Written by Jeff Mitchell - https://ukruncat.wordpress.com

Taken by Racing Snakes on the ascent of Kinder Scout

This race had been on my radar for a couple of years after I had tracked Damien Hall & Pavel Paloncy in the Spine Race in 2015, later the same year I met the Summit Fever team (Ellie & Matt) who filmed the Official Film during that race & they kindly gave me a copy of their DVD. As soon as I watched it I knew it was for me, the conditions appeared torturous and the whole experience looked set to test me to the absolute limits. I just HAD to do this.

I attended a screening of the film hosted by Like the Wind Magazine in London before the final push, when I met Damien at the Imber Ultra in March 2016 & during a brief chat with him at the finish he convinced me that anyone could take it on successfully, so I applied later that month.

I was on the waiting list, finally finding out I had a place at the end of September 2016.

The next couple of months were filled with sporadic training and intensive kit research, both being ramped up in the final few weeks to a frenzy of last minute panic buying and Insanity workouts. I even managed to test my Alpkit Pipedream 400, Hunka Bivvy & Rig 3.5 Tarp shelter combination successfully during surprisingly cold conditions in Malta the weekend before the race, with news reports coming from Britain of horrendous ‘thundersnow’ storms being forecast for race weekend.

Things were looking good.

I flew to the UK from Malta on Thursday and landed to heavy snowfall in Manchester and then alighted the train in  Cumbria to heavy snowfall. There was a pattern forming here. The next day me & my support crew (My Dad) drove to Edale for registration, I flew through kit check, getting just 3 simple items in their lottery system, and then queued for registration. Whilst waiting Ellie & Matt arrived and they interviewed me for the daily films. Once done at registration & briefing, Dad & I retired to Castleton to enjoy a decent meal and discuss final race pace, meeting points & strategy.

I got next to no sleep on Friday night as my nerves got hold of me and the associated stomach knots made eating breakfast difficult but I forced what I could down. We headed to the start to be fitted with the GPS & after saying hi to Damian again to pick up some Camphor Spray & a quick word with Ellie we were ushered to the start line.

All too soon we were off.

We made reasonable progress over hard packed & icy trails & despite having a big fall on the first decent I bounced well and wasn’t hurt, but it had got my attention. It wasn’t long before we reached Jacobs Ladder the first big ascent and the weather closed in. Heavy snow was whipped around us by strong winds, visibility was poor and temperatures plummeted.

Looking towards Bleaklow from Snake Pass

Conditions were terrible.

I loved it.

As I climbed up I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, I felt right at home.

I was enjoying myself & making good time as we headed past the first safety check at Snake Pass and on to Bleaklow Hill. The top here was difficult to navigate as it was featureless and trails appeared to criss-cross everywhere, after losing the Pennine Way I ended up waist deep in snowdrifts & plunging knee deep into bogs. Getting back on track took a good 20 mins and a huge amount of energy and I slowed for a while until I eked out the stamina to move on again.

I’d latched onto the back of 2 guys and was feeling strong again as we finally started to descend towards Torside Reservoir and my first support stop about 16miles in. I forced down some soup & tea but couldn’t manage much of either and I headed off after a few minutes. I was struggling to get back into any sort of rhythm when Damien, Ellie & Matt came heading down towards me, I gave another brief interview and made my way onwards.

The only sunshine of the weekend at Torside Reservoir

And as it turned out upwards and the wheels fell off.

The short sharp climb up Laddows Rocks completely drained my reserves and I felt terrible, it was now a long drag over moors towards Black Hill and I got slower and slower as the lack of fuel I’d been able to consume started to take its toll and my feet were cramping. It probably should have been quite enjoyable, but felt never ending and I was glad to finally reach the safety point at the A635 road crossing about 23miles done.

It was freezing cold & exposed here so I took advantage of the marshals to help me get my headtorch ready for the imposing darkness and the element I’d been dreading, night time navigation. I was given a warning that weather condition were forecast to deteriorate and we’d be facing gale force winds, hail & rain in the upcoming hours. Sounded like fun.

I was alone.

It was dark and it was raining.

The Pennine Way crossed barren & isolated moorland.

It wound up hidden hills and down into black vales.

The trail was unsigned and difficult to follow.

I felt comfortable.

I knew I was safe.

There is something reassuring knowing you’re carrying everything you need to survive and you have the navigation tools to show you the way. Normally on ultra’s you might have a route description and if you lose the trail you have no way of identifying where you are to get back on track. In the Challenger I had a map, compass and GPS and despite going the wrong way a couple times I am comfortable using a map to get back on track… which I had to do at least once. So I soon gained confidence in my abilities.

I had arranged to meet my Dad at the A672 road crossing, just prior to the M62. I had already realised that the gap between stops was too big and we should have arranged to meet at the A635 and this leg was long. It felt like it went on forever. It wasn’t helped by the fact you could see the next road crossing from some distance, but it never got any closer… and then when it did there was always a sharp descent before a climb to the road!

After the original road there were more moors and more hills. Lots of them.

It was dark and I was alone. I actually enjoyed this for most of the time as it made it MY adventure, MY achievment. But did become a bit tedious at times.

I eventually reached the A62 which was the first of 3 roads in comparatively quick succession which I remembered from our map survey on Friday, there was a safety point here offering hot drinks but I abstained wanting to reach my support as soon as possible as I knew he’s been waiting ages. I should have stopped.

I continued on, having to stop several times to check my location & ensure I was following the correct paths. I wasn’t eating enough and was feeling sick, although I was still plodding forwards on the flats the ascents were difficult and the required exertion exacerbated the nausea. I could hear the M62 buzzing for what felt like hours but it dragged on for an eternity. Eventually I saw the dancing lights shining in my direction from the safety crew & I wobbled down from White Hill 35miles in.

Once arriving I immediately slumped in the back seat and stripped off a lot of kit. At first I wasn’t sure I’d continue as I felt terrible. After a couple black tea’s & a tin of beef & ale soup I felt a bit better. I put on my Nike Aeroloft Down Gilet under my jacket, put on my Sealskinz waterproof hat & Montane Mitts before stepping out of the car to face the elements again. I’d been stationary for at least 30mins, but it had been necessary.

I left the lay-by slowly & a little unsteadily but eventually got into a rhythm and even started to feel pretty good again. I was navigating pretty well and starting to feel quite confident, then I got to a cross roads, misread my GPS and took the Roman Road the wrong way. I didn’t realise until very near the bottom and a long way off route, I checked the map & realised I could follow the road up to where it meets the PW  no major drama but probably added at least hour to an already long day. There was a safety check at the road crossing where it intersected with the PW so I had a cup of tea. The trail now followed the Rochdale Way and the Todmorden Centenary Way, a good track alongside Warland and Light Hazzles Reservoirs and was BORING, I was almost grateful to switch back to moorland… but then almost immediately ended up going off-piste following another Spiner, got completely turned around & disorientated among a warren of footpaths. Thankfully Rob (ended up last finisher) arrived after a couple of minutes and helped guide me past Stoodley Pike Monument and down the other side.

I’d had it in my head that CP1 was at 43 miles, I was now beyond this & it was nowhere near.  I was still struggling to consume enough food to fuel me and I was feeling sick all the time, the only thing I was able to stomach were Ella’s Kitchen smoothies and I had now used my entire supply. On the steep ascent from Charlestown on the A646 my legs went completely and I had to stop regularly. I lost touch with Rob and just wobbled forward on my own. I’d been concerned about navigating the final stretch to CP1 but in reality it was signed and pretty straight forward, unfortunately it took me ages in the state I’d got myself in to. I finally reached the road and saw a sign directing us off the Pennine Way, I tried to memorise the area to rejoin the PW coming the opposite direction and staggered down the road. It felt like a very long way before the arrows took me down the steep muddy footpath to the CP, I was stumbling and falling repeatedly with no energy & was dry heaving before the bottom. But did eventually make it.

Inside I wasn’t functioning properly & everything took me far too long. I did finally get myself stripped and showered, then after failing to be able to eat went to bed. Thinking my race was over I didn’t even set my alarm.

I woke after about 2 hours sleep and felt a lot better, I still couldn’t eat much but managed to force down some Alpro Desert, soup and fruit. I was now pushing my luck to get out before cut-off but after rushing around taping my feet, changing, stripping out all non-essentials from my vest and repacking I got out of CP1 at 8.00am.

I was dead last on the road.

The descent that had seemed so technical the night before was easy… although even muddier & I felt far better as I reached the road. I ploughed on into the driving rain and promptly walked straight past the only arrow the race organisers have on the route. After 2 miles or so I realised and turned round… and after checking my phone received a message from Race HQ telling me I should’ve done that 40mins ago!

I’m not ashamed to say I threw a tantrum at the side of the road & considered returning to CP1 and retiring, after a call to my Dad who told me that I was showing as retired on the tracker I contacted HQ and had a chat. They assured my I was NOT retired and they were relieved to hear I’d decided to join the Pennine Way., I spent some time sorting out my GPS & finally (for the 1st time all weekend) got the right setting on it.

Amazing how much better it was to navigate from now on!

Heading up onto the first of many moors my spirits actually lifted, I was really proud of myself for getting out again in the morning and despite the driving rain and wind I was enjoying myself. I’d opted for boots leaving CP1 and was glad I had as the heavy rain overnight combining with the melted snow the Pennine Way was now either a river or a quagmire. But this is all part of the ‘fun’ of the Spine.

I made reasonable progress over Clough Head Hill and down past Gorple Lower Reservoir, I had a minor navigation error to reach the road but then it was easy going past Walshaw Dean Reservoirs and out to more open moors. I was up and down, both literally & figuratively. Generally I was OK once up on the moors, but struggled for energy to climb up to them, I was able to eat more now but still struggling to consume enough and the deficit from Saturday was taking it’s toll. Doubts of a finish were already setting in. Despite this I was still making ‘relentless forward progress’ and actually passed 3 people on the road.

As I dropped down to skirt around Ponden Reservoir a couple people were walking towards me smiling, one said my name but it still took a few moments to realise it was Gav who had come down to support. It was an incredible lift to see him and I’m so appreciative of the support.

After leaving Gav I headed up towards Ickenshaw Moor and then finally after a very long day to meet Dad in Cowling. I arrived thinking I was going to drop. The ascents were so slow I couldn’t see me continuing, but after some food, tea and tough love from a member of the safety team & Dad (who lied telling me the next stretch was on good tracks) I made my way onwards again.

This part essentially crossed continuous hills. To get to the top of these hills I had to cross lots of very muddy fields and because my legs were shot to pieces and I had no energy left I fell over in this mud. A lot. I passed Lothersdale and although the Spine special was tempting I carried on past to start the ascent to Pinhaw. On the descent down towards Thornton I was all over the place, stiles became a life & death gamble as being 6feet in the air on one foot with zero control over your own body was scary.

I walked up the road to Thornton met my Dad and retired.

I’m sure I could still have made the finish, but was concerned that I falling over so often it was only a matter of time before I hurt myself and there’s a small matter of a run in the desert later this year. I was disappointed but oddly content that I had done so much.

This event is truly brutal.

Everything about it is tough.

I would go as far as say it is a horrible race.

Set in January you face inclement weather and it’s dark for 16hours of the day, making navigation that much more difficult. As a non-stop event, you will lose sleep and the Pennine Way itself is not a nice trail, not only is it undulating continuously, ascending a number of big hills along its route it also traverses numerous moors with their bogs that will drain what little energy you have left as they attempt to suck your footwear off your feet. If you’re not knee deep in stinking mire then you’re probably sliding around in mud churned up by the competitors ahead of you.

It’s awful out there and it chews you up and spits you out.

But I loved it.

I can not wait to go back & do it properly and next time THIS will be my ‘A’ race

I realised that I was comfortable doing it. From all my years hiking in the mountains I understood the kit requirements, had all the right gear and I was as warm & dry as you can be in the circumstances. Navigating wasn’t a problem, although I made it one. Being able to use your GPS (and all kit) is invaluable, but the main thing is keeping an eye on your location, particularly at night. It is incredibly well organised, this is a foot race on an extreme level and although isolated and alone for long periods of time, in reality you’re never to far away from support or a safety team… and as I discovered Race HQ keep an eye on your progress to ensure you’re going the right way too.

Physically it damaged me more than anything else I’ve ever done.

At time of writing, a week after the start I have a big lump on my right shoulder accompanied by a rather angry rash, my quads are still numb but occasional bouts of pins and needles under weight are recurring, my feet continually swell up & 2 toenails have come off but I’m not ‘injured’and have started running again already.

I will be back at the Spine.

And next time, I KNOW I WILL finish it.

Clothing:

RUCKSACK:

ULTIMATE DIRECTION FASTPACK 20 – THE ROLL TOP WAS PERFECT FOR STORING THE EXTENSIVE COMPULSORY KIT I NEEDED AND THE STRETCH POUCH AT THE FRONT WAS IDEAL FOR GLOVES ETC THAT I MAY HAVE NEEDED FASTER ACCESS TO. MY SHOULDERS HURT FROM VERY EARLY, PARTICULARLY THE RIGHT WHERE THE GPS HAD CHANGED ITS FITTING.

OMM TRIO– I PAIRED THE UD FASTPACK 20 WITH AN OMM TRIO TO GIVE ACCESSIBLE EXTRA STORAGE ON THE FRONT. IT FIT PERFECTLY BETWEEN THE FRONT MOUNTED BOTTLES, CLIPPING TO THE SHOULDER STRAPS & POLE CARRIER LOOPS UNDERNEATH. I USED THE MAIN COMPARTMENT TO STORE FOOD AND ESSENTIALS & IT HAS A BUILT-IN MAP HOLDER ON THE FRONT. THE MAP HOLDER WASN’T GREAT AS IT’S DIFFICULT TO READ IN THE POSITION & I ENDED UP REMOVING THE MAP WHEN I NEEDED IT BUT HAVING LARGE STORAGE WHERE I COULD REACH IT FOR FOOD WAS GREAT.

