up to the 100km mark, where things started to go wrong. 100km fell in the town of Taunton and as I approached its outskirts, I could feel my left patellar tendon starting to jolt. Bearing in mind I'd already run through a couple of small, niggling aches during the day so far (let alone in months of running beforehand), I recognised this pain as being something different, something that I might potentially not be able to run off. By the time I arrived at the meeting point, my right knee had started with the same performance. Luckily, Taunton was scheduled to be a longer stop, for changing clothes and checking everything over, so I mentioned to the guys what the problem was and tried to come up with a plan.

I ended up strapping my knees and having my brother ride with me on a fold-up bike just to keep an eye on me for a while. Setting off, the pain had subsided a bit and the supports seemed to be helping, but by the next stop at 110km, I knew I was in real trouble. At this point, I had a long, hard talk with the guys in the van - mainly concerning time as I'd been reduced to a much, much slower pace over the last couple of sections. I decided I'd push on for as much as I could, potentially looking at seeing whether I could at least make it to 24 hours, or possibly even to 100 miles (so around another 50km from that point).

In that next section, my knees became exponentially more painful with every step. I had a long conversation with my brother, who was doing exactly what I'd previously told everyone to do, kept pushing me on and insisting that I'd be able to keep going until I eventually managed to convince him that this was going to be the last section. I think the phrase I used was that 'I had plenty more left to give, but I'd only be giving it to hurting myself'. The frustrating thing is that this was true - my breathing and muscles still felt great; literally the only thing wrong was the pain in my knees.

Eventually I pulled into the last stop at 120km (around 75 miles) to a manly-tearful dad and a warm cup of tea (insert Brit joke here). I was still smiling and joking with everyone and explained what was going through my head, even though I think they could probably see more from the way I was moving around.

And that's sort of it. I'm totally happy with what I did and know that I made the right decision to drop out at that point - even with only a week of time now between me and the run, the memory of the pain is fading and I have to keep reassuring myself that I made the right call. I didn't make it as far as I set out to, but with having to find my own route and a seat-of-my-pants approach to the whole thing anyway, I don't think I did too badly.

I'll probably try again. I can feel it. It'll probably be next summer now and it won't be as big an event in terms of charity promotion or online presence, but I'm sure that I won't be able to not try again until it's done. Part of this feeling is that knowledge that it was just an acute injury that put me out - mentally, I can make it. Although I know the injury probably stemmed from some aspect of form, I'm pretty sure that almost every other aspect must have been pretty good for everything else to feel so great (and, incidentally, for my feet to remain almost damage-free for the duration). I can do it, I just didn't on the day, if that makes sense.

So now, I'll be back to how I was when I first started running - learning. Except this time around, it won't be researching how to run 10km without having to stop, it'll be how to keep my knees happy for 120km. There's a big part of me that smiles when I think about that.

I'll probably post more little bits and pieces as they occur to me over the next few weeks (some of the mental revelations and memories of attitude keep flashing back to me every now and again), but for now that's it.

As I mentioned before the run, I'm incredibly grateful to all of you here for your support and insights, more than I can probably put here properly without sounding... weird. Long may this whole running malarkey continue.

- Ben

(Ha - I can't let that go without pointing out that in the photo, that's not how I strapped my knees!)

Today's the day to run and I've decided I'm not going to say a lot about it; instead, here's something that George Mallory said about the eternal 'why?' of adventure:

“People ask me, 'What is the use of climbing Mount Everest?' and my answer must at once be, 'It is of no use.' There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever.

Oh, we may learn a little about the behaviour of the human body at high altitudes, and possibly medical men may turn our observation to some account for the purposes of aviation. But otherwise nothing will come of it. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem, nor any coal or iron...

If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won't see why we go.

What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to live.

That is what life means and what life is for.”

See you soon!

- Ben

This is going to probably be my last blog post before I take off to run 130 miles on the 17th; my head's full of a lot of running and preparation at the moment and although I'd love to be writing about all of it, I need to concentrate on living it first!

