Written by Thomas Hayward, who is a Fitness and Wellbeing instructor at Rose Hill Community centre:

The Bridge 200

On May 17th I began my second attempt to complete the Bridge 200 ultra marathon – a continuous 200 mile run, comprising of 50 four mile out-and-backs across the old Severn Bridge, all within a tight cut-off of 55 hours.

I had attempted this race the previous year and pulled out at 100 miles. So this was my chance at redemption, to see if I have what it takes to finish.

I have run this distance, and further, before, but in events like this a finish is never guaranteed. In fact, it is exactly that unknown quantity that appeals to me, a chance to see what is possible.

What with the distance, the cut-off, the exposure to the elements, and the mental challenge of the repetitive “laps”, I knew that this would be one of my toughest challenges to date.

The weather was boiling hot, but at least it was better than the relentless hours of torrential rain from the year before.

With the race starting at 4pm, the first night drew in relatively early in the event, and I found myself feeling sleepy despite having not covered many miles.

The eventual sunrise helped to clear my head, and as other runners began their 40 mile and 100 mile events, I was able to distract myself from the miles that lay ahead, and the ever encroaching aches and pains.

I reached the 100 mile mark on the Saturday afternoon. The halfway mark can be a tough spot for me mentally, as the potential high at reaching such a milestone is often swiftly overshadowed by the daunting reality of the same distance still to be covered, only this time with the accumulated physical trauma.

Having covered the distance in well under 24 hours, however, I knew I could afford to slow down and still finish in time, so my spirits were relatively high. All I had to do was keep moving forwards. Simple.

The second night saw the predicted disintegration of mind and body. I ran less and hiked more. My sleep deprived brain began to conjure up things that weren’t there. People, animals, ice cream vans, pub signs, all emerged from the shadows.

Every caffeinated substance known to man, and the now agonising pain in my feet and legs, kept me from falling asleep on the move, and slowly, so slowly, the miles drifted by.

Towards the end of Sunday, with only three runners left in the race (when all was said and done, only two of the seven starters would complete the distance) I realised I was on course to finish if I could just continue at my current pace.

This knowledge was enough to keep me going over the tough final miles, where my mind played tricks on me, and my body painfully revolted.

I crossed the finish line in a time of 52 hours and 26 minutes, in first place.

Finishing was a surreal experience, as my mind was reluctant to admit that I could finally stop moving.

Eventually the sense of achievement, and relief, filtered through, and I could appreciate what I had accomplished.

I won’t deny that winning the race felt good, but the real satisfaction, the feeling that I will try to hold onto, came from completing a challenge that had obsessed me, and had made me question what I was capable of.