Hugh's 4th run now up on Google Maps

4th marathon in 4 hrs 58 mins. By this stage he's really not fluking it.

The day started as ever with exercises, necessary to mitigate any chance of injury. Samia decreed we perform these in the reception of our hotel which conveniently had a mirrored wall. We lunged, squatted and walked on tip toes and heels, watching ourselves doing so, an unnerving experience. Feeling the need to explain we told the manager about it all and he said 'only the crazy make history'. Well, perhaps. I made a note of his name; Jorges Chagas; mispronounced the surname with a 'Sh' and his eye twitched violently. Time to leave, trotting off with all the dignity we could muster after our less than balletic display in the foyer.

We can now empathise with comedians, forced, at the genesis or twilight of their careers, to play a winter season at Blackpool pier. Every evening since Lisbon (three, admittedly), we have trudged into empty hotels by a windswept beach, disgorged the contents of our bags into musty rooms and made as merry as we can in the circumstances. There is something melancholy about the whole set up; rooms waiting to be filled, restaurants like morgues, and staff waiting to perform for a willing and appreciative, or heavily tipping public. We're not really what they're after; requests for free wifi, ice for the Hugh's baths and well stocked bar (for me). Muttering a barely passable 'obrigado' like someone shuffling off the latest boat of illegal immigrants we arrive and leave with equal anonymity; apart from Jorges who made us feel sprightly, if a little irked, with his interest.

Anyway, the day's run. This took in first the peninsular of Peniche; a bulbous, exposed promontory with deserted beach roads, and a ocean lit by the sun from the south east. Hugh and I trudged this contentedly for ten kilometres or so before moving onto the main road, still coastal. Passing surf shops, mainly closed but the more optimistic expectantly open, we moved into open country. Winter is being slowly forced out, vast spring onions and cabbages ready for harvest and the smell of wild garlic pervading the roadsides, with gnarled olive trees waiting to bear fruit in the fields. But I'm no Keats so let's crack on.

Hugh and I both find the variety essential; the odd town gives the roads purpose and travelling at this speed one really sees things. Approaching Serra d'El Rei; a pleasant white-washed and terracotta roofed town I could see the wind turbines lining the escarpment, the sort of giants Don Quixote would have charged on a reluctant Rocinante. OK, dehydration was clearly setting in and we stopped, me for the last time having done my job 'leading' the run at 18 miles whilst Hugh, after a lunch break, completed the end of the day's odyssey to end up in the pretty town of Caldas de Raina; our stop for the evening.

This was a day where we felt things tighten up, a routine come together and a knowledge of what Hugh should be doing, how far to push and a team working well. The weather helped too, a generally sunny day - a true 50/50 statistic - 2 days saturated, 2 with the sun on our backs.

< A footnote on the downloaded runs, should you look at these. The time (e.g. today 4.58) is Hugh's time on his feet. He also stops for up to an hour in total per day, in order to eat, drink and rest the legs in which lactic acid is continually building up. This gives a him a door to door of max 6hrs. It's essential he works out his 'on feet' mph hence the timing strategy; we're working on efficiency and how to keep this fellow together for 50 days. >