The nerves were coursing through me as I eyed the running kit that I’d carefully laid out the previous evening. The running kit that I would be spending the majority of my waking hours wearing for the next five weeks. I’d been preparing for this day for nearly two years.

There were nerves, yes, but there was also excitement. Excitement to finally get to the start line of this mammoth project which combined several of my passions: running, rugby, travel and adventure. Lands End to London, 500 miles in 5 weeks, visiting as many rugby clubs as possible along the way.

The start time of 10 AM was quickly approaching. The wind was rampaging around the exposed point of Lands End as I got some last-minute photos with Phil and Sally Westren, who had kindly hosted me in Penzance and driven me out to the start line.

The start line

And that was a good point. The start line. Where should that even be? This challenge was entirely my creation, so I guess it was up to me. I consulted with Phil and Sally and we decided that out the front, with the big Lands End building entrance as a backdrop would be ideal.

And this turned out to be an excellent choice as it was there I found Kyle Poynter from St Just RFC who had kindly volunteered to run with me for the first leg. We got chatting with a group of happy cyclists who were intrigued about what was going on. They wished me well and I gave them some of my limited edition ‘The Great Rugger Run’ stickers as a thank you.

What had taken two years to prepare for now seemed to approach with alarming speed. Was I ready? I thought so, but really who could tell. Would my body hold up? This was probably the biggest question. However, it was too late now as Phil led the 10-second countdown ably assisted by Sally and the happy cyclists.

And we’re off!

We were away and as the cheers faded in the Cornish wind I felt completely elated. It had been a huge effort to even get to the start line and now I was doing it. I was running from Lands End to London. The success of the run at that point felt completely irrelevant. I felt alive!

The first leg was tricky; along the coastal path, twice onto the beaches of Sennen and Gwynver – sections that required nimble footwork across the rocks. Tough on the legs, but great for the spirit. Much of the route would be inland, so I wanted to make the most of the coastal paths here in Cornwall.

On to Cape Cornwall and then up into St Just where a small group of lads from the rugby club were waiting for us with sore heads and sore bodies – the first game of their season was the previous day! We all jogged down the hill to the beautiful St Just RFC.

St Just RFC

Bathed in sunshine and sheltered from the wind in a small valley, St Just RFC is seriously picturesque.

One of my goals was to champion rugby and rugby clubs across the country. I wanted to share my journey and hopefully inspire future generations, or even maybe, the current generations who might have fallen out of love with the game. It was with this in mind that I interviewed Ed Bolitho as we strolled around his club. Thanks, Ed for being a wonderful ambassador for St Just RFC and rugby in general.

It was a shame to leave such a beautiful club with friendly people, but at that point, I’d only run 7 out of the scheduled 23 miles I was due to complete that day. So, with the sun on my back, I headed inland along the A3071 towards Penzance.

Safety first

This was an entirely different experience to the coastal path. The roads in Cornwall are typically quite narrow so I had to keep my wits about me to ensure I stayed safe. I was also very aware that I might be the cause of an accident if someone saw me late and swerved. So I was constantly jumping up into roadside verges to hopefully keep everyone on the road safe. It was killer on the thighs but essential.

I was a couple of miles along this leg, heading towards Newbridge when I spotted some cars approaching. As had already become routine, I jumped up onto the verge to let them pass safely. However, the first car slowed and stopped. I waved them on, not wanting to disrupt anyone else’s day, but they didn’t move. I waved again, but then they put their hazard lights on and other people started overtaking them. I looked closer…. It was Phil and Sally!

They had been for a hike after dropping me off and were hoping to catch me at St Just to wish me well. Just the loveliest of people. We had a brief chat by the side of the road and then I was on my way once more after grabbing this selfie.

It was hard-going, uphill and into a consistent head-wind. But before too long I had made it over the hump and the expanse of Penzance Bay appeared into view. What a boost of energy. Now running downhill, towards the sun and my next destination – Cornish Pirates RFC.

The Mennaye Field

I arrived at a very quiet Mennaye Field, a hectic morning of Minis and Juniors rugby was all but cleared up. As I was doing a bit of filming on the pitch a couple of kids who had been playing that morning enquired as to what I was up to. I explained, they made noises of wonderment and then ran back and told their folks who immediately made a donation to the cause – how kind! They got given TGRR stickers, too!

Check them out in this video I recorded which also includes some personal stories from my times playing in Penzance and a clubhouse tour with Sally Coram.

*Note to self: ask questions that require more than a yes/no answer! *

The prior warnings had been earnest and plentiful. I knew what was coming. At least, I thought I did. However, Quarry Hill, rising behind Penzance on the way to St Ives was truly brutal. I learnt long ago that attempting to run up hills this steep is both a waste of time and energy, so I switched to power-walking.

Yes it was tough, yes my thighs were screaming, but the reward at the top of the hill was another spectacular view of Penzance Bay. The hill continued upwards but at a much more agreeable gradient and I ploughed on towards St Ives.

It was during this leg that I started to get worried. Pain was increasing in various parts of my feet. This was new. I’d had plenty of injuries previously but never felt anything like this. I considered whether the rocky terrain of the first leg had caused undue stress? It certainly wasn’t bad enough to consider stopping at this point, but issues like this so early in the run gave me serious cause for concern.

OAP worrying

As I rolled into the outskirts of St Ives I was very much looking forward to a rest and refuel. I’d found a route through some small lanes to save me a few hundred metres. As I entered the lane I saw a little old lady just ahead of me. She must have been in her 70’s. She hadn’t heard me coming. As I passed, she jumped in the air, squealed and held her heart.

Embarrassed at causing alarm, I apologised profusely and told her I didn’t mean to startle her. “Oh no”, she said, “I just thought it was my lucky day!” I was still laughing as I ran into St Ives RFC some 500 metres later.

