I finally hobbled into Blackpool around teatime – some two hours after the first walker finished.
After leaving Preston at dinner time with 14 miles to go, I had a sudden burst of enthusiasm and leg power.
The painkillers for my feet had kicked in and I was keeping up with the main bunch for the first time in the walk.
But after an hour, the painkillers wore off and I started to struggle.
It took me well over two hours to do the final three miles – slower than half the speed I had been walking with previously.
Walking on your own in agony is no fun, but it gives you plenty of time to think about why you put yourself through it.
The families who have lost people in road accidents have suffered much more than I did and you don’t want to let them or the people who have sponsored you down.
It sounds a cliche but when you’re in that condition it really does keep you going.
That, and the incredible support from the Goughs and other fellow walkers. Bev and Steve really looked after us throughout the week and I’d like to thank them.
I won’t describe what my feet looked like when I finally peeled the socks and bandages from them.
We all spent Friday night together in Blackpool and had a few drinks to celebrate.
Most of us couldn’t move but there were one or two who clearly had saved their energy for the dance floor. It was a top night and a fitting end.
The following morning as we trudged down for breakfast heads were as sore as the feet, but everyone I asked said they were already looking forward to next year. If my feet ever recover, I might just join them.