This was a great race. Thirty-three miles on the North York Moors on a gloriously sunny day with lots of smiling faces.

The Phoenix takes in the Cleveland way between Osmotherley and Blowarth Crossing, before coming back on itself east over the moors toward Black Hambleton where it rejoins the Cleveland Way and winds back into Osmotherley. And whilst my garmin claims there are 7000 feet of ascent on the route, everyone else says that it is about 4000 feet. So not as much as I’d like to brag about, but a respectable amount nonetheless.

After a long week of personal training in Harrogate, I turned up at Osmotherley village hall at 8.15, having been dropped off by my parents who were on a day out of their own. Familiar faces were around. I had a bit of chatter with Pat Mullin about this year’s Hardmoors race; with the illustrious Nick Ham who had been busy on business over the last month and had done next to no running; to Sarah Booth about my DNF prospects, and Kev Borwell with whom I ran 30 miles on the 110. I sat in the shade with Kev until the start and we set off together on the familiar surfaces of the Cleveland Way. Wary of the heat and hills to come, I set off at a nice steady pace with Kev and we had a laugh as we made our way between Osmotherley and the checkpoint at the foot of Carlton Bank.

Everything was completely in order. But then, completely out of character, something strange came over me: I ran, with relative ease, all the way up Carlton Bank. Having always walked at least some of this stretch whenever I’ve tackled it in the past, this was a very pleasant surprise. My legs felt strong and my breathing was fine, so filled with confidence I sped on, down the other side to the Lords Cafe checkpoint.

After a quick refuel I motored on and found Sarah debating whether or not to take the purists’ route over Cringle Moor, Hasty Bank and the Wainstones or to take the ‘finish on your feet’ route and contour around these hills. I wasn’t going up Wainstones for anyone on a hot day like this and said as much before carrying on over the relatively flat trail beneath the hills. I was still going some, though, and went past about 10 people as we travelled towards the layby checkpoint beneath Blowarth crossing. Surely this was too good to be true?

I topped up the water and continued, but this time walked up the steep bank that levels out as it approaches the ancient drovers’ road. I took the opportunity to get a few snaps and then started running again, managing to put myself in front of another five or so people on the way up to the self-clip checkpoint that indicates the point at which we leave the Cleveland Way. From here the route follows a long downhill stretch over the moorland toward the Chop Gate checkpoint. I lost a bit of time here dithering at forks in the track and was caught by some of the people I had only recently overtaken. But I reached the halfway checkpoint at just under 17 miles in 2 hours 57 minutes. This boded well for a six-hour finish and meant I was pleased.

Thoughts of under six hours immediately began to diminish as I embarked on the long steep hill out of the checkpoint. The heat was becoming stifling and the energy-sapping gradient made progress annoyingly slow. It was a proper hands on thighs job and as I crested the hill it took me a couple of minutes to get back into running mode. I eventually managed it, but only after a few more competitors had trekked past me. Thankfully I found some rhythm and managed to take myself back over four miles of moorland to the Wheat Beck checkpoint without much more hassle. At this point you have the opportunity to get home quicker with a fork right for the 26 mile route or you can carry straight on for the 33. I had a quick look at the 26 mile option, thought ‘Nah, I’m having too much fun… honest’ and restarted with a belly full of flapjack, orange juice, jelly babies and – for company – a swarm of flies who’d taken a liking to me.

The next section was made up of tricky navigation over lush farm and woodland toward Black Hambleton. Luckily, Gary, a prison officer from Middlesbrough with whom I’d been exchanging places since Blowarth confidently led me down the correct trails. He’d recce’d the course a few weeks earlier and his foresight paid dividends as we went over this style then that without so much as a hesitation. So it was a bit annoying, then, when seven or eight people appeared shortly before Hawnby having clearly taken a shorter route. In the words of school teachers the world over “You’re only cheating yourself”! But I didn’t really have time to be bothered, because I was now gasping and the long, long hill from the Hawnby checkpoint back to the Cleveland Way was still to be contended with. This was a really gruesome stretch in the heat and as Gary began to get away from me and I only had the flies for company, I decided to resort to the i-pod for motivation. This worked. My mood was lifted and resolve strengthened as I listened to some unhinged old rave tunes on the beautiful open moorland. I was also pleased to note that I was striding past the cyclists, now pushing their bikes, who had nearly clattered into me on their last downhill.

Upon rejoining the Cleveland Way I wished that clouds would appear and block the sun rays that bore down on me and evaporated my remaining strength. I kept at it though, and as Osmotherley came into sight at Oakdale, with no other ailments other than exhaustion to contend with, I made sure I ran all the way to the finish. Despite this, the second half of the race took me three hours and 40 minutes, 43 minutes longer than the first half. Which means that despite having successfully avoided going off too quickly, I then went off too quickly in the second quarter of the race. Oh well. I wasn’t too bothered – it was a glorious day, I saw lots friendly people and I somehow managed to avoid getting sunburnt. Dad was sat at the finish line with the dogs and there were a hundred or so finishers and locals, applauding people as they ran up Osmotherley high street to the finish. I got my breath back, ate an ice cream and went home. A great way to spend a Saturday.