Back to normality

I've not been all that well recently. I've been poorly for about six weeks now, all starting with a month-long period. And, to be honest, I've been a cranky sod (so my parents tell me), which has been pretty grim for everyone who has regular contact with me.


But this week, I've felt a glimmer of hope: slowly but surely, I've started to feel more like myself once more. My eyes feel wide open for the first time in weeks, and I finally feel like I have some energy...exercise has been almost completely absent from my life in these past few weeks, as I've been unable to recover properly so my endorphin levels have been incredibly lacking...no wonder I've been such a grumpy sod...Anyway! Basically, compared to my usual adventurous, energetic lifestyle, I've been tired just trying to exist.


So I hatched a plan - if I was still feeling well the next day, I'd bloody well go for it and get out for a run. Just a short one mind, but long enough to stretch my legs and get my heart pumping.


Saturday dawned. My heart and head felt strong, so I practically threw myself out of bed with all the excitement that Christmas brings (oh boy, I cannot wait for Christmas!!!) and layered up well.

The morning was truly glorious, full of that late autumn crispness that I've been craving - so many such mornings that I feel like I've missed out on of late, so I intended on enjoying this one as much as I could. I laced up my trail shoes, walked out to the back garden and hopped through the gap in the hedge.

The first few shuddering breaths made me gasp - the cold hitting my chest knocked any lingering grogginess from my body. The sun was so bright it glinted off the frosty crops, and it burst through the patchy fog that kept threatening to shroud the trees.

Regretting my lack of sunglasses

I jogged slowly through the fields, inhaling deeply, enjoying trotting along faster than a walking pace for a change, relishing in my renewed energy.

Over styles, bridges crossing brooks, disturbing buzzards on fence posts, the route wound towards Grinshill. It's a run I've completed so many times before, yet this time it felt a little different, purely because it wasn't just a training run. It was me getting out and enjoying running for the joy and calmness that it instils.

It's always hard going, reaching the top. Today I trudged , puffed and spluttered my way up, rather than six months previously where I'd've skipped up with relative ease.  But the achievement of reaching the summit with never grow old. I've been climbing Grinshill since I was 5 years old, and yet the view never seems to lose its appeal - long stretches of field today were partially swathed in mist, whilst the south Shropshire Hills were just visible in the distance.

My eyes ran profusely as I tentatively made my way back down and past my old school, not wanting to overdo it and turn my ankle on a root or rock that's smothered in leaves.

I made it home shortly after, shoes and legs muddied, hands chilly, and mood lifted.

I'm back gang. I'm so glad to be back.

Embracing your inner child

Do you remember being young and excited about something new? Or being over-excited about Christmas? (This is always a good thing, even if, as an adult, the excitement has switched from mainly presents and food to being about seeing family and friends you haven't had the opportunity to spend time with all year...and still about the food: IT'S ALWAYS ABOUT THE FOOD) anyway...

Think right back to when you were in primary school, or even nursery. The long summer holidays, or even half term or Easter, when you'd go to play at a friend's house, and you'd your friend would turn to you and proclaim 'Let's go exploring!'

The young explorer!

And it was so exciting! To be in a new place together, with made up kingdoms and battles to be won, the thrill of discovering somewhere new and the adventures you'd conceive...all of it feels quite far away now, (I know I'm still young, but I'm waiting for Alzheimer's to bring it all flooding back in full vibrancy!) but I feel like this is the best way for me to relate the same feelings I get when I go on an adventure.

Because that's exactly what it is: an adventure! Why would you simply call it a trip abroad or a holiday? Why make it the mundane?! It's a fantastic exploratory journey that can take you back to that child-like state of continual wonderment of all things new to you.

And I feel that is key: it's NEW TO YOU. It doesn't have to be the most adventurous expedition anyone in the history of adventure-making has ever undertaken. Or the furthest, toughest, beyond brutally challenging journey you've ever undertaken. But it should be new, exciting and thrilling for you. So you can start to reclaim that refreshing child-like joy; the fun and simplicity of splashing in a puddle in the rain or bending down to look in a rock pool for the first time and discovering what can survive in that miniature world...okay, I'm probably taking it a bit far, but you get the idea...