I wandered into town to wait for my host for the evening, Joel Ninnes. He was due to meet me at the rugby club but had picked up a last-minute surf-lifesaving shift down on the south coast. I bought a pasty and sat on the harbour wall within earshot of a street musician. Completely exhausted but with a belly full of pasty, a dream-like state overcame me as I sang along to britpop classics and watched the sun go down over the hill.

I would like to say that I slept well, but I really didn’t. I think the excitement of starting the run alongside general fatigue meant for a restless night. I had been put up by the wonderfully kind and incredibly helpful Joel Ninnes, from St Ives RFC. 

The previous evening was spent with Joel and a few of his 20-something mates who tore into each other with relentless banter and, quite frankly, character assassinations. I sat, listened and enjoyed the brutal conversations that only really good mates can have. It transported me back into my mid-twenties when rugby and mates were pretty much all there was!

Alas, the lads were gathering under sad circumstances. A club legend had recently passed away in sudden and tragic circumstances and the funeral was today. RIP.

Walking back to St Ives RFC to start my run I was acutely aware of every fibre in my being. The pain in my feet from the previous day was still there and it was causing concern. I decided to take it very cautiously, employing a ‘shuffle running’ technique designed to minimise impact.

Logistical headaches

It was during this leg that I started to get a feel for one of the major challenges I would be facing. Not only was I doing all the running, but I was doing all the logistics, planning and communications too. I was spending a lot of time on my phone, whether it was social media, talking to contacts at clubs or trying to arrange accommodation and bag transport. I was used to running long distances, I wasn’t used to organising something like this which had a huge number of moving parts.

It was due to this that I sadly missed my contact at Hayle RFC. The available time window for us to meet was tight and with all the other planning and logistics going on, I had taken my eye off the ball in regards to one of the basics – route planning. I found myself on a fly-over looking down at Hayle RFC which meant a lengthy diversion. Sadly this meant that Hayle would be the first club where I didn’t meet any of the members.

The ‘shuffle run’ from Hayle to Camborne was memorable for one reason – the Roseworthy Dip. I was starting to understand that my preferred terrain of off-road wasn’t always going to be possible without huge additions to the mileage.

Roseworthy Dip

The road narrowed. The verges disappeared to be replaced with tall thick hedgerows. The traffic was fast and voluminous with plenty of large trucks to add terror. There weren’t many sections when I was constantly aware of my mortality, but this was one.

I started developing tactics to make sure that I was seen. When the traffic was still in the distance I would run in the middle of the road to hopefully catch the drivers eye and give them plenty of time to slow down. This worked well, but if I saw that the approaching vehicle wasn’t slowing then I would immediately begin eyeing the hedgerow for a place to launch myself.

It was hell-raising, but it only lasted a short while and eventually I was through and out the other side.

At this point, I was starting to become hugely impressed with the quality and courtesy of drivers on the Cornish roads. Although I ran along some sketchy sections I never experienced a close call.

Camborne calories

Arriving in Camborne early afternoon, I wasn’t due at the club until the evening so I settled into a town centre pub, ate another pasty and tried to catch up with my social media and logistics. One of the benefits of crushing the number of calories I was every day is that you can pretty much eat whatever you want. I also had cake and coffee!

My bag arrived shortly afterwards thanks to Zachariah from St Ives who I’d only met briefly that morning – the rugby family coming up trumps once more. And then I was wandering off to Camborne RFC to meet my host for that night – Malcolm Tonkin.

The Camborne club was so welcoming with Kevin Oates and Andy Gill also coming along to meet me and tell me all about their club, its history and their ambitions. I’ve played at Camborne a couple of times, to hear some stories from those games plus chats with all the above-mentioned folk, check out this video.

Malcolm was a fabulous host, we had fish and chips and he even invited over one of his neighbours, Scott Lake, who is Chairman of local side Veor RFC – a club I wasn’t previously aware existed. We had a good old chin-wag about everything rugby and he offered to show me around his club the following morning – wonderful!

I slept incredibly well at Malcolm’s place – even the copious Chelsea FC memorabilia didn’t unsettle me. Ever the gent, he drove Scott and myself out to Veor RFC so that I could interview Scott and add another club to my ever-growing list.

Rugby clubs are built around individuals like Scott Lake. Recently honoured as Volunteer of the Year by the RFU, Scott became chairman of the club in his 20’s and is involved in literally everything; including helping with some incredible fundraising for local charities. Check out my visit to Veor here.

The next stop would be Redruth – a gentle 4-mile trot to start Day 3. I never run fast, but I start even slower. Gently getting the muscles and joints moving, making sure I don’t over-stretch or over-work tight limbs. As the blood started flowing I was delighted to post a clean bill of health. The foot pain from the previous two days had all but subsided.

Wonderful weather on the way to Redruth

It was another glorious day; the sun beating down and not a wisp of wind. The Redruth town centre was alien to me. Although I’d played at Redruth RFC at least 5 times, I’d never seen the town! The big red gates, however, were very familiar. As was the smiling face of a former opponent – Pete Joyce.

Pete was joined by Peter Flack and another former opponent of mine Craig Bonds. Banter and stories flowed as we reminisced about the days when we used to lace them up and go to war. Check out this tour of Redruth including a visit to Hellfire Corner!

The guys at Redruth were fabulous hosts, offering me isotonic drinks and more protein bars than I could carry. As Pete was driving out he even offered me a lift to Perranporth, but I thought that may be deemed cheating, even though as a member of the front row union, he’d promised not to tell!

Cornish hills

What I haven’t mentioned so far is the general terrain. Newsflash – Cornwall is hilly. In my experience so far, the only areas of flat ground are the rugby pitches and even those aren’t all that flat either. The added fatigue to my legs due to the uneven ground was beginning to tell and a tiny piece of me wished I’d taken Pete up on his offer.

