Thursday 23 July

Day 3 was the day I was not looking forward to. I had read before that it can be the hardest psychologically. You've spent two days walking and have reached halfway, the third day still leaves you a day short of finishing. I was also very much amused by an article on Dutch TV, yes the Marches are well covered on national TV; the Dutch were referring to the seven hills that have to be climbed as 'mountains' (tongue firmly in cheek). They interviewed a German soldier who said, "You call these mountains, they're tarmac!" Not bad for someone who speaks neither German nor Dutch.

My room-mate told me that anyone from Germany or Britain would not be troubled by the hills.

So, four am arrived and there were Kate and Emily at the start, Ben had had to drop out because of the state of his feet. We got to the start line, took one step and cheered: less than halfway to go! The day started off quite well with the usual crowds lining the route and cheering us on. To my mind though the route covered more rural areas than the other days and so there were periods when there no crowds. I now also know what is meant by the phrase 'hitting the wall'. As we got nearer to the 25km mark I began to flag. I dropped behind Kate and Emily and just could not catch up. Worse, everyone else seemed to be overtaking me too. Nothing I did made the situation any better and my mind began to turn to thoughts of having to give up. The souls of my feet felt very tender and it all became a hard slog. As we approached the 25km rest station the clouds darkened and the rain started literally minutes after arriving.

I took the opportunity to take my shoes and socks off, massage my feet, put on clean socks and then eat and drink. By now the rain was lashing down but, miraculously, I felt so much better when we started off again, I'd got over the wall.

However, it then proceeded to rain solidly and heavily for 5 hours. We were all wearing ponchos and I was wearing shorts. The rain ran down my legs, soaked through my socks and filled my shoes. I took each step with the thought, 'don't get a blister, don't get a blister'. It really became miserable now. Wet, so much you did not want to turn round. Worried about your feet and still miles to go.

The hills arrived and for most of them you would not notice them in a car. They were really no trouble at all. At the last one the rain stopped and we took the opportunity of sitting on the verge, removing shoes and socks and letting both socks and feet dry out. Our feet looked like wrinkled prunes and poor old Kate had so much tape and so many plasters on her feet that everyone who walked passed looked askance at her. Eventually we got going again with the first pair of socks now back on again, my feet blue with the dye from the second pair.

At least now the mood had lightened considerably, the sun came out and every step took us closer to home. Once again I dreamed of a nice cold beer or two. Eventually up came the finishing line and with great relief we finished. For me I felt my worst day was over. I was confident I would now finish. Kate and Emily were suffering terribly from heat rash around the feet and ankles as well the various aches, pains and chafing of the feet. Little did I know that they did not share my optimism for tomorrow.