I'm as prepared as I'm going to be and I think I've just about found the right frame of mind for it. Physically, I've run 26, 30 and 44 milers at the same sort of pace that I need to run to come close to finishing all 130 in around 24 hours (I know, I know, it doesn't extrapolate quite that easily!) and so feel close-to-confident about that side of things; mentally, well, I just know.

I've spent time with the guys who are taking the time to leap-frog my progress with supplies, going over plans and instructions (my favourite being 'do NOT agree with me that I should stop, at all!') and feel like everything that isn't under my control on the day is pretty much under control by someone else, at least!

I don't know how I'm going to feel after the 17th/18th, but I know how my feelings now have grown out of the last seventy-two weeks. All of the tiny, seemingly insignificant lessons; all of the words of encouragement and advice; all of the times I've been told that I'm kind of doing the right thing, regardless of how impossible it may seem - they've all brought me to where I am now, staring down a long run. I don't know if I've seen films like The Matrix too many times, but it's a feeling almost approaching serenity before my 'final battle' - in a very zen way, I've come to accept that one day I'll take the first step, I'm going to run for a bit and then I don't know what's going to happen. And that's ok.

I'm grateful to all of you guys. As a group, being able to watch a simmering pool of combined runners' enthusiasm, experience and concern (as well as, apparently, our propensity for penis enlargement pills and cut-price holiday timeshares) has always made me feel like I'm part of the normal, rather than the exception that it's easy to feel like in 'real' life. More specifically, I'm grateful to everyone who's offered direct encouragement, including the indefatigable Lori (who sums up a lot of these feeling much more succinctly here) and of course, Eric. It's weird to think that here I am, thousands of miles away, benefitting even in some small way from a true coach.

Ok, nostalgia done. Time to run. Talk to you in two weeks.

- Ben

Things are getting pretty busy and focused at the minute, since I'm within the final five week countdown to my Cool Impossible; my 130-miler from my home in Barnstaple to Bristol. I wanted to post something up to keep anyone who's reading my posts updated, especially since from here on in, I'll probably not be posting too much until after the big day.

Since I ran the 44 miles of my last post back in May, I've been managing to keep up a pretty consistent amount of running and (philosophical Ben alert) I've been finding more of the runner I'm supposed to be, I guess. Form-wise, I feel like I've never been more in partnership with my body - half due to Coach's 'remote' advice (as I figure it should be), half due to molding my own attitude and approach to training. Instead of feeling like running is an enemy to be conquered or a skill to be mastered in becoming a runner, I feel more like I'm treating my running as something that now lurks within me for me to gradually discover. Sort of like when Spiderman first gets his powers and learns exactly what he's capable of.

I raced another very undulating marathon a couple of weeks ago and finished in around 4:42 (placing around 80 out of 160) - comparing this pace with my total time to run 44 miles (around 8 hours), they both match up pretty consistently with the pace that I'm aiming for for Bristol and I'm actually starting to feel more confident about the 130-miler. I guess it's three times the maximum that I've run up to now, but it's also going to be a lot flatter - I'm hoping that these two factors will cancel each other out, but that's just my best guess crossed with instinct.

I'm starting to add that to the list of things that I'm going to find out on the day - in fact, now that we get closer to the day and more people are starting to take an interest, I'm starting to notice that there are more questions that I'm being asked to which the answer is "I'll find out on the day"... Luckily, there are lots of factors I can plan at least a little for and I've started to put together my 'idiot lists' for the day - including checklists for each stop to make sure that I'm checking water levels, checking my feet, etc. This is also (maybe kind of pleasantly) highlighting to me that there aren't actually that many things to get ready - I know that each thing (like water monitoring) could be make-or-break in its own right, but the list just seems pretty manageable.

Something I've definitely had to take on board for this run is to not worry about the outcome. Whether I finish or not (and, once that's taken care of, how quickly I manage it) isn't going to affect the effort that I put in and the training that I'm doing now. I'm going to keep running until I either get there or collapse in a heap, so what's to worry about?

