I had Friday off, which was a mistake as I had the morning to stew on it. The major worry wasn’t the pain that I’d go through, but the very question of if I could run it all the way. To be 100% clear, in 2014 I was meant to have run 1,854km in training runs, but have completed a grand total of 276km, 15% of the total. Of this 276km, I had only completed 3 runs over 30km, none more than 36km. I had never run marathon distance, and only just run a 10km race with no injuries. With this in mind, I knew I faced a real test.

Met Si at work at lunchtime and we popped to Brick Lane for a bagel and a doughnut before popping in to see Nikki and Tom at Run Fast, who gave us their blessings. An hour and a half later, we were standing in the rain in Richmond, walking to our room above a pub in Isleworth.

Quick refresh and we went to register. After the furore of Tough Mudder, the lonely tent-in-the-middle-of-a-field was lovely and understated. We went in, signed up and were given a single gel, a tube neck thing and a map. Tried not to look at the map as it spanned 8 pages, and no one in their right mind runs across 8 pages, that’s just a stupid thing to do. Said a quick hello to Ben Goddard from Twitter and went to buy supplies before dinner in the pub.

The pub slowly filled with walkers who had had the same idea and as we settled down for pie & mash, Si also got a pizza, for energy’s sake - we ate two slices. We set up the gear on the spare bed, set our alarms for half four and went to bed at 9…..DUMPH DUMPH DUMPH. It’s half eleven and the pub must be playing loud music to get rid of the punters, because it only went on for 20 mins, but definitely kept us awake - although I hadn’t slept until that point anyway.

Up at 4:30 the next morning to get up and out. On the site the pub is less than half a mile to the start point, but the Thames is in the way, so in the pouring rain, with our kit bags, we walk to the start. We see other runners, trucks splash us for their amusement and there’s a general feeling of nervousness. Some of the runners look pro, some don’t. Almost everyone has a coat except me and Spanish Carlos. Not sure they sell coats in Spain.

And then it was on. A hug with Si and we’re off. My mate Ben was there and his target pace matched a pace I felt comfortable with, so we stayed together for what turned out to be the first 56km, with Si ploughing on ahead. It’s now my memory starts to get hazy - over half a day of running does this to you - but I can remember the 1st and 5km markers and thinking ‘what am i doing here?’

Before we knew it and we hit the 25km stop. that does sound a bit mad to runners who have not hit half marathon yet, but we were chatting away and it was suddenly there. Quick banana, saw Si and his uncle. I could tell Si was a bit annoyed that I was running with Ben, but I was slightly slower than he was and I was running my race, there’s was no alternative.

The next 25km turned into fields and styles and muds and fields. This was the preview of what was to come. It’s worth saying here that the run we did with Ultra Bryan a few weeks ago, where we did 31km of non-stop running, really helped us prepare for this, otherwise we’d have expected a much easier ride. With the rain and mud, the run the whole way was sticky, boggy and draining. There was a small stop at 36kmish but as with the previous two it was just a banana and water refill before going on. The 36km-56km was the first time it was tough. There was a lot of clock watching and 'this is now the furthest I have ever run’, which felt good and suddenly we were in unknown territory. At around 48km there was a hill with a crowd of girls who were there to support someone else, who clapped us up the hill. Annoyingly, you can’t not run in front of a crowd, despite the traditional 'walk up hills, run the rest’ ultra mantra. The worst part of the first half was the fac tthat some sod, or sods, I just don’t know, moved the sign that said 'refreshment stop less than 2km ahead’, placing it at 51km. Ben was hitting a wall, I was beginning to flag and we were watching every marker. 52 came, 53 came and it must be round a corner. Ben spotted it in the next field, but it turned out to be a horse. 54km, 55km and we were heart broken. 56km and then we saw the flags and ran up the hill, and this was the first time I saw my brother and wife who had brilliantly come down to support me from there.

I ran in and Si was already there with a burger. There was a load of hot food stalls, but I just couldn’t eat. I changed my kit, filled up my bottles, had a chat to my support group, and Si’s family, and the three of us went off together. Ben had a second wind and left us for the last time. It’s worth pointing out that as soon as you leave the halfway rest stop, there was a horror experience we had to run through, with huts and skulls, metal stands with blood painted on it and a bus with what looked like a kids party on it. Spooky, no doubt enhanced by the real thunder and lightning we were experiencing.

I remember hitting the 66km sign with Si and we were both feeling it. We didn’t feel as bad as the run with Bryan in terms of total exhaustion, but we definitely felt tired, sore and various bits of our bodies were hurting; Si’s arse muscle and my left knee were failing on us.