FOOTWEAR:

INOV8 ROCLITE 282 GTX – I WORE THESE ON SATURDAY AND THEY PERFORMED WELL, I HAD SOAKING WET FEET BY CP1 WHICH NOTHING WAS GOING TO PREVENT AND I SLIPPED OR FELL A NUMBER OF TIMES WHICH WAS ALMOST CERTAINLY GOING TO HAPPEN REGARDLESS WHAT I PUT ON MY FEET. I GOT A FEW HOT SPOTS, WHICH TURNED INTO BLISTERS BUT NOTHING TOO SERIOUS.

SALOMON COSMIC 4D GTX BOOTS– I SWITCHED TO BOOTS AFTER THE NIGHT OF RAIN & GLAD I DID, PROGRESS OVER THE MOORS WAS GREAT & THEY WERE BRILLIANT AT KEEPING MY FEET WARM & DRY IN VERY WET CONDITIONS. I WOULDN’T START IN THEM AGAIN NEXT TIME, BUT I WOULD BE TEMPTED TO SWITCH TO THEM EARLIER THAN CP1 DEPENDANT ON MY PROGRESS & THE WEATHER.

SOCKS:

INJINJI TRAIL – AS GOOD AS ALWAYS.  INJINJI LINERS & BALUGA– PAIRED TWO OF THEM WHEN WEARING THE BOOTS AND THE COMBINATION WORKED VERY WELL & I GOT NO MORE HOT-SPOTS OR BLISTERS.

 JACKETS:

MONTANE SPINE SMOCK – TOUGH & RUGGED YET COMPARATIVELY LIGHTWEIGHT IT’S PERFECT FOR THE SPINE. MY ONLY NIGGLE IS THAT THE CHEST POCKET IS NOT ACCESSIBLE WHEN WEARING THE VEST (I ALSO HAD A MONTANE MINIMUS JACKET & BERGHAUS ASGUARD JACKET AS BACKUPS). MONTANE FEATHERLITE PRIMALOFT JACKET – LIGHT & WARM, SPENT SATURDAY IN MY BAG & I LEFT IT IN MY DROPBAG AFTER THE CP, BUT GREAT KIT. NIKE AEROLOFT 800 GILET – REALLY LIGHTWEIGHT & BREATHABLE, I PUT IT ON OVERNIGHT ON SATURDAY AND IT WORKED A TREAT TO KEEP ME SNUG & WARM.

TROUSERS:

MOUNTAIN EQUIPMENT THERMAL TIGHTS & CWX COMPRESSION TIGHTS – WORE THE ME ON SATURDAY & I WAS TOASTY ALL DAY, I SWITCHED TO THE CW-X ON SUNDAY FOR THE COMPRESSION AS THEY’RE MY TRIED AND TESTED TIGHTS AND DID A GREAT JOB FOR THE LAST 25+ MILES. SALOMON BONATTI – BRILLIANT. LIGHTWEIGHT & BREATHABLE, THEY PROTECTED ME FROM THE ELEMENTS WITHOUT ME COOKING IN THE BAG TOO MUCH ON HARD ASCENTS (I ALSO HAD A THICKER HEAVIER PAIR OF BERGHAUS GORETEX TROUSERS IN MY DROPBAG).

LAYERS:

HELLY HANSEN COLD & ICEBREAKER MERINO – MY REGULAR COLD WEATHER COMBINATION AND PAIRED WITH THE SPINE JACKET THEY WERE PERFECT IN THE CONDITIONS WE FACED.

GAITERS:

BERGHAUS GTX – THESE WERE AN ESSENTIAL PIECE OF KIT, I OPTED FOR KNEE LENGTH FOR  THE ADDITIONAL PROTECTION PROVIDED & WOULD DO THE SAME AGAIN. THEY WORKED WITH BOTH SHOES & BOOTS AND KEPT THE WORST OF THE MOORS & HILLS OFF ME & OUT OF MY FOOTWEAR.

GLOVES:

SEALSKINZ GRIP – WORN FOR THE MAJORITY OF SATURDAY & WERE GOLDILOCKS… NOT TOO HOT & NOT TOO COLD AND WATERPROOF TOO! MONTANE EXTREME MITTS – I PUT THESE ON WHEN THE TEMPERATURE DROPPED ON SATURDAY NIGHT BUT THEY WERE TOO WARM IN THE CONDITIONS, THEY WERE ALSO ANNOYING AS I HAD TO TAKE THEM OFF EVERY TIME I NEEDED TO CHECK THE ROUTE BUT I’M SURE I WOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR THEM IF IT HAD REMAINED AS COLD AS IT STARTED. KARRIMOR RUNNING GLOVES – LIGHTWEIGHT & THIS THESE ARE MY GO TO GLOVES AS I GENERALLY GET WARM HANDS, SADLY NOT WATERPROOF SO USELESS ONCE WET (I SPENT THE LAST PART OF SATURDAY & ALL DAY SUNDAY WITHOUT GLOVES ON).

HATS:

I JUST USED A MONTANE CHIEF (BUFF-ALIKE) DURING THE SNOWSTORM ON SATURDAY & WAS FINE, ON SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE RAIN I USED THE SEALSKINZ BEANIE WITH PEAK & IT WAS BRILLIANT, ALTHOUGH A BIT TOO WARM FOR MY PREFERENCE. I SWITCHED BACK TO A CHIEF ON SUNDAY.

Equipment:

GPS: GARMIN ETREX 20 – SMALL, LIGHT & RUGGED. IT’S BATTERY LASTED FOR THE WHOLE RACE (I DIDN’T HAVE IT ON THROUGHOUT) AND ONCE I WORKED OUT I WAS USING THE WRONG SETTING ON SATURDAY IT KEPT ME ON TRACK WHILE I WAS ALONE ON THE MOORS SUNDAY NIGHT.

SHELTER:

SLEEPING BAG: ALPKIT PIPEDREAM 400, GOOD FOR -7.5 & WEIGHS 840G. ONLY USED IT INDOORS, BUT HAVING TESTED IT I KNOW IT WOULD KEEP ME WARM & WHEN PAIRED WITH THE BIVVY DRY IN ALL BUT THE MOST EXTREME CONDITIONS. BIVVY: ALPKIT HUNKA, I OPTED FOR THE STANDARD SIZE AS IT’S LIGHTER. GLAD I DID AS I JUST CARRIED IT ALL WEEKEND, BUT IT IS REASSURING KNOWING IT’S THERE IF NEEDED. TARP: ALKIT RIG 3.5, I CARRIED A TARP ON SATURDAY SO IF I NEEDED TO STOP ENROUTE I WOULD BE ABLE TO CREATE A COMFORTABLE SHELTER. I DUMPED THIS AT CP1. ROLL MAT: THERM-A-REST PROLITE SELF INFLATED MAT – BEST OF BOTH WORLDS, BUT A BUT A BIT BULKY. WASN’T USED BUT I WOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR IT IF I DID NEED TO BED DOWN WITHOUT A BED SOMEWHERE.

STOVE: ALPKIT BREWKIT JACKAL – DIDN’T USE BUT COMPULSORY KIT…

GRIP ENHANCERS: I TOOK YAKTRAX PRO AS THEY’RE EASY TO CARRY & SIMPLE TO PUT ON IF NEEDED, I DIDN’T USE BUT IF IT HAD STAYED DRY & COLD ON DAY 1 THEY WOULD HAVE GONE ON.

POLES: MOUNTAIN KING TRAIL BLAZE – I SELECTED THESE DUE TO THE WEIGHT & THAT THEY’RE NOT CARBON. I BENT ONE OF THEM ON SATURDAY IN A BIG FALL ON ICE & THINK THIS WOULD HAVE SHATTERED A CARBON POLE SO GLAD I DID. I WOULD HIGHLY RECOMMEND THE USE OF POLES (THEY’RE A NECESSITY FOR ME) & THESE ARE A BRILLIANT OPTION, THIS WAS THE FIRST EVENT EVENT I’D USED THEM FOR & I’M A CONVERT.

HEADTORCH: SILVA TRAIL – I PICKED THIS UP AS THE BATTERY PACK IS REMOTE SO IT CAN BE STASHED IN A POCKET OR BAG TO KEEP IT WARMER, THE LITHIUM BATTERIES LASTED ALL SATURDAY & MUCH OF SUNDAY WHEN THEY STARTED TO FADE & I HAD TO CHANGE THEM. I TOOK MY UNILITE H8 AS A BACKUP.

GOGGLES: PICKED UP A CHEAP PAIR ONLINE WITH YELLOW TINTED LENSES IN CASE I WORE THEM AT NIGHT, AS EXPECTED THEY REMAINED IN MY BAG THROUGHOUT.

MAPS: I TOOK THE HARVEY PENNINE WAY SOUTH & CENTRAL MAPS… USED EXTENSIVELY THROUGHOUT & WISHED I’D GOT THE OS ALTERNATIVES AS THE BETTER SCALE IS EASIER TO USE.

Or less than 60 hours…

Written by Maxine Lock - https://peritiaadventures.wordpress.com

Out of Edale the wind was head on, I lent into to it but for a few seconds was unable to move. The hail, carried on the wind, was painful on my eyes, I shut my eyes, put my head down and pushed on into the dark. Sunrise pushed the dark away but the wind got stronger as I made my way along towards Kinder Downfall. 100 mph gusts lifted me off my feet and dumped me onto a slab of rock over to the right of the path. I swore loudly, picked myself up and carried on, I was loving it.

This was my experience of the Montane Spine Challenger in 2015, it ended prematurely on day 2 when I eased my battered and bruised body into the car after about 60 miles and asked Lindley to ‘please take me home.’

Roll forwards to January 2017 and a return to Edale for attempt number 2. 2016 had involved monthly visits to various sections of the Pennine way in order to train on the actual terrain, get to know the route and practice with kit. I am using the same Ultimate Direction 20l pack as before but had to buy a new sleeping bag to meet the 0° comfort level now specified in the mandatory kit. Budget restrictions meant the the ultra small down bags were out of the question so I had to go for the Vango Ultralite 900. A waterproof compression bag allowed me to attach this to the outside of the pack. Inside the pack I put my Alpkit Hunka bivi, my stove, food and additional clothing. This year I also bought an OMM front pouch into which I put my maps, headtorch, GPS, compass and loads more food. Last time I wore Innov8 gortex boots but this time I have decided to go for something more substantial so bought a pair of Mammut Nova Base mid gortex boots. I’ve been out in them a few times and have found them very comfortable and also flexible enough to run in too.

The day before the race start we drove the cold and snowy roads into Edale, registered, had my kit checked and attended the race briefing. That done there was plenty of time to eat, chat with other runners and supporters, eat and eat some more.  For some reason I had a real case of the munchies- maybe it was the cold weather.

Saturday morning arrived and by 7am the race competitors were gathering in Edale village hall. Trackers were fitted whilst we nervously eyed up the size of each others packs. I felt quite relaxed at this point, all the preparation had been done, now it was just a case of 105 miles to do!

Ten, nine, eight…the count down began, at 8am on the dot we were off. I ran the first few metres and then settled to a brisk walk as we made our way out of Edale. Across the fields we followed in each others footsteps as the leaders broke the trail through fresh snow. Then came the climb up Jacobs Ladder negotiating each step carefully, avoiding slippery icy rocks. At times finding the path was difficult due to both the covering of snow and the fog that had come down, reducing visibility.

Eventually we crossed Kinder Downfall and then battled on towards Mill Hill through a blizzard. Amazingly a short time after reaching Mill Hill the fog lifted and we crossed the snowy plateau to Snake Pass bathed in warm sunshine. Bleaklow also proved to be a navigational challenge, the secret was to get a feel for what lay underneath the snow and notice as soon as possible when you were off the path/flagstones.  By combining this feel with following my GPS I was able to keep on track and head fairly quickly down to Torside reservoir.  Unfortunately I got a bit too complacent at this point, slipped on the muddy grass and covered my backside in wet mud!

After Torside I continued to make good progress, aiming to get to Wessenden before darkness. I managed this in plenty of time and was down past the reservoir before needing to put my headtorch on. I was really pleased by this as I knew this made me a hour faster at this point than on my previous attempt.

At Standedge was one of many small and very welcome checkpoints manned by local mountain rescue teams. I drank a coffee and ate a few biscuits before leaving along with a couple of other competitors, Eliot and John.  Together we made our way over the moors, crossed the M62 and then headed for Stoodly Pike.

The Pike always seems to take forever to get to but eventually we made it and then turned right, to pick up the track down to the Hebden Bridge road crossing.  After crossing the road you encounter what seems like an unfeasibly steep cobbled path. It’s a case of one foot in front on the other until you reach the top. It was during this section of the route that I conveniently forgot about the drop down to the river and back up again that had to be negotiated before we could finally head down the steep ravine path to the checkpoint at Hebden Hey scout camp.

Arriving into the checkpoint at 1am I knew I didn’t want to hang around too much. I read a text from Lindley ‘get a couple of hours sleep, then move on’. I quickly changed into clean dry clothes, ate a meal and then got my head down. By 3.30am I was back out on the trail.

Overnight the weather had changed and it had started to rain, not too heavy but enough to need full waterproofs on. The main difficulty now was the sheet ice on the tracks and flagstones, in many places covered by water. A game of ice Russian roulette ensued as I tried to guess which bit would be slippery.

By the time I reached Top Withens, Eliot and John had caught up with me and we ducked into the bothy to get some shelter and a bite to eat. Daylight was beginning to make its presence felt, John hopefully mentioned sunshine but that wasn’t to be. We set off again down the icy track, crash…John went down with a thump onto the ice. We held our collective breaths to see if anything was broken, after a few anxious minutes all seemed well and we continued onwards.

