The Final Day, 24 July

Well, 4am and here we go again. We're getting quite used to this time of day and it has to be said there is a fair amount of excitement as the final day starts. I immediately sense that the relatively lacklustre public support of yesterday has once again moved up into top gear. For me, all of the agony and doubt of yesterday's first 25km are gone. For Emily and Kate, although they kept it quiet unless asked directly, they struggle on mainly in pain from the heat rash.

Today is another flat day, speaking about the geography, and with daylight comes sunshine and steadily rising temperatures. Although temperatures are due to be high thunderstorms are forecast. In the morning the only hint of these come when we get to the river bridge at Grave and the heavens start to open. Out come all of the ponchos, but no sooner are we settled into them than it stops and slowly they are removed. Once more the sun appears.

There is definitely an atmosphere in the air, one of expectation and excitement. The military groups and Dutch Police, always in fine voice, are singing lustily today and we lap up the atmosphere. Every small village has turned out in force and the music, both live and recorded blasts out at us we plod on and on, never failing to raise our spirits (though please can we have something other than Village People and YMCA?).

The crowds are big today, but as we get to 13km from the end a Dutchman tells us the party will really start. Emily is temporarily kidnapped by a group of Dutch soldiers and Kate visibly perks up whenever there is a uniform in sight (but please don't upset the Scots by asking what the red and yellow lion flag is all about).

And the party does hot up. Villages now appear with crash barriers holding back the crowds, looking very Tour de France. The cheering and singing goes off the scale, especially the favourite little Dutch ditty that has no words...I really can't explain but it's a sort of unofficial anthem and very popular. People disappear off into the crowds to be greeted by loved ones who've come to see them in action. For me, the pain of constant footslogging on tarmac (another 60,000 steps) is eased by the electric atmosphere.

All the walkers are now crowded together on the road and the pace is slower. The crowds get deeper and deeper. The Dutch Police provide a marching band preceded by a Mounted Section and we enter onto the Via Gladiola, the last 5 miles in Nijmegen itself. Crowds hang out of windows, draped all over balconies, even sitting on rooves to get a view. The pace slows again and overtaking becomes impossible. Strangers thrust gladioli into your hands as literally millions are handed out, all walkers must have at least one.

The TV cameras become more plentiful. We approach a major road junction controlled by a police officer on a podium, flamboyant in white hat, controlling traffic and walkers with a white baton. I find out it's his very last day at work and he rightly milks the occasion. He lets us proceed and we all cheer. We start to see the first of the grandstands, still no sign of thunderstorms thank goodness. It's actually getting hotter. Before we know it we are in the final stage, massive crowds everywhere and the volume goes up and up. The Dutch Chiefs of Staff salute us! In small villages the mayor and local police and fire chiefs had saluted us, now it was the turn of the bigwigs.

Then we see it, the finishing banner, below suddenly grey skies. We approach, hold hands, and cross the line together, arms in the air with a huge cheer. We've done it, and I know we are all so proud of what we have done. For my part I know that meeting Emily, Kate and Ben has helped pull me through. More mentally than physically, this would have been a very difficult task without them and I say, "thank you!" I salute Kate as she had done no preparation beforehand and every step appeared to be in pain. I salute Emily as, like me, she walked miles in preparation.

We hurry to our finishing stations, sign in, are congratulated and are awarded our medals. We meet up and I grab a passer by and she takes a photo of us as literally the heavens open. I am proud of our events and proud that I hit my target of £1500 for BLESMA. The pain endured by those young men and women injured in our armed forces vastly eclipsing my discomfort. I did this for me, as a challenge; for them to pay some of our debt and for the memory of Captain Alex Eida, killed in Afghanistan. I salute them all.

Then it's off for a couple of beers, then into town for a meal with my new friends, whom I shall miss very much, but whom I hope to see again in the future.

Roll on next year. For I will be back.

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.