England skipper Emily Scarratt's World Rugby Sevens Series blog

We won! Over two weeks on the road, two tournaments, 12 games of sevens, two different countries and finally we are heading home, but this time as winners!

It has certainly been a while... we haven't won a sevens tournament since Houston 2013. That probably sounds like a long time. That's because it is.

You forget about what making a final actually means. Once you have got over the heart palpitations of having to play a 20-minute final (six minutes longer than normal, which don't be fooled, is a long time), you also realise that you will get to walk out and sing your national anthem.

That's something easily taken for granted in the 15s format but a real sense of achievement and a very special moment at the end of a tournament.

We knew we were onto something after Atlanta; the results, yes, but more importantly the performances and the way we were now playing the game.

If you had watched us on day one in Langford, you would be forgiven for thinking Atlanta was somewhat of a fluke.

Safe to say, some decent results but actually not necessarily performances we were proud of. As I said last time, sevens is a funny old game and thankfully for us, our day two performances turned out to be unbeatable.

Everyone always tries to look for patterns in good performances; how the warm-up was, were people quiet or loud, what songs were being played, what was the mood etc.

If you carry on in the same vein, our key to success this tournament was all down to James Bay and coffee. Trekking our coffee machine halfway around the worl, only to find out that the voltage difference meant it wouldn't work, was as bad news to some of the girls as losing their boots would have been.

After struggling with little or no coffee on day one because the tournament coffee was lukewarm and instant, day two was like Christmas when our performance manager and strength and conditioning coach wandered off to the local coffee shop.

As a non-coffee drinker, the transformation was quite shocking... it was like giving oxygen to a dying flame, or heat to snow, or too much sugar to a child. We had turned from a slightly irritable 'don't talk to me unless you have to' team into one full of life and exuberance.

I am, obviously, exaggerating slightly but if that's what it takes, let's hope Rio does good coffee!

The final was one hell of a game of sevens. I can happily admit that now, safe in the knowledge of the result and having recovered from what felt like my heart trying to escape my chest.

The first half was one of try-scoring ping pong. They'd score then we would then they would etc... the one thing you want to do in a final is try to avoid looking at the big screen, as the clock is never going to be your friend.

I made this mistake - the screen read seven minutes to go. Seven minutes to go when you are already exhausted is not what you want to see. That is the length of a normal half and I already felt like the treacle had taken hold of my legs.

There comes a point in most games where you know that you've done it. Either there isn't enough time left or the score is too big; or in this game, a combination of the two.

Kicking the ball off the field once the hooter had blown was such a relief... a relief for my body that is. It was also a relief that we had actually just proven what we're capable of. We have now just made our lives a whole lot more difficult... backing it up.

This was a long trip. Not in a bad way but two intense tournaments in as many weeks is a tough task mentally and physically. However, the most important thing is, we headed back to London carrying silverware and one happy team.