Darlington friends Chris Webber, Dominic Webber, Ben McKeown and Simon Harrison tell of the highs and lows of walking 54 miles in 24 hours for charity in the Scottish hills on the famous Army Benevolent Fund (ABF) Cateran Yomp.

There were real heroes taking on the yomp in Perthshire, Scotland – but it’s fair to say that us four overweight, middle-aged dads were not quite among them.

The heroes were people like Mark Palmer, told he would never walk properly again when a metal Achilles tendon was transplanted to his foot who took a slow time encouraging others all the way, those recovering from cancer determined to take on a life affirming challenge, injured former soldiers and, of course, the heroic winner, Eddie Towler, 53 of Bradford, who completed it in under ten hours raising £7,000 on the way.

And there were those with cracking tales to tell. The Scots couple, Andy and Emma Andrews, trekking the walk for their honeymoon. Guy Houston, 60, who had travelled from California having raised £2,000 for the charity.

But for us, along with most of the 500 or so others taking on the challenge in Perthshire, we knew we’d be happy just to get round in one piece and be heroes in our own pub tales.

Some training had taken place. The Yorkshire Three Peaks had been conquered. And the baby of the group, father-of-one, Simon Harrison, 40, was so dedicated he even didn’t have any beer the night before.

It was over those beers that Ben McKeown, dad-of-two, lured us all on the walk with the cruelly inaccurate promise it was “basically flat”.

“I never said flat…I might have said, undulating,” he later claimed.

Setting off at 7am the next morning, a group of runners, actual runners, were soon overtaking us. The first steep hill came quick. “Is this flat or undulating?,” was asked in an out-of-breath voice. “Undulating,” came the reply.

It was the tenth year of what is a superbly organised event, complete with a super-jolly announcer welcoming people with an endless stream of banter and upbeat hype at various points which, we supposed, some people maybe even didn’t mind.

There was plenty of food and drink at the stops and one could eat all of it, guilt free. There was free ice-cream, haggis n neeps, chill n chips, tonnes of cake – all devoured. The favourite was the gin bothy, at a stunningly beautiful lakeside, 18th century boathouse. For some reason they only allowed us a small nip, but we eyed the full bottles longingly.

There were even events on the way like rifle shooting and archery at which Dominic Webber, 44, Hummersknott school teacher and father-of-two in Darlington, claimed a hotly disputed victory.

Fun was had, jokes were told...but it was long and hard. And the highs and lows weren’t all about the hills. We arrived at the two-thirds point an hour early. Spirits soared. Two hours later, briefly getting lost on a pitch-black mountain side, they plummeted. Convoluted and desperate mental calculations along the lines of, ‘I think we’ve done more than they’re saying – we’re nearly there! Really, we must be!’ abounded.

Shortly before the end, about 22-and-a-half hours in, an unexpected hill arose. It was an everyday road. No beauty, no adventure, just a steep, hard trudge upwards what was effectively the last of the overall yomp’s 7,156 ft ascent (Ben Nevis, Britain’s tallest hill, is a mere 4,413ft). Nobody taunted Ben with the, ‘is this flat or undulating?’ in-gag this time. This was no joke. Anyway, we could no longer speak.

Waifs and strays dropping out were met and encouraged. A young soldier type with dizziness, sat by a turnstile - rescue telephone numbers were found. An older woman with a twisted knee making her way to the next stop was checked and encouraged. There were others falling by. They’d given it their all.

Somehow the fantasy finish line became real, the end reached at 23 hours, 23 minutes – the last couple of hours at a snail’s pace with every one of the 133,000 or so steps felt. There was no desire to celebrate any more. The longed-for showers and breakfasts and free massages didn’t matter, only lying down.

Again, the ABF’s yomp support team came to the rescue. They gave us Prosecco and somehow found us a beer each when one of us half-jokingly asked for one. Took our picture. Applauded us.

They made a falling down moment a special one. And it really was a special experience, one in which we’d raised £2,348 for charity.

Special - but too hard. Never again.

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