I've just completed a most marvellous adventure which had me exploring places that I've never considered gong to, that are at best forty miles from where I live. And there are still places close by that need un-tapping...And, just as importantly, it was a challenge for me: one person recently compared my run to that of the awe-inspiring Ben Smith and his 401 marathons in as many days. Of course, when looked at side-by-side, my efforts at trail running quake in their muddy trainers, but then I stop and remind myself that this was a challenge for me, that pushed me beyond my comfort zone whilst allowing me the chance to explore my home county.

And it's finding joy and beauty in the seemingly insignificant. A field can be just a field to walk, run, cycle or even ride through, But in that field you may pass by beautifully delicate wild flowers that are dotted, almost hidden by frond-like grasses that are gently swaying in the breeze, sun beams glinting through thick grey clouds scurrying across the sky...imagine being utterly alone, no roads or houses in the near distance. You're enjoying the entirety of the scene; no one else has had the privilege of both observing, and being a part of that moment in time.

Or perhaps you're in the midst of a beautiful bustling square, totally alone in your anonymity. No one knows you, you know no one. Yet there are brief moments of eye contact with various strangers in the crowd, these split seconds of connection, instantaneously lost in a single blink or a turn of the head. Both observer and actor in the scene.

It's in these moments that I truly remember why I love exploring and travelling. You create incredibly tangible memories from what appear to be the most insignificant moments. And it's these seemingly mundane scenes that are the integral moments that become the true feel of each individual adventure.

Post-Ultra Diaries Part two: Getting back to full strength

Before we begin: I've just noticed that the Post-Ultra Diaries can be wonderfully acronymed to PUDs...you can possibly see which direction my thoughts are permanently orientated towards...

Anyway, on with this whole post-ultra recovery thingimajig:

The sun is slowly setting behind the rolling hills in the Lake District, turning the sky a brilliant orange with streaks of pink in the west; the east already bleak with the onset of dusk. My belly is full, my mind relaxed, and my heart content.

I've enjoyed a few days of delicious luxury with good friends in my favourite city in the UK: Edinburgh. I'm seeing it as the final few days of nonchalant overindulgence following my long run around Shropshire - it has been so hectic since I finished that I didn't really get a chance to switch off and relax afterwards, so this trip has felt like a crucial part of the recovery process...and of course, was a great excuse to spend time in an incredible city!

Beautiful Edinburgh

So despite spending filling all of our time with plenty of roaming, drinking and eating these past few days, my mind has been refreshed from returning to so many of my favourite haunts, haunted or otherwise (I was fortunate to study at the University of Edinburgh so I know the city fairly well, although I am a big chicken so you'd be lucky to find me on any of the haunted city tours; a friend once tried to make me watch the Woman in Black - he decided to switch over when I let out a blood-curdling scream about thirty minutes in)...

I feel like I have now pretty much recovered mentally from this running business. It's been a pretty draining couple of weeks, but I now feel ready to start tackling some gentle exercise, with more massages to help my creaking ligaments, and time to start plotting some fresh adventures.

Unsurprisingly my body actually lost abit of chub since doing the run - it was under a fair bit of stress that week and my metabolism must have been in overdrive, so much so that my turned to me one day to remark: 'You're looking rather slim at the moment Hatty, are you eating enough?'
I took this remark very seriously, and proceeded to gorge on two mouth-watering pastries for my second breakfast, followed by a piece of cake and a mahousive cookie that afternoon. This has swiftly become a near- daily routine...

Work Macmillan coffee morning, aka a great excuse to eat copious quantities of CAKE

Mmmmm soo much baked goodness!

Exercise-wise, it's all been nice and gentle: plenty of 'yoga' (me attempting half a sun salutation and swiftly remembering that I'm blessed with incredibly short hamstrings) and trudging around Grinshill, enjoying being leisurely and not having something specific to work towards.

And now the run is complete I can finally start doing something that I have sorely missed - getting back on two wheels and cycling!! Bella has come cantering out of her sabbatical, and I'm having a whale of a time commuting to and from work - oh look, a neat little video of me chatting on a bicycle, taking my multitasking skills to near-CV level....

Time to crack on with some adventure planning me thinks!!

Post-ultra diaries: The edge of the void

My body woke me up at 6am, almost anticipating another day of running...well with six consecutive days done no wonder that's now become a habit...

My mind is tired and foggy as a result of the celebratory beverages consumed, and my stomach feels like a lead weight after eating what felt like half a cow for dinner.

