Like most of the best ideas, the Long Way Round (A Pint to Pint Adventure) began over a couple of beers.

I can’t remember exactly when, or exactly where, but Rob was definitely the instigator, and up until Friday night I felt like I was just enjoying some running thought experiment.

But with a pint of Guinness in my hand, it turns out that it had become a reality.

The Long Way Round (A Pint to Pint Adventure)

Six idiots (plus one son) had got to the point that on the last Friday night of January 2024, we were sat in running gear on a table in the Moulin de Lecq, roaring fire to one side with an FA Cup game on the screen above, and a couple of regulars at the bar to the other side.

Behind them, the landlady had poured out three Guinness, three Moretti and a cider, for the small crew adjusting lycra and headtorches, taking last minute toilet breaks and wondering what life choices had led them to this stage at 1030pm.

The plan was pub to pub, arguably the closest two pubs in Jersey outside of St Helier, but going…the long way round.

That meant between 45 and 50 miles, at night in January around the edge of an island.

It was a cold and dry night, but beautifully lit by an almost full moon, the breath rising as steam in the soft, warm glow of the few lights shining in this part of the island at this time of night.

Comically, we crowded around the pub sign while the landlady took our photo, cigarette in hand and keeping cosy in a Dryrobe.

The next few hours were going to be very different.

Ours began with an excited trot along the road before coming to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the first of many hills. We’d decided to walk all the hills but this felt way too early to begin.

But we stuck to the plan and as the hill kept going, I was certainly glad that we did.

I’d completed a 50k in December and run plenty since but it isn’t the same as 75k on a cold January night. I wasn’t sure how my body would hold up and I was also a little bit worried that I’d embarrass myself with a terrible effort.

So far so good as we kept a steady pace out of Greve and along the North Coast. The Guinness had gone through me a bit and I slowed to answer nature’s call. With headtorch off and nearly full moonlight illuminating the cliffs and crashing seas below, I could’ve have easily stayed longer just to marvel at the world around me. But it was a still chuffing freezing and I was now dropping behind the rest, so I got a clip on and caught them back up.

I was the first to break the seal but others swifly followed. As a group we became very close very quickly when it turned to discussing bodily functions trying, often unsuccessfully, to not shine your light directly at the person looking for privacy.

The north coast is pretty brutal by most accounts and deliberately choosing to run “in reverse” was slightly disconcerting and confusing when it came to distances between landmarks. Like trying to read a book backwards even though you’ve read it many times before – it was all familiar but just not quite right.

We ticked off Devil’s Hole, Bonne Nuit, Les Platons, Egypt Woods, and Bouley Bay, all still chatting away about something and nothing in true running style.

Coming out onto the road at White Rock felt strange after the trails but the moon was so bright that we ran down the hill into Rozel with headtorches off, the village completely silent as we ghosted behind houses and through to the other side.

For me, the miles seemed to be flying by and we were getting close to St Catherines in good time. Perhaps it would be a good night after all.

CP1 – St Catherines

In hindsight, this was the site of our first real mistakes.

A complicated (for me) system of drop bags, car relays and sharing of resources meant that we had enough crisps and chocolate to feed an army. It was like a natural disaster was about to hit and we’d cleared out the supermarket in preparation.

Huge bottles of water, sweets, yellow sticker KitKats and changes of shoes and clothes meant a lot of faffing around and getting colder.

What made it weirder was that between us and the bin, a solo car was sat, steamy windows and engine running, and we didn’t dare approach.

It was a Mexican Standoff at 3am in an otherwise empty car park. A bunch of lycra-clad, rapidly cooling runners, sipping coke and eating hula hoops, against a hatchback with anonymous people inside, might have been one, might have been a full car, and no idea what they were doing.

The awkward clash of lifestyles ended as they flinched first and slowly drove past. By that point though, we’d managed to sort ourselves out and were also ready to go. In total, we were probably there for 20 minutes, much longer than I’d wanted but we weren’t exactly in a rush.

It was around this point that the first grumblings of future issues were beginning to make themselves heard. My hip/groin, which had been given me jip for a couple of years, definitely doesn’t like stop/start with added cold. I’d also somehow managed to burn through my headtorch battery which meant running along precarious sea walls with basically a candlelight.

Still, the people around me were keeping me happy and smiling, at least on the outside. Leon (the son) had decided he felt good and would continue into town with us. The rest of the crew – Rob, Natalie, Olivia, Sylvie and Ronnie – looked strong and that made me feel stronger.

It was just after we ran past Mont Orgueil castle, down into Gorey that my run really unwound.

Flat

Normally running on the flat is exactly what people want. The Rock N Road Runners Sunday run that gets the most people is the one from Les Quennesvais – because it’s flat.

So why was I five yards back from everyone else cursing the moment we stepped onto the concrete?

Some of it was the pace. Not quick by any stretch (around 6 minute per kilometre or 10 minute miles) but much quicker than the north coast where we were probably averaging 8 minute kilometres.