Ickornshaw Moor has got to be one of the wettest sections of the Pennine Way. On my own again at this point I splashed and sloshed my way along tracks that were becoming more like rivers as the snow melted and the rain continued. A couple of deep river crossings later and my feet were now thoroughly soaked.

This soaking was the beginning of the end for my feet and ultimately my race. My Nike Drymax socks had, up to now, been brilliant but the wet was just too much even for them. As the skin on my feet became pruny the fabric of the socks turned abrasive and painful on my skin. I continued on the best I could across the soggy, muddy fields through Thornton in Craven and on to Gargrave.

I knew what I needed to do – remove boots and socks, powder feet, allow to dry for a short while then put fresh socks on. Only problem was that I had no powder with me and I needed different socks.

By the time I got to Gargrave I knew I couldn’t continue. I phoned Lindley and pulled from the race and then phoned my daughter to come and collect me.

So for me it was race over and back to watching the online version as the trackers of other competitors continued north. I was pleased to see that Eliot, John and others that I knew made it to the finish line.

Will I be back? Most definitely, I have already  planned my training strategy for the next 12 months so watch this space… !

Written by Ella Corrick - https://smallislandrunner.wordpress.com

Be warned: super long post!

At midday on Saturday January 14th I stood at the start for the Spine Mountain Rescue Challenge, UK winter ultra.

The race

The Spine Challenger is a 108-mile winter ultra following the southern half of the Pennine Way (PW) in north England. There is a time limit of 60 hours overall, which sounds pretty generous for a 100 miler, until you consider that the course record is around 30 hours and the DNF rate is extremely high. There is very little support along the course: only 1 formal checkpoint at mile 46 (CP 1 at Hebden Bridge) and a “mini checkpoint” where “hot water may be available” and “racers may be allowed indoors depending…”, no drop bags, at mile 82 (“CP 1.5” at Malham Tarn).

Racers must carry an extensive mandatory kit list, including stove, fuel, 3000kcal of food, medical kit, handheld GPS, full set of maps and compass, waterproofs and appropriate layering, sleeping bag rated to winter weather, and either a tent or bivy. There are only 7 hours of daylight this time of year here, and the weather is extremely changeable; previous races have faced diversions or forced suspensions of the race due to gale force winds, blizzards, and flooding. I was running in the Mountain Rescue Team (MRT) Challenge, a separate section of the race for mountain rescue team members, which set off 4 hours after the other Challengers, meaning more hours of darkness.

The start: Edale (Saturday midday. 0 miles down, 108.5 to go)

Lined up at the start

It was perfect weather for the start of the race. Blue sky, crisp, little wind, a few inches of crunchy snow on the ground. We started at midday from Edale village hall. I’d arrived an hour or so early to get my tracker fixed onto my pack (which would transmit throughout the race, mainly for safety but also for people to follow the race live online) and mill nervously around with the other runners.

There were only 20 of us in the MRT race, and only 2 other women. Since everyone was a Mountain Rescue team member, as expected everyone looked pretty hardy and prepared. The ladies in particular looked very confident and comfortable, and their packs looked a lot less held-together-by-carabiners than my higgledy-piggledy kit.

I’ve never started an event before where I felt so uncertain whether or not I was even capable of completing it. Probably the closest was when I ran Round the Rock, a summer 48 miler around the coastline of Jersey, when I had some doubts about my ability to beat the first cut-off. If I made that, though, I knew I could finish well within the course time. For the Spine Challenge, I wasn’t so much worried about cut-offs, I just didn’t know how far I could go. I did expect to be near cut-offs, so my half-baked plan was to try to go straight through the first night, carry on ‘til dusk on Sunday and see where I was to decide how long I could sleep. No more detail than that, and even that didn’t happen in the end.

I had an amazing support crew ready to meet me whenever the PW crossed a road. In fact, I had 2 teams. My day team was my parents and brother, and my night team was my partner and a friend, Tom and Methini. The night team were in our Land Rover with a little half mattress in the back, so I could curl up for a sleep if the chance arose.

Despite lots of insistence from everyone on the start line that none of us intended to run, this was a long hike, we all inevitably set off at a run across the muddy field and up the road towards the start of the PW. I slowed to a quick walk halfway up the road, knowing we had a few miles of gentle ups and downs before hitting the first big hill of the race. Our numbers were so few we were spread out almost immediately, and other than a brief chat to one guy, Anthony, about our yo-yoing (running downs and walking ups) strategy, I was pretty much on my own from here on in.

It didn’t take long to get to the hill. It starts as a long zig-zag of steps called Jacob’s Ladder up towards Kinder Scout. I’d been up here before for a picnic with Tom and Methini and it had been lovely. A bit of a leg-burner to get up all those steps, but really not so bad. Unfortunately, I hadn’t really paid attention that day, so I was quite unpleasantly surprised to realise, when I got to the top of Jacob’s Ladder on Saturday, that Jacob’s Ladder is only a small start to the hill. A beautiful curving ridge of snow showed me the climb that I still had left.

Eventually I reached the top and had a nice traverse through deep snow before heading out onto Bleaklow Moor. My legs were already aching and burning, and I reminded myself that this was the freshest my legs would ever be. It was not a comforting thought, but it didn’t scare me as much as it should have done.

Bleaklow

Bleaklow is a pretty featureless place at the best of times. It’s a muddle of thick black peat littered with boulders ranging from fist to armchair size. In a way, the snow made things easier- usually, crossing the moor is to invite twisted ankles, scraped knees and hands, and possibly the occasional plunge into black peat up to the thigh. Following the trail blazed by the earlier Challengers, the snow nicely filled the gaps between the rocks and it was decently runnable in places.

The downside of this was that it was very tempting to ignore navigation and just follow the yellow brick road of footsteps. I was obsessively checking my GPS but even so was saved a detour by a walker up ahead waving at me as I followed the path towards him. I waved back and he gestured to me to go east. I looked east and couldn’t see anything- no footprints, no path. I started towards him and he shook his head lots, gesturing east. I waded knee-deep through snow a few paces east and discovered a tiny trodden trail in the snow. I checked my bearing and he was right- this was the PW, not the lovely path I’d been about to follow. I wonder how many people missed that turn.

Further up, the trail I was following began to feel wrong to me. I’d recce’d this bit and knew I should reach a cairn and then take a leftward track, and I just felt like the trail was off. I checked my bearing again and we’d already strayed off the PW, too far east. The cairn was almost directly north of me. I hesitated, GPS in hand, looking at the nicely trodden down path in the snow- in the wrong direction- and the deep snow and gorse. I’m sure the trail eventually curved back around to the PW, because other runners must have realised their error. Unless, of course, the trail wasn’t made by runners but by normal people out for a walk. I took the plunge and waded out into the snow, quickly working up a sweat cutting a new trail, and came in sight of the cairn in just a couple of minutes. I had a quick scout around and couldn’t see any decent track leading in towards it from the right direction, only two other lines of deep footprints where other runners must have down the same as me.

The rest of the track to the first road crossing was very straightforward. Some of it was flagstones, which were nice and runnable, but by now I hadn’t had another runner in sight for hours. Occasionally, one guy would startle me by running up from behind, then slow and walk with me for a minute chatting. He was running as a team with a friend, who he said already had blisters and was struggling, so he would run and catch up with me, then stop and wait for his friend, rinse and repeat. It must have been agony for the friend to catch up to him, nice and rested, and have to just keep on, and I wondered that he wasn’t getting cold during those stops waiting. I found out after the race that he retired at CP1.

I felt quite slow along here and was beginning to worry about my pace, so I was pleased when I began to catch up on 2 guys ahead. It was a bit gutting to get to them and find out they weren’t racers- they were Mountain Rescue team members out to support one of their fellow team mates, who had now gone past them. On the bright side, I was now in view of the first road crossing, Snake Pass.

Snake Pass (Saturday, 3pm. 10 miles down, 98.5 to go)

I saw the night support crew’s car at the crossing and was delighted, though surprised since support crews aren’t supposed to meet us at Snake Pass as it can be a bit busy. As it turned out, they were just getting out for a dog walk back south the way I’d come (though hoping to see me in passing) and they missed me. There was a Mountain Rescue vehicle to check us through this crossing and I accepted a coffee more out of gratitude that they were standing out in the cold to offer us help than actually wanting one. I’ve actually never had any kind of caffeinated drinks during races so I’m lucky my stomach puts up with most of my stupidity. Or at least, it did at this stage. More on that later.

The rest of this section was quite fun. The snow was absolutely beautiful across the moors and once I reached Bleaklow Head, there were some nice runnable sections. I was absolutely loving my shoes by now. I’d gone with Inov8 Oroc 280 having read a blog of someone who’d done the race in them and raved about them, and now I’m going to do the same. They have huge aggressive lugs and then metal studs as well and they were amazing. I was running over icy rocks and through thick mud confidently, and I think they must have saved me a huge amount of energy over the course as I didn’t fall once and I was saved an awful lot of ice-skating that I saw other competitors having to put up with.

As it got dark, I descended towards Torside Reservoir, where again there was an MR vehicle to check us through and offer us water. This time, knowing my crew were ahead, I carried straight on fishing out my headtorch as I went over the reservoir and up past Crowden.

Crowden (Saturday 5pm. 16 miles down, 92.5 to go)

Happily, I was greeted by my entire support crew (including 2 dogs) along the track near Crowden. I had a very quick chat, hugs from everyone, a cup of soup, and walked away eating half a cheese and ham sandwich. Already, Cliff bars and sweet things were beginning to pall; not a good sign 5 hours in!

The next section was nice and easy terrain for the most part. Lots of flagstones (covered in half frozen icy slush that my shoes treated like an easy pavement; I imagine people in less grippy shoes had a bit of trouble here). It was a lovely starry night and I was enjoying the easy terrain, but the darkness and blandness of the surroundings made it pretty boring.

Wessenden Reservoir (Saturday, 8pm. 25.6 miles down, 82.9 to go)

Both crews met me again. I was still feeling OK here. I grabbed a packet of Doritos and ate those as I walked off- these were my favourite race food throughout! By this stage, I’d stopped eating my Cliff bars. My nutrition plan had been 1/3rd of a bar every 30 minutes, meaning 270kcal every 1.5 hrs, or equivalent in calories from other food from my support crew. It’s a bit less than they suggest you have during a marathon, but I’ve never managed to keep up with the recommendation, plus the pace here is so slow that it’s majority fat-burning. If I’d been able to stick with it, I think it would have done me very well, but from this point on, eating became harder and harder.

This bit comprised long flat, if rather boring, tracks alongside a series of reservoirs. I wasted a bit of time faffing with my hiking poles (which I usually hate and only brought because so many experienced racers describe them as essential) getting them out for a hill and putting them away again.

I passed through Harrop Dale (Saturday, 9:40pm. 29 miles down, 79.5 to go) and crossed the M62 (Saturday, 11:30pm. 33 miles down, 75.5 to go).

Over the hours of darkness, alone, I was getting slower and more and more unhappy, making me slower still. I think it was a simple combination of the misery of constant darkness (around 6 hours of walking on my own in the dark by now) and inadequate calories, plus I was starting to get sleepy. I was beginning to get a bit desperate, and when I met my crew at Blackstone Edge (Saturday ~midnight. 34 miles down, 74.5 to go) I felt empty. I told them I needed a 10 minute sit down, mainly to spend that time basking in light, conversation and company. I sat on the back of the Land Rover with my feet dangling and they tried to make me eat, with limited success. I think I took a packet of hula hoops. The problem was, I knew from here it was a long stretch without seeing anyone- about 10 miles to CP1, which at my current pace was 4 hours. I was dreading it. Luckily, my support crew were exactly what I needed, ushering me away before I sat down for too long and being fairly unsympathetic. I headed back out.

It’s HOW far to my sleep stop?

It was a bit of a grim haul. Somewhere, I caught up to a guy I ended up following for some time, probably annoying no end by letting his naturally quicker walking pace take him away from me, then I would jog until I was close again, then walk ‘til he started to escape again. It seems stupid in the real world, but in that mindset, I was letting him do the work of applying motivation to keep to a decent pace, and all I had to do was keep up with him one way or another. Eventually, I overtook him on a lovely downhill, only to realise (thanks to him calling and pointing it out) that we’d missed a turn. We schlepped back up and headed up towards the monument at Stoodley Pike, joined by three Irish guys who were doing the normal Challenger. They looked tired- they were 4 hours further into their race than us and must have been even more desperate for the CP than I was- and fell behind us.

After the beacon, I fell into walking with the guy I’d been trailing. He was lovely and it was unbelievably nice to have someone to talk to. Plus, he had done the Challenger before and was confident of the route into the checkpoint, and I let myself slightly relax my constant vigilance on route-finding as we made our way up. I’d recce’d this bit too and it was nice to be back in familiar territory, in company, and so very close to a place where I’d decided I was definitely stopping for a sleep.

CP 1 Hebden Hey (Sunday 4:45am, 46 miles down, 62.5 to go)

CP 1 is at a scout camp a mile or so off the PW. This in itself isn’t a problem, but the route down to it is a ridiculously steep, treacherous, narrow, unmarked slide of mud, tree roots and rocks that takes about 20 minutes to get down, much less the 30-40 to clamber back out. Before the race, several people warned me that plenty of people have ended their race on this path through injury, and to be completely honest, it pissed me off. I know the CP is part of race history and is never going to be changed, but the dangerous, miserable slither down just seemed like a needless dose of masochism. There are tough and dangerous parts elsewhere on the course, but that’s because they’re part of the PW. This bit is just a completely unnecessary pain in the arse. Of course, I might have had more of a sense of humour about it had I not been walking for 17 hours, awake for 21, and severely lacking in calories.

