I am here. It is now.

Sparsholt Firs – Foxhill

Despite my determination to finally complete the route on this new day, I could only summon a trudge from my weary legs as I stepped from that cozy car into a brisk and foggy morning. As luck would have it, I hadn’t been walking for more than 10 minutes, when the terrain decided to tip its hat with a rowdy GOOD MORNING! HOW DO YOU DO?! REMEMBER ME?!

I stopped cold at the sight of a mucky chalk pond that had consumed the crossroads. As I debated which part of Michael Rosen’s Bear Hunt antics I’d use to reach the other side, I started thinking about the next section of the trail, which I recalled from previous outings would be a lengthy, knee battering, chalk descent – and hard as a rock.

Not today. Of course. Silly girl!

I crossed The Marvellous Junction Eating Pond along the path of least resistance (read: trying not to get swallowed up) and minced my way along the left side of that now sludgy descent, with the ever-present fear of skiing down at the speed of whiplash dictating my pace.

I had merely begun pondering what new blue word to add to the profanisaurus, when I spotted a jeep skidding up the middle of the hill towards me and instantly invented at least a dozen. As Jeep Guy’s going right to left, left to right, right left left lefff noooooo maybe right again, shimmy shimmy cocopop, my tired brain’s telling me to GETOUTOFTHEWAY and wot hey, my body decided to respond by freezing in place. I woke up and moved further to the left when I realised the driver would continue to gun it or he’d not make the summit, and if he was either a particularly shit driver or had one small error of judgement, they’d soon find a redheaded bug splat embedded in the latest serving of chalk sludge.

Our man passed looking slightly embarrassed and endlessly apologetic, so I can only imagine the horror plastered on my face. I muttered my way down the rest of the slop and figured I best get a move on lest I encounter any more vehicles along the stretch. No more than five steps later, as if someone pulled a rug out from under my feet, I promptly fell on my arse, but not before taking on a bit of vert, legs full akimbo. I may have even scored quite highly, had there been a judging panel to hand.

Now, there’s a scene in the film A Knight’s Tale whereby the baddie Adhemar is watching hero Ulrich dancing with the girl they both want to get jiggy with. Adhemar is raging, and the expression on his face morphs with the most amazing intensity from anger, to agitation, now frustration, now exasperation. Then he storms off. If you’ve seen the film, I have no doubt you’ll remember it.

If there’s a better description of my own facial expression after having just covered the entire back half of my body in chalk sludge, I should like to see it.

I sat in the stuff for a solid minute, with an effervescent stream of cursing refusing to fall out, but on clear and constant loop in my skull, looking around, now inhaling, now exhaling, now a grunt, now a blasted out sigh—

So this is how we’re gonna do it? Ok. Alright, you bastard. Let’s dance.

And that was that. I pried myself up, and tried in vain to clean myself off, skimming off clump after clump of muck from the back of my trousers and hurling it to the side, scoop, fling, curse, repeat.

Sufficiently de-clumped, I continued onward with a bit more spring in my step, clearly fuelled by pent up fury from the fall. The anger faded as the trail magically reappeared from beneath the sludge, and I was glad to have a bit of a break now. I paused and turned back to see the sun working ridiculously hard to burn through the mist, exactly as it had done on the morning of R86 Take One.

The similarity of the scene pulled my head game out of my arse and returned it to precisely where it needed to be. To my great surprise, it also gifted me with the very thing I came here to find, albeit unknowingly.

Without any warning whatsoever, I was absolutely consumed by the concept of the present—the realisation that I was at a precise point between my past and my future had switched on in my mind like a klieg light. I could even picture the representative dot of this moment I was living in, like a map pinpoint icon of my own existence. It seemed so odd, yet not hallucinatory, and felt a bit as if every step I’d ever taken and every step yet to come, all my memories and all my dreams, had not only become perfectly entwined like a double helix, but were also occurring at once, like they’d been chucked into some giant vortex.

I felt as if I had reached some kind of spiritual détente, and that I’d finally found the way to stop longing from loss and worrying about distant tomorrows. I realised that the concept of relentless forward progress had merely been the vehicle moving me between these moments all this time, a series of stepping stones across a vast sea of individual life experiences taking me from yesterday into tomorrow.

And then I realised you can still move forward even when you're not moving at all.

I am here. It is now.

The idea must have been brewing for days as I remembered telling myself earlier on the trail I needed to ‘stay here, stay here’, so that I’d capitalise on the deep value of the present and not overthink things. I pondered how much personal power we have to control how we respond to each moment, from a place within that moment. This ability has always escaped me, whether on a trail or at my desk, in my car, or playing with Rukai. My thoughts have forever scattered to the four winds, encased in worries for things I cannot control, creating plans that never come to fruition, never settling down to taste an idea and allowing it to nourish me.

I am here. It is now.

Sort of like ‘don’t worry, be happy’ without the saccharine.

That incredible and life-changing moment moved fluidly into the next and thankfully Intense Philosophical Max took a breather and I settled back in to letting my moments continue to connect, unnoticed.

