Run Britain Day 30: From Exmouth to Paignton

I’m writing this at the start of day 31, on the train heading back to yesterday’s finish point and today’s start point at Paignton.

It is a beautiful sunny day, cold but clear skies. Everything that I wanted for running Britain in the winter.

But I feel completely wrecked. My body just isn’t getting enough rest. Even though I’m taking less time to do the running than I expected, the additional travel and logistics around rivers in this part of Devon means I’m not switching off and powering down as much as I should.

It means I am just so tired and being this tired means I’m struggling to appreciate the blue skies and amazing views. Or the support, or the money raised.

And when I’m this tired and overwhelmed, I tend to go into myself. I shut down from people, I hide myself away. I grit my teeth, get my head down and wait for easier times.

But the problem with this approach is when it doesn’t work. Yesterday (day 30, Exmouth to Paignton), I pushed through the day, got out early, put an interesting audiobook on and tried to just get it done as quickly as possible.

I felt ok when I finished the run, tired but ok. But almost as soon as I’d finished, my mind turned to the logistics of the next day, the attention that my blistered feet need, how I was going to replace the calories burned while climbing and descending the many thousands of steps on the South West coast path.

I probably should get a bit better at taking a moment to appreciate the achievement of each day. And I definitely should be more open with the extent to which I am struggling and what I need.

Because I am struggling. This is a monumentally hard thing to do and I’m surprised at how physically hard I’m finding it. I am very fit, marathon running comes quite easily to me, so does being on my feet for many hours. And even walking over hills is something that I will complain about doing, but not something that, in my normal life, I find especially hard.

What’s hard is how relentless this is. The fact that there is just no time to go and check the my blisters aren’t infected. No energy to cook a proper meal. No inclination to sit and write and appreciate the positives of the day.

It means that, once again, I’m questioning why I’m running around Britain. Why am I putting myself through this pain if I’m not enjoying it? Why am I putting my friends and family through the worry of how I’m doing? Why am I missing family birthdays, spending Christmas on my own in Snowdonia?

It probably doesn’t help that when my day finished in Paignton (which isn’t beautiful), I simply got on a train and arrived back at my start point an hour later. That felt a little depressing.