As I chugged into Perranporth, I was hit by memories of childhood holidays as kids carried buckets and spades to the beach and the adults sported fresh sunburn. There were ice-creams and candy floss and it was even sunny!

As I took my pack off at Perranporth RFC, I become acutely aware of how much I’d perspired. My bag, my shirt, my shorts and all base layers were literally dripping. Nice. I took some time to recover in the shade (it was getting seriously hot) and even attempted to dry out my clothes on the pitchside railings.

Perranporth RFC, AKA – The Brewers sadly couldn’t muster a member to come and meet me, but I did record this short video detailing some of my reasons for choosing to support mental health charities and a little bit about the club.

The heat was now a huge factor, I’d sucked my hydration bladder dry and was forced to ‘snood-up’ to protect my perfectly bald head from sun damage. I refilled my supplies at the petrol station before heading along some sandy trails.

Treacherous tracks

The route to Newquay appeared straightforward; mostly quiet backroads. However, when I got to the A3075 and looked down the hill into town I aborted my plan almost immediately. This road was not runner-friendly. Especially to a runner that was getting close to completing 60 hilly miles in three days and was feeling about as nimble as a pregnant hippo. I checked the map and realised I would just have to suck up an extra couple of miles to add to my already considerable total.

It was about this time that I noticed I was making fatigue-induced errors. I record all my runs with Strava and I was excited about getting full stats of the entire run. However, I forgot to turn Strava off when I got to Newquay RFC. This meant I had a long section where I averaged 30 miles per hour as my host for the night, Emma Critchley, gave me a lift home! Strava did give me the option of deleting the section where I’d been riding in a car, but to my complete despair, I deleted the wrong bit – mental and physical fatigue!

A short while later the incredibly kind Kevin Oates turned up with my bag which he’d driven to Newquay for me. I thanked Kevin, got the following photo then realised I’d locked myself out. Without any socks or shoes on. And without my phone, I had no way of contacting Emma! Thankfully, she appeared shortly after with the news that I could have just gone through the side gate which is always open. My brain, I was acutely aware, was losing some of its usual function.

I didn’t dwell on it for too long. I couldn’t, I had Emma’s enthusiastic puppy, Doris, to play with. She was a handful! Emma (a friend of a friend) was a remarkable host. Absolutely amazing vegetarian (or was it vegan?) traybake dinner that I honestly could have consumed for breakfast, lunch and dinner for at least a week. She also sorted my bag transport to Lostwithiel the following day and there was even time for a game of scrabble with her housemate.

I was exhausted, but it was such a fun night – I really didn’t want to go to bed!

I was thoroughly and completely devoted to The Great Rugger Run and I was loving it!

Emma and Doris returned from their morning swim. Doris celebrated by shaking herself dry and at the same time giving me a good soaking🙂 . We managed a hilarious selfie and then I was off once more. Walking from Emma’s place in Pentire I took in the magnificent Fistral Beach, watching the surfers at their daily communion, on my way to my start point back at Newquay Rugby Club.

I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone at Newquay RFC, so when I spotted a lone goal-kicker I wasn’t really prepared to engage. I’m painfully shy at times and I very nearly started my run without saying hello. A little gentle self-talk helped, and along with the magic force-field of my branded t-shirt, I gained the confidence to wander over and have a chat.

And I’m so glad I did. Check out my awesome little interview with Jack Simmonds.

Emma had warned me about the hills, but I was soon to leave the coastline for good and I wasn’t about to give up on some epic views just because the running might be a little bit harder. Well, it turns out the running was quite a lot harder but the incredible views were entirely worth the pain.

Out from Newquay and along the coastal paths of Porth, Watergate, Mawgam Porth, Trenance and Bedruthan, the scenery put a smile on my face in spite of the gut-wrenching uphill trials. I found myself taking more photos and videos than at any point so far – and it wasn’t just so that I could catch my breath!

Alas, my time on the coast was at an end and I bid farewell to the sea and headed inland. Without any rugby clubs to punctuate my day, in a small village called St Merryn, I paused under a tree. I hung my bag on the nearest road sign and tucked into the delicious slab of banana cake that had been thrust into my hand when leaving my digs that morning. In that moment, shaded by a tree, eating amazing banana cake on an epic adventure, life felt pretty good.

The hills were now behind me as I enjoyed the gentle downhill into Padstow where I would join the Camel Trail. A former train line, this flat riverside path would take me all the way to my final stop at Wadebridge Camels RFC. I had earmarked this part of the run. I had been looking forward to it. I’m not built for hills and I was relishing the chance to lengthen my stride. Imagine my horror, when less than a mile into this six-mile section, I hit the wall.

My body no longer wanted to move. The pain screamed through me and I knew the next hour was going to be painful. It’s a feeling all marathon runners will have encountered and there is no avoiding it, you just have to grit your teeth and force your body to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I attempted to distract myself by admiring the bridges and counting the ornithologists but it made little difference.

Breaking through the wall

Then there was a proverbial break in the clouds. I got a text from Mike Rawlings who I was due to meet at Wadebridge Camels. He was inquiring if there was anything I didn’t eat as he was preparing a packed lunch for my arrival! What a guy. I’d never met Mike before, but here he was making me lunch.

The Great Rugger Run was regularly punctuated with amazing acts of kindness such as this and it reaffirmed my faith in humanity. What a tonic.

Wadebridge is an idyllic spot on the banks of the River Camel. The knowledge of a packed lunch awaiting my arrival had given me a welcome boost and the final couple of miles saw the pain ease a little. I stumbled through an Instagram LIVE which thoroughly captured my complete exhaustion before I went in search of Mike and my packed lunch!

I found them both on the benches outside the club and Mike had even filled up a water bottle for me as well. I tucked into the packed lunch and we became acquainted. Once my immediate energy and fluid needs had been attended to Mike took me on a fantastic tour of The Camels club.

