More on the Beachy Head Marathon
The results are now out. My time was 5:00:00; they don't trouble themselves with seconds at Beachy Head. I was 484th out of 793 runners who finished in under six hours. 
Toiling up Beachy Head. Photo by AntBliss I ate my customary marathon breakfast of porridge, toast and honey at 6 in the morning, and left for Eastbourne, arriving at the start far too soon. Workmen were still assembling the commentators' dais. I had plenty of time to change and then stretched on the grass in a nearby park, avoiding the dog poo on the grass. Before the start I met Margaret Forrest from Scotland who used to sit on some health librarians' committees with me; she was running it for the second time raisining money here: http://www.justgiving.com/margaretrunning; I also met Hilly Lane Strider. The start, signaled by the Mayor firing a maroon, is always a mad scramble up a steep hill. Some people walk it, but I don't like to start a race walking, so I ran, and here was my first error. I'd had a cough all week, which had been getting worse not better, and at the top of the hill felt distinctly ill. There is a neck rule in running, if you feel ill above the neck, it is probably safe to run, but if you feel ill below the neck, it is dangerous. Don't tell the anatomists I used to work with but I relocated my lungs for marathon purposes to somewhere near my ears, but it was a mistake. I have never before hit the wall in the first mile, but I really felt like giving up. I persuaded myself that I would look pretty silly if I threw in the towel that early, and I kept going. The next blow was that I had carefully organised four gels. one for every five miles, but found that one must have fallen out of my chic gel-holding belt, so I had to ration the three remaining ones. In some ways the downhill are worse than the uphills. The paths down into Jevington, and later to Alfriston, are strewn with leaves at this time of year, which hide the roots and rabbit holes. I nearly fell a couple of times, but stayed upright.
After Jevington we went uphill and into Friston Forest for a bit, and then over to Lullington Heath nature reserve. One year I met some handsome goats here, but not this time. Some other runners had cow trouble, but I missed this. At the top of Wilmington Hill it rained slightly but, worse, when I looked south-east to the Seven Sisters and Beachy Head, they were covered with very black cloud and what looked like heavy rain. In fact by the time we reached it, the cloud had gone and it was sunny. There was a brisk south-westerly wind, just right to blow me over the Seven Sisters. After Alfriston the route goes up again, the last climb for a while. Here I kept overtaking a brace of Wimbledon Windmilers on the uphills, but as soon we were on the flat, they would pass me. At Bo Peep I had a small Mars bar and pressed on towards Seaford, and to High and Over, then down to the Cuckmere valley and over to Litlington, where the refreshment point provides buns. Then back into Friston Forest and up tow flights of stairs before Exceat and the last seven miles, up and down the Seven Sisters.
It was clear by now that I wasn't going to make my target of 4:30, nor even manage 4:45, which would still have been a personal best. The Sisters go on and on, down to sea level and then up again, over Haven Brow, Short Bottom, Short Brow, Limekiln Bottom, Rough Brow, Rough Bottom, Brass Point, Gap Bottom, Flagstaff Point, Flagstaff Brow, Flagstaff Bottom, Flat Hill, Flathill Bottom, Baily's Hill, Michel Dean, Went Hill Brow and Birling Gap. Then a flat run of a mile or so through a wood behind Belle Tout, before the ascent of Beachy Head. By now I was walking all the uphills, though when I saw cameras I ran, Finally, after Beachy Head itself, we ran along the top for a bit before a sharp ascent to the finish. I couldn't sprint for the line, but was nearly knocked down by a soppy couple who were trying to do that while holding hands.
The winner managed 2:47, which is a record and a fantastic time on this course. He often runs Alpine marathons. For other accounts, see Extreme Knitting Redhead and It's Not Just War and Peace
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