It killed me to walk past my support crew to get down to the CP, and killed me again to say no thanks to the invitation inside for a hot meal and climb back out, but finally I made it to the car where I could have a rest.

I had previously promised myself I would do no resting during daylight hours whatsoever, but having got to the car at 5:30, with daylight starting some time between 7-8am, I just needed the rest and gave myself ‘til 8 to sleep. My right shin was hurting so sharply I was slightly worried it might be a stress fracture. I wrestled my wet shoes and socks off, inspected the damage so far (the very beginnings of immersion injury, AKA trenchfoot, and several massive blisters on my toes), and ate what I could (about 2 mouthfuls of couscous and a couple of mouthfuls of a high calorie chocolate shake thing), then curled up next to my dog and went to sleep. My legs hurt a lot and I wasn’t convinced I slept at all, but Tom assures me I was snoring away, so I must have done.

Somehow, I woke up feeling renewed. Even my right leg had quieted to a dull throb. I had a cup of that chocolate shake mixed with coffee, a pack of hula hoops, and a couple of bites of a sandwich while Tom heroically dealt with my feet (draining blisters and taping them up), then I headed out. My goal for the daylight hours was to get to Gargrave, at 70 miles, for a second sleep before a last effort to the finish.

The weather had warmed up to rain by the time I left CP1, so most of the ground from here on in was flooded. After briefly trying to skirt around the water (meaning huge detours off the path), I gave up and splashed through it all, sometimes nearly up to my knees. It was more like running in a streambed than on a path, but it was still quicker than the cautious approach and I overtook a normal Challenger on the moor. He seemed slightly disorientated and asked where the next turn was- it wasn’t for another couple of miles, as I pointed out on both GPS and map, but he didn’t believe me (or perhaps didn’t believe how slow the going was at this point, convinced he had gone further than I was showing him) and continued to stand staring at his map as I headed away.

I was in good spirits when I met my crew at the next crossing and didn’t hang about too much. I remember passing a man who was clearly really struggling. As I approached from afar, I thought I saw a hunched old man, so was surprised to see a young man’s face when he turned back to me as he was making his painful, slow way down the hill. I asked how he was doing and his reply wasn’t reassuring. He looked wan. I asked when he last ate; he said not for a three or four hours and I told him he needed to eat, offering him what I had. He said he would be fine and was meeting his crew down at the reservoir, so after double-checking he was OK I pushed on.

At some point, my left knee had started to produce a stabbing pain whenever it moved- it made me make strange noises as I went downhill- but overall in myself I was feeling steady for now, in a fragile way that I knew wouldn’t last. There were several massive downhills to go, especially Fountains Fell and Pen Y Ghent, and I wondered if I could do them at a fast enough walk to be within the cut-off.

I managed to miss my day crew at the next stopping point at Ponden reservoir, but they found me at a back-up crossing not much further. My wonderful mum had brought pizza, the first food that sounded attractive to me in a long time, and I ate three slices. At a later crossing, she produced Battenberg cake and more pizza, as well as three varieties of sandwich and sausage rolls. I really couldn’t have done it without my crew!

It all went (figuratively) downhill from there. It was an endless series of fields, which sounds like it should be easier going than moors and fells, but it felt far worse. The mud was always ankle-deep at best, meaning each step was actually a lunge, leaning onto the slippery footing of the leading leg to pull the back foot out of the sucking, sticking mud, over and over again.

Fog settled in around me. It soon got dark and my mood plummeted. There was nothing to see but a few feet of mud ahead of me and nothing to do but examine my bearing or follow the most obvious trampled line of mud and hope I hit the next boundary at the right spot for the stile. It was unbelievably tedious and got to the point where even a wall looming slowly into view was a nice bit of entertainment. “Oh, I was imagining a fence for this field for some reason. That’s a nice wall.” And inevitably, “Oh bugger, that’s a high stile.” By now, to get my foot high enough to get onto a stile required a little swing of my leg, sometimes needing a second attempt, then a laborious clamber with my arms doing at least half the work. Kissing gates are the best invention in the world and I’d be quite happy if every stile in the country was replaced by them.

I took a wrong turning into one field and by this point was so exhausted I wasn’t thinking straight. Instead of going back to the track and along to find the right way in, I thought I’d just go over the barbed wire fence. It looked from the map as if that’s where the path lay. With lots of faff, I narrowly made it over the fence without injury, though tore my gaiters badly, to find myself in a horribly sloping bit of wasteland full of overgrown trailing plants, fallen logs, and certainly no path. I crossed it to another barbed wire fence and went over that, into a field with a huge shining body of water across the middle of it. Still no PW. Finally, I got hold of my senses and took a bearing back to the track I had been on, tramped up to it, over a gate and found myself about three feet further along than where I had left it, now even more exhausted and furious with myself. A few feet further on, there was a kissing gate into a field with a path of mud leading clearly away into it.

After a hundred years or so of random diagonal paths across fields, I finally reached the haven of Gargrave. I was as desperate for social interaction as I was for sleep, so chatted with my crew as I changed into dry things and ate three bites of pasta. I lay down with my feet up on my pack and tried to sleep, now an even harder prospect than it had been at Hebden with my knee and shins throbbing.

Gargrave (Sunday 10pm. 72.5 miles down, 36 to go)

Unlike my previous sleep, which left me feeling refreshed and rested, I woke from my rest at Gargrave feeling like death warmed up. It didn’t help that it was 2am and I knew I had to set off into the now hated dark again. It also didn’t help that as soon as I tried to eat, I started throwing up. Not a good sign. I wasn’t sure if this was a symptom of my failure to get enough calories in, irritation of my stomach because I’d been taking ibuprofen regularly for the last 24 hours (although I’d been staying carefully within safe limits, ibuprofen is never a good idea during endurance exercise), or just sheer exhaustion. I sipped water and ate a few Twiglets, and let Tom and Methini bully me into eating half a sandwich. I couldn’t finish it even with their insistence.

Also, due to mistakenly chucking my socks into a bag of rubbish, I had now run out of waterproof socks. In fact, I’d run out of socks entirely. I ended up borrowing a pair of Tom’s (he’s only about 5 shoe sizes bigger than me) and duct-taping plastic bags over the top of them. We hoped the day crew could recover the waterproof socks from the rubbish, quickly dry them, and meet me later on to change again.

The only factor in my favour was that I had recce’d Gargrave to Horton-in-Ribblesdale, the next 22 miles of the route, and it felt familiar and welcoming. I was dreading Fountains Fell (a long, long climb) and sad that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy running down the other side as I had during my recce, but for the first time, I started believing maybe I could actually finish. It was enough to get me back on my feet and out.

Malham (Monday 6:45am, 78.8 miles down, 29.7 to go)

It felt good being on familiar territory, but the way to Malham was spoilt by my newly traumatised relationship with fields. What had been a lovely sunny stroll through pretty fields alongside rivers during my recce was now a miserable slog through at best mud and, more often, shin-deep water.

On the bright side, every new change over of water in my shoes and socks was quite soothing to my aching feet. I had been hoping to meet my night crew at a road crossing halfway, but it was the tiniest unmarked road crossing and they were both as sleep-deprived as me, trying to navigate unfamiliar territory at night in the fog, so unsurprisingly, they weren’t there at the precise moment I crossed. It shows how fragile my morale was that this left me crying for the next couple of fields, even though I didn’t need anything from them and hadn’t planned to stop.

I wasn’t as happy to reach Malham as I should have been. It’s a lovely little village and I had been expecting to feel overjoyed when I got here. Instead, I was dejected and poor Tom and Methini had to balance sympathy with practicality, only letting me sit down for long enough to decide what I wanted to eat as I walked away. Obviously, the answer was nothing, but I grudgingly took a handful of Twiglets to munch as I walked away.

The pre-dawn light showed me Malham Cove as I approached and I began to cheer up. There were two mysterious lights wandering around at the top and I sped up slightly, a little worried- had a runner dropped some vital piece of gear? Were they completely delirious? As I climbed the steps up the cove, I met the two coming down. It was two of the Irishmen I’d met near Stoodley Pike. I’d actually overheard them coming into Gargrave and debating what to do- being in the normal Challenger, they were 4 hours ahead of me, so 4 hours closer to their cut-off. It was about 7:15am on Monday now, and they had to be at CP 1.5 the other side of Malham Tarn by 8am. Evidently, they had decided to carry on through Gargrave without rest, which is more than I could have done by that stage.

They told me they’d been poking about in the rocks up at the top of the Cove for hours trying to find the PW, but they were so tired it was getting dangerous and they’d decided to retire. I felt terribly for them- they had pushed so hard to make it here, and were going to be timed out for this. I knew exactly why they’d had so much trouble—the top of the Cove is an enormous limestone pavement and the PW sneaks through then behind it, to scuttle through a valley. On my recce, I’d missed it and followed a different footpath completely, despite daylight, plenty of sleep and a GPS. I told them I was fairly confident I could navigate us to it and was happy if they wanted to come with me and they hesitated in their descent, then shook their heads. They would never make it to CP 1.5 in time anyway. I left them making their painful way down the steps and hurried on, the closeness of my own cut-off now stark in my mind.

Finding the PW, even knowing my previous error, taking very careful bearings and the benefit of dawn, was very difficult. It was made worse by my increasing lack of balance on my painful legs, so that I didn’t dare do any clambering over the boulders or go anywhere near the crag edge. I ended up doing a cautious skirt inwards from the crag, aiming for a point where I knew I’d meet the PW the other side of it. It was slow but it worked and I set off for the Tarn.

I met Tom and Methini in the car park before the Tarn in much better spirits than I’d been back in Malham. Daylight was everything to me now and lifted me enormously. I was worrying excessively about the cut-off, though, constantly trying to do mental arithmetic to calculate what time I might get where, and if I had time to finish. CP 1.5 was 82 miles in, so I’d still have almost 30 miles still to go. The distances were so big my mind was sort of numb to them. I didn’t try to contemplate what 30 miles feels like or whether I was even capable of 30 more miles, I just considered how long it would take. I was down to about 2mph, so 15 more hours. Say I get to CP 1.5 at 9, 15 hours is, oh shit, it’s midnight. That’s the cut-off.

I set off at a determined march. Well, a hobble, but a determined hobble. I’d been using my poles heavily for the last 24 hours, more to take some of the weight of my legs than to help propel me, and had been walking in a tentative way that minimised the pain. I decided I didn’t have time for this any more and flung the poles down as I reached my crew. Now I would just try to walk as fast as I possibly could and do my best to accept the pain. I knew limping would only bring new injuries and strains of its own, so I was trying to walk as normally as I could. It bloody hurt. I had a mantra, though: Malham Tarn, Fountains Fell, Pen Y Ghent, Horton, Hawes. That was all that was left. I just had to do it.

This march got me around the Tarn steadily and I made my way up to the checkpoint, but I was hurting and I was worried about the cut-off, and generally not doing well. As I came in, a member of staff came out to ask how I was doing. The kindness was too much and I told him I was on a knife’s edge, and burst into tears. The poor bloke probably had no idea what to do with me as I tried to ignore the fact that I was practically sobbing and scrabbled with my kit, asking if I could possibly have a refill of water. His response was perfect, though, as he efficiently topped up my bottle while I washed my face in a sink and tried to get control of myself. He checked if I wanted a brew or a sit down and I insisted I wanted to make a move on, explaining I was worried about the time. As I left, he nipped round the building the other way and was standing waiting as I passed, where he gave me a perfect pep talk. “I think you’re just having a discouraged spell. You’re walking really well, looking great, and you’re 3 hours ahead of time. Just keep going.”

Now the mantra was: Fountains Fell, Pen Y Ghent, Horton, Hawes.

I had a dread for Fountains Fell for the entire race. On my recce, it had wiped me out— it’s a long slog up and up and up—but I’d loved zooming down the fairly technical but great fun steep route on the other side. Strangely, it was exactly as bad as I’d expected but I quite enjoyed it, at least relative to other sections of the race. By now, uphill was far less painful than down, and thanks to the daylight I got to enjoy the rewards of my climb when I stopped to catch my breath now and then. It was a painstaking hobble down the other side, doing that one-two pattern that toddlers use down stairs, but I could see Pen Y Ghent in glimpses when the distant fog cleared and I felt in reach of the finish.

After Fountains Fell (Monday 12:25pm, 89 miles down, 19.5 to go)

I met my parents at the road and told them I was thinking of pressing on rather than stopping for a foot change. Luckily, they override my sleep-deprived stupidity and told me I had to get dry socks on. It was my longest stop besides my sleeps, and I was extremely grateful for the socialising. They told me news about other racers, including the fact that I was the only woman left in my race, and had been for some time. It didn’t change my determination to reach the finish, but it added a bright note that no matter how slow I felt, I was doing well to still be moving.

Pen Y Ghent, Horton, Hawes to go.

PYG (“pig”) as I called it in my mind wasn’t too much of a pig to get up, steep but straightforward. Thick fog surrounded me once more so there was no view to speak of. Again, my lack of balance slowed me down as there’s a section that’s a hands and feet scramble at the best of times. With 5 hours sleep in the last 50ish hours and a barely functional left knee, I took this at an extremely slow pace, placing each foot very carefully. The real pig of the thing was getting back down: a three mile rocky track downhill to Horton. It was grim and every time one or other of my feet snagged on a rock, I gave a little yelp as hot pain bloomed in my shins and left knee. My mum met me at the bottom (with one of the crew dogs) and I made my way to Pen Y Ghent café in Horton. Only Hawes to go!

Horton-in-Ribblesdale (Monday 3:30pm, 94 miles down, 14.5 miles to go)

I tried the cheese toastie my crew had kindly bought me—I managed one bite and nearly threw up. Nevermind, not far to go. I cheerfully told everyone that it was only 6 or 7 miles left, one last push! A silence that I didn’t notice greeted this and I hobbled into the public toilets (the only time I got to use proper toilets for the entire race; it was lovely).