Like myself, I think Mike could talk about rugby for days, so we sat down and recorded a full podcast interview afterwards. It’s a belter and you can listen to it here.

Mike was a fantastic podcast guest and his confident claim at the end has stood the test of time as, at the time of writing, The Camels are unbeaten and romping towards a league-winning season. It’s fair to say that we lost track of time, talking about rugby can do that, so by the time Mike had given me a lift down to Lostwithiel, imparting several useful route tips for my run on the following day, he was seriously late for his next appointment. Oooops!

Waiting for us on the banks of the River Fowey in quaint Lostwithiel (Losty) were my hosts for the next two nights, but I’ll tell you more about them tomorrow.

I rolled out of bed and grabbed the T-Shirt and shorts that my hosts had lent me. There was a time when Nellie Bayliss and I were about the same size but all this running has led me to lose a few pounds (careless, I know). I put on the shorts and T-shirt, looked in the mirror and immediately felt like I was a kid again wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs for the first time.

Nelly and Suzi had been fabulous hosts thus far, organising all kinds of things on my behalf, providing amazing grub and being wonderful company. I hobbled into the kitchen and Suzi immediately thrust a bacon and spinach wrap in my hand before driving me all the way back to Wadebridge to start today’s run. What a star!

Mapping my runs with Footpath

I use an app called Footpath to map out my runs. I had gotten into the habit of speaking to my hosts each night to gain some local insight before plotting out my route before bed. I had used Mike’s recommendations and I was very happy with my planned route along the Camel Trail, past Bodmin Jail and Lanhydrock House to Lostwithiel.

I set out from The Camels clubhouse and headed east, up the hill towards Sladesbridge. I enjoy a bit of uphill at the start of my runs. The incline forces me to run slower, have a shorter stride length and I find I warm up much quicker. All of which is good to get the body flowing and reduce injury risk.

The Camel Trail

My plan was to hook a right and get down onto the Camel Trail as soon as possible. I followed the route I’d mapped out but I couldn’t find the path I had earmarked. I wandered about for a bit looking confused until a farmer strolled by. I enquired whether the path I was looking for existed. He said it did but he wouldn’t recommend it – not even in wellys! So, I headed back out to the main road and would have to join the Camel Trail later – adding another mile to my day’s tally.

The Camel Trail (a former train line) is a wonderful leisure space. A tree-lined wonderland for runners and cyclists. With amazing place names, like Grogley Halt along the way, I was never short of amusement. The trail was flat, if not slightly downhill, and the fatigue of the previous days ebbed away as I strode purposefully towards Bodmin.

Check out my little video from Bodmin RFC…

Back on the trail and the miles were flying by. This was the first time I would be sleeping in the same bed two nights in a row which meant zero logistics for me to be concerned with. I passed the stunning Lanhydrock House (thanks, Mike for the tip) and found myself careering down leaf-covered trails. I was absolutely flying and I had a huge grin on my face – this is why I love running!

My lovely hosts run Nelly’s Pasties and Pies in Lostwithiel, and I stopped in on the way home to pick up my post-run snack from Suzi…

Well, that conversation got out of hand very quickly!

With a hot pie in my backpack, I headed off for the final 6 miles of the day back to The Bayliss’s place out in the country lanes. There were a couple of brutal hills to negotiate but I got back just as the sun was setting over the fields. The rain had stopped and I sat on the steps and tucked into my well-earned Steak and Cheese Pie.

The Bayliss’s had been incredible hosts, so generous with their time and assistance to The Great Rugger Run. They also taught me a new saying – ‘Sit soft’ – used after dinner when suggesting a relocation from the dining table to the lounge. I will be using that in future. They also sent me on my way with a running partner, Suzi’s brother Luke.

Luke, a local ultra runner, was the ideal companion. We shared stories of running pains, nutritional favourites (watermelon at rest stations was a joint winner) and training achievements. Luke was brilliant company, ran the perfect pace and also took on the role of chief navigator for the leg to Liskeard. This was a welcome relief for me, having one less thing to do whilst running allowed me to relax and thoroughly enjoy the journey.

The rugby clubs en route were my prime focus but I was also keen to see other local points of interest. And for Liskeard that was the Pink Pub. That’s right, a pub that had been painted pink. Quite a statement, so we had to stop for a photo.

Luke had volunteered to do some filming (there may be a video out at some point) so we decided to record the last section into the Liskeard-Looe Rugby Club. Little did I know that the driveway was really quite steep. Not wanting to look like a lumbering mess on camera I pushed pretty hard up the slope and arrived by the pitch a gasping wreck.

Fortunately, one of my gifts is being able to recover quite quickly, which was especially useful in this instance as Phil Mutton and Tony Knightsbridge arrived to show me around their club. I waved goodbye to Luke, the perfect running companion, then Phil, Tony and I recorded this cracking video:

Phil sent me on my way with an amazing chocolate brownie from Mrs Mutton; I was starting to feel quite spoilt. However, the extra calories were really beneficial, especially when they tasted that good!

The small lanes I chose for the run to Saltash were punctuated with colourful place names, such as Quethiock, Blunts and Cuttivet. My legs felt free and my chocolate brownie assisted energy levels soared. I flew along the path down into Notter and had genuine concerns I was running so fast that my legs might come off. The back lanes, sadly, made way for a nasty stretch on the A38 where I did plenty of lorry dodging. The dual-carriageway nightmare was mercifully brief and I was soon ploughing up the hill to Saltash Rugby Club.

Waiting for me there was the amazing Nellie Bayliss with my bag and another incredible packed lunch! The run could not function without the kindness of all the people who put me up or drove my bag from stop to stop and the Bayliss’ did so much for me over the space of three days – thanks so much, hugely appreciated.