- Ben

P.S. It'd be ace if you could take a second to check out more details about why I'm running 130 miles: www.justgiving.com/benonfoot

I can't really properly describe how I feel about myself now, because I'm not entirely sure I know. On Sunday I ran 44 miles, finding some very good things within myself along the way, but I still don't think it's properly sunk in.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, I ran around 27 miles to the start line of a new local race, a 17-mile cross country called the Hartland Hartbreaker. I was feeling not so much nervous as apprehensive the night before, but the timely (meaning a little early, thanks Amazon) arrival of a certain running/life manual gave me some encouraging reading before getting down to bed - at about 9pm!

The early night was in preparation for a 5.45am start, giving myself an easy-in-theory five hours to get to the mandatory safety briefing for the race. I actually managed to remember all of my preparation as well - no chafed nipples, hunger or lack of heartrate monitor for me (for once)!

I knew I had plenty of time to get there, so the run became an exercise in running easy, keeping my pace nose-breathingly slow and taking regular short (around one minute) walking breaks; I forcibly kept in mind that I was on an adventure because that's what I like doing, not on a run for training or with any particular goal in mind. I took in the mistiness of the beautiful local scenery and every time I felt myself pushing too hard, I had El Gavilán appear by my side telling me to slow down and take it easy (I hadn't had a lot of sleep, ok, and the mental imagery got much weirder in the final few miles of the day!).

I'd had my guts churned up by energy gels before, so was determined to stick to 'real' food for the first 27 miles - that's if the German 'Bifis' that my brother had brought me back from a recent trip count as 'real' food! I took two five-minute food breaks spaced at roughly-even thirds of the way and I was so, so happy to realise after the second of these that after running as far as I had, I still felt fresh and properly rejuvenated by the pause for a bit of reffuelling.

I ended up getting to the start line in around four and a half hours (my pride can't resist pointing out that the route there was a pretty hilly one), already wearing the 130 number that the race organiser had sent out ahead for me (in reference to running 130 miles in August) and took time to grab some more food and juice in the time before the starting shout.

I ditched the accoutrements of a self-sustained marathon, leaving my hydration pack and phone/map holder behind and - although this is probably going to sound weird - feeling energised for the race simply by carrying less and feeling even more like I was out for myself that day, rather than for a race. That is, until the race announcer made sure that everyone knew who I was and why I was there over the tannoy at the health and safety briefing!

Armed with no more mental preparation than thinking 'this is happening, you may as well get ok with it' at the start line, suddenly the race was starting and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I set off still at a relaxed pace, but comfortable doing it. It's certainly very different trying to run to your own pace surrounded by about 200 other runners than when you're on your own!

The race itself was great. It was designed specifically to be a difficult one and it certainly lived up to that! Lots of rooty, muddy forest runs through vivid bluebells, contrasted with long, hot (the sun was blazing) treks across wide fields, to some of the gnarliest and wind-blasted clifftops in the region - definitely one of the most stunningly diverse courses around my region, I reckon! (In fact, at this point I would positively recommend it to either any Brits or 'other-who-fancy-a-visit', it's that good - next one's May 2014!)

Having said how great it was, I had to try pretty hard to stop myself from hating it - of all the courses to attempt after running 27 miles, I could have definitely picked an easier one! At one point, a marshal told me it was around three miles to go... the next one, a long hilly climb later, told me it was about four miles to go (the GPS later showed it was still about seven to go); I'm not ashamed to say the negative feelings started creeping in around then - but instead of fighting them, I let them in. I let the feelings into my house, showed them around and then sent them back out the door, simple as that; then I got back to one foot in front of the other.

