It was also the one that I signed up for before I did any research, other than google the words "Sussex", "half", "marathon"* and "free mars bars". What I should have done was add the words "horrible", "hilly" and "hell no".
It is billed as the hilliest course in England, and they weren't kidding. CS, LOR and I drove the route the day before, and we managed to stall the car going up one of the hills. Between shrieks of horror, sobs of terror and stalling of engines, I squeaked "I don't think I can do this". CS is a man of few words, but when he speaks, you should listen. He spoke. I wasn't listening. He spoke again. "Of course you can".
So with a certain amount of fear, a lot of resentment towards CS and twice the lethal dose of Imodium in my system (don't ask), I turned up for the race the next day. I was terrified, but I consoled myself with the promise of free mars bars at every feeding station.
Just before the race I bumped into one of the lycra-clad speed-freaks who cheerfully announced that he was going for the full marathon (twice the course, twice the hills), and was considering the ultra (even more course, even more hills). I would have punched him really hard if I wasn't conserving all my energy for those pesky hills. And for carrying my weight in free mars bars up said pesky hills.
So you can imagine my disappointment when I got to the first feeding station. I asked for a mars bar and they gave me a kit kat**. Yes, you heard correctly, a kit kat. Last time I checked, a kit kat doesn't count as a mars bar. Not even close. I asked where all the mars bars were and was told that they ran out a few minutes ago. I childishly giggled at the idea of a mars bars running anywhere, and the thought of catching up with at least one of them spurred me on to the next feeding station.
Same story three miles later. I didn't laugh at the idea of mars bars running away this time. Instead I looked at the mound of melting kit kats with suspicion. But I was assured that there were mars bars out there, all I had to do was catch up with them at the next feeding station.
Guess what? Four miles later I was greeted with a lovely lady begging people to take some kit kats. She had a mountain of soggy kit kats behind her which were beginning to mould into one giant kit kat under the heat. It was at this point that I suspected that the person whose only job it was to buy the mars bars had screwed up in a big way. I might have said that out loud, I can't be sure. I do know that the lovely lady said "What's the difference? Chocolate is chocolate isn't it?". It took me at least 46 seconds to explain three main reasons why a kit kat isn't the same as a mars bar. I'm sure I would have come up with at least six if I wasn't so hungry.
I finished the course in 2:30:45. I had trained for a sub 2:30 time, but I'd neglected to train for the arguing with lovely ladies about the relative merits of mars bars over kit kats.
And yes, I've already signed up for next year's race.
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** Kit kats have gluten in them. I can't eat gluten, no matter how much Imodium I have in my system (don't ask)