The logistical challenges of organising the run had come to a head by the time I reached Saltash. I was finding it ever more difficult to make contact with people along the route with sufficient notice. I became very aware that my already unusual requests for help were now arriving with little, if any, time for clubs to organise assistance.

It was with this backdrop that I was incredibly grateful to Noel Hill and Sophie Bennett from Saltash RFC who helped me out at short notice. Sophie agreed to put me up for not one, but two nights and Chairman Noel took the time to show me around the club and tell me loads of interesting stories about the clubhouse and Saltash’s incredible touring record.

Sophie was an exceptional host and I was delighted to shout her an evening meal of Fish & Chips which we devoured whilst watching an episode of Friends. There were some drinks going on that evening but the fatigue of the first week was kicking in hard, so I declined Sophie’s offer to go with her.

I would have the house to myself for the evening. Before leaving, Sophie mentioned what a rarity that was as usually the house has people coming and going all day long. Even with that knowledge, what happened next was a bit of a shock!

The intrusion

I heard the front door swing open and I assumed Sophie must have forgotten something. I glanced out to the corridor from my spot in the lounge to see a gigantic wolfhound stroll down the corridor towards the kitchen! What the?! What was I supposed to do now?

Fortunately, the gigantic wolfhound was followed by a lady who shouted hello in my general direction as she passed the door. I said hello back then waited nervously. The lady reappeared (with the wolfhound close behind) and after a brief moment of “Who are you?”, and “Who are YOU?” we settled down for a nice chat.

It turns out this was Sophie’s Aunt who had just popped in. We had a cup of tea and told each other about our lives before she (and the gigantic wolfhound who stared at me throughout) wandered off home. This bizarre encounter brought to a conclusion what had been a remarkable first week on The Great Rugger Run.

1. STRANGERS CAN BE SO KIND

In truth, I’m a bit of a loner. Strongly independent at best. If I can, my preference is to get things done on my own. I’m not inclined to ask for help very often and, as such, I haven’t opened myself up to see how kind and generous people can be.

I didn’t have any support crew. The Great Rugger Run was me, just me. But I needed help. I needed accommodation and people to drive my bag between stops. I would have to figure all that stuff out on the way. I had faith in the rugby community to step up, and step up they did. But I found the constant need for assistance difficult. It didn’t sit well with me.

It would have been a lot more difficult too if the people I met during Week One hadn’t been such complete legends. They made me feel completely welcome and even more importantly, they appeared to take great pleasure in being able to play their part in the whole adventure.

I’ve already thanked everyone involved in person, but I was actually staggered at how mutually rewarding the whole experience was. The human connection was palpable and it felt special. I’m not sure how much time I spent smiling in that first week, but I’d wager it was more than usual.

2. MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ARE RIFE

I’ve never had so many conversations about mental health. Doing this challenge for mental health charities opened the door for a lot of great chats. Some were captured during the videos I recorded but many more were conducted in private.

The range of conversations was vast. Some sad, and even tragic. Plenty full of hope and understanding. And lots in between. My biggest takeaway was that everyone has either suffered from a mental health issue or knows someone that has.

My other takeaway was that rugby clubs provide fantastic support systems. They always have to a degree, but now people are more aware of mental health issues, and people are more likely to open up and ask for help. The stigma is gradually being eroded and the more conversations that occur, the quicker we will be in a better place.

3. CORNWALL IS HILLY

Duh! I mean, I did know this, but I didn’t quite realise the extent of Cornwall’s hills. I was almost never on a flat surface. Even the rugby pitches were slopey.

Running uphill is obviously hard, but too much time on downhill sections can be equally taxing. I’d covered 120 miles in the first 6 days and apart from the Camel Trail along the estuary near Wadebridge virtually none of it had been flat.

I’d never run 120 miles in 6 days before. This was a personal record. When adding the effects of the hills and some very hot days, this gave me a huge amount of confidence. I knew that the terrain and weather were both likely to be more favourable in the coming weeks. However, the Cornish countryside and coastline were stunning and I’d miss them.

4. TIME IS HARD TO FIND

I had thought through what my average day would be like. I wanted to ensure I would have enough time to run, rest and enjoy visiting clubs and people. I figured I would spend around 4hrs a day on the road and that would leave me plenty of time to do everything else.

I was wrong.

Everything took longer than expected; saying goodbye to my wonderful hosts in the morning, the visits to rugby clubs, the running itself, organising visits to clubs, arranging places to stay and meeting and socialising with my new host in the evening. I anticipated having lazy afternoons on my laptop getting everything arranged for the coming weeks and days, the reality was that I barely opened my laptop during the first week.

This was a happy surprise. It meant that every moment of every day was being utilised. It meant that there was always something engaging and important to do. It felt great. However, it also meant that my organisation of Week Two was sorely lacking.

I had organised most of Week One before setting off. I decided that it would be prudent to see how things were going before trying to get things arranged for Week Two. No point in making arrangements that might not be realistic. I figured I would always try to stay one week ahead with my arrangements – that seemed reasonable. I hadn’t anticipated how little usable time I would have and with Week Two imminent, I had almost nothing arranged.

5. CONTACTING RUGBY CLUBS ISN’T ALWAYS EASY

I had to contact a lot of clubs. I was hoping to visit over 100 which, in reality, meant attempting to contact at least 20% more. To say I had underestimated this task would be a major understatement. I figured I would just send a few emails, people would respond and we’d arrange a visit.

Wrong.

Firstly, finding email addresses was virtually impossible as most clubs use a proprietary website system that only allows you to contact clubs via a web form. This means a punt into the ether. Your email may get sent, it may not. The person it’s aimed at may read it, they may not. This also means that if you wanted to try to contact five people from the same club you needed to send five separate messages. A number of people told me that they don’t really check their email as there is so much SPAM.

