The Sort Of Daft Thing I’d Do

The chap who runs the hotel, where we are staying, has a bit of a coronary at the time that we have requested breakfast for but he reluctantly agrees. It’s a good job because we are not the only marathonees there and the breakfast room is busy.

Thanks to the cheeseboard last night and the early hour, I pass on the full English but I’ll have double tomorrow.

We are here in Eastbourne for what has been described as the most scenic marathon in Britain. Well possibly. However we will have to return next year to check out the view as the weather dawns wet and misty. It wouldn't have bothered me too much, as I never get around to looking at the view anyway.

The event was originally known as the Seven Sisters Marathon, after the series of chalk cliffs the race traverses. It was first run in 1981 with a field of a mere 182 walkers and 68 runners. It wasn’t quite full marathon distance in those days and didn’t become so until 1986. It was foggy for that first race too and the participants had to follow route descriptions rather than the well marked and marshalled course of today. Many got lost.

By 1984 it was drawing 2500 entrants and a race limit had to be introduced which has varied over the years but currently stands at 1750. Since 2001 the race has been known as the Beachy Head Marathon. Beachy Head being the highest chalk sea cliff in Britain at 162 metres and is the focus of both the start but primarily the last few miles of the race. Of course it’s also one of the most notorious suicide spots in the world, which seems somewhat apt.

In homage to the original organisers, who were the Sussex Group of the Long Distance Walkers Association, they have not lost sight of the origin of the event and have always made sure that the field has a good percentage of walkers in it. Although judging by those who are categorised as walkers, it’s possible to be get away with being economical with your intentions.

At 9am the race starts and the masochism begins, accompanied by a barrage of fireworks, which cools Doggo’s enthusiasm. He had been mad keen to join in, suddenly he isn’t so sure. The runners head off up the first climb, off to do battle with the South Downs and the elements.



The dogs and I jump in the car to offer moral and vocal support at the first checkpoint. As I stand there waiting for the race to come through, close to the nine mile point, I think at first that the weather is clearing up. The swirling mist seems to be swirling away. How wrong I was. Then the first runner appears, battling against the strong side wind and slithers down the by now treacherous trail. It all looked good fun actually. The sort of daft thing I’d do.



After cheering L through we move on to the next checkpoint. The whole event is very well organised, well marshalled and they even have chocolate bars at the checkpoints. What more could you want? Well, apart from sunshine. It’s also a great event for spectators because there are plenty of great viewing points.



Checkpoint three was my favourite, which was in one of the villages, where I even managed a pint at the local pub. Just bit of Dutch courage you understand, for the shorter run I was planning on doing.

After this checkpoint I headed to the finish and started to run the route backwards, keeping going until I found L, which with about three miles to go but this is open to debate. I told a few runners that they only had a mile or two to go and I may have underestimated but if so, I'm sure it helped their morale. Oh and I dragged the dogs with me, uphill, against a strong wet headwind. I’m sure they loved it. As we crested what I assume was Beachy Head I saw the advantage of the low cloud cover, that you couldn’t see the sheer drop off the cliff face that was probably only a matter of feet away.

I got bemused looks and slightly mocking comments as I ran the wrong way along the course but then oddly the same people seemed to have forgotten that I'd gone past them in one direction. When I passed them on my return, with L alongside me, they clapped and cheered me all the way back down again, congratulating me on completing 26 miles. This was nice but slightly embarrassing. I felt such a fraud but smiled politely, nodded and tried to look knackered.

All that was left was the ‘interesting’ downhill section to the finish. This is very difficult when you’re being pulled along by two dogs but probably not quite as hard as having 26 long and undulating miles in your legs.

The public clearly wanted this mad man who had dragged his poor dogs around '26 miles' to get a standing ovation as he crossed the line but I couldn't do that, so to much bemusement I veered off the course and went around the finish. No matter, a kindly young marshal ran after me to try and put a finisher’s medal around my neck. Again I had to politely decline.

L did well, tamed the course and put in an impressive performance. She looked rightly smug afterwards. I am not worthy. Although I think you’d have to be quite insane to do an event like this. So clearly L has already got me earmarked for a future year. I think mainly so that she can come to spectate and have the cheeseboard.

It was a good day out despite the weather and it’s not spoilt too much by the appalling horror film that we watch on BBC2 later. The one where Derby throw away a two goal lead to lose to QPR. Thankfully the Old Ale is still on in the pub.