The post-adventure blues haven't quite hit me yet - I'm still savouring that delicious satisfaction that often accompanies the end of a challenge.

This is how I felt, and to an extent, still feeling, upon finishing my rather epic long run around Shropshire last week.

And yet my mind is already tick-ticking, new plans, schemes and adventures are slowly beginning to emerge through the mist that had clouded my now functioning brain - I've been so focused on the run these past few months that I've had little time to think beyond the finish line.

But the finish line has finally arrived, and now I'm standing once again on the edge of the void - the point between completing one challenge and thinking of a fresh one...

However, this post (and hopefully consequent ones!) is about the process after the run, getting from the finish line back to my normal self, and hopefully moving forwards towards more exciting adventures.

Great recovery time spent scribbling and slurping good wine

So the slow process to recovery has started, though I had anticipated feeling a lot 'worse' than I currently do...I feel mentally tired, but my body (although not exactly at peak energy) feels as though, if pushed, it could do more exercise. I won't go that far, but it's quite reassuring to know that this is a genuine possibility.

It's a slow process getting out of bed first thing, my joints are very stiff still, but once I'm up and moving, my legs slowly loosen off and I feel far more human again (I've been spending some time wondering if this is what I will feel like in 50 years time when I attempt to get out of bed?!?!). It's the same with stairs - the first attempt is usually pretty ugly, but after that it's rather like oiling a creaky door, the creak dissipates surprisingly quickly.

One thing I am thankful for, is being able to eat with variety again. My body is craving starchy carbs still, but my tastebuds want fruit, vegetables, spices...the things that I've been depriving myself of throughout the previous week in an attempt to stave off any unwanted and sudden bowel movements...

So it has begun, a fresh start you could say. Next up will be plenty of active recovery - lots of foam rolling, stretching, gentle swims and a fair few visits to Steve's pain cave for post-event massage therapy...I'm looking forward to that as much as visiting the dentist for wisdom tooth removal, no amount of robot wars and ice cream happy place chat will be able to distract from his elbows!

I also need to say some serious thank-yous to a number of people for their efforts and involvement in the run. Without all of these people, I know full well that I would have struggled to reach the start line, let alone the finish line!...

Okay, so I started writing individual paragraphs for people, but I was getting gushy and a bit emotional about it all, so here is a list of everyone I want to thank:

Josh, Flo, Ben, Charl, Pix, Dharmesh, Jo, Mike, Emma, Fae, the Tribal gang, Steve, Dan and the Crossfit SY1 crew, Beth, Sally for the teeshirt, Sarah for the film making, Amy from Shrewsbury Ark, the Peppers, Annie and Adam for hosting me, the Tweet Up gang, to everyone who sponsored this effort, and all the friends who have supported me and accepted that I sometimes, I do crazy things for fun.

But I will do a special mention to my Mum and Dad - they have put up with me for six long months of washing kit, shoe cleaning and fed me a lot of food and encouragement. Dad, you booked the week off work and followed me round pretty much the whole of Shropshire, fed me and put up with my grumblings when I was feeling low - drove me to and from start and finish points, and made the tea. Thank you, I could not have asked for anything more.


Right. Gushy moment over. I'm off to eat some cake.

The Shropshire Way Run Part three: the final push for that cool crisp beer

It was the same routine as the days that had gone before, but with an added element: I would have a chum to run with for the remainder of the Way.

I met Dharmesh only once before: a good friend got in touch awhile ago asking if I could host some end-to-enders (aka Land's End to John O'Groats cyclists) she knew. I said of course we could (I've received so much wonderful hospitality from strangers on my own travels, it's high time I start repaying some of that to the world!) and a friendship with Dharmesh and James was born. Dharmesh, being a keen runner, offered to support the run when I told him about it, and true to his word, he came prepared to run with plenty of good chat to keep me distracted from the growing aches and pains in my legs.

So off we went, disturbing a quiet country lane with our conversations about triathlons, compression socks, work, life, and generally putting the world to rights.

Running chum!

The major climb of the day was up to the top of the Wrekin, which was steep and unrelenting. But it was wonderful to make it up and over the rise - to finally reach the top of a hill with a full 360 degree view that could actually be seen (so many of the big climbs of the week had been shrouded in mist, with the reward of a view at the top falling short of expectations) was a real highlight of the week.