Some of it was the surface. The road felt hard and unresponsive after the forgiving bounce of the previous 30k.

But most of it was just having time in my own head. Each part of the north coast was a challenge and they came thick and fast. Climbs, technical paths, roots, stones, etc. You always had to be aware of what was going on and focus.

Now I could’ve basically closed my eyes and still not encountered anything. 4am in Grouville meant absolutely zero cars or people.

Ultrarunning is a mental game and it’s very difficult to change your mindset once it turns negative. Giving myself that much time to think is usually not a good thing and so it proved.

I think Natalie may have realised as she dropped back a bit to chat. Luckily not her “favourite sandwich” chat or I might just have thrown myself into the sea 😉

The other thing that went wrong was…intestinal. At Le Rocque, I dropped back to use the facilities and let’s just say I was longer than I would like. I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as I thought but I felt miles behind by the time I did go to catch back up with the other runners.

39 kilometres in. I ran within touching distance of my front door but actually I wasn’t feeling too bad. I thought that was going to be tougher but maybe fellow Rock N Roader Bex literally popping up around the corner with drinks and treats at 4:30am made it feel better.

It definitely helped the group at a pretty tough moment. I don’t remember talking a lot through the road section but speaking afterwards, others were also going through difficult times.

CP2 – La Fregate

With Bex joining us for the last few miles into the next car aid station, spirits were high. I don’t know why, but as we got up to the last road crossing, we walked a bit of the small incline and then started running again.

It was exactly that point that my hip/groin thing (really should get it looked at/named) decided to get involved.

I struggle to describe it. Nothing went ping. Nothing snapped. It’s just an intense pain. Somewhere near the worst bit of a cramp. An excruciating tightness.

The only way to stop it was to dig my knuckles into the fold of my hip and hold it there. While trying to run and catch up with the others and also look like I wasn’t in a lot of pain. I failed on both accounts and approached Rob’s car while wincing and bending over and trying to rub away the pain.

Once again there was a random car with an engine running next to us in a huge empty car park and we were a little worried that something had gone awry but actually someone was just having a sleep in a warm car. I envied him.

Having completed his first ever marathon, Leon bowed out and Sylvie joined him. I wasn’t convinced that I would be able to keep going but usually the pain dissipates once moving again.

I even got out the Leki poles that I’d been carrying the whole way to give it a bit more support so after a bit more Lucozade sport and Colin the Caterpillars I hobbled on, in my head nobly but probably in reality just a bit slowly and lop sided.

The poles had been a huge part of any success that I had in Verbier last year so I was knew they could help, but I just couldn’t keep up any pace. It reminded me of my morning learning to walk with poles but just without the other old women around me.

Instead, Nat and then Rob dropped back to check I was OK when I clearly wasn’t and now I was just making their challenge harder.

“I think I’m gonna bail mate”

And just like that my Long Way Round was over. Rob went off to catch Ronnie, Livs and Natalie and I turned to walk back home. It was now 5:30 and bloody freezing. Now I wasn’t moving it was getting colder but once my Strava had synced, Bex and Sylvie could see I’d stopped and offered me a lift home.

I don’t know what it was but I wasn’t quite ready to see other people again so I just kept on walking, like Caine in Kung Fu. I walked back past the row of empty offices keeping close to the walls and hoping that one of them would have a heating vent that I could warm my hands on.

I went into the bus station and sat for half an hour or so, watching people getting on buses and shuffling around me like I was in a timelapse. Eventually bored with my own company and thoughts, I went to leave. At which point my hip/groin thing was even worse and even colder and I stood still in Liberation Station, thrusting my thumb into my leg so that I could actually move and get out of there and home.

Rob had also pulled out a few kilometres later with a similar sounding injury but I hoped that the others had been able to continue.

The walk home was cold, boring and slow. One call and I was inside. A couple more minutes and I was in the shower. A few moments later I was shivering in bed. And the next time I opened my eyes, it was 9:30am and Ronnie, Olivia and Natalie had just finished at Greve De Lecq.

Sad not to be there but proud of their efforts to finish. Over 70 kilometres at night in January is a phenomenal effort and actually everyone that began it, and finished at various stages deserved huge credit.

It was a fun and stupid idea, and I had a fun and stupid time jumping around the north coast in the dark, hanging out in cold car parks and having the kind of inane and interesting chats that you do when you spend that much time with people (clearly not talking about Natalie’s sandwiches).

We already have plans to do a summer version which would present new and weirder challenges but I can’t wait.

Anything for a pint (to pint).

PS – out on a Tuesday Trail run last night I had a weird de ja vu before Ronnie shouted to be careful. I’d completely forgotten that I’d fallen over here at this point between St Catherines breakwater and the Lifeboat Station. Or not so much fallen, as put a foot onto the verge which was softer than expected and sort of tumbling slowly into the hedge before picking myself up and going on.

Good memories!