9th April. Ultramarathon - My Fucking Arse!

"I really think you should go to A&E with that foot thing" I gloated from the comfort of my single bed at The Gladstone B&B, which I was really really really pleased wasn't a dream I was having somewhere in a forest by the side of Loch Ness at night. Yes, Fat Boy was certainly incapable of running the morning after the very long night of the lying down and staring up at spruce trees and drizzle. "It could be serious" I emphasized. The Great Glen Death March had been cancelled in a stealth move by the organisers but several competitors had started anyway, there just wouldn't be a burger van. Kevin from Bristol and Billy The Bulgarian from London soon got ahead despite the bulgarian being weighed down with polenta as he had a gluten allergy, "Guys you want some polenta?" so the lack of the burger van was no loss for him. In fact what was the sixty quid entrance for anyway? A couple of older seasoned dudes brought up the rear shepherding The Only Woman. Nausea set in by about 2 or 3 am together with an overpowering need to go to sleep. " I'll set the alarm for 6 mins" said FB as we lay and stared up at spruce trees and the drizzle. I kept saying "I'd perk up when the dawn came" but after about 15 hours of running I was just talking even more nonsense than usual and the lying down had got more and more frequent. "We'll never make the 24 hour cut off" whined FB and "I'd perk up soon" but also that it was "funny how everything was made of plastic". FB said that if I continued for the last 16 miles he'd be forced to accompany me because he doubted that in a worsening state of delerium I'd ever be able to find Inverness. So we ended up having steak pie and chips with me nodding off and saying WHAT WHAT WHAT? every mouthful and then got a taxi. In effect an abject failure at 50 miles again. What a brilliant steak pie though. And a 2 hour wait at casualty revealed Repetitive Strain Injury for FB. Awwww...