Enjoying a view at the top of the Wrekin!!

After this, the day was spent making our way north, through many a field and nettle patch.

A great advantage of having another runner (and a particularly sprightly one at that) was that he was able to film short videos of me running along the Way, so we could send something a bit more interesting to Sarah than just me and my face talking to the camera whilst very out of breath.

So there we were, jogging through an apparently empty field, Dharmesh having a whale of a time running circles around me with the camera. When he gave it back (still recording) I turned around to notice a stampede of cows heading our way.

This was when I discovered that out of the two 'fight or flight' modes, when it comes to cows, Dharmesh is definitely a 'flight' sort of person. We weren't all that far from the gate, so I slowed down to try and calm the cows (so we wouldn't give them something to chase, which is what cows generally like to do:from my own countryside experience, if there's something nippy, cows are curious and will give chase, unlike sheep, which tend to run away very quickly) all the while Dharmesh is practically skipping in his determination to get to the gate, questioning my sanity at choosing to walk rather than sprint to escape. Meanwhile an elderly lady was in her garden brandishing a stick at the cows, asking them politely to slow down and leave the crazy people alone...needless to say, we escaped the fearsome cows, and henceforth I will continue to chuckle and remind Dharmesh of this moment every time I see him.

Onwards through to High Ercall, where we paused for some lunch - dad had thought ahead, and managed to purchase more quiche, a storming idea after Thursday's monumental quiche success...alas the problem with having such a splendiferous slab of quiche the previous day, any other type of quiche was going to struggle to rise to the expectations of such quiche supremacy...it was not meant to be, the quiche was full of water and tasteless by comparison. We managed to wolf down a couple of slices each before it got to the point where it really wasn't worth the effort anymore, and instead tucked into flapjack and slurped some tea.

The afternoon was spent trying to keep cool, as the sun was really beating down on us - it truly has been a glorious Indian Summer, although maybe a tad warm for long-distance trail running (I know people do the Marathon des Sables in the desert, but I'm a natural over-heater like both of my parents, and feel far more comfortable running in wet and cold conditions).

It was a great last few miles running through fields of freshly-turned golden straw. It was decidedly less lovely running through what appeared to be a field full of nettles - I'm not joking when I say this, it was almost as though the field had been planted with nettles for a harvest crop, it was such a bizarre moment!

We were joined by my dad for the final couple of miles along green lanes, past a cottage that my family lived in for a few years when we were small, to Lee Brockhurst. The terrain being relatively easy, the day was finished fairly early for a change.

Even better, on route home, a fellow cycle tourer came into view - David Steel, a good friend from uni, was staying the night. He was in the first week of pedaling from Glasgow to The Gambia in West Africa - what an incredible journey!! I haven't seen him since graduating, so it was great to have a catch up, and to hear about all his adventures, even for just an evening.

A group of wacky adventurers - David cycling through Africa, Dharmesh the Ironman-to-be, and me :) 

We all departed for bed with tired legs, full bellies and anticipation for the next day...the final day...





I woke up tired and stiff, the joints and muscles not wanting to go, but they were dragged into running kit for one final day of roaming.

We wished David luck as he pedaled away, and headed to our own departure point. My friend Charl was taking over support crew duties for the day, and was ready to roll with dad Keith in the navigation seat. Off we jogged, with light hearts and light packs - we would not be going too far until we saw everyone again.

We made our way into Wem, and passed the Castle pub where I used to work. I hugged the landlady as we passed, and immediately bumped into my Grandpa, who wished us well on our final day of running.

It was a real treat to be joined by Mike, Jo and Emma for the miles up to Grinshill. Plenty of chuckles  ensued about Mike's hangover - he's reached the ripe old age of 26, and  claims he's at the point of not being able to drink more than 3 beers without suffering...the rest of us, still sitting in the youthful 25 and under category, can otherwise enjoy copious quantities of alcohol without such repercussions....supposedly!

We made it to the top of Grinshill and celebrated heartily with tea and bacon sandwiches. Grinshill is the first place that I started running when I was six years old (I went to Clive Primary School, and enjoyed running wild on Grinshill in the cross country club for years) and it's still one of my favourite places to run even now. the Way doesn't go to the top of Grinshill, but it was well worth the short detour. It would have felt wrong to simply jog straight on through.

Still one of my favourite places to run, and just to sit and enjoy the view

A wonderful distraction for sore legs!