Towards the end, I figured I must be pretty near the back of the pack ( I was pretty much running on my own), but I eventually came upon another guy in the middle distance, who kept stopping to walk while I slowly ate up the distance between us. Eventually, I caught him when we reached the final stretch through some very hilly, slippery woodland, where we had to use a rope to eventually pull ourselves up a steep side of a valley. When I saw this particular 'challenge' I felt so tired from running there, but I actually started saying 'I am a whole athlete' under my breath; actually speeding up to the start of the rope. In what turned out to be the climactic finish of my very own inspirational movie, I feel like it was the culmination of all of my work on running attitude and training to move my whole body that meant while I had it in me to keep pulling arm-over-arm, the other guy started faltering and stopping.

I ran strong and confidently down the last road stretch after that and I can't describe the feeling as the race organiser interrupted the handing out of awards to give me everyone's attention as I crossed the finish line smiling. I can actually feel the hairs on my neck standing up now as I write this and remember the volume of the cheering.

As I mentioned at the start, I still don't know quite how to feel. Like when a room has new clutter in it that doesn't have a dedicated drawer or shelf yet, I don't think I have a part of me where how I feel about Sunday can fit. It's made me more confident for the run in August and I've learned a few tweaking lessons about specifics of my running, but other than that it's all still a bit hazy.

I guess after all of that, though, it's on to the next cool impossible - that's the idea, right?

- Ben

I'm now within a week of my first unofficial 'training' ultra and in the meantime I've become 'oh, you're him' to the other runners that I'm coming across. I think at this point, 'him' is a bit of a figure of gentle mickey-taking and disbelief rather than anything too esteemed just yet, but it's still a bit unnerving to go to a race and be greeted with 'are you the guy who's running to Bristol?' every five minutes.

While the run to Bristol in August is quietly getting closer with every day, the race next Sunday is looking like a far more immediate challenge - as I think I've mentioned before, the race itself is only a very undulating 17 miles, so I'm going to run the 26.2 miles to the start line. The run to the race is going to, coincidentally, follow the same route as my first marathon-length run back in December, so I'll be interested to see whether running over it again is a good or bad thing; whether I feel better treading familiar ground, or just disheartened at the repetition. Finding this out will also help me decide how much of August's route I'm going to run - or not - in advance.

With next week's race plans in mind, this weekend's race was more of a warm up - but what a warm up! The 17th Arlington Court Canter is a cross-country 10km route around a beautiful valley not too far from where I live - it's only the second cross-country race I've done and I was definitely looking forward to it going in. This anticipation was in the face of receiving the same trepidatious response from every runner I mentioned the race to - everyone at least held some respect for what was going to be a difficult course.

As always with quicker races, I have to remind myself that short distances aren't the strength I'm aiming for right now - just being able to get around in a respectable time and feeling good afterwards is supposed to be top of my race plan. Having said that, it's always difficult to not get swept up in the competitive spirit :)

As I'm becoming more confident in my ability to keep a smooth, steady pace uphill now, I was pleased to see this working on the first part of the Arlington course - and luckily the inevitable competitiveness found an outlet here. I found I could keep a comfortable workrate up past a few other runners who seemed to be (if I can be totally judgemental for a moment) trying to gallop up too much ground with every step at a much slower cadence.

The second part of the course was a very long, rooty, steep descent into the valley and I think this (and a similar stony section around three-quarters of the way through) were the only two sections where I gave up places. This was almost definitely down to my ankle strength and resulting unsure-footedness on the looser, more 'dangerous' territory (I'll admit to shamefully adding a little caution-bordering-on-fear to this on these sections) - although I'm happy to say that when I talk about ankle-weakness, I'm aware that this is 'compared to what I'd like', not 'compared to everyone else'; I was still able to keep a objectively fairly good speed up, despite the terrain.

The rest of the course back out of the valley had very little flat ground to it, with lots of great field ascents (where I again made up a few places), until I eventually made it to the final stretch, where I happened to pull alongside a friend of mine, Mike. Having spotted each other, we both pulled up the gears and I was amazed to find I had a full-on sprint within me, letting me eventually pull a little clear... Unfortunately I'd completely misjudged the distance to the finish line - by about 200m - meaning I was really starting to hurt by the time I got there, by which time Mike pulled back to an even finish. I have to admit, finding this last burst of energy and excitement made me feel very proud - if I've ever lived up to 'finish on empty' before, it was for this race! I finished 41st out of 138, which I was happy with - at the moment I tend to finish in the top 20-30% of the field, with my position improving as the distance goes up.

