I wake up on day three of the Wild Run feeling fresh and remarkably enthusiastic. The pain of day two has faded and I prepare for the final assault on the course. Some aggressive physio has seemingly sorted out my aches and pains and I am good to go.

The start is relatively quick and everybody is in good spirits. I note now familiar faces and chat with the other runners as we descend towards the first stretch of beach, and in an instant, my day goes horribly wrong.

My hip begins to ache the minute my feet hit the sand and my heart sinks as I realise my final day is about to get much, much longer. I watch the bulk of the field pull away and come to terms with the fact that my long day is also likely to be solo...

The dull ache in my hip soon becomes a sharp pain and I feel like I am running with a dagger jammed between my hip and butt-cheek. Not ideal at all.

An adventure shared

It isn't all lost, however, as during the course of the first 22km I share some running time with others, including Benji, who despite entering the race with chronic ITB continued to make a mockery of the injury by running on grimly throughout.

There was also Vikki, another Wild Run rookie, whose cheery disposition makes running in pain a whole lot more bearable. Her offer of Nurofen goes a long way in helping too.

These are just two of the runners who make the experience of the Wild Run so incredible, but trust me every single person out there on the course adds something unique to the Wild Run.

The brief moments of their company made the pain a touch more bearable and knowing that they were still out there with me – even when they broke away or fell off the pace – kept me pushing on.   

Stage three was easily the toughest for me. The climbs were insane, the single-track was murder, but hell the scenery at the top made up for it! Deep blue seas, sweeping beaches (certainly more enjoyable to look at than to run on) and rolling grass hills make this are one of the most beautiful races on the planet. It also makes it worth climbing those hills so you can get an aerial view of it.

In two minds

As I conquer the first of the day's climbs, I give thanks that I can still walk relatively pain-free as I prepare to power-walk the remainder of the stage. That changes 30 minutes later when even walking becomes too painful to bear...

In that moment, I seriously considered calling in and dropping out of the 2010 Wild Run. Thankfully, I managed to drown out that inner voice (with the help of a Nurofen) and trudged forward.

I even managed some sporadic running for the remainder of the route, barely keeping in touch with two other runners, only made visible by their bright yellow shirts, following their route and making it to the top of the final climb. 

And then, finally, after more than seven hours, below, opening up like an oasis, lay the Hole in the Wall, but more importantly the finishing banner for the 2010 Wild Run. To be honest, I only had eyes for the finishing banner and after confirming the route with Mark Middleton (one of the sweepers), made my way gingerly down the hill.     

A warm welcome

I openly admit to having a little cry when I reached the bottom of that monster. I have never been so tired - and still on my feet - in my entire life. Finishing this race is easily the toughest thing that I have achieved physically and probably mentally too.

As I hobble under the banner, the welcome is warm and generous as Owen (Race Director), Tam (Race Manager), and Greg (photographer), who managed to get a 'before' shot of me on day one and an 'after' shot of me on day three, and the rest of the Wild Run field greet me with cheers and whistles of congratulations.

The finish sums up the race for me - warm and welcoming. I have never taken part in an event that manages to make every competitor feel like they matter as much as the Wild Run.

The personal touches provided by the entire race crew genuinely make this one of the best events I have ever had the pleasure of taking part in.

When adidas first invited me to take part, I had my doubts over whether I should accept, but if the offer were ever on the table again, I wouldn't hesitate to accept for a second.