Day 36 - Bristol to West Hay: Pain, Positivity & the Perils of Knowing Too Much

Day 36: Pain, Positivity & the Perils of Knowing Too Much

Turns out, 36 marathons in 36 days isn't the hardest part. Who knew?

No, the real challenge is the sneaky psychological warfare being waged by relentless hills, aching limbs, and the occasional team member accidentally revealing what's lurking around the next bend (spoiler: it’s always a hill). I specifically asked not to know what’s coming. Why? Because ignorance is bliss when your arms are on fire and your soul is being slowly crushed by gradient percentages.

Today was a masterclass in contrast: physically exhausting, mentally brutal… but with a brilliant, shining moment of unexpected joy that carried me farther than any gel ever could.

Just when I was falling asleep wheeling down steep inclines—yes, that's as terrifying as it sounds—I spotted familiar faces. Steve, Jill, Barry, and Helen from the Aaron Lewis Foundation. They turned up on the roadside like a mirage of claps, cheers, and unfiltered positivity. They even leapfrogged me along the route, popping out of their car every few miles like joyful jack-in-the-boxes. It was utterly glorious. I got to hug them at a quick pit stop (sweaty, but worth it), and it gave me a high no energy drink could match.

But let’s not sugarcoat it: this journey’s been rough. Not just physically (though, let’s be real, I’m very broken), but emotionally too. It’s surprisingly possible to be surrounded by people and feel completely alone. Many of the support team bonded over shared roles—but my job was different. And when you're doing something this extreme, not having someone to relate to or talk to freely makes it infinitely harder.

Expressing that something is tough often got me a “we’re all tired” or the classic “well, you signed up for this.” Which, yes, thanks—I was there when I did that. What I needed was a “you’ve got this,” not a reminder that I'm the architect of my own suffering.

The support crew back home, though? Lifesavers. Having someone to talk to who really listened made a world of difference. This journey has taught me a lot—about physical endurance, yes, but more importantly about the power of people. When choosing a crew, the number one qualification should be positivity. Technical skills? Secondary. A bad vibe is heavier than any wheelchair.

So, here's to learning. To moving forward. To being nearly home. My body feels like it could keep going (somehow), but mentally, I’m shattered. Still—I’m here. I’m doing it. And tomorrow is a new day.

And hey… maybe fewer hills?

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