Forget the position or adrenalin-filled finish, though - the most satisfying part of the day for me was that around five minutes after the finish, I was good to go again! I felt absolutely fine in my legs (my right ankle aches a little today where I think I had one odd landing) and from the waist up, I was feeling good too. This is what I'm looking for in my running - I don't yet get much from the idea of winning races like this, or from beating personal bests, and I definitely don't want to be one of these people who's out for two or three days after any race complaining of soreness and stiffness and saying it's ok as if it's a natural part of the process. I want to be able to run wherever I do as if it isn't a special event in my life, more as if it's just part of who I am.

Hey, it's been a while since I threw some philosophy into one of these posts :)

I'll let you know how the 43-miler next weekend goes.

- Ben

Yeah, yeah, yeah, runner-for-more-than-a-year... What's next? :)

After my last post, I've run two half-marathon races and learned a few things (as always), but I still feel like I want to keep this post brief. Whereas last time's was a sort of retrospective where I didn't mind talking about what I'd been up to, this time around I feel like I'm definitely in more of a 'just want to be doing it' frame of mind. I think I know a reason for this, but I'll get to that in a second.

The two races I've run couldn't have been more different in outcome or location. The first, I ran in the drizzly nearby town of Taunton. Race day was a bit of a rush, with me arriving at the start line pretty much as the race was starting, which meant that I didn't have much time to get mentally 'in the zone' before setting off. However, it didn't really seem to matter (possible mental lesson #1, check) since I set off as if I was on any other morning run; I don't take any provisions of my own for this kind of distance, so I was running light and loving it. I ran into a guy who I know loosely through a friend and he was running the marathon version of the course (two soul-destroying laps of the half course) on the same day, so we chatted for a while.

The race itself was pretty uneventful, other than that having an accomplished runner (and triathlete) to run with helped me keep a good pace throughout, but I felt so strong and comfortable running it - isn't it 'run easy' first? The route wasn't particularly challenging, but there were a couple of long, steady inclines and I felt pretty happy that where everyone else seemed to be either slowing up and struggling or grinding to a full halt at the top, I just changed down through the gears, kept my head up and as with most of the best things in life, let my groin lead the way. Looking back over the GPS race data, I kept a really steady pace across all of the sections, which I was pleased about - what I was happier about, though, was the last half mile, where I decided to see exactly how much I had left in the tank and started hopping over the big logs... I passed about twenty other racers in that last half mile and felt good doing it :)

The second race I ran was the half marathon in sunny Nice, France - this was the first time I'd actually travelled abroad specifically to run and I had a lot of fun. First off, the city is beautiful; we stayed in the old quarter and had a fantastic time - a bit pricey, being the French Riviera, but I'd recommend it to anyone. Secondly, the race was very well organised, so even though there were a few thousand people running, everything ran super-smoothly. Even though I don't have much of a language barrier in France anyway, there were definitely enough English-speakers to cater for even the most lost.

I ran the race itself with my brother and I think he'd be the first to say he had an absolute shocker. Even with this being his description, it seems bad karma to dwell to much on what went wrong, but we set out strong, until he started really struggling around 8km, from which point on we had several stops and walking sections. Since he isn't as confident a runner, we'd talked about what would happen if he started to struggle (me saying, truthfully, that I wasn't concerned about time and would stay with him for support), but we hadn't pictured what I still think was a freak poor result for him. Although this was a shame, he still made it across the line in under two hours and personally, I learned that my previous give-it-beans-for-the-last-half-mile tactic might actually serve me well; after giving Joe one final 'good luck' with the final stretch to go I simply (it felt) switched up a gear again to leg it past at least 50 people (Joe overtook some after I left and I finished 50 places ahead of him). I know that I'd obviously not been pushing as hard as I could have been for the majority of an arduous race, what with supporting Joe, but I don't know how else to put it, except that for that last half mile I was flying and just got it.