I became aware of the above issue halfway through Week One and started to try social media instead. Sounds easy, right? Wrong. A lot of clubs had more than one Twitter account. It took time to figure out which one was most active. Then I had to, again, send individual messages. Not too bad, assuming the person in charge of the club Twitter account reads and responds to messages. Sadly, this was often not the case.

So I tried the above for both Facebook and Instagram as well – a real scattergun approach and just hoped for the best. Some clubs never got back to me. Some clubs got back to me after I had passed by. And the last and rarest scenario was that I got a reply in time to get things organised. This was then further complicated by the fact I had to remember which platform I’d made contact with each club on (sometimes this got transferred to a WhatApp conversation) and as a result, I spent so much time scrolling through various messaging apps that I feared my head would explode.

This, along with lesson No.4 above, meant that I was badly behind in my planning.

6. ENCOUNTERS TURNED ME EXTROVERT

My biggest apprehension leading up to The Great Rugger Run wasn’t the running. It wasn’t finding accommodation or help to move my bag. It was the very real concern that I might run out of social energy. I’m an introvert and I can be quite a deep one if I spend too much time in company – especially new company.

This was a genuine concern and I talked about it on my podcast. How would I react if I was expected to be somewhere to meet people and I just didn’t feel up to it? What if I just wanted to retreat to my cave? I didn’t really have any answers to these questions except that I probably would just have to do the best I could.

However, six days into the run (plus two prep days in Penzance) and I hadn’t experienced a single urge to retreat. Usually, I can feel it coming. I start shutting down and I’ll disappear to enjoy a social hibernation. But that feeling just wasn’t there. I felt great and every interaction was giving me energy not taking it away.

At that point, a week in, I couldn’t really explain it. I just knew I liked it.

7. THE RUNNING WAS THE EASY BIT

Who would have thought running 120 hot, hilly miles in 6 days would have been the easy bit? But it was. I had trained for running, I’d prepared well and in spite of picking up an injury during training, I was in good shape.

I hadn’t prepared to organise a multi-faceted, complicated expedition with hundreds of stakeholders. I hadn’t even realised that that was what it was!

It was a shock and it was taking up every spare minute that I could find. It was challenging, but it was a challenge I was completely up for. Y’see, I was absolutely loving The Great Rugger Run and I would do anything it took to keep it on the road.

After a week of doing absolutely everything, Day 8 was a day for NOT doing things; not running the entire leg, not meeting people at rugby clubs, not running a huge distance and not looking after my body at the end of the day.

I left Sophie’s place feeling completely refreshed. The adrenaline of Week One had carried me along but when my rest day arrived my body welcomed it with relish. Sophie had kindly invited me to go and watch Saltash RFC play the previous day, but I needed time to organise the upcoming week. I had vastly underestimated how much time it would take to arrange everything.

VOCAL LOCAL

I walked back through Saltash to the rugby club to start my run. On the way, a young fellow coming the other direction spotted my bright orange T-shirt and started reading the logo out loud.

“The Great Rugger Run…. where you running to?”

My response of “London” was met with an expletive that I won’t repeat here. Suffice to say he was impressed. I offered him one of my stickers and welcomed him to follow along online. He took not one but two stickers, informing me that he would keep one and stick the other one on “that bus stop over there”. Terrific.

IS THIS CHEATING?

My run from Saltash to Tamar Saracens came to an abrupt halt when I found out the pedestrian route over the Tamar Bridge was shut and I would have to take the courtesy bus. It was that or 50-mile diversion. I took the bus. I was a little disappointed as I really had hoped to literally run the whole way, but, in this instance, it just wasn’t practical. Oh well…

As I mentioned in my Week One roundup, it was difficult to get in contact with some clubs and Tamar Saracens were one of those. They eventually replied with a lovely message about a week later. However, I did record a little video whilst I was at The Parkway.

I knew there were many clubs in Plymouth, the Plymouth Combination Twitter account boasts 15 in total. However, they aren’t all listed on Google Maps. So it was a happy accident that I stumbled across Old Technicians RFC en route to Plymouth Albion. They play on (what appears to be) a council ground with their clubhouse on a local road. I loved their motto, “Au Plaisir Fort De Dieu”, which means, “To God’s Delight”. Wonderful!

EMPTY ALBION

I trundled on to Brickfields, home of Plymouth Albion. Sadly no one could be around to meet me and the gates were locked so I couldn’t even have a look around. I’d played at Plymouth a number of times so I was disappointed that I wouldn’t get to relive some old memories.

One tiny trot later (it was barely worth getting out of first gear) I arrived at Devonport Services RFC. The playing fields were a mass of youngsters heading home after battle. I imagine they would have time for a quick shower before tucking into a family Sunday Roast. The club was absolutely swamped with people – fantastic to see. There were so many it took me some time to find Kieran Leach who had kindly offered to show me around.

Kieran was an absolute gent. He had been at the club since early morning and wouldn’t be leaving until late afternoon. Clubs don’t function without the Kierans of this world. Our first piece of business was for him to pass on a set of keys to me, but more on that later…

It’s a fabulous ground at Devonport Services RFC, check it out in this video Kieran and I recorded:

That was the end of my run. 7 miles and 4 clubs. I’d scheduled shorter days to aid recovery, but honestly, I felt like I was cheating. It didn’t feel right to not be completely exhausted at the end of the day, ready to collapse into bed. I knew that shorter days were necessary and would give me the greatest chance of success but my competitive spirit wasn’t happy.

I consoled myself with a bacon butty from the DSRFC canteen – thank you for shouting me that – and sat around in the clubhouse long enough that people started asking me where the toilets were. I initially pointed enquirers in the direction of Kieran, but full-bladdered people just kept arriving – probably over-hydrated in preparation for the afternoon’s games. Eventually, I learnt where the toilets were and directed people myself – nice to be useful.🙂

The DSRFC girls teams were playing in the afternoon and I was keen to watch some rugby. On a damp day, there was some terrific play on show. Full-blooded forwards battered and there was plenty of skill and excellent running lines from the backs. All supported and cheered by a generous and sporting crowd. Lovely stuff!

