At the bottom end of Tenby, the run passes a pub with increasingly vocal supporters outside on the pavements. Here, the stench of alcohol and greasy burgers made me wretch and worry about how I would complete the race. My mental thoughts of a plan and the time I wanted to achieve had gone out of the window. This had become about survival to the end, a mental battle I hadn’t wanted. I wished I could argue with my legs, but they felt fine, yet I couldn’t use them to propel me forward, even though they were perfectly capable. I was getting really frustrated with myself.