Onwards and upwards, we started to hurt properly. Weirdly, in fitness terms we felt fine. The steps we were taking were getting smaller and smaller, so getting out of that movement for styles or steps really, really hurt. The chronology of the next events are muddled, so these may be out of order, but I am sure you can sympathise.

There was a small stop at 67km, where I was in some pain, but my brother informed me that we were definitely in the top 40, which was a huge surprise. There were 333 runners, and looking round at the rest of them, I felt a bit out of place. These sinewy old men looked hardened pros compared to my untrained self, but if there’s one thing Si and I have got is dedication and mental strength. We were together, we were hurting, but we were damn well going to smash this bastard.

At some point we met Lee from Twitter, who was a top top gent. Between us we got some respite in a fresh face and chat to take us away from the body signals in hand. Lee, like Ben, got a wind and went off ahead of us.

The next stop was around 76 and this is where pain set in. We ate bananas, got more water and set off…but my knee couldn’t take any weight. You literally put it on the floor and then it buckled. I am pig headed with this sort of thing, so if it’s there, it can take weight, if it can take weight, it can be run on. Two nurofen later and I can only feel the fact that my leg exists and not much more. The only problem was I needed the loo and my wife was in the previous stop, so I couldn’t run back, so I had to do an outdoor poo, which I have no pride about. At this point I had my Desert Island Discs in, just to give my brain an external something to think on, but having Michael Johnson explain that he listened to 2Pac’s 'Me Against The World’ before he became a double world champion while you are effectively soiling yourself and wiping your backside on a mossy tree root is not a pleasant experience.

I’m not proud and I covered with leaves, don’t worry.

We saw Si’s family on the hill and Si started to get the hump - we don’t want to see anyone, we want to get it done. We saw them again at 88km, the dreaded stop before the 89km Box Hill marker, where we have to go up a real horrible incline. My wife and bro were not there as they were meeting us at the bottom to walk us to the top but it was at this point I started to hurt too bad. My knee was uncoupling and my legs were stiff and sore, and I was light headed with lack of energy - but we were 11km away and what’s 11km to a runner?

Met the support team at the bottom of the hill and felt surprisingly ok with the hill. Si hated it, but maybe it’s the Welshman in me and angles are in my bloody, but it was almost relaxing to use a different muscle set and get up to the rarefied atmosphere. The biggest point I felt when I got to the top was the fact we could see in the distance, and that was almost a bit disheartening. All the way, we’d been in forest, treks, muddy fields and hills, so we’d never seen more than 500m ahead, so there was always short, bite size chunks to run to. Suddenly we could see for miles and there was no end in sight.

By this time we were considering any bump a hill, but were making sure we ran as much of every single kilometre we could fine. a quick downhill and suddenly we’re back on concrete and - bloody hell - we’re in the 90s. 91, 92, 93, 94 - we meet Si’s dad. Just 3 more miles he says, just 3 more miles. He’s a lovely man, but I’d rather be lied to at this point. Everything hurts, I can’t move quicker than ice and Si has to sit down and stretch every 500m. We’re still together and we hit a mud path behind some houses and suddenly its 97. a girl on a mountain bike rides with us for a km, encouraging us, talking us through it and suddenly BRIGHTON RACECOURSE. We shuffle along the road and the people stop to let us go across. I’d rather they let me lie in the road and run over me repeatedly.

We have to run on the side of the racecourse, but if we’re going to do this thing, we may as well go all out, so we ran up the race course, into the path again and across the line, arm in arm. 10 months of pain, suffering, sweat, blood and tweeting and suddenly it’s over.

A man dressed as a white Papa Lazarou gives me a medal and I forget to check my timing chip, which means my official time is a good 4 mins away from si - annoying. It looks like we’ve finished top 10%, in just over 13 hours. Si disappeared for a massage, I got changed and as soon as it had started, we bid our farewells to Si and his family and I was in the car, back to my normal life - an Ultramarathoner.

The next couple of days were rest days, Sunday revolved around Strongbow and sofa beds, Monday about moving as little as possible but it’s over now.

It’s been hard to talk to people as no one can quite understand what I’ve done. As one person put it 'what’s next, Tough Mudder?'It’s been an incredible journey. When we signed up, we were idiots without a plan. No we’re idiots with experience. We’re not slow short runners, but are long-distance ultras too. Si’s trained hard, I’ve injuried hard and we’ve pushed ourselves to the limit.

Would I do it again? Probably not. It’s a long, long distance and the commitment requires a lifestyle change and full buy in from your friends and family, which is hard. 50km? Maybe, definitely. Quicker 10kms? Yes please!