THE KEYS

Now, back to those keys that Kieran passed on to me. My chief point of contact at DSRFC had been Mike Lewis, however, he couldn’t be around during my visit. I’d asked him about accommodation and mentioned that I really only needed a mattress as I had an inflatable pillow and a sleeping bag. This was highly fortunate as Mike had a rental property that was in between tenants and the only thing left in the whole place was a mattress. Mike very kindly allowed me to stay there. Amazing. We never even met in person!

With plenty of time left in the day, (thanks to Sophie who not only brought my bag to DSRFC but then drove me across town, giving me plenty of info about the best bars on the way, and dropped me off at my digs – legend!) I got showered and prepared for the following day before heading out for dinner. I’d heard the docks were the place to go so wandered off to The Barbican for a huge meal and a couple of relaxing beers. I started off with shandies – isotonic lagers – just to help with hydration.

A couple of beers turned into a couple more as I discovered a bar with a couple of gents banging out anthems on acoustic guitars. The Great Rugger Run had been full-on, so I very happily allowed myself some R&R whilst singing along to Britpop classics!

After a long day of NOT doing things, NOT having the perfect recovery seemed like the obvious thing to do.

The first 6 days of The Great Rugger Run had seen me run 120 miles! Day Seven was a rest day and Day Eight was a barely noticeable 7-miler. All this led to Day Nine, with the scheduled 28 miles making it the longest day so far…

Nerves were stirring in my stomach as I woke and prepared. I was feeling relatively fresh but I knew that would not be the case come the evening. Mike Hart arrived from Ivybridge to pick up my bag and I walked the couple of miles back through Plymouth to Brickfields where I had been informed someone would meet me to show me around.

Plymouth Albion

I have many fond memories of rugby in Plymouth. I played one of my very first senior games at their former ground for Cheltenham RFC as a youngster and latterly played there for Esher a number of times. Mark Mears was the man thrust into my spotlight and he did a wonderful job of telling the stories of the club both past and present.

I left Albion with a huge smile on my face. I feared that I wasn’t going to be able to meet anyone there, so to have Mark be such a brilliant ambassador for the club was extremely pleasing. The run to Plympton Victoria was around seven miles. Back through town, then across the River Plym before hitting a left turn and climbing the hill up to Hardwick Wood. The contrast of town, river and woods was pleasing to my inquisitive soul. But more interesting things were upcoming…

Plympton Victoria

As I broke through the woods at the top of the hill a beautiful valley spread out before me. Nestled perfectly in that valley was Plympton Victoria RFC. I bounded down the grassy slope to go meet some of their members. On the way, I saw a man with a pet owl perched on his shoulder and took a call from my man at Totnes who had some thoroughly exciting news, but more on that later…

Plympton Victoria is currently a one-team club. Proper grassroots. I just loved meeting the guys who told me all about their club, themselves and their hopes for the future. I found it enjoyable and inspirational to hear about how they are engaging with their community and providing access to rugby for local youngsters. Here’s my chat with Kevin Jefferies and Chris Hunt.

I loved hanging out with Kevin and Chris but there was still some 20+ miles to go.

The run to Ivybridge was not smooth sailing. It started with a wet bum. No, not sweat from the exertion on a warm day, it was definitely wet, and slightly cold. It took a while for the penny to drop. The hydration bladder in my backpack had burst and was slowly seeping down my posterior cleavage.

As all athletes know, hydration is key so this was a bit of a gut-punch. However, very soon it would not just be my bum that was wet. As I approached Lee Mill Bridge the mood of the day rapidly changed. From bright and sunny to overcast in a matter of moments. Then rain. Torrential, flash flood-type rain. Thankfully, I love running in the rain so I just ploughed on, but it was so heavy that I did consider stopping for safety reasons – visibility was extremely poor. However, the gloom cleared as quickly as it arrived and I soon found myself plodding into lovely Ivybridge RFC.

Ivybridge RFC

I reconvened with Mike, who had picked up my bag this morning, along with Club President, Alan Knight, who would drive it onwards to Totnes. These two lovely gents were wonderful company, showing me around their stunning clubhouse and grounds. Their plans for future expansion are impressive and I was really touched by Alan’s delight about how the club he co-founded had become a close community.

These video tours, streamed LIVE on Facebook had initially been a difficult task for me. It took plenty of positive self-chat to press record and run the show. I was interviewer, cameraman and director all in one. That’s a lot to be thinking about. But as the days passed things became easier, more comfortable and familiar and they had now become an absolute joy.

I don’t remember much about the 11 miles to Totnes. I think I just zoned out. It can happen sometimes. It wasn’t quite a runner’s high, but when your body is working well and you don’t have to think about putting one foot in front of the other running can almost become meditative.

My zen was shattered as I entered Totnes town centre. A chap leaned out of his van window and yelled “Oi, mate. Are you looking for the rugby club?” It seemed my arrival was known. He started pointing in the direction of Totnes RFC and I waved my phone at him to indicate I knew where I was headed. We both grinned and went on our ways. My bright orange shirt was definitely a good idea!

Totnes RFC

Totnes RFC, at the end of a 28-mile run, was a wonderfully warm and welcoming place, a real family club and it was Mike and Lorraine Edmonds who showed me around. I was given free access to as many bar snacks as I could eat and plenty of fluids which my body rapidly absorbed. My batteries were low and we decided that recording the video tour would be a better idea in the morning after I’d had a good night’s sleep.

