Beachy Head Marathon 23 October 2010 Gavin Long reports: 5.00am start (again!!) and we drove in torrential rain (again!!). The storm had cleared as we took the “scenic route” through Tunbridge Wells. Who needs a Sat Nav when Paul has scribbled directions on the back of an envelope? Luckily by arriving just 10 minutes before the gun, we didn’t have time for any start line anxiety. Check out the photo of the starting slope. I like hills, but that is a pretty tough way to start (or finish) 26.2 miles. It was a tremendously varied course, including a great track through Friston Forest, and a not so great track through the middle of a herd of frisky cows. I knew that I had to wait until mile 20 for the spectacular Seven Sisters, but I hadn’t expected such fabulous inland views so early on. I refuelled at one of the many excellent refreshment stops, and started the longest climb of the day at the 10 mile mark. This was a real teeth-gritter with two miles of continual uphill, the last three-quarters of which was exposed against a strong headwind. The female runner in front of me misjudged the wind and discharged a globule of snot between my feet – very pleasant. Paul (pacing it to perfection) caught up again, and his speed on the gradual downhill was too much for me, so I watched him disappear into the distance. Woodland steps are always an enjoyable feature for rapidly tiring legs. Apparently there were 227 of them. I presume the kilted bagpiper at the top was meant to encourage us but to tell the truth I could have done without him. I saw John James for the second time, and his support from the roadside was just the boost I needed. What wasn’t needed was the cold hot cross bun that I grabbed at the next pit stop. Instead of water, I opted for coffee (why?) and thought the bun would be a nice accompaniment. It was overly-ambitious and I struggled for a good few minutes to plod, breathe and chew at the same time. Finally I hit the coast, and although there was still a huge amount to go, I felt that I had it beat. The view of the undulating green slopes blanketing the white cliffs to the lighthouse 3½ miles away was sensational. On another day it might have seemed intimidating but I think I was just enjoying myself too much. That’s certainly not to say it was easy. The Seven Sisters are vicious quad-killing downhills followed by lung-busting uphills. As my knee still doesn’t let me run the downhills I felt justified in walking. Seeing the chance for another breather, I stopped to help a runner who had collapsed with agonising cramps. I was probably a bit too eager to force my space blanket onto him for his long, slow, chilly walk to the finish, but I’d been carrying that foil blanket in my backpack for years waiting for just this sort of occasion. The energy that I had conserved certainly helped me for the final uphill to Beachy Head, or it would have if I hadn’t inadvertently dropped a wrapper and then chased the wind-propelled litter uphill. The scene was farcical. Twenty or so shattered runners dragging themselves up the final hill only to be overtaken by a lunatic in a buff, sprinting past them in a pathetic attempt to stomp on a Mars wrapper. After 50 metres (which seemed like 500), it flew too far away and I had to admit defeat. If nothing else, I caused my fellow runners a few moments of distraction. We were urged on by supportive windswept walkers, and I finished smiling and wanting more……… which doesn’t often happen at the end of a marathon.