It was a swift run down through Grinshill and through the fields to Hadnall and then along to Astley, where we saw Charl, Keith and Sarah by the tiny toy church. We made it a brief stop: my thoughts were finally drifting towards the finish line, and the longer we delayed, the more twitchy I was becoming, and it was all the harder to get going again.

The afternoon was full of very hot running. Dharmesh was, quite rightly, enforcing regular water breaks for the sections. I was grateful that he still had plenty of energy so he could do most of the thinking for me. It left me with the task of navigating, which had become so much of a habit that running without a map in hand felt quite unnatural.

We had fantastic views of Haughmond Abbey, the remains of the Augustinian Abbey making a wonderful checkpoint for the final few miles of the Way. Then it was over the road and along a beautiful woodland track, the shade of the trees a welcome relief after so long exposed in the expansive fields.

Haughmond Abbey - the end is in sight!

The last few miles rushed by, and before I knew it, we were by the weir, with one final mile remaining.

The riverside path was a bustle of people, all enjoying the glorious September sunshine. We jogged on by, singing 'Don't stop me now' loudly and unashamedly  - however the singing led to a significant increase in pace, so we quickly became out of breath and returned back to slow plodding; it would have been quite something to burn out and dehydrate in the final mile so I couldn't finish!

Dharmesh sprinted on ahead so I could finish by myself - as I saw him bound away like a leggy gazelle, I was left with my thoughts...which I can't really put a finger on. It felt odd to have a finish that wasn't a non-entity. Every long-distance trip I've done, I've finished alone, and enjoyed a quiet ending to a spectacular journey, so to be surrounded by people I knew, to run the final few metres in the knowledge that friends and family were waiting for me with fresh clothes, water and food, and the all important celebratory beer, was exciting in itself.


It had been a whirlwind week of emotions, and exploration: I'd learnt about and discovered so much about places that I'd only heard about, finally spending some quality time experiencing the county that I've grown up in. All whilst running and pushing myself far beyond what I thought I was capable of. I suppose I simply felt lucky that my body coped so well that I could enjoy so much of the journey, and glad that I had simply taken the decision to try something that I'd never done before.

I remember trying to capture my thoughts on camera - I'm not entirely sure what I said, but I did manage a spectacular fail of dropping said camera just as I came into view of the bandstand and the gang awaiting me there...maybe having people waiting for me to finish something is not the best idea after all?! At least I didn't fall over...

And that was that! I reached the bandstand after picking up all the camera pieces, quickly whipped off my trainers, and cracked open a delicious chilled tin of Brooklyn Craft beer. That first slurp was absolute heaven. There were hugs all round, and then a swift departure to the closest pub for celebratory wine and chips in copious quantities.

It turned into a wonderfully lazy afternoon of chilled beverages by the river, with the sun slowly starting to sink, the day drawing to a relaxed end. All that awaited was a blissful hot shower to start the vain attempt to clean my filthy toenails and ease my aching muscles, and a long deep sleep.


I refer once again to that simple yet powerful quote from the awe-inspiring Terry Fox.


'I just wish people would realise that anything's possible if you try; dreams are made possible if you try'.

I feel I can comprehend this more fully even compared with my cycle across Canada - the distance I covered this week, I could have covered in just over a day on two wheels. But the challenge involved with running this distance presented a far greater test of my abilities than pedaling across the breadth of a continent. I was pushed to train, and focus my efforts in order to give myself the best possible chance of completing something that I genuinely wasn't sure I would reach the end of.

And so I can honestly say that this past week, I tried bloody hard. I sweated, I ached. bled, grunted, blistered, yelled with frustration, questioned my sanity (I'm used to other people doing this one, but not me!) dealt with the wild beasts of Shropshire (well plenty of cows, sheep, ponies and dogs) and came out the other side with a far stronger mind, and thick callouses on my feet.

It has been a week of trying, a week to be proud of.

Over and out.

The Shropshire Way Run Part 2: The end of the beginning

So it was, I suppose, the end of the beginning: I'd survived the first two days with minimal damage, and was still getting up out of bed with energy enough to stomach food and get moving again. I couldn't yet start thinking about the end, but the beginning was well and truly behind me.