My mum stuck her head into the loos as I was washing my hands.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” she said.

Uh oh.

It turns out I had got confused in the last 25 miles and had convinced myself it was 6 miles from Horton to Hawes. It was more like 14. I stared blankly at her as she gently explained this. I honestly didn’t know if I could do this. 14 miles? That’s 7 hours. Almost a normal work day, but of nothing but hobbling along alone in the fog. And it would be dark soon.

“OK,” I said, and numbly I carried on.

As I climbed up onto the moors, I was a jangle of misery. It was as if all the threads of my personality and emotions had frayed into childish self-pity and there was a chorus of voices in my head saying nothing but, “I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I want to stop. I just want to stop. I don’t want to. Seven hours.” There was just one steel wire in the middle that had decided I was carrying on. It was a tyrant over the rest of me, so even though almost all of me wanted to just lie down and stop, I couldn’t because there was no decision to be made. I was carrying on, and that was that. It didn’t shut the rest of the voices up, but it kept my legs moving.

I was exhausted, though. Truly exhausted. I felt as if I had been hollowed out and was a shell of a person, fragile, barely even there. My legs had felt done when I got to CP 1 at Hebden, 50 miles ago. Under normal circumstances, had I stopped there, I would have taken a couple of days to recover enough to go for a walk. Instead, I’d kept going, and somehow, my body had let me. I was empty, every tiny step hurt inordinately, but in some ways my legs still felt strong. I told them to move and they moved. I felt utterly awful, but it was an incredible feeling too.

When darkness fell, my world was reduced to a few steps of white mud track ahead of me and droplets of moisture in the air. If I reached out in front of me, my fingertips were fuzzy in the fog. There was nothing to see, nothing to think about except the hours left to go. I started taking little breaks crouching down, my forehead resting on my knees with my eyes closed for a few breaths. They did nothing except slow me down and make my knees ache, but I kept doing it.

I was desperate for some distraction, anything, and suddenly thought to dig out my phone. I’d had it switched off the whole way, no time for photos or need to contact anyone. Switching it on, I was amazed to find I had signal. Messages poured in. My support crew had a Whatsapp group to let each other know how I was doing, where I was, and had invited friends and family to join the group so they could keep tabs on me. All of them were watching my online tracker too. There were over 80 messages.

For the next half hour, whenever the ground was smooth enough not to fall over, I read through every single one of those messages of support. I had felt like I was the only living thing on the planet, wrapped in my self-doubt, self-pity and discomfort walking up that dark, foggy hill, but here were other people watching my slow, slow progress towards Hawes. It helped me grit my teeth and resist the pauses. I had to keep moving—they were watching me move, they were willing me to Hawes. I would get there.

Even with this boost, I was struggling. I was literally delirious with tiredness and had been mildly hallucinating for the entire climb. Shapeless rocks always rise out of fog like people or animals and we’ve all had that funny momentary, “Oh! I thought that was a dog, but it’s a boulder!” These weren’t like that. I would see a dog, or a dinosaur, or once a porcupine that had been cut in half rising out of the fog and be confused. Then I would worry—it wasn’t right for that to be there. Why was it there? My heart rate would go up and I felt scared until I was right on it, sometimes even stopping to stand over it and stare, and realise it was just a rock or clump of reeds. Every night I had been glimpsing distant lights through the darkness and mistaken them for other racers, only to realise they were houses, cars, planes, all sorts. Now, those mistakes had a vaguely paranoid edge to them. I was sure I’d seen a light just there but now it was gone—someone must be hiding from me in the fog. I knew I was hallucinating, but it was still unnerving. It made me laugh as well, though. I always carry a little plastic dinosaur in my pack for luck (don’t ask), so perhaps that’s why dinosaurs featured quite prominently. I think part of it was that my tired mind was desperate for some sort of stimulation besides fog and darkness and the relentless pressure to keep moving, so started producing images just for something to do; at least they gave me some entertainment.

I’d been warned that Cam High Road is a hill that goes on forever, but I’d always taken the description to be figurative. Nothing can go on forever, after all. But it turns out, Cam High Road does. It goes on forever. It’s quite possible I’m actually still walking up that bloody awful hill and just hallucinating being at home on a computer, to be honest. I hate it, I will always hate it, and it is the worst place in Britain. Possibly the world.

Miraculously, my support crew managed to get up onto the Cam High Road somehow- it’s miles up a dirt track and must have been terrifying to get up in that fog. My mum suddenly appeared out of the aether ahead of me.

“How are you doing?” she asked. Until now, my answer had always been positive, or at least slanted that way. Mum thought this race was a stupid idea, that I would quite possibly die, and I shouldn’t do it. I was scared if I showed her how hard I was finding it, she would encourage me to drop out, and flimsy as my resolve was becoming, that I would agree. I didn’t have any positivity left.

“I need a hug,” I told her.

She wrapped her arms around me and for a moment I rested my forehead against her shoulder, trying not to cry. Then she let me go, turned around and started walking. I followed.

“You can’t stop now,” she told me. “What do you need? Water? Food?”

That was that, then. If Mum said I couldn’t stop, it must be serious. I managed to conjure a weak smile for my dad and brother as they emerged from the fog, declined any food or drink, and headed off, back into the lonely darkness.

After five or six lifetimes of continued hobble-marching, overtaken by multiple people doing the full Spine (whom I had an 18 hour head-start on, and all of whom were mind-bogglingly cheerful and sprightly), I realised I had taken the wrong track and there was a head torch on the correct path above me. Considering that I was struggling to put one foot in front of the other on a dirt track, I was surprised to find myself able to clamber up the steep ascent through thick heather. I emerged onto the path to meet Anthony, the Mountain Rescue racer I’d spoken to briefly right at the very start, before Kinder.

He wasn’t much appreciating the fun that Cam High Road had to offer either. To paraphrase just very slightly, his opinion of it was, “Blimey, this darn hill is a jolly old foozler, wouldn’t you say?”

I agreed, in similarly colourful terms, and I can’t explain what a joy it was to share my hatred of the hill with someone. He was struggling with his breathing (a winter ultra isn’t the best time to discover you’ve cold-induced asthma) and I was struggling with my knee, and we probably slowed each other down if anything, needing stops and pauses for different bits of the terrain. I didn’t care—the company was brilliant. We swore our way down the hill and the first lights of Hawes came into sight.

Anthony was keen to push on, but kindly agreed to stick with me—I tried to match his run once we hit the road and instantly sick pain shot up both my lower legs. We marched as best we could, me with elbows swinging wildly as if my arms could make up for my legs’ lack of power, and him wheezing and puffing, through the dark, quiet streets.

A marshal in fluorescent yellow appeared out of nowhere at the same time as my dad called out to me, and the two of them escorted us the last few hundred metres to the finish, where a Montane flag stood outside Hawes village hall and staff and family waited, clapping us in to the finish.

I did it. First (and only) women’s finisher of the Spine Mountain Rescue Challenge 2017.

Hawes (Monday, 9:58pm. 108.5 miles down, 0 to go)

Overall, of 20 MRT starters, 1/3 women finished and 11/17 men,making it a 40% DNF rate this year. The main challenger had 94 starters and a 43% DNF rate. It was so much harder than I imagined and an amazing experience; I think its effects on me (physically and mentally) are going to take a while yet to fully sink in.

Thanks so much to the organisers and my awesome support crew. Shorter follow-up post to come with a review of my kit.

Written by Michelle Jane - https://dreamweaverconsulting.com

I wanted a challenge… to be taken out of my comfort zone… and boy did the Montane Spine Challenger do just that! Like most things, a pivotal point in your life can seem very innocuous to start with, and I have a feeling that this race was one for me… the full effects not yet known or even felt. Writing this up a week later, some parts have slipped into the murky depths of memory and some are still very much at the forefront, much like any major event we look forward to, plan and then experience. So how did it go and just what kind of challenge did the event provide?

I travelled up two days beforehand as, given the propensity of our railway system for delays, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late for any kit checks and race briefings, plus I wanted to attend the pre-race Masterclass held by Ranger Ultras. I also had masses of luggage with me. I duly arrived in Castleton where I was staying (a 15 minute drive from Edale), sorted out lots of kit and then my friends arrived. They had originally been coming over just for dinner as a chance to catch up as we live quite some distance from each other, but wanted to see us off over the start line, so changed their plans to stay and do that! A fantastic emotional and mental boost to start with 

Friday morning dawned and once I’d managed to re-arrange and sort most of my stuff which had, as usual, exploded throughout the whole room, we had a wander about and some pre-race celebratory cake. Now I hadn’t realised quite how far Edale was at this point, so a huge thanks to Helen and Len for ferrying me about! We drove over to Edale, they dropped me off for race registration and kit check while they went to check into a different venue for their second night. Here I caught up with with Harriet, Karl and Kate whom I had originally met at the Spine training weekend: Harriet had passed on some extremely helpful tips for kit over the past couple of months so I passed over some homemade cookies for them to have at the halfway point. I had originally thought of leaving a “positive message” for them at Hebden CP1 (Harriet and Kate were running Challenger, while Karl was crewing them) but given how people can react differently on races, changed it to cookies. I figured food is always good! I registered for the race and got my number (276) and then straight to kit check where of course I had to be the one to draw out the lucky dip number for a FULL check. Cue another explosion across the floor. Luckily I’d brought everything with me… plus a few extras!  Then it was back to Castleton to dump the kit off, have a cup of tea and back over to Edale for the race briefing and then the masterclass. That finished, a few steps down the road to the traditional Spine venue of the Ramblers Inn to meet up with everyone and grab some dinner. It’s amazing how quickly the time goes. En route I spied James who had just arrived and let him know where we were. Food, a quick catch up and hello to a few people… it was then back over to Castleton again and time to make sure everything was ready for the big day. The nerves now kicked in. I had already triple-checked everything before I left home. However after chatting to a few people at the pub, I decided to pack my yaktrax instead of Kahtoola spikes as they were supposedly more suitable if Kinder was especially icy or snowy, but I couldn’t get them in. Cue yet another major explosion across the room (I’m sensing a pattern here  ) as I spent the next hour re-arranging my whole pack and ending up with the sleeping bag, liner & bivvy bag on the outside. This doesn’t sound very “major” but I was concerned given the balance of the pack and that I hadn’t trained with it lopsided in weight. Still… it was the only solution I could find and by midnight I just wanted to go to sleep.

Race morning dawned and on too little sleep (I’d managed about 4-5 hours), it was time to get up, get out the door and over to Edale. Helen and Len were lifesavers once again and the pub (Castle Inn) had very kindly agreed to let them check us out so we were able to leave all our other luggage behind, which they came back and collected for us. The sun was coming up, trackers were placed on the runners… everyone seemed to be smiling… and off we all trotted to the start line.

Photo by Racing Snakes

Sometimes it’s a good thing you don’t know what lies ahead for you!

The countdown… the cheers… trotting over the start line… James reminding me to not dash off too quickly… when we signed up, we had agreed to run this together. We were tentmates (#117) at the Marathon des Sables so I knew he was solid, someone you could absolutely and utterly trust… that if he said he would stay with you, he would… practical, kind and also generally a very positive person. Basically a great and fun big brother!

It felt good on the way to Jacobs Ladder, although once we hit there, the climb up felt laborious as I’m so slow on hills… but it got done and wasn’t too icy, and then onto Kinder… my stomach dropped… pretty much a white-out… howling stinging wind… head down, goggles on… too much a repeat of the Peak South 2 North race… when we encounter similar circumstances we’ve already experienced it can trigger not just the memories of what has previously happened, but also the mental thoughts… and straight away I was worrying about whether we’d be breaking trail, falling into bogs and encountering waist deep snow.

Photo by Racing Snakes

The first challenge of the race had appeared much earlier than I had expected! Time to acknowledge that, accept it and mentally tell myself it’s just a thought and we don’t know what’s around the corner. The head game for this type of race is vital to finishing. We were trotting behind some others and that was the first mistake… don’t rely on those in front knowing where they’re going! We went about 400m off course, so then had to realise that and make our way back, with most, if not all, having gone past us. Back on track it was push on through until eventually we came to the roadhead at Snakes Pass. Luckily the white-out had eased and the snow wasn’t as deep as the previous race, so whilst we weren’t running as such, the path was easier to be seen and we were a lot quicker than I’d been last time. There were also some crazy people at the roadhead… grinning and waving… cameras in hand… I couldn’t work out who they were to start with until we got nearer… Helen and Len had decided to stop by and cheer us on… another fab boost! A quick top-up of water and off towards Bleaklow. More snow, lots of trudging although others were around so it didn’t seem too isolated. We got up to the top of Bleaklow Head although it looked different due to better weather this time, and once I realised where we were, knew we were on the descent to Torside Reservoir. A good point as we were approaching 16 miles in with Crowden on the other side. Now the descent last time had been very treacherous and technical, with lots of ice on the rocks, so this time I figured I’d try to actually run or shuffle down it. Big mistake number 2! The rocks were not runnable for me, so I opted for the grass at the side… which was very wet… and slippery.  Cue a bit of a scary fall… where I actually somersaulted over a couple of times! Once I’d come to a stop I was a bit winded and couldn’t move for a few minutes. James checked to make sure I was ok but I’m pretty sure I heard a laugh or two once he knew I wasn’t injured! Luckily no major issues and just some aches as a result. Lesson number 2… don’t drop your awareness and get ahead of yourself… pride cometh before a fall, literally!

