I'm glad it wasn't 31 miles :o)

The JW Ultra, that is. Instead, it was a 30-miler that was actually 29.44 miles on Leon's Highly Accurate Computer Software Programme.

Leon and I weren't planning to set the towpath alight. We hadn't trained, tapered or carbo-loaded in the manner of people preparing to race an ultramarathon, and in one of my more limpetty moments I'd asked Leon to run with me instead of at his own faster pace. But we were looking forward to a good day out (especially when we saw the weather forecast), meeting lots of old and new friends, and seeing parts of the canal we haven't visited before.

I knew it would hurt. I knew there would be difficult patches. I thought it might even get a bit boring. And, given that my return to training has not been accompanied by a return to the low-fibre diet that I need to eat to keep my cantankerous bowel from complaining about my silly hobby, I had a suspicion that I'd need to dive into the undergrowth occasionally. Bring it on, I said. Brain training :o)

Paul (who had stayed at our house the night before), Leon and I were porridged-up and at Moor Street Station by 8am. It was still cold and misty, and my hands were freezing. I went to buy some cups of coffee to wrap them around, and met loads of people that I hadn't seen since I last went to a Runners' World London Social in ... that'll be February 2006. Time flies! Meanwhile, the contingent from www.fetcheveryone.com were congregating down on the platform.

The train was held up by an accident involving a bus and a bridge. When the first announcement was made about the delay, Leon 'phoned Mark, the race organiser, who said he'd put the start back for us if needed. What a good man! It probably helped that about 25% of the race field was on that particular train. In the end, the delay wasn't too bad and the start was only held up by about 10 minutes.

And off we went.The first two miles were marked by twists and turns and bottlenecks that ensured a slow start for us back-of-the-pack runners. Then we settled into a nice 9.30-10mm pace for the first section.

By the first checkpoint at just under 10 miles, the coffee I'd drunk before the race was in my bladder, with interest, and I started looking out for suitable vegetation to dive into. There was plenty of undergrowth. Unfortunately, most of it was stinging nettles. An opportunity arose in Mile 12 and I was more comfortable after that. We started eating jelly babies, washed down by the water we had been given at the checkpoint.

I was aware that I was slowing up, though. Each mile was taking over 10 minutes now, and that slight drop in pace translated into a huge increase in my perception of how long each mile took to cover. I started setting little targets. I would run at least until 15 miles (tick). I would run until the second checkpoint (fail). Those were to become "I will run until the next bridge" and "I will run until the Garmin bleeps another mile" by the last section.

"This is a Bad Patch," I told myself. "Bad Patches pass." That's been one of the biggest lessons I've learned as a runner. Starting to stiffen up or getting mental gremlins isn't the start of a slippery slope to 40-minute miling. It's just a Bad Patch and it won't last forever.

From Mile 15, I realised that my prodigious fruit'n'veg consumption yesterday, combined with the running, was causing my abdomen to fill up with big soggy farts. Anyone who has ever had a bad dose of runners' trots will know that there is no more delicate description - "intestinal distress" just doesn't convey the full picture. I had a very long sit-down in a pub loo at 18 miles, and lots of people passed us, including two lady runners of our acquaintance whom we came upon again when they stopped to wibble at a big puddle. "I was RIGHT about the trail shoes!" Leon crowed, ploughing straight through. I wasn't about to come over all twittery, so I followed him. In Vaporflys. And shiny new socks. It wasn't to be their only mud-bath of the race.

We stopped for a while at the second checkpoint because there were lots of supporters there and we couldn't resist having a chinwag. Then when we set off again, we were soundly heckled by some friends on the bridge. "The hills are killers," Leon told Evil Rich the Fell-Runner. "Just as well you aren't doing it, you'd never cope."

From there on, it was a matter of grinding out the miles at a shuffly 12+mm run/walk. Staying side by side was more difficult now, because I can walk faster than Leon and I suspect he found my running pace uncomfortably slow, so he let me go ahead when I walked and then caught up when I started running again. Memo to self - don't put the poor soul through that again.

(We don't plan to run any of the 10-in-10 marathons together, so I might as well get used to it. And goodness knows I've run enough races on my own in the past.)

During this last section, although it was hard work, I was able to stay positive. Sub-6 was in the bag, barring disasters. My tired brain couldn't be bothered making my tired legs run and wanted me to walk, but nothing actually hurt beyond slight achy stiffness. So I told my tired brain that the harder it pushed my tired legs, the sooner it would be wrapped around a cup of tea and a flapjack.I was also conscious that although I was working hard, the effort wasn't really taking much out of me, and that I would recover in no time at all. So far that appears to be the case, although I may be yelping a different tune tomorrow morning.

Boredom? Nope, Boredom didn't come out to taunt me today. The glorious weather undoubtedly helped.

Gremlins? Just one brief visitation. Around 13 miles in, Leon was running ahead of me on a single-file section and I saw the sign on his back that says, "If it weren't for you ... ". I laughed in the gremlin's face and the sign melted away.

Training needs identified? Absolutely! We slowed up from 9:30mm to over 12mm pace over the course of the race. The only thing that will put that right is more long training runs. I'm confident that our early pace was as conservative as it needed to be.

I'd known before half-way that sub-5 was out of the question, and sub-5.30 looked to have slipped away too until ... glory be, it's the FINISH! It's SHORT! We ran the last third of a mile as if it were our first, smiling for the photographer and because we were happy and endorphined up to the eyeballs. 5:29:58 on my Garmin And, as I said at the start, 29.44 miles.We cheered people in, drank water, ate crisps (I hardly ever eat crisps, but after walking past the box the first time I realised that they were exactly what I wanted) and chatted, then made our way to Rowheath Pavilion. There were no showers for the ladies, but I was delighted to find that I was still agile enough to clean my muddy feet in the washbasin.

The winning man and lady were two of our excellent Birmingham ultra-runners, Matt and Alayne, but there were special "achievement" prizes for Ruth ("in excess of 85 marathons"), and two Bournville Harriers ladies who had been involved in the organisation of the event last year and had run it this year. Well done all round!

What a fabulous race this is. Small, well-organised, friendly, uncomplicated, and over a beautiful off-road course. I think the eponymous JW would have been delighted with his enduring memorial.

The underfoot conditions were muddy and stony and rough for much of the race, and the leg-sapping effect of running on this terrain creates greater physical demands than a 30-miler on the road. We went through 26.2 miles at 4:50-ish. We did the Great Langdale Marathon in 4:43:53 two weeks ago. Therefore, the JW Ultra is harder, mile for mile, than the Great Langdale Marathon, despite having only 170m of ascent and 50m of descent in total.

I fancy doing the hilly 22-mile Clent Clamber tomorrow, but I think we may compromise by going on a long bike ride with lunch somewhere nice instead. No point burning out before May ;o)