London to Brighton: Part 3

We had 12 miles left to walk, which doesn't sound too bad. But when you've just walked 50 and you've had no sleep in 24 hours it sounds horrendous. With tired leaden legs we trudged onward along a lane for a good mile, again more terrain I despised, it was slow going and we had to stop a few times to stretch. It was early and the lanes were empty but for that wavering stream of walkers. Eventually we made a left turn off the lane onto a farm track, we followed this all the way to the next rest stop at 87km. The distances between stops were shorter now, to mirror the shortness of tempers.

The memories of this section have faded. Which tells me something, I wasn't quite with it. I remember some rabbits and some beautiful horses, oh and the view of the first real climb we'd attempt of the south downs, but that really was about it. That hill, incidentally, had been talked about amongst the walkers since mile 1, we spoke of it under our breaths like something we dare not mention. We tried to make this stop as short as possible, I had a polystyrene cup of tea, which tasted like nectar and we were on our way.

We hit the hill almost straight away, it rose steeply like a great monolith to human stupidity. I was absolutely convinced that once we reached the summit I'd see the vast expanse of the english channel there before us and before that our finish line in plain view. This soon turned into just more visions of stupidity. We saw only more rolling hills. The views were beautiful, that's a definite, but I was so over views by now. I enjoy them more in hindsight. I must add I did secretly enjoy that hill, I didn't feel any pain whilst walking up it, my legs savoured the geographical change.

I remember a path, bisecting fields, a path of chalk. Swallows swooped playfully over the rapeseed and the poppies of the field fringes. As we reached the bottom of the valley I looked across and I saw again some familiar faces. My mum and sister were there, we waved our walking poles and they waved back. I was not expecting to see them until the end. We walked with them for a short while, this took our minds off yet another hill. From then only 7km to go! The excitement of the finish was slowly smothering the mental and physical fatigue. Within another kilometre there we saw the final rest stop. We barely stayed 5 minutes.

We then walked a path that ran alongside the B2123. The wind had picked up, air whipped up from the sea, its characteristic scent, sent a chill through us. The weather was merely secondary. We eventually, after what felt like forever, crossed over the road and walked a quite awkward track, which was basically small pieces of rubble. Here we passed a man who congratulated us and said only 400 meters and we'd see the finish. I started to speed up, "come on Claire" I kept saying. We crossed another road and we were onto the Brighton racecourse, only 7 furlongs to go.

I'm not afraid to admit it. I could feel myself begin to well up, I quickly tried to find out ways to stop this from happening. How I managed to keep it together I'm not quite sure. I could see people crossing the finish line in the distance, to cheers of the gathered crowd, with every cheer, with every imagination of myself and Claire crossing the line I thought of the magnitude of such an undertaking. The finish drew ever closer. We had done it. We began walking over a day a go and here we were about to finish. 400 meters halved, and halved again, then only 50 meters to go, about now we were alongside the crowd, they were all cheering us, and loudly. It felt good, it felt very good.

My family were there, and so was Lesley. And so were many strangers rooting for us. I wasn't really thinking at this point, just savouring the moment. Aches and pains of the last 27 hours and 21 minutes were a distant memory as we crossed under the finish banner. We had done it. Finished. Complete. End. No more, no more. "There is a pleasure sure in being mad which none but madmen know", these words by John Dryden encapsulate this rare pleasure. I grasped my free congratulatory cup of fizzy stuff and bowed my head to receive my medal, a satisfyingly weighty one too.

My sister asked me shortly after if I'd do it again. With the pain now fresh in my memory the answer was of course, no. But ask me now, I wouldn't rule it out. Thank you to each and everyone who leant support along the way and thank you to all of you who donated, I smashed through my target and for that I am so grateful. After all, this was the reason I attempted the walk, The British Heart Foundation. Me and Claire have to date raised over £1300 for our charities. Ultimately, I'm an advocate of the human body as a form of transportation, so if I can inspire just one or two people to use theirs when they normally wouldn't, I did OK.

-

We would both love to see more donations, you have about another 3 weeks to do so. You can donate to me here. And Claire, the ever stoic Claire, walked for the MPS Society, you can donate to her here.