I scanned the side of the trail in search of a spot for a wild wee. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten all about the sludge down the back of my clothes, so when I finished and pulled up my trousers, I managed to cake my thighs in it. Next thing I know something’s stinging and biting the hell out of the back of my left leg. So in goes my hand straight down the pants, and back out again, hoiking out massive clumps of sludge, inspecting it for whatever the HELL is biting me, nope nothing there, fling, dig, inspect, fling.

Clearly, this particular moment was all about vulgar words. If there were any witnesses, they are still laughing at the lunacy.

Eventually I managed to get rid of the biting sensation and I got going again, feeling as if I’d been nettled. A ping from a friend effectively dropped that baby chimp and set me off looking for Whitehorse Hill. As soon as I spotted the signage in front of a giant rising land mass to my right, I promptly decided I’d not be seeing it today.

The approach to Wayland’s Smithy gave off some heavy and odd vibes, the nature of the enclosed, path with its smattering of trees reminding me of the film Gladiator. I half expected to find failed warriors strung from the trees, and was delighted the thought fled as quickly as it arrived once I reached the junction of Knighton Hill. I spotted a few cars parked alongside the track but didn’t see Hobs about, so figured he was probably elsewhere. It was only after I’d passed the junction that I realised I hadn’t paid attention to his car’s defining features from the two times I’d been in it, and maybe one of those was him after all – maybe he was asleep in the back? I didn’t wholly trust this thought, so kept moving forward, which would be the right choice.

I reached the entrance to Wayland’s Smithy where a cinder block invited me for a little sit down. My phone pinged merrily and I checked it to find Hobs had sent over a potential route he’d mapped out for those final miles I’d planned. I had a look and texted back, eventually learning he was still ahead of my position.

A National Trust rep out on a morning inspection of the site stopped for a chat, and I explained what I was doing and what had brought me here. Very familiar with the R86, he wished me well with my challenge as I went on my way, having promised that I’d come back to see the place when I could give it the time and attention it deserved.

Hobs’ expression as I stepped into the car park at Ashbury Hill told me all I needed to know about the state of my clothing in the aftermath of the most recent sludgy adventure. After he delivered another marvellous brew, I dug through my food to decide what I thought I could eat, settling on a bagel and bit of cheese. I was in a much better way than I had been the night before, still as we chatted I decided that I was going to stop this adventure in Avebury after all. He would be clocking off after I left, but offered to help if I got stuck with transport once I got there.

For one last time, I stepped out of the car and bundled myself up as I prepared to go. Despite the sun now doing a reasonably good job warming the day, I still had a bit of a chill from the physical depletion. But the fire inside was entirely ablaze again – I had 66 miles in the rear view and that heartbreaking DNF location at Foxhill was clear in my sights. Today was not yesterday.

I am here. It is now.

There was little else going on between that car and that signpost other than a furious drive to reach, and exceed, a single point on the map, a unique moment in time.

Relentless forward progress.
Eyes like the Terminator.
Focus. Focus. Drive. Go.

Go.

I am here. It is now.

Go.

I approached a hideously smelly farm and, unfazed, decided to stop and get some layers off as I was warming up. I quickly shoved them back in the pack and got rolling again, eventually reaching Idstone Farm and the water tap I’d used during the Ridgeway 40 to clean my broken finger and residual scrapes.

I’m so close now, surely it’s near, surely—

Stay here. Stay here. This step. The next. The next.

Stay here.

I went live on Facebook to share what I knew would be a life-changing moment for me with anyone who was watching. I realistically wanted everyone I had ever known beside me. I wanted to share that feeling of catching such a ridiculously and frustratingly elusive dream to show that it’s possible. Defining that shape in the mist which had seemed impossible to make out until I took it upon myself to change the rules of engagement.

Control the controllables.

I turned my camera to my feet, reminding them and my heart to stay here, recording this surreal moment, sharing it, living in it so deeply my chest was imploding from the pressure, the tears falling, falling, walking faster, where has the strength to move that fast come from, there’s the sign, there it is—

I am here. It is now.

Camera on the fingerpost: it’s Foxhill, it’s fucking Foxhill, it’s Fox fucking HILL—

I am HERE. It is NOW.

Now to my face and its silent roar, tears nearly drowning me as I’m going over the road, a car passing by, oblivious to the absolute enormity of this moment and the effort that’s gone into living it—

I step up on the verge, and look into that camera, and it’s all to play for now, after all this time, after all these years—

Four. Years. Let’s GO.

I’d never seen this side of that sign with 69 miles under the bridge. I’d never come this far.

Still sobbing, I started up the hill in search of tomorrow. I didn't look back.

___

Standing in the street, the sun is in the east
Calling out the beast, the tiger underneath
Starting to believe, the world is at my feet
I'm ready for the feast, it's all within my reach

I'm going, all the way
I'm going, yeah, my blood is rebel
I'm going, all the way
I'm going, to another level

Chainbreaker.
Earthshaker.
Rainmaker.

- Another Level (Joep Sporck Remix), Oh The Larceny

(10 / x)

Prologue: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/in-search-of-inner-greatness.html

Part 1: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/why.html

Part 2: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/when-adversity-comes-calling.html

Part 3: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/once-more-unto-breach-dear-friends-once.html

Part 4: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/dream-big.html

Part 5: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/the-big-chill.html

Part 6: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/let-it-begin.html

Part 7: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/keeping-faith.html