After checking in with the roadhead safety team, and a whinge about the fall… we also saw Helen and Len here, with Helen carrying a goody bag of snacks in case we needed them and both offering hugs.  How wonderful to have people come all the way out and cheer you en route… the value of emotional support from others cannot be underestimated! It was time to cross over the reservoir, through some woody areas and get a shuffle on towards Wessenden. I remember telling James about seeing some wildlife here on the last race and remembering which turning to take! We then came across Matt and Ellie from Summit Films, who mentioned something along the lines of being 4th lady I think, which was a surprise, and certainly not a position I expected to stay at. I put it to the back of my head, because you don’t want to let anything derail you from your plan. Trying to push and catch others up wouldn’t be good for the main goal here, which was just to achieve a finish. Nothing much stands out in memory now for this part, apart from it being daylight and that much easier to see where we were going compared to the PS2N race and where I had got lost in the dark! We followed the correct route and just before we started the descent towards the A635, saw the most incredible colours of the sunset… absolutely stunning. We paused to take it in… this is part of the reward…

We reached the roadhead and checked in with the safety team, topped up water… 27 miles done… it felt a lot longer. Time to get a shuffle on and get down to the turning. We also met up with Paul Bridge as we shuffled around the reservoir , who I’d run (trudged) part of the PS2N with. Now the memory is rather faded but one thing that stands out is the awesome orange moon! Simply spectactular. Words cannot do it justice, and it was one of the highlights of this event! I remember eventually getting to Standedge I think it was, although I more remember a sign saying Harrop where the safety team were that we had to check in with. I topped up my water and was given a hot coffee and then heard a very familiar northern voice… Matt, another of our tentmates from MdS had driven out with his daughter to come and cheer us on! He’d also brought hot chicken noodle soup and lots of snacks!  What a huge boost at nighttime!! He wouldn’t let the puppy out for a cuddle though  We spent about 15 minutes here, but as James said, it was well worth it. Having something hot to eat, hugs, chatting… well you don’t want to lose too much time on races with chatting, but at challenges like these, having a friend make the effort to come and see you, bolster you emotionally… it’s priceless. Standing around however can make you cold, and my hands were getting freezing. Just as we were about to set off again, I made the (very wise as it turned out) decision to pause so that James could get my mitts out of my pack before the next leg. We said our goodbyes and turned towards the darkness of the moor.

The first full evening… cold temperatures and no clear path… the moor felt very creepy and I have, thankfully, shelved most of this bit to as far into my distant memory as possible. I think this was where it was wet, wet, wet… boggy ground… basically lots of streams that you tried not to have to walk through else you’d kill your feet. I lost sight of James for a short while (he had to speed up so as not to get cold) and every bit I could see looked the same as the rest. Trying to hop onto bits of grass but sinking into yet more water. Icy parts too so you couldn’t rush too much. As I’m not used to the terrain this meant I slowed down even more. Fear kicked in big time here and I could feel signs of anxiety start to rise: racing heart, dry mouth and the feeling of sheer panic… I felt a complete and utter wuss, and yelled out to James who unfortunately couldn’t hear me. So this was the next mental challenge… how do you cope when you want to dissolve into a heap of fear? Thanking my CBT training I paused, got some sugary snacks out, swilled some water round and took stock of the situation logically. I wasn’t on my own and knew James would be waiting. I had my GPS which I got out and checked… I’d veered a bit too much right… this wasn’t forever and it would end… plus I had all the safety gear I needed in an emergency. Suck it up and get moving! Literally a few minutes later I found some slabs as I moved towards the left! And then shortly afterwards caught up with James. Eventually the horror disappeared in our rear view and we made our way to Stoodley Pike… chatting to other racers as they passed by… I think it was around here (if not before) that the first MRT Challenger passed us even though he’d started 4 hours after us! My apologies to the other runner that was with us at this point but I’ve forgotten who it was… as we came off Stoodley we started to go too far left and had to hack back up to get on track… this was now on the “home run” to Checkpoint 1… the only major one we had in the whole 108 miles where we could access our drop bags, have a change of clothes and also hot food indoors! As for thoughts of running on the lovely descent through Callas Woods… unfortunately that had to be shelved due to the amount of ice underfoot… skidding and sliding instead felt to be the norm. Still we hit the bottom and then started on the up to CP1… only we seemed to get a bit lost, and I didn’t recognise the “main” type of road we were supposed to be on… checking the GPS it seemed we were following a parallel road and finally ended up on the correct one, but a bit further along… a nice little shuffle down to the turning and then carefully going over the very slippery, boggy, muddy route into checkpoint.

Volunteers… the help you get from these wonderful people cannot be appreciated enough… races would not exist with them! At Hebden when they  know you’re approaching, someone will be already waiting outside for you with your drop bag… the rule here is get out of the wind into the entrance, take off your disgustingly wet, boggy, mud covered, stinky shoes (and everyone’s will be!)… put your poles in a corner and then shuffle indoors. Kit bags go into the far end room where they stay! No going into the kitchen… make your way to the racers room on the other side where some very smiley, happy, friendly volunteers offer you hot cups of tea, coffee and juice… profer hot food and make sure there are plenty of snacks. Turnaround time is crucial on a race… as is knowing what will benefit you the most. James went straight in, had food and went to crash. We landed around 0100 hours and agreed to set the alarm for 0430. Remember all those kit explosions… it kinda happened here too  … instead of sleeping, I chose to have a hot shower and a complete change of kit and was glad I did: I felt a huge boost mentally, physically and emotionally. Time then to grab hot food, several hot drinks and then try for sleep.  As I was so tired, when I tried to sort my kit out ready for getting started on the second leg, I could not think coherently and ending up faffing. Recognising this I figured there was no point wasting more time, so grabbed the spare sleeping from my drop bag and headed to my assigned dorm. Thankfully no snorers!!! Eye mask on, ear plugs in. I managed about 20 minutes sleep before someone’s alarm at 0400 woke me.  I laid there for 10 minutes, debating the benefits of trying to get another 10 minutes sleep but gave up, telling myself I’d had just under 2 hours “rest” even though I hadn’t really slept. I also knew James would be up and ready quickly so got up in order to sort my kit bag out, re-tape my feet and have more hot drinks. We were out the door at 0505 hours.

Now I’m not sure how it happened but we got lost… before we’d even made it out of the climb to the road! Somehow we ended up higher and following a fence and then through a field until we found a road. Checking the GPS and then navigating back, we had gone way too far to the left and had then had to turn back before finally reaching the turn we’d originally taken to descend to the checkpoint. I reckon we lost about half an hour easily here. And it was cold. And raining. Not a great start to the second leg. Off we trotted only to miss the turn back onto the Pennine Way… were we really that tired? Probably!

Another moor… another cold and yucky wet wet wet boggy foggy dreary cold and icy hell… oh how I longed for the warmth of Hebden… I think it was here that we bumped into Paul again… and I think it was on this section that I took my second nasty fall, only this time there was no laughing or as James described it… not so dramatic! There were slabs on and off across this section and most were covered in ice… some moved… a lot were underwater… I stepped on one I thought was there to find it didn’t exist… my right foot plunged straight down into knee-height water, my shoes filling with water (thank god for knee high waterproof socks)… with the result that I slipped and instead of my left foot landing on the next concrete slab, my left knee did, with my whole body falling fully flat! Pain flooded through my leg and I can’t remember the last time I just wanted to sit, cry and give up. Shaking, the lads helped me up and after taking a minute to get my mental state back together, we carried on. I was beginning to really hate the wet moors areas!

However, it was now daytime and that meant energy levels rose a fair bit. Onto Cowling and in and out of the safety team check. I was very happy to see these as they carried some water which we could top up with. I originally expected none to be available so had packed a Sawyer filter to be on the safe side. Well those streams have sheep nearby… can’t be too careful regardless of how much peat there is to filter stuff out of it! We came out of the Cowling point and headed downhill… to another one of the best points in the race! Our lovely friend Mike (who was also an MdS tentmate) had driven over with his wife Zoe to come along and give us a hug. They’d also brought loads of snacks! As James said, it almost felt as if we were supported with a crew. We must have stopped for about 10-15 minutes and by the time we left, our emotional “tanks” had been filled up  Happy days! Thank you guys!!!

Photo by Mike Fetherstone

It was then onto Lothersdale where the fabulous Hare & Hounds pub had put plastic sheeting downstairs on their carpet so that Spiners could pop in and get drinks and food if they wanted. They were also kind enough to allow me to use their facilities upstairs. Thanks folks, much appreciated.  We were still with Paul who was being crewed, so we stopped when he met Ste who then very kindly gave us some cuppa soup… before we all pushed on to Gargrave together. Paul had mentioned that there was a fish and chip shop so as we got nearer and nearer, I didn’t eat as much as I should have as I planned on a hot meal there. I remember passing Maxine when we were beside the canal who looked to be in really good spirits, albeit she was having problems with her feet… she had one spare pair of socks but was holding onto them as it was boggy going up to Malham. I had been planning on changing my socks too, but after hearing that, decided to push on and change once we got that far. Anyway, we reached Gargrave to find Helen and Len had come out again. Helen has since said she was really worried about me because I was shaking so much. It had gotten much warmer on the second day, so I didn’t have my insulating layer on. This also meant I had a layer less to protect my shoulders from the pack weight… so much so that I was in agony just walking and they had to help me off with it. We walked around trying to find the fish & chip shop, forgetting it was a Sunday evening and therefore closed! My heart sank. I’d been so looking forward to that. Food is energy and hot food even more so going into night hours when you’re so cold. Anyway, nothing to do but put the insulating layer on, get sorted and get going. We had also decided by this point that we needed to try and get some sleep so would push to Malham and bivvy out before heading for the CP1.5 at Malham Tarn. Now while we had encountered lots of muddy soul sucking squelching mud that was more than ankle deep (the wet conditions and rain had been more than helpful in this regard)… what was to come was absolutely draining. No wonder Maxine hadn’t wanted to change her socks! It was a different version of hell, horror… extremely slow going… how anyone can run in that stuff is beyond me! It felt to take forever… and probably did!

Malham arrived like a beacon of life… Paul directed us to where we could bivvy and be out of the rain… not wanting to waste time, we got our stuff out and settled down to sleep… with a local dog nearby howling. A lot! The rain had soaked through my thermarest so I couldn’t put it inside my bivvy, which I think contributed to a lack of heat. There was a bit of a breeze and it felt really cold, so I got my little hotties hand warmers out of my gloves and stuck them in the sleeping bag with me, wrapping everything up but one small gap to breath through. About two hours later, and after what must have been only 20-40 minutes of sleep max, it was time to get up, have some food and get going again. There were some toilet facilities there with a mirror… I don’t know if it was as a result of side winds during the previous section, or whether it was where the cold had got into the bivvy bag, but my right eye had swelled up very badly… I looked like I’d been punched  … nothing to be done but ignore it.. time to change socks, layers were put on, water was heated (my coleman gas wasn’t brilliant but did work), some rehydrated food eaten and then we were off… homeward bound! We reached the CP1.5 where the lovely John Bamber greeted us and gave us a very welcome hot drink, checking to make sure we were all ok. Two guys came in while we were there, but unfortunately they weren’t going any further. It was lovely and cosy indoors but we needed to crack on… spirits were high as we went through a wooded area… and then it was onto Malham Tarn… climbing, steps… going up, limestone… hard on feet that had already been tenderised like pieces of steak… darkness, fog… I pretty much followed Paul and James for this section… how on earth they made the navigation look so easy is beyond me. Had I been on my own I would have taken ages and been micro-navving with my GPS! Next up was Fountains Fell which seemed to go on forever. Luckily although it was cold, it wasn’t icy enough that I needed my spikes especially as I’d forgotten to swap out my yaktrax for microspikes! And then it was onto the horror of all horrors. I really don’t do heights, have a fear of them… I get physically shaky and nauseous… so I don’t usually climb up mountains! Or big hills! Ladders either if I can help it. I had also wondered what John Bamber meant when he’d asked if I’d been up Pen-y-Ghent before. He must have been either inwardly chuckling or thinking what a daft fool when I said No!

Now I have no idea what it looks in the daytime… but in the nighttime all I could see what a dark outline to my left and right, big rocks to be used as some kind of steps going straight up… and drops to either side that would mean you die. Paul went up ahead, and I think there were a couple of others around too… James was very kind and stayed behind me, encouraging me each step of the way like you would a child. At one point it felt so steep I couldn’t even lever myself up on my feet, but ended up with both knees on a slab thinking I was going to throw up. However… what are the options when you get stuck? Go back down, quit and whimper and wait for hours for someone to rescue you… or suck it up, and (very very slowly) follow someone’s direction, someone who you trust so you just keep going? I obviously chose the latter, and eventually got to the top. I’m very glad that James didn’t tell me he’s taken his youngest up there in the daytime… I’d have felt even more of a wimp! I’m also very very glad we didn’t have bad weather… apparently previous Spine editions have had 50mph winds gusting and black ice on the rocks while they’ve scrambled over. Was the horror now over? Nope… now we had to navigate down without falling down the side! By this time it was Monday morning, but we were high up and there was so much fog and mist it still felt like night! Eventually we started on the descent, and at one point we almost got lost again with the lads ending up climbing over a wall… I think it was on this section but my memory could be wrong… and I went back to the road I thought we should take… to see Pavel and Eugenie pass by… they’d set off 24 hours after us and were going to be going all week. Amazing!  Eventually we descended towards Horton… and there was some really good terrain that would normally be runnable… however at this point, on less than an hour’s sleep it was more a stumble. I’ve never really had hallucinations before, but kept thinking I was seeing Spine support crew because there appeared to be a moving blue object… until we almost reached said blue item to find it was a huge wheelie bin  … good job it was then that we came upon the Pen-y-Ghent cafe! Absolute stars… hot bacon, fried egg and ketchup sandwiches and mugs of tea ordered, nothing has ever tasted so good… I also needed to change. I had expected it to be cold going up Fountains Fell and Pen-y-Ghent so had added a pair of RAB polartec powerstretch over my leggings and under my waterproofs. This had meant that although I was warm enough in the night on the climb, for the rest of the time I had over-heated… given the gaiters and shoes were clad in mud too, it was rather a messy change over… luckily the toilet facilities in the car park had running water to wash hands before eating!

