"Fourteen days ago, in a small town near the Peruvian border, I stood at the start line, the base of the Bolivian Andes, sheltering from torrents of freezing rain that curtained the town. I stared at the washed-out mud roads that led out of the village, searching for a reason to abandon the whole thing entirely. For the first time I could remember, I was literally paralysed by fear, standing under a tin roof and refusing to take even the first few steps. I had two options. The first, a 12-hour, rickety bus ride back to La Paz, which actually seemed just as uncomfortable as running the first segment to my next chance to quit; the second, four passes over 5,000m, a forecast for stormy weather throughout, and no civilisation aside from coca growers and gold mines. I chose the muddy trail over the bus ride home, but it was pretty close for a moment."

• Jenny Tough

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