Having studied the map, the first few miles should have been a relatively 'easy' start to the day: not much by way of climbing, the most part consisting of low lying fields with little to trouble me...as ever, the proverbial 'sod's law' cackled with glee as I headed out onto the trail.

Back at Stokesay Castle,

The map that I was using was perhaps a little outdated. I was meandering my way through innocent fields full of sheep, until I encountered a hedge with no stile where it ought to have been: this was a first. After a little thought, I trudged to the bottom of the field where an alternative path ought to have been following the railway line. Lo and behold, a dilapidated stile awaited me, along with the next section full of young frisky bullocks and overly protective momma cows to contend with. After being pursued across two further fields by an ever growing herd, I was fortunate enough to escape.

Benign start to the day...

Into a green lane that was happily overgrown with nettles, brambles and wild roses - a lovely glade of colour from a safe distance, at close quarters, decidedly less so. I spent the next ten minutes battling my way through, having already come so far it would have been foolish to turn back when I could see farm buildings mere metres away from where I stood. Emerging from the 'path' smothered in stings, scratches and mud, I staggered across the farmyard to the safety of the road, the farmer not even glancing in my direction despite his dog's most enthusiastic and rather aggressive barking.

A few miles on I burst onto the golf course at Ludlow; a collection of elderly gentlemen clearly found my presence on the greens entertaining - a sweaty, bedraggled woman trying to avoid the swing of clubs and flying balls must have been a slightly alternative golfing experience for them...

Ludlow in the distance

To say that I was not in the best of moods when I reached the market square in Ludlow would be an understatement. I was overheated, I'd twinged my groin whilst trying to avoid cows, and I was behind schedule - the first time this had happened so far. I tried to find some shade and stretch, and did my best to stay calm: I'd only gone 8 miles so far, and with a challenging afternoon ahead, I'd hoped to be faring better at this stage in the day.

Trying to keep a cool head (both metaphorically and physically, I doused my headband in water and donned a cap to complete my 'I'm abroad in the heat' chic) and trudged onwards towards the Clee hills.

I was making steady progress, until I managed to undo a lot of the progress I'd made by taking what I thought was a sneaky short-cut down a short path to what I assumed was my next destination. What  had been achieved was the exact opposite: I had somehow done a U-turn and ended up towards the bottom of the hill that I'd just climbed - that will be the last time for a very long time, that I attempt anything close to a short-cut!

Tired, sweaty and struggling

It was at this point that I had my first and only moment of seriously questioning whether this running business was a good idea. I simply couldn't understand why I was choosing to put myself through this madness - well, I knew why I was doing it, but at that moment in time, I was not enjoying myself, and every part of my being knew this.

When I finally worked out where I was, my heart sank. I chuckled bitterly to myself, resenting my poor navigation as I began to cut another path back up the hill.

Muddy work

Fortunately, dad came to the rescue: the brew kit was brought out of the car, along with camping chairs, and we paused by the church in Knowbury for some lunch. The tea did a great deal of good: it comforted my aching body and as I sat there, I began to accept that this would be a long and arduous day. When I understood this, my body and mind began to relax and I saw the fun of it all once more.

Time to go and tackle the big ones.

Dad is one to look at the contours on a map and tries to judge height variations for the miles ahead: as someone who tends to neglect this useful addition to maps (I come from the school of 'well I'm going to have to go over it anyway so I may as well crack on and worry about the numbers later'), I was grateful for him voicing these interpretation, as I could mentally prepare for the final section of the day: the Clee hills.

Titterstone Clee in the distance

First up was Titterstone Clee, which I managed to tackle surprisingly quickly. Then it was a long sweeping descent into the valley separating Titterstone from Brown Clee. I lost a fair bit of altitude, so when the trail began to steer steeply upward, I knew I was in for the long haul.

Top of Titterstone - the smaller of the big two done!

Half way up the second climb...looking and feeling rough!!

To keep entertained, I like to sing songs: this climb featured a variety of tunes, notably 'Aint no mountain high enough', which is a stalwart of my music-running repertoire. This then branched into quoting lines from Lord of the Rings: I couldn't resist putting on my Gollum and trying to make my through the marshes on Clee Burf, the flat, moorland crossed with bog that precedes Brown Clee.

