Newport based auctioneer Paul Fosh, 48, returned from the challenge of his life at the end of last month. The father-of-two, who lives in Osbaston, walked 352 miles through the Canadian Arctic over eight days, carrying all his food and possessions on a sled in one of the most difficult races in the world. Out of 24 who entered, only eight finished - with Mr Fosh coming in fourth.

WE STARTED in the northern Yukon just below the line of the Arctic Circle and walked from that point, in temperatures down to -30C.

First we followed the Dempster Highway, put in when they started oil exploration in Northern Canada, which is basically a gravel track.

After about 230 miles the road runs out and you go onto the Mackenzie River, frozen over for six or seven months of the year.

Even early on this river can be half a mile wide, but when you get on to the Arctic Ocean near the finish it’s just a vast expanse.

You get walls either side from where they cleared the ice with snow ploughs.

Initially the Dempster Highway was incredible, with mountains and forests either side, but increasingly it was just snow and stunted trees for kilometre after kilometre after kilometre – imagine an undulating road going on for 10km or more.

Sometimes you could only see a rise and you’d think, ‘Oh, maybe there will be something after that.’ You get there and there’s just another one ahead of you.

It’s that sort of thing actually that made some people quit, just the mental aspect of it.

The further you went the flatter it got until you reached the ocean and the only thing you saw were temporary hunting shacks used by the Inuit and something that I learned is called a ‘pingu’ – when the ocean pushes up and creates an island with the force of ice.

Early on when my head was clear I was thinking about work, my wife and family, just anything really. But towards the end I was thinking about virtually nothing.

My wife cropped up in my thoughts quite a lot and I had a lot of conversations with her. I also had a lot of conversations with the sled, which my kids nicknamed Jack Frost.

I was trying to encourage Jack to push me up the hills and help slow me when I was going down the hills but he never quite got the hang of it.

I spoke a bit to Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights. I’d ask her to give me a good display as it turned dark every night, because it’s quite lonely. I’d have a chat to her and say ‘Give us a good show tonight’ even though you couldn’t really appreciate it very much.

Towards the end I thought of nothing other than – it sounds a bit cheesy really – but asking my wife to give me a hug and help me on my way. It was out loud – there was nobody there.

On the ice road you would see a vehicle I suppose every hour or so.

They would wave and some would put their phones out the window to photograph you, some would give you a honk on the horn.

That was quite cheery actually to have that. Occasionally someone offered you an apple or something, which was very tempting but you have to be totally self-sufficient.

The main danger was frostbite and the medics at each checkpoint were keen to say ‘Fingers and toes OK?’ and do a quick visual of your nose. My beard is quite recent and was to keep as much skin covered as possible.

There are a lot of brown and black bears but they are all hibernating. Even at the finish the chance of seeing a polar bear was possible but very remote. People did see lynx and one of the locals said wolves had been following a few of us, but only because they must have smelled the food we were carrying.

Going to the loo was interesting. Basically you can’t really go off the road because there are deep snowdrifts either side. Because it’s very remote, you just squat at the side of the road and do your business and then push a bit of snow over it. I was known for my weeing in the snow – I used to do a letter ‘P’.

On day four I pulled away from two Irish guys a bit younger than me who had been leaving me some friendly banter messages in the snow, with their ‘Keep up dad’s and that sort of stuff.

Anyway I overtook them and carried on doing my signature P. At the end of it they said it used to really wind them up seeing these Ps. They got over it by analysing it saying ‘He’s a bit dehydrated’. Silly little things like that keep you going.

My lowest point was probably at the beginning of day three, when my ankle and calf had swollen up and I just could not walk.

I actually had a good blubbing session then.

I was on my own and I ‘knew’ I was out of the race. But when your eyelids stick together with the tears freezing you realise there’s no point crying and you might as well carry on.

The pain eased off and although it was painful every day I managed to push through.

Another low point was perhaps about two days from the end.

The penultimate check point was just a car parked on the ice road, about 12km away.

It was dark and I could see the headlights, but you can see for so far because you’re basically on the Arctic Ocean.

It took about two maybe three hours to get there which was so frustrating.

That’s when I had some really bad hallucinations – mostly auditory, I was hearing cows mooing, sheep and people calling my name from behind. It’s funny, you don’t get scared by it really. You think, ‘That’s weird, I don’t think I’ve seen any sheep’ and then you think, ‘Oh, dear’ and you just move on, you accept it.

At that point I was probably having three or four hours sleep a day. Partly because you’re so tired you just want to keep going and you become almost like an automaton.

Basically each day you get up when you wake up – and you wake up because you’re cold. You get out of your bivvy as quickly as you can, get your shoes on and sled packed up.

After you’ve walked for half an hour or so you can think about something to eat.

You can’t eat straight away because you’re too cold to prepare it.

I had loads of trail food which included broken up chocolate – you couldn’t take a whole bar of chocolate because you’d snap your teeth on it.

I hadn’t really thought about the fact frozen food is not the nicest or easiest to eat. I’d tip a load of jelly babies into my mouth and even now my tongue is still damaged from the frozen food.

Then it’s basically walking – walking, walking, walking.

All being well you go all day and stop when the sleep monsters attack you and you have to give up.

There are stories of people falling asleep on their feet and walking off the road or into the ice walls on either side.

One of the best moments came after I had been on the ice road for a day. It felt really warm – although I subsequently found out it was about -10C – there was clear blue sky and not a soul was about. I made myself a cup of tea, sat down and just sunbathed before I forced myself back onto my spikes, aching and knackered.

Funnily enough one of the most painful times was the very last day. The last kilometres were just hell on earth. I was absolutely exhausted by that stage, the ocean seemed to be going uphill.

When I walked over a crest and saw the finish line it was just an incredible feeling.

They said ‘break the tape’ but I had no energy to actually walk through the barrier. I just put my poles over and leaned on it with all these frozen ‘snotsicles’ around my face.

Immediately after finishing they took my harness off me and drove me to the village hall where the competitors who had pulled out were all staying.

I had my feet checked over by one of the medics – there were some big blisters on my bad foot but in many ways they were nothing compared to the pain of my foot and ankle.

On the ice road you have spikes which fit over your shoes which actually are really brutal on your knees.

Somebody got me a cup of tea and I was sitting there in numb shock really at having done it.

It’s such an incredible barren wilderness it will be so sad that if in years to come the environment has changed because of global warming.

My family probably think I’m a bit mad. I’m desperate to run again and hopefully I’ll go for a first run in a few days time.