Short of a disaster, we knew we had enough time to make it although that didn’t mean loitering. It also didn’t mean going over the wrong bridge which I very nearly did, much to the amusement of Paul and James! More ascent, more fields… and eventually onto the Cam Road. Paul had dropped back a little bit and seemed to be wanting to have a moment to himself, so I hurried to catch James up. We came to the turn off and saw Karl there who said Harriet was about an hour behind. We trundled on, the road seemingly never ending… and saw a runner disappear off towards the muddy hill… we followed but there was no clear path. I then looked back and saw Harriet up above!

We must have been about 1.5 to 2 miles away from the end at this point, so James gave me a verbal kick up the backside and told me to run… have to work for it, we haven’t come this far to let anyone pass by now! Well… to coin a phrase, I pegged it down that hill like I never believed I could. It felt to be a 6.30 min mile pace (although was probably more like 8)… and my sleeping bag stuff had come off from my pack. James re-attached it but once we started running again, it came off again. Nothing for it but to tuck it into the crook of my arm, move my poles into that hand and then try to balance with my other hand as we bounced down the muddy boggy hill, trying not to fall over. I veer between dreading there being video footage of this bit as I probably looked really deranged or wanting to see it in case it looked awesome and I actually was running really fast… anyway, James had so much energy he bounded on ahead, opening up the gates for me so I could run through… and then it was onto the paths… where I saw two figures waving, iphone in hand (eek… I’ll leave you with one guess as to who they were…) before I turned onto the main road and ran up to the hall. Instead of running through a finish line triumphantly with poles aloft, instead was a gasping, red-faced, huddle of a human being hunched over. Realisation suddenly dawning… it was done… James came over and gave me a big hug and I could barely hold the tears back. Such a very surreal and sublime moment…

54 hours, 12 minutes and 13 seconds 

I broke the Montane Spine Challenger… and 4th lady at that!

As for injuries after such a challenge… no real blisters anywhere, some toenails that will likely come off and a bit of a (temporary I hope) loss of feeling in a couple of toes. All expected effects of the pounding over such a distance and terrain. The only other issue I had on course really was a painful lump from that lopsided pack… the shoulder muscle on one side developed into a swelling a bit bigger than the size of a golf ball… I didn’t even have any DOMS and could walk down stairs easily the day after. Although I think I was slurring my words that evening at dinner due to the sleep deprivation *oops*.

Congratulations to all racers on Spine Challenger, the MRT Challenger and the full Spine Race, especially my other two MdS tentmates, Gwynn and Lee who I dot watched over the rest of the week once I’d left Hawes (and seen Lee into his CP2)! What an epic event (yeah I know… cheesy words… but oh so true).

A huge huge thanks to those who came out to support us en route (Helen, Len, Matt, Lucy, Mike and Zoe) as well the other racers who encouraged at different points, Paul and his support Ste, the Spine Safety Team and all volunteers who looked after us so well. And most especially to James… I certainly could not have done that without you!

A challenge like no other… the only problem now… is what do I do next!

Wishing you all a adventurous week ahead 
Michelle

Written by Chris Worton - http://chrisjworton.blogspot.fr/

Hello my lovelies.

I have finally got my head around what I have just done, so it is time to put it down on the metaphorical paper for prosperity. I have so much whizzing about in my mind that I think it is sensible to split this down into at least a couple of parts, and maybe more depending on how this goes.

So make yourself a hot beverage, sit down somewhere comfy, and relax (not too much, you don't want to be falling asleep now do you?).

Firstly let me take you through how the weekend would go. Jeff Cooper and Cathy Casey had previously agreed to be my "crew" for this race. This means they would meet me at previously agreed places in the race and ply me with hot drinks, food, and sympathy. Jeff and Cathy go way back. I used to work with them both in my Outdoor Shop days. I now work with Jeff in my current job (I actually sit next to him) and Cathy owns The Climbers Shop and Joe Brown shops who  kindly sponsored me for this race.

So Jeff would pick me up and drive me to Edale on the Friday so I could register for the race. He will then drive up to Cathy's place and they would then drive back down in her camper van to meet me at the first meeting place.

Then they would drive to the next meeting place and this would continue until I either finished at Hawes or crashed out of the race, where they would then take me home again after a meal and a sleep. All great and very slickly planned.

So - here we go. Jeff rocked up in his mini on the Friday morning. I crow-bared my kit bag, food crate, race pack, and spare clothing pack into the back of his mini, along with all his kit (which included a 3 inch thick sleeping mat), and we set off northbound.

We arrived in Edale to a thick covering of snow and ice on the ground. This was looking amazing I thought, I don't often get a chance to play in the snow, so snow for a race would be awesome.

I hauled my kit bag and race pack out of Jeff's car, said my goodbye and off he drove - I just prayed I had got everything as the next time we would meet would be about 25 miles into the race.

I went into the registration area and waited my turn. I had my name written on my kit bag, and because of my high exposure on the race FaceBook page, I got many "oh so you are Chris Worton - it's good to put a face to a name", it seems I was famous. Some people even wanted a picture with me :-)

One of my fans (Lindley) who wanted a picture with me.

Registration includes exchanging contact information, phone numbers of my crew and loved ones, as well as showing them ID to prove I wasn't Mo Farah or some other super runner in disguise. I was pretty flustered with all the excitement of my new found fame, so when asked for my crew head name I said Cathy Gibbins (g-i-b-b-i-n-s) and proceeded to look for her number in my phone. Oops - sorry she got married (nearly 20 years ago!)- she is now Cathy Casey.
Registration done I went over to where they take the photos with the runner holding their number. This would be used in the tracker so you can see the runner when you click their name. I had thought ahead about this and was wearing my DJ and bow tie hidden under my jacket, so I quickly slipped my jacket off and posed in my DJ with my number, much to the delight of the surrounding people. (They didn't actually use these pictures after all so what a waste eah?)

Then came the kit check. This was on a raffle system, you picked a ticket and either got to show some random items, or the whole caboodle. Luckily I just got a 3 item check, my first aid kit, waterproof over trousers, and hat. I Had a large tin of flapjacks I had made the previous day for this occasion, so I dug them out of my kit bag and gave it to my kit check person with instructions for him to share amongst the volunteers. I heard later that they had gone down a treat.

A few flapjacks left.

After my kit check I was good to go, so I grabbed my stuff and headed out into the cold. My next destination was the peak centre up the road where the safety briefing would be. My timings were spot on and I arrived just in time to be let in, and I made my way to the front row, I didn't want to miss anything now did I?

All keen, sitting on the front row.

The safety briefing included useful numbers to store in my phone, and other things to do or not to do if things didn't quite go to plan. All pretty standard stuff for me as my background of mountain life covered most of these anyway.

After the briefing I had booked myself into a simple training session which also covered some useful route notes, including where other people had gone wrong in the past. As usual people recognised me from FaceBook and I got several "Hello Chris" from strangers. Most embarrassing.

After this I was done. No more official stuff to do, so I set off in search of my accommodation, a lovely B&B called Stonecroft Guesthouse. I checked in and was led to my room, where I disgorged the contents of my kit bag and race pack all over the floor so I could properly sort out the kit and pack my pack.

All packed I then set off for some food. Heading down the icy path to The Ramblers Inn, it was a tricky task not to slip over and break something - a disaster indeed, but all was good and I made my way into the steamy bar where everyone was already there eating and drinking merrily. I ordered a fish pie and a pint of John Smiths and sat at a table in the corner. Then a loud voice from the other side shouted "Hey Chris, come and sit with us." This was Stuart Smith, one of the Safety coordinators and definitely a larger than life character. I squeezed in amongst them, and started chatting when I suddenly noticed the chap sitting opposite me was none other than Pavel Paloncy, a previous winner of the Spine race and an all time good bloke. A bit star struck, I was glad when my fish pie arrived and I could tuck in. 
Making my excuses I headed out into the cold and back to my room where I made some final kit tweaks before turning in for a very restless night before the big day tomorrow.

I woke for the 75th time that night and checked the time. It had not been the most restful of nights, and I was willing the hours and minutes by until it got to a semi reasonable time where I could get up and get ready to brave the elements.

6am arrived and I rose, showered, dressed, and exited, heading down to the start area and the hall where we would congregate prior to setting off. 
We got our GPS trackers attached to our race packs, so the race people and those at home could follow our every move. Then we just stood around nervously chatting and glancing at the clock on the wall waiting for 07:45 when we would be ushered out into the cold ready for the 08:00 start.

Finally, Father Time got a bit bored and signaled to the organisers that we aught to be on our way, so we were herded out of the warm hall and into the crisp morning gloom.

The weather forecast for today was very cold and crisp and it was true to its word. A heavy frost lay over the light covering of snow that was already there. We made our way over to the start area and waited for the off.

Eventually we got the final countdown and we were off - This is it, I am actually here and racing in the race that I had prepped for the whole year for. I had purposefully got myself near the back of the pack, I knew my race would be slow and that I would be one of the back markers so I saw no sense in getting in other faster runners way.
We set off up the hill in Edale, the air was cold, but there was the odd spit in the air. I was wearing my windproof shell at this point as I wanted maximum breathability, but as no rain was forecast this should be fine, Wrong! Within 30 minutes of the start it started sleeting really hard. I stopped behind the shelter of a wall (copied by many other runners) and donned my full waterproof gear.
The sleet quickly turned to snow and as we climbed higher full blizzard conditions arrived.Navigation in these conditions became "interesting" and I took a small detour before realising the rest of the field was heading in a different way, so about turn I went.

We continued over Kinder, the snow had abated a bit now but was a good 6 inches on the ground, with drifts of over 2 feet in places. The slabs over Featherbed moss were not visible, but it was obvious to me which way to go, being near the back of the pack I had plenty of foot prints to follow.

Over Snake Pass we went and I briefly stopped to put on my "Yaktracks" which would hopefully stop me from slipping so much. They worked really well but did keep moving around on my boots, requiring me to keep having to pause and re-position them. Over Bleaklow we went, stopping once to confirm the direction with my GPS as the way wasn't obvious in the snow, but all was ok and we were spot on.
I descended to Torside reservoir where the next small monitoring post was, I scrounged some water from a support crew as I had nearly ran out, and then continued on my way towards Black hill.

Climbing back up into the snow line, things were much the same as on Kinder, but no blizzard, just lovely snow and a crisp silence.

Over the top of Black hill I started the final descent towards Wessenden where Jeff and Cathy would be waiting for our first pit stop. I arrived at the road, I couldn't see them so I carried on assuming they were at the car park we had used on our recce weekend months before. I was powering along the road when I saw the familiar shape of Jeff calling me back. They were on the main road after all, just a bit along, so I cut the corner and headed back down to them.

Coming into the first crew stop at Wessenden.

Arriving at the van, I quickly sorted out what I wanted to do. A sock change, a bite to eat, replenish my food and water for the night ahead and to slip on another layer as the temperature was dropping. Then off into the night I went.

This next section was another load of high moorland. Still with snow on the ground, the going wasn't too bad, and the light from my head torch was magnified by the snow meaning I could have it on a lower setting to conserve the battery.

Dropping off the moor to the marshal point of Harrop dale, I just showed my number and blasted straight over and back up to the dark moorland. In my mind the next thing to look out for was the sharp left turn before the sweeping right towards the white house pub. Across the moorland I went, it seemed to be going on for ever, no landmarks as such, just a bleak snowy nothingness with a path in the middle.
I saw what looked like a large post up ahead. Ahh I thought, this must be the left turn, although the post must be new as I didn't remember it from the recce, but I suppose it is put there so people don't miss the turn. I carried on, the post kept drifting in and out of visibility in the dark misty air, dimly silhouetted against the dark sky. It didn't seem to be getting any nearer - it was just there in front of me but I could never reach it.
Eventually I went over a small crest of ground and the story was laid out in front of me. There was a car park, complete with mountain rescue monitoring crew, a burger van, the M62 in the background and what I thought was a marker post turned out to be the 300ft tall windy hill transmitter! 

Windy hill transmitter and car park (in the summer)

I rocked up at the car park, cursing my ageing memory, how could I forget the M62 crossing with its huge aerial? I stopped for a hot beverage at the burger van (a hot chocolate - yummy) and pressed on as quickly as I could.
Much of the snow was now gone, or very much on the way out, rapidly being replaced by treacherous ice, both water that had frozen, but also snow that had compacted down and made glassy smooth by the light rain that was now falling. Crossing the M62 over the purpose built footbridge, I was warned to keep to the left as this was less icy - it was still icy and I slipped my way across, but at least I was on the best side according to the people I met.

Up over the other side of the M62 I climbed up to Blackstone edge, a very rocky and confusing place in the dark, but managed to find my way down the other side, and eventually to the real sharp left turn that I had so longingly looked for earlier, following the path down and around, to the White House pub, out of bounds to Spiners, but in the car park I had another hot beverage supplied by the mountain rescue people manning this point (a hot blackcurrant juice if you are interested).

The next section was pretty flat as it skirts the reservoirs on the way to Stoodley pike, this was easy ground until the path peters out near the pike and you have to pick your own way up. I took a bit of a wrong turn here (or rather I didn't turn and went straight up) this was a mistake as it led to a 200 meter section of boggy, uneven ground. I hopped (as best I could) from tousle to tousle, trying to avoid the wet mess between them, to make matters worse some poor chap had followed me into this soggy place. I battled on, veering slightly right towards higher (and hopefully dryer) ground, glancing back it was clear my follower was checking his navigation. I should have but I knew if I could get above it things would improve, which indeed they did and I trotted off towards Stoodley pike monument which I could see looming in the distant darkness. I never saw my follower again, despite repeated glances back for his light.