The final ascent I spent feeling nauseous - perhaps one too many jam sandwiches, or the fatigue was catching up with me. Every step my stomach churned, desperate for the day to be done. Reaching the trig point was truly the climax of a very difficult day - the tallest point in Shropshire had been conquered after a grueling 24 miles of grunting, hobbling, cursing and downright grumpiness. I was exhausted yet elated once more, and downright proud to have overcome the obstacles thrown in the way to reach this point.

Descending was not exactly a jovial whirlwind, more a delicate, tender stumble to try and minimise any joint pain. And the day was done. I was half way, and had managed to complete 75 miles in three days. Onwards to Thursday...

Such a cool find at the end of day 3 - a phone-box turned mini-library, and also egg trading apparently!

Heading out on Thursday morning held fresh challenges. A heavy mist had descended, and I couldn't see more than 50 metres in any direction. The trees were so thick with dew that it almost sounded like it was raining - another day for soggy feet from the start.

Longhorn cows just visible through the mist

Time seemed to slow as I made my way along the trail, trying to be as vigilant as possible to avoid getting lost. After a few miles and more than a few confused moments, Wilderhope Manor loomed out of nowhere, reassuring me that I was indeed following the right path.

What was soon to follow was possibly one of my least favourite experiences of the entire expedition: the Way passed through a farm, following one long relatively straight track right through some farm buildings. There were even signs that pointed you in the right direction. That 'right direction' led straight through a section that was clearly frequented by cows, so much so that I was soon ankle deep in slurry. Although it was only for a short while, it was most definitely long enough for me to determine that, in future, I would most certainly be taking a detour from this particular section.



Fortunately, a brew and a sit down (not in the car, dad would not let me in) was waiting for me only a short way further.

Recovering from the slurry experience

A short way further on, I became so shrouded in mist in the middle of a field that I simply walked in what I hoped was one direction across the field. I found myself once again on the wrong side of a hill, and entirely gone astray from the Way. Conversely to the previous day, I felt strangely calm and uncharacteristically nonchalant about the whole situation: I had rather enjoyed the feeling of being almost entirely engulfed by the mist, not knowing where I was, surrounded by the silence. It was thrilling and peaceful in one. So I didn't particularly begrudge the knowledge of being off-course; at the time, it had been worth it.

Much Wenlock was still a welcome sight - plenty of tea and pasta was consumed whilst chatting away to an old lady with an adorable long-haired dachshund, whose tummy was so low that the hair swept the ground as he walked.

Spending time in Much Wenlock

I was getting bored of pasta at this point, so went on the hunt for something tasty for lunch. It had been one of those days (and I'm sure many other people have experienced something similar) where every food that I ate had not, for whatever reason, quite hit the spot. And although I could not quite put my finger on what it was that I was craving exactly, I knew that I would not be satisfied until I managed to find whatever it was.

After a hopeless search in the local grocery shop, we came across a butchers, where there was some fine looking quiche in the window - what luck, it was exactly what I'd been looking for! I had the best, hench piece of cheese and tomato quiche that I have had in years. It was a fantastic bake, zero soggy bottoms to be had, the filling held well, and tasted sublime. To say it was gobbled down in top speed would be an understatement!

Setting off with the mothership

The afternoon held a yet another new experience - I got to run with someone for the very first time: my mum joined me for the next five miles. And what a five miles she chose! It was glorious - the first section fields and uphill, but the last two thirds was glorious woodland trails, gently sloping downhill all the way to Ironbridge. Mum didn't appreciate the heat - she's most definitely a winter runner, preferring snow and rain to blazing sunshine -but it was lovely to have some company. We celebrated reaching Ironbridge with ice creams. The town itself felt quite Mediterranean that day, plenty of cafes with people sitting outdoors, and others strolling up and down the high street with that delicious, almost lackadaisical style that so often fills my mind when I envisage small towns in Italy or Spain.

Trying to teach my mum how to use my camera

Meeting Sarah and Dad in Ironbridge

The romance of it all was only enhanced when I climbed up through the town and past the church, the views over Coalbrookdale glorious in the afternoon haze.

Beautiful Ironbridge

Tea Kettle Row!!!

Heading towards Little Wenlock

The final stretch towards Little Wenlock passed by swiftly, and I was met by Sally and her two girls for a final sprint finish to complete day four. It was lovely to see them turn out at the end of another long day out. After a brief catch up, it was onwards to our next home of the week, plenty of good food, good company, and long dreamless sleep.

With the lovely Sally at the end of Thursday

Winning.