We were going to drop 1300m in altitude and most of it was going to be in the next 20km. The road slowly started falling away from us until we were running down an 8% decline. The up side was that we were averaging 4.15 per km with a heart rate of about 140bpm. The downside was that it wasn’t really running, it was our quads arresting the falling body. This was going to prove our downfall.

At about 25km in, and still on a steep slope, we went past a concrete bollard with a line and ‘Sea Level’ written on it. By now we could see the Dead Sea, but it was still 25kms away and it looked like it was still an awfully long way below us. Slowly the road levelled out and our splits slowed dramatically. We were at 5 mins/km, then 5.20, 5.45 and finally we hit 6 mins/km. Everything was finally catching up with us. We got to 32km and Phil started feeling it, especially in his feet. I was Ok, but my quads were complaining and I was getting some worrying niggles in my left calf. We still had 10 miles to go and were not far away from empty. Where there had been chat for the first couple of hours, there was now a pounding silence, the only noises being the occasional shout of encouragement from the side of the road, our feet smacking the tarmac and our breathing starting to get a bit raspey. This was not good.

Each kilometre was marked at the side of the road so I reverted to the distance runners’ mantra of ‘baby step’; make it to the lamp post, make it to the junction, make it to the sign. The kilometres were slowly ground out. Initially, the water stops every 3kms seemed excessive, now they couldn’t come fast enough. We hit the marathon point in 3.31, still a decent time, but we had another 4 miles to run. By this point it might as well have been 40, it seemed just so far. I kept telling myself that I knew it was going to hurt and that I’d better just get on with it. Nothing like being your own worst critic is there? However, I finally had to stop just after the 6kms to go as someone had inconsiderately stuck a knife in my left calf and was wiggling it around. It caught me by surprise and I stopped in two strides. I told Phil I would have to stop for a moment a stretch it off but he wasn’t much better off, he had been feeling the skin on both insoles slowly working its way free and finally sloughing off over the last few miles. He was running on raw flesh. He said that if he stopped he wouldn’t start again, which was entirely reasonable and we parted company.

It was advice I should have taken myself, as aside from the dagger in the calf, as soon as I stopped I realised just how wobbly my legs were. It was a real struggle to start walking once I’d stretched. But, slowly, slowly, I got going again. As a matter of interest I kept track of my splits and I was shuffling along at 10-11min/km.

Once I had got it in my head to just get going again and stop being such a big girl’s blouse, the final stretch went by a lot quicker – I even managed an 8min mile and a smile for the cameras at the end. I crossed the finish line, walked straight to the tent and lay on the floor with my legs in the air. I had finished in 4.21. The last 7kms had taken me 50mins. - Nick

There were 61 finishers.