Remember that phone call I took just before Plympton? Well, that was from Mark Hooper who was informing me they’d arranged a ‘sponsored’ night’s stay at the best hotel in Totnes on my behalf! Wow, I was just stunned. What incredible kindness from all involved. I’d gone from a mattress in an empty flat to plush hotel luxury in 24 hours. What a ride this was turning out to be…

Typically, I get up early, throw a coffee down my neck and get running. Not today. Today I was in the lap of luxury and I wouldn’t be leaving until I absolutely had to. My night at the Royal Seven Stars in Totnes had been a wonderful and an extremely welcome pause from the ongoing exhaustion of The Great Rugger Run. Oh, and there was a lip-smacking free breakfast too…

Eventually, I was prised from my room and took to the quirky streets of Totnes in search of a new hydration bladder. If you have a spare afternoon, then you could do a lot worse than to spend it exploring the labyrinth of kooky, kitsch shops in Totnes. Amongst those shops was also a Mountain Warehouse where I found a new hydration bladder – fantastic! So far, everything was going to plan.

I headed back to Totnes RFC to meet up with the lovely Mike and Lorraine Edmonds. I’m not sure if my mood could have been any better. I was well-rested, well-fed and I got to record this awesome video with Mike (and you can spot Lorraine too!)

I left my big bag with Mike and Lorraine and prepared to leave. A quick glance out of the window revealed a stormy scene. Was it worth delaying my start a little? Probably not, the rain was due in heavy bursts all day. As I zipped up my jacket and stepped outside the deluge stopped and the sun even tried to peak through the clouds to see me take off on Day 10. Could this day get any better?

Yes, it could. I was not five minutes along the road when I got a call from Tom Rawlings (brother of Mike from Wadebridge). Tom works as a coach at Exeter Chiefs and he had paved the way for me to visit Sandy Park. Not only that, he’d arranged for me to watch a squad training session with potentially some photo opportunities afterwards. I mean, just wow.

With the sun on my back, well-rested, well-fed, and with good vibes bouncing around all over the place, I bounded out of Totnes and hit the road to Paignton. Then my luck changed…

HERE COME THE LOWS

The A385 is not a good road for running. In fact, it’s extremely hazardous. Narrow, with high verges and a lot of fast-moving, often large vehicles made me stop and seriously question what I was doing. I found a safe spot and checked my map. There appeared to be no other way; no footpaths, no detours. Aside from going field to field, which has its own hazards, this was it.

I often get into a zen-like state when running. This part of the run was anything but. It was more akin to the feeling of running away from a large predator (I would imagine, I’ve never actually done that). With full focus, I took to the road. When it was clear I would run as fast as my slow-twitch fibres would allow me. As soon as I saw traffic approaching I would start eyeing up ‘safe spots’, where I could get myself up and away from the road. Sometimes there were field entrances, sometimes on a verge and once or twice I just had to launch myself into a roadside bush. Then the heavens opened.

What was once hazardous was now damn right terrifying. Visibility was poor, verges were sodden and I was getting soaked through from road spray as well as from above. There was no way out. I took my time and made sure every decision was a strong one, gradually making my way from ‘safe spot’ to ‘safe spot’ along the road. I’ve never been more grateful to see a pavement than the one I leapt onto just outside Paignton.

As I squelched into Paignton town centre I considered whether it always rained here. I’d only been once before and the downpours were biblical on that day too. Check out my video with Paignton DoR Richard Hunt where we discuss my previous visit among many other things…

I’d spent an hour in the warmth and dry of the Paignton RFC clubhouse but I was still completely soaked through. Fortunately, the rain paused to refill its tanks as I headed along the coast to Torquay. This allowed me to warm up and dry out. Briefly. It then hammered down once more.

I sat in the stand at Torquay RFC, ate some snacks, sucked down some fluids and reminisced about the last time I had played there which you can read about in this Instagram post. As my thoughts returned to the present, I realised that I had started to shiver. I’d been wet for some time and the cold had seeped into me. I wandered along the seafront to find a warm cafe for refuge and to consider my next steps.

There was a problem, though. My next steps were tough to decide when I had no viable options. I had been in contact with people at New Cross RFC and Newton Abbott RFC, both of whom were trying to find me accommodation in the area. However, it was now mid-afternoon and time was getting short. My initial plan was to run to Newton Abbott that afternoon, but if I needed to find a last-minute hotel, then that was much more likely to be possible here in touristy Torquay. There were no right answers.

I did the only thing that I thought was sensible and waited. The weather outside, if anything, had gotten worse. I sat by the window with a hearty plate of food and watched the rain stream down the glass. People strained by outside desperately grasping umbrellas that seemed intent on flight. With nowhere lined up to sleep this evening, soaked through and cold, I’m not ashamed to say that for the first time I questioned what the hell I was doing.

Then the phone calls and messages started coming. First from Newton Abbott to let me know that their training that evening had been cancelled and there would be no one at the ground for me to meet. Then a very similar message from New Cross. I started making a shortlist of hotels here in Torquay and let Mike Edmonds know that I would like to have my bag dropped off here instead of Newton Abbott, please and thank you.

Mike and Lorraine arrived a short while after and I braved the monsoon to grab my bag from them and thank them profusely for everything they did. I tried to get a photo of every interaction, but even in their full waterproof gear, I could tell they just wanted to get back in their car and out of the squall. I was now soaked through once more.

Seeing Mike and Lorraine had briefly lifted my spirits, but now I had to make a decision. I whittled down my shortlist of hotels, checked availability, then…. Hang on…. ‘Joey Milburn calling…’. Joey was my man at New Cross, so I answered immediately. “Hey Tim, want to stay at my place tonight in Newton Abbott?”

Out of the blue, Joey had saved the day. And then some. You can read about it here. And you can hear more about it in this podcast we recorded.

It had been a day of remarkable highs and lows, but I’d survived, and I was still going strong!