I should mention that overall, my first travel-to-run experience was a good one and I'd encourage anyone to take the plunge and try it. It definitely gave a long weekend a good sense of purpose and doing something like this definitely recharged a few mental batteries.

Gah, this post has gone on for longer than I'd hoped already, so I'd better circle back around to why I'm feeling more doing and less talking at the moment. In under two weeks, I've got my first real test towards my run in August and I'm focusing squarely on it; I'm running in the inaugural year of a horrendously off-road 17-miler around a stretch of local coastline, which has been designed specifically to be one tough bugger of a race - so naturally I'm planning on running the 26.2 miles there to get to the start line. Because why not? I'll let you know how I'll get on with that, my first unofficial ultra; hey, with all this talk of #thecoolimpossible, who knows? I think I'm maybe starting to get it a little bit more.

- Ben

Holy cow, I've been a runner for more than a year.

Way back, I'd imagined that my 52-week blog post would have been a big event; a romantic retrospective of a year's progression from a complete novice to actually calling myself a capital-R 'Runner'. In my mind's eye, I'd write about all the lessons I've learned - all the recovery methods tried, all the nipples chafed, all the sunsets seen and distances covered... in reality, I've spent the ten weeks since my last post just thinking about... running. I have to admit that's probably better than writing about it.

As the days on my phone's counter tick down until my 130-miler in August, I'm becoming more sharply focused on what my plan is before the big day. Over the last couple of weeks especially, I've been upping my 'standard' run distance to around 20km and mercifully, my recovery time seems to be dropping quite nicely - this is particularly useful as it means I can start properly implementing what loose semblance of a training plan I have: I'm aiming to be running at least 10km most days (almost every day, in fact), with a longer run thrown in once a week (pushing these up to probably eventually around 70-80km at maximum).

Last night, as an example, I set out to run a route to a nearby town and back, remembering that it had been about 20km the last time I'd run it. The path is pretty much dead flat for the first half, with some nicely undulating territory for the second half (I figure psychologically, I know that if I don't get over those second-half hills, I ain't getting home!). In hindsight, I don't know where I got the idea that it was only 20km - as my watch ticked over to 15km and I wasn't anywhere near the turnaround point, I realised I was in for a bit more of a full evening than I'd anticipated. Although my route back from the town is shorter than my route there, it was still 28km before I arrived back at my door - a slightly tiring 2:45 later, rather than what I thought would be a more manageable 2 hours. I should also add that I'd anticipated being able to quite happily cover 20km without carrying water or food with me - by the time I hit home, I was laying into the milkshake and Chinese like there was no tomorrow.

In spite of all of this, though, I felt good - around the 21km mark, it occurred to me that not that long ago, a half-marathon would have been a much bigger event for me, with a lot more preparation; now I was feeling comfortable with it as an impromptu training run. In fact, looking back to my first blog posts on here, I remember when running even 10km was worthy of note for me.

It's also reassuring and kind of fun to read back over my initial concerns over technique, pacing and form - looking over things like striking styles that used to take up so much mental space when I was running, but have now long-evolved into complete habit.

I'm still running because I enjoy it - sure, I've got a bit of a plan to let me finish what I'm planning in August, but I'm so happy that I'm shaping something fun into something useful, rather than trying to force and wrangle something useful into being fun.

So, after just over a year of doing it, I'll finally admit that I quite enjoy running. I guess I wonder what I'll be saying next year.

- Ben

www.facebook.com/BenOnFoot

My legs ache. However, it's nice that for the first time in a while, they ache in the right way. Yesterday involved a ten-mile 'undulating' race around the countryside that was the culmination of a January where I've been paying a lot of attention to my running (cf: 'I'm not a real runner', circa July 2012) and I think it's paying off.

