Day 65: The Road to Whitstable

A Sudden Change of Plan

Long run day arrived, and with it, the scheduled three-hour test of endurance. Last night’s carb-loading pasta fest had been in preparation for a straightforward session, but then Kelly—who has a habit of making excellent suggestions—proposed a change. Rather than a generic loop, why not run from Sittingbourne to Whitstable? It was an idea that had served me well in both 2019 and 2023 training blocks, so it seemed sensible to repeat it. After all, tradition is just peer pressure from people of the past and I wasn’t about to argue with my past self.

The Steady Plod Along the A2

I set off at 8:30 am, armed with my trusty Camelbak, energy gels and an emergency supply of anti-chafe balm—because the road to regret is paved with poor preparation. The familiar stretch along the A2 took me through Bapchild, Teynham and onwards toward Faversham. The gentle undulations of the route provided an opportunity to focus on steady pacing rather than unnecessary heroics.

Reaching Faversham, I had a moment of unpleasant arithmetic: I wasn’t even halfway. It is, of course, a special kind of mental resilience required to know that you still have another entire town’s worth of running left. Still, onwards I went, turning left at Love Lane and right onto Graveney Road, Sherlock Holmes in my ears as Stephen Fry narrated mysteries far more interesting than the mystery of why I do this to myself.

Sheep, Fog and a Wayward Woolly Wanderer

One of the peculiar joys of this route is the sheer number of other Sunday morning enthusiasts—runners, cyclists, and the occasional dog dragging an unwilling owner in their wake. The fog gave way to clearer skies as I wound through Goodnestone and into Graveney, a stretch of countryside where the main inhabitants are sheep. Lots of sheep. And, as I discovered, one rather lost-looking sheep standing in the road. A quick check with my friend Jamie, who oversees most of the sheep in the area, confirmed that this particular woolly wanderer was indeed his. It’s not every day you have to send a text mid-run to report an escapee, but marathon training is all about unexpected challenges.

The Final Push

By the time I reached Seasalter, the grind had truly set in. My lower back and right leg voiced their discontent, while my left hamstring—yesterday’s troublemaker—had apparently decided to take the day off. With my energy reserves dipping and my water supply beginning to feel more symbolic than hydrating, the final miles into Whitstable were a real test.

A small moment of absurdity came as I ran past my Mum and brother, who were out collecting lunch supplies. Despite the fact that I had already covered nearly 16 miles, they declined the opportunity to join me for the last few hundred metres. Some people just don’t appreciate a spontaneous sprint finish.

A Run Well Done

At last, I rounded into Station Road, where my family was waiting to cheer me through the door. There’s something deeply satisfying about completing a run like this—both as a physical accomplishment and a mental milestone. It’s a reminder that I can run from Sittingbourne to Whitstable, which, for reasons beyond simple geography, always feels significant.

With eight weeks to go until the London Marathon, my training remains on track, and my confidence is growing. Now, if only my legs could be convinced to stop complaining, that would be an achievement worth celebrating.