Well I think that wins the award for most stupid thing I have ever done. 

I honestly wanted to remember a time when I had found something harder, ideally in my military career, but I came up stumps. Don’t get me wrong, I have completed endurance challenges before, some just as long, I’ve carried a lot of weight, been wetter, more miserable, but I have never had to push through physical pain quite like what I felt on DW before.

It all started pretty well, despite the punctured car tyre the day before the race (thanks mum) and lack of sleep the night before (also thanks mum (she snores!) – love you!), we had managed to pull a brilliant support crew together, had a sh*t tonne of snacks and figured that all we actually had to do was finish – and that would be more than achievable right? Right!  We also had the added benefit that this year the race was 15 miles shorter (thank you Covid-19!) and only around 60 boats had entered compared to the normal 200+. This meant lots more space on the canal and more freedom for our support teams to be able to assist us. 

At the start we were told we were the only ladies senior doubles team, so it was even possible that this rag tag duo could win a DW trophy! All we had to do was finish…

Leah and I knew we weren’t fast and we had only managed to train, on average, once a week since she joined me in January (a far cry from the recommended 2 – 3 times a week) but we reckoned we would be able to maintain a steady pace. In hindsight we should have trained quite a bit harder and definitely focused on speed! 

We were both psyched for 22 – 24 hours, the plan said 21 but didn’t account for support stops, so I was pretty happy with this estimate. I mean who would enter if it was going to take longer than that?!

The first 6 hours were great, as expected, it was actually quite a lot of fun seeing so many friends and family meet us along the canal route, some planned, and many a surprise. We did have one very public mishap: just 5 minutes after our first clothing change we capsized immediately after stepping back into the boat. But it really didn’t matter at the time, it was a warm day and we felt fine to carry on. 

However, as darkness hit (about 11 hours in) and our bodies began to feel the strain, I definitely started to question whether or not this had been a good idea. We had yet to make the half way point, my body ached and we had already taken to occasionally low slinging the kayak rather than shoulder carrying it every time we portaged. Maths comes hard to me when under physical duress but I estimated that we still had 12 hours to go. I admit that quite a lot of doubt started to set in. On top of that the fear of falling in was more apparent. I really didn’t fancy having to swim a width of the Thames fully clothed, dragging a double kayak and then fighting our way up a muddy, slippery bank in the dark, I’m certain that would have been game over.

Despite the doubt we managed to find our morale, I think we even made up a song, which probably sounded completely bonkers to any moored boats we passed (2 x mad women for sure). It was also pretty peaceful at night; the wind died and the moon state was good so, despite the lack of river flow, we felt like we were making progress. At least for a little while.

The exact order of events is a blur now but the situation changed for me at around 1 am (about 16 hours in) when, for some reason I just entered the pain zone. Shooting pains and a deep ache in my arms and shoulders meant I ended up just breathing aggressively and not speaking for 50 minutes straight while tears streamed down my face. It isn’t my favourite memory. Leah too had been dealing with her own agony throughout, having had a wisdom tooth extracted just days before the race, and so had already been dosing up on painkillers.

At this point each time we met the support crews, who were leap-frogging each other, it was a huge morale boost and I swear we looked to every river bend for that friendly white light.

My most vivid memory is that of asking Charlie at one particularly miserable portage “so about 3.5 hours to go right?” and seeing him look sheepishly at his watch, back at me and reply with “maybe more like 4”…. 45 minutes later, Moe told me exactly the same “about 4 hours Jen”. What BS! I should have realised that they were lying to us but my brain couldn’t fathom the distance-speed results I was getting in my head. At this point we actually had about 9 hours to go and, had I known that, I am not sure I would have had the fortitude to carry on. So, as much as I love-hated the support crew for that, it was a bloody good tactic.Eventually, even our befuddled brains couldn’t be deceived and the crew conceded that we still had quite a way to go.  I was disheartened and in constant pain now. Technique was no longer a thing. But I began to reason with myself. I told myself “I am 31 years old, I’m no longer in the regular Army, and Olympic athletes have pulled out of this race. I don’t have to do this if I really don’t want to. Failure is OK Jen. It is normal for teams to pull out every year and you have 8 more challenges to go, don’t get injured, perhaps it would be the most sensible decision to call it now”. I briefly discussed all of this with Leah who confirmed she would be happy with whatever decision I made. So, we had it in our heads that, at the 24 hour point, we would gracefully retire knowing that we had given it a good shot. I had a little cry about the ‘failure’ but I was content I could deal with it.

But oh no no, finger waggling no, our support team (who I might add had also been awake for 24 hours) had other plans. The cavalry was deployed and what did I see at the 24 hour point? 1 x 5 year old nephew with handmade sign and 1 x my dog deployed. Apparently there was no communication, but Leah later said it was quickly apparent that my decision had been reversed. How could we stop now? I had a real love-hate surge for the support crew at this point.

And so, the last 5 hours were ones of delirium, inter-mixed with shooting pains and increasing levels of dehydration. The sun started to hit us pretty hard and, combined with a head wind, we made slow progress down river past Windsor Castle and Hampton Court.

With the finish so close we started to realise we would, in fact, make it to the end, just 3 miles to go! So, of course we kept going, even if we could only manage to extremely ungracefully ‘flop’ out at each of the last few locks. I think I’d finally broken Leah at this point, her cheerfulness bucket now empty; I received only the occasional incomprehensible noise from behind.

In the last mile the 4 day stage race competitors (yes that’s right, people do this distance over 4 days!), started streaming past us. That meant there was a big crowd at the finish line cheering and waving and when the horn went off it was actually pretty emotional. 

108 miles in 29 hours. We were spent.

It was awesome to have such a large support crew at the finish (it had doubled in size for the final stretch); as they made sure we knew what we had achieved and it would have been so easy to stumble back to the cars and collapse. I know Leah and I are immensely grateful to them all for getting us to the end. We might not have made the cut off time but we raised over £1000 in one day for the VF and we wouldn’t have done it without them. 

It was, without a doubt, a team effort. From Moe literally giving me the shirt off his back, to Charlotte drying our headbands in her bra, to Charlie’s white lies and Roisin’s endless morale – cheers guys.

Thank you mum for sorting the snacks with me, driving, being an extra lone-woman support team and on and on the list goes. Thank you to dad for looking after my pup and fixing my tyre, Becky for the amazing social media work, and Jane & Paul for bolstering the support crew on the last legs – you guys were amazing.

And last but not least, thank you to Leah, for blindly agreeing to this mental challenge. You’re a good egg. I’m sorry I had no real idea what I was going to put you through!

And that’s a wrap, sorry it’s a long one – so much to say, and lots I’ve probably missed out, but I couldn’t dress myself let alone type in the days following the race!

Oh and I never want to see a scotch egg ever again.

1 week to go until the start of the next challenge…