The first couple of weeks of the new year involved me being very careful with my running anyway, after a nagging sort of injury to the side of my left leg just below the knee - I was starting to get frustrated with having to rein in my distance/time, which was hard, but I stuck to it and could eventually start pushing up the miles a bit more.

This frustration was kind of compounded by the fact that now I've started talking to people locally about my running to Bristol in August, they all expect me to be out doing a lot of running and are always asking me 'how's it going?'... It becomes a little bit soul detroying when the honest answer is 'very slowly and steadily'.

I also picked up the B2R level 1 strength training package, which was a lot easier to get to the UK than I'd anticipated (I hope Loretta enjoyed me throwing in a few British idioms and a 'cheers' for good measure). I feel weird harping on too much about it here because of the potential for it to either look like ass-kissing or over-promotion, but the system works really well and I would recommend it. My legs (and especially my lower legs) feel a lot stronger and more 'balanced' since I've started doing the exercises.

Which brings me back to the race yesterday. The Braunton 10 is a road race around the hills of North Devon, including two real steep, relentless climbs, one roughly between miles 3 and 4; the other a shorter, steeper climb up to mile 6. I think the only thing holding me back was a kind of paranoia about revisiting the injury to my left leg and I'd resolved that I was just going to finish, let alone get a good time. In the end, I finished in about 1hr19, placing around the top 40% mark. I felt good and strong on the uphills, I controlled my descents decently and managed to hold a fairly constant pace for the bits in between. One thing that I did notice was that a lot of the other racers afterwards were complaining of sore abs, backs and cores because of having to maintain posture in a wind that became punishing around mile 8-9. I'm a tall boy, so should have theoretically suffered more with this, but I felt fine - I'd like to think that this and my overall comfortable performance came about because of the extra time I've been taking to work on my muscle activation and strength, but I suppose time will tell there. The only parts that're aching today are my central calves - and as I mentioned at the start, it's nice to have a normal, 'worn-out' feeling, rather than a potential injury.

I've signed up for a few more mid-length races coming up, including the Nice Half Marathon, so that should give me chance to assess how I'm getting on a bit more; I guess I'll let you know!

- Ben

It is a happy new year so far :) I think the last time I wrote a blog, I'd just run my first solo marathon-length run through 'undulating' territory; since then I've been enjoying running shorter distances like a new man (for want of a less clichéd expression). Well, almost entirely since then - the last week or so I've had a bit of a nigging tendon (it feels like) pain just outside and below my left knee so I'm planning to rest up for about another week before getting back to it.

"Why write a blog post if you're not running, Ben?" is probably a good question. The answer is, because I've started letting people know about a plan that I've had for the last three or four months and I figured I should probably, you know, let my running community know about it too. In August I'm going to run between my home town and the city where my brother lives, 130 miles away, in a oner. It's all for a charity that's pretty close to the heart of my day job as a dispensing optician (although I don't think you have those in America) - raising money for eye examinations and new glasses for people in developing countries.

'Scared' is probably the wrong word, but maybe 'apprehensive': I'm not good enough to do it yet, but I will be. I keep saying to my friends that it's weird to have a goal like this since it's not a question of 'whether' I'll try it or not: the day will come when I'm taking the first step; this is going to be part of my life - I just hope the last step comes too!

You guys have been great with advice for me in the past; the limey novice who doesn't really know what he's doing, but keeps doing it anyway. I'll keep blogging on here to vent about how I'm getting on and if anyone has any thoughts to spare, I always feel incredibly lucky that you'd take the time to share them - even if I might sometimes be a bit pigheaded and end up learning through my own mistakes anyway :)

If any of you are on the Facebooks, I've set up a page at www.facebook.com/benonfoot

The Twitter is @benonfoot

If you want to read about Vision Aid Overseas (who really are a fantastic charity), their website is www.visionaidoverseas.org - just £5 ($8) pays for one eye exam and one pair of glasses to let a kid go to school, or a parent carry on working to provide for their family.

Ok, heartstring-tugging bit done, let's get back to the actual running part :)

- Ben