Woodchester Park, 2022

This time last year I wasn't running, thanks to my Achilles injury. I cycled around the hills and valleys around Stroud, at the edge of the Cotswolds, while Mrs S ran it. She finished bursting with enthusiasm about the friendly organisation and the spectacular course.

So here we were, a year later, back at Woodchester Park after an early start and a 2-hour drive. The skies were dark, and it felt as though heavy rain could arrive at any minute. But as we made our way to the start line, the clouds started to break up, and by the time we started it was a warm, sunny morning.

I knew that the course was broadly downhill on the way out and uphill on the return, albeit with a few extra hills thrown in. And the first 3k were indeed mostly downhill, on loose limestone track. After a few minutes I found myself in second place, wondering whether I had set off too quickly. Then a sharp turn uphill, and a sudden change of rhythm. I felt someone slowly approaching me, and then drawing level. We ran together for a while and then we were heading back downhill and I pulled away.

Don't worry, the race director had told us, there are plenty of signs on the course so you'll be fine. But there weren't, not really. The three of us at the front encountered a gate, and questioned whether this was right before shrugging and carrying on. There was another gate a bit further on, but thankfully a bloke in hi-vis within view, and we were OK. That 'oh no, have I gone wrong' feeling really is awful.

Back to the race. My challenger overtook me and shifted ahead. He was looking strong. But he quite suddenly pulled up at a water station above halfway around, at the very lowest point of the course, and I really thought he was a goner.

He wasn't. Soon enough he came charging past me on a long climb, and was soon way ahead. I was now on my own. I felt strong, but I was working hard. At about 10k the course veered right, and I realised that we were heading back up the steep section. But doing it in reverse was much harder; there was a long, straight section of track that was fearfully steep. I managed to heave my way up, keeping to some kind of a run but wondering whether walking might be more effective.

Onto the final climb, and I was looking at my watch. I had the time of 56:40 etched in my mind as the M55 record, set in 2015. When I saw the steps leading out of the valley, I knew that I could beat this. I pushed like mad up the track to the finish line and arrived in 54:58.

I was ecstatic! After a lie-down on the grass, I said congratulations to the first two in. Number two, who had beaten me so decisively, looked rather, erm, middle-aged. I asked him what age category he was. 'I'm 57' he replied. Bugger! The first time I've beaten a record in a proper race and it was for nought. 

What a wonderful, challenging, friendly event. The lovely Mrs S had been spot-on. Great fun.