All this soggy ground was starting to affect my feet. I could feel they were wet, I was pretty sure the boots had started to leak, especially the left one, although some wetness also seemed to be coming over the top of the boots. Having wet feet at this early stage wasn't great, but I would check them at the next crew meeting near the first main Checkpoint.

Descending into Hebden Bridge was uneventful (although I thought I had missed a turning and was cursing myself on now having to take a large detour along the road to regain the path), when I rounded the corner to see another mountain rescue monitoring point, it seems I was spot on again - awesome :-)

The climb up out of Hebden Bridge was quite intricate even though I had done it in the summer, and a bit of tricky navigating got me out onto the path across the fields, down the dip into the fairy glen, and then back over the fields onto the Slack road - at last I could turn off the Penning Way and head towards the main Checkpoint. I also knew Jeff and Cathy would be waiting along here so I could get re-fuelled and watered.

Arriving at the second crew point near Hebden Hey

Meeting up with them, I checked my feet. Sure enough they were very wet and showing signs of getting waterlogged. I knew Jeff had bought his boots along which were exactly the same as mine, so I asked if I could swap them over, which he had planned for anyway, so that's what I did.

I ate the KFC they had kindly got me from the valley, topped up my hill food, donned Jeff's less muddy boots and headed out towards the legendary descent into the checkpoint proper. Yes it was a bit muddy after it had been churned up by most of the field of runners before me, but it was fairly straight forward, right a bit, then a sharp left for a fair way (over a tree trunk and under some annoyingly sharp holly), then right, and then finally left into the scout centre.

As I wondered in they took my number and got my drop bag, I proceeded into the conservatory to remove my (now very muddy) boots and gaiters, which is the rules, then I pottered into the hall to the kit area.
In my head this was to be a large hall with kit bags everywhere, stuff disgorged from them and loads of people milling around sorting themselves out. Well that is partly correct, except replace the large hall with a small box room and you get the idea.
I balanced my kit bag on the top of a pile of 10 other kit bags, grabbed some socks and my foot powder and made my way to the mens loos to sort out my feet. They were getting bad with a deep fissure developing in my left foot between the ball of the foot and the rest. I rubbed powder into them and donned my dry socks, this should help I thought to myself. I then tried to go to the loo, but the double dose of Imodium was still staunchly doing its job, so I gave that up as a bad job (pun intended).
I downed a mug of strong coffee while having a quick chat with a couple of fellow racers, then grabbed my stuff and back to the conservatory to head out. I was in a bit of a quandary about how I would get into the muddy conservatory to get my boots on while in just my socks, but one of the helpers located my boots for me, and we laid out my gaiters like stepping stones with the clean side up, and I used them to get to a seat while keeping my socks dry. 

Complimented on my quick turnaround, I headed out into the night (this was about 04:30 Sunday morning by the way) and back up the muddy path with no dramas (although another racer did come a cropper at my feet as he descended rather quicker than he intended).

I headed back out onto the Slack road, past the van where Jeff and Cathy were snuggled up to sleep, and back onto the Pennine way.
The ground was now proper icy, hindering my every step, I was slipping and sliding all over the place, the stone slabs covered in a thick layer of glass-like ice. I descended slightly off this bit of moorland onto a very wet looking track - and Bam! I was on my back. It wasn't wet, it was a huge sheet of ice. I lay there for a couple of seconds, slightly winded, and checked for hurty bits, but I had landed on my pack which was fairly soft so everything seemed ok. Stumbling to my feet, my gloves now saturated and I could wring them out, I dug out my mitts and donned these instead.

Concentrating hard now so as not to slip over, I carried on my way. I recognised (only just) a bit where we had gone wrong due to too much chatting, and avoided that again, heading up past the obvious sign we had missed before. Now I was at the series of reservoirs heading towards Wadsworth moors and Withins Heights. I trotted along the path/track next to the reservoirs when there loomed out of the dark a track coming in on my left. Strange I thought, that shouldn't be there, so out came the map, and sure enough I was heading away from the correct path. Heading down this surprise path would mean I was back on track after a small detour so I followed it back down, and re-joined the Pennine way. A couple of smaller false paths eventually led to the correct path up into the moors.

As I rose again the path got increasingly icy, meaning I had to move much slower. I did think about putting on my ice spikes, but as the ice was intermittent with the stone slabs I thought it would take too much time taking them off and putting them back on again. With hindsight I should have just put them on and left them on, it would have been far safer and probably faster, but my thinking wasn't the most sensible of thinking after about 24 hours on the go.
Descending to Top Withens, the supposed sight of the house in Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, I paused on the bench outside to adjust my boots. My ankles had really started to hurt, Jeff's boots were obviously a different shape around the top, and my bony ankles were taking the brunt of it.

Dropping down to Ponden reservoir was uneventful as was the climb up the other side to cross Oakworth moor and Ickornshaw moor. These were both a mix of icy slabs and deep peat bogs. Several times I was up to my knees in the cold wet goo, but my momentum mainly got me free just as quickly. Descending from the moors into Cowling and farmers fields, the ground changed dramatically from peat moorland to cow churned fields, often plodding through endless fields of ankle deep mud, each step pulling you back, but at least it was daylight for a change so I could see where I was going.
Over one more hill and I was descending at last into Lothersdale which was the next meeting point for Jeff  and Cathy. I hobbled into the village as my ankles were really hurting now and there they were right by the pub, parked up and rearing to help and assist me.

Arriving in Lothersdale

They plied me with a bowl of chips, but they were quite dry to eat so I needed to sip water between each mouthful to get them down. I think I only managed about half of them.

I needed to sort out my feet now, there we no way I could carry on with Jeff's boots so opted to change back to my leaky ones. I changed socks again to prolong the dryness and did everything up, even now my ankle felt like it had more room to move. I would just have to put up with soggy feet for the rest of the race.

Changing my boots back to the more comfy ones.

Not wanting to waste any of the precious daylight I was keen to get moving as quickly as possible, so without any more delay I was up and out. A quick ascent onto Elslack moor and Pinhaw Beacon and then heading back down to Thornton-in-Craven. I passed a chap handing out quality street, but I declined as I just didn't fancy chocolate. It is very strange how my tastes changed at various times during the race. Things I loved before I just couldn't face, and I craved other things that normally I wouldn't choose to eat. The rehydrated meals for instance. Usually I would not go to these by choice, but every time Jeff and Cathy presented me with one it was very welcome, even if I couldn't handle the full meal.

Lots of very undulating fields and mud later I reached the canal, and then crossed more very muddy fields (the site of the muck spreading area in the summer) and then I was in to Gargrave. Mentally Gargrave was a huge target. It was at about the 72 mile mark, but the last recce we did went from Gargrave to the finish so this was very fresh in my mind. I had also thought before the race that if I got to Gargrave then I would finish the race. This was a great boost.

Arriving in Gargrave Jeff and Cathy met me again. This was a stop we had planned at the last minute due to possible road closures caused by snow. The road was open but they kept this meet up in as agreed just as a bonus. It was starting to get dark again now and as I left them (after another rehydrated meal) I suddenly remembered my little red lights on the back of my pack. I called back to the van feebly but they didn't hear me, not wanting to walk back in the wrong direction all of 50 feet, I said to myself forget it, and carried onwards.

Walking up the road out of Gargrave I came across another racer coming down the road in the opposite direction. She said her feet were in a bad way and couldn't continue, I sympathised with her, it certainly wasn't easy under foot, and this next section across the fields and along the river would not be any let up to the wetness under foot. We parted, me heading up and her heading down (I think this was Maxine Lock according to the retirement lists).
Making sure I didn't miss the elusive right turn into the fields that I had already completely missed once, and nearly missed a second time on the 2 recces that went across these fields, I then trudged across the next set of waterlogged fields. All signs of snow and ice had now gone, and we were treated to a persistent light drizzle, My waterproofs were doing their job though and I was perfectly comfortable in the cold wet darkness.
The river was very high and I could hear its rushing and gurgling noises in the darkness, a bit disconcerting when you cannot actually see the water. I knew this part quite well, but it is still a long drag into Malham village.

Straight through the village I went, without stopping and heading up towards Malham cove and eventually Malham tarn where we had previously arranged with Jeff and Cathy I would stop for a short sleep. Heading into Malham cove I was really starting to feel tired now. I was 38 hours and 78 miles in and things were really turning strange. Ascending the steps next to the cove, they seemed to go on for ever, and I had started to feel my right knee twinging a bit. I flexed it back and forward which relieved it a bit. It didn't help that my coordination was also beginning to suffer. I would step up a step or two, but then lose a bit of balance and was forced to step backwards and down, only to attempt the step again, a sort of up 2 steps and down one. I got to the top of the cove, and still had the brainpower to navigate my way behind the limestone pavement, avoiding the worst of the slippery limestone.

And then the hallucinations started kicking in...

I had heard about these from other blogs. When you get to extreme tiredness your mind starts to play tricks on you. I was fully expecting this so wasn't unduly worried when I started to see all sorts of objects in the stony track. All rocks or stones took on some form or other, a face, squirrels, an alligator, an owl, a lizard, I was sort of smiling to myself, wondering what would be next. Luckily they were all immobile and I knew what was happening, so no dramas.
Coordination was still an issue, couple this with a hurty knee and the hallucinations and things slowed somewhat for the last mile into the meeting place. It was very foggy now, but I knew the way without too much problem, and eventually emerged from the fog to the sight of the twinkling fairy lights that was our van.

I was welcomed into the confines of the van, muddy boots, gaiters and over-trousers off. I shoved some food down my throat and then got ready for some much needed sleep. I just took off my jacket and a fleece and dived into my sleeping bag. Set the alarm for one hour please and that was it, but as soon as I laid down I was racked with a coughing fit, some gunge had built up on my lungs with all the heavy cold air breathing, and was rattling about as I laid there. After several minutes of wheezing and coughing things got a bit better and I must have slept a bit.

Having a sleep. I am in there somewhere.

The alarm woke us with a start and I sprang up as refreshed as less than an hours sleep can make you. I donned all my clothing that I had removed and quickly exited the van - into the thickest fog I had seen for a while. Jeff pointed me in the right direction and off I went into the void, trusting my compass, GPS and the force.
I think I got a bit disorientated as I came across what I thought was a track coming up from the tarn (a track which wasn't there the last time we were there) and started following it to the right, but then just to be sure I checked the GPS and it was actually the track leading to the next checkpoint, and I needed to be heading in the opposite direction. I turned round and headed the other way, the force was screaming to me that it was the other way, Soon enough I came across the pile of logs that I knew where there from before so I knew for definite I was heading the right way.

Skirting round the tarn I eventually arrived at the next checkpoint. This was just a hall with hot drinks and a toilet, no sleeping facilities like the main one, but as I said, it had a toilet, time for another try. This was about 2am Monday morning and the Imodium had been doing its stuff for about 44 hours...

About a stone lighter I popped another couple of Imodium and some paracetamol for my feet, which were really starting to hurt now, and carried on into the night (after a sneaky coffee in the hall).

Not far out of the checkpoint Jeff and Cathy drove past on their way to the checkpoint, they had been asked to ferry a couple of retirees there as the mountain rescue people had to be elsewhere, so they obliged.

Leaving the road I started the long slog up Fountains fell. This is one of the longest climbs of the race, and doesn't it let you know that, it goes on for ever. Not far into the climb I saw 3 lights coming up fast behind me, these must be the leaders of the Full Spine race that had started the day after ours, what with me being near the back and the leaders moving really fast. They sped past me, but then I could see they were just "normal" people, maybe they had had a better kip than me because they were really flying.
I had gone a little bit astray at this point, and needed to follow a wall across the climb until I found the stile over it, by this time they were well in front, but I could see their lights which was handy as this bit can be a bit tricky navigationally.

Continue the climb, every now and again I saw a light up ahead from the people in front, either they were checking for followers, or they were helpfully shining a light back to aid followers (me) in this tricky ascent.
Rounding the summit I started the equally long descent to the road between Fountains Fell and Pen-Y-Ghent, the highest point on the race.
When I reached the road I met a camera crew who were eagerly awaiting the leaders - obviously they were not that far behind, but I had seen no more lights behind me since the speedy bunch had gone past, so they must still be fair distance away.

Trotting along the road, which seemed longer than I remember, I eventually started the climb up to Pen-Y-Ghent. This is quite a technical climb, certainly much more so then any other part of the race, It was still dark on the ascent, being 07:00 ish Monday morning.
Now the ascent is a bit of a scramble, but me with my rock climbing background shouldn't find this a problem, especially as I have done it a couple of times before, once at night, but when I hit the steep ground I was really struggling. Before the climb I was suffering from sleepiness again, but this soon woke me up. My problem was that I was still a bit shaky on coordination and still needing to take the odd step backwards like at Malham, and this was the last thing I wanted to do mid scramble in the dark, so I reverted to a sort of  kneeling, swimming, crawling gait as I ascended the rocky steps, poles dangling from my wrists and my bare hands making sure I had a proper grip on something before risking a step upwards. Being in this very unnatural position meant I missed the correct way up a couple of times so I really made a meal of it, but my mind was all over the place and I was playing for safety rather than speed.

Eventually I crawled over the last steep bit and arrived at the summit plateau, relieved that the technical bit was over I headed for the summit and the descent down the other side, a much safer rocky path, complete with hallucinogenic faces, lizards, alligators, squirrels etc.
I fired off a text to Cathy saying something about being asleep on my feet, hoping she would take the hint and get a coffee to me somehow. She replied with something like someone was heading up with a coffee. Great I thought and sped up downwards. It was getting light now so I could see the path disappearing into the distance, but nowhere could I see the coffee bearing superhero heading my way.
I skirted round a field full of old cars and vans (this may have been in my mind), and downwards towards Horton in Ribblesdale, the last proper civilization before the final leg to the finish.
Nearly at the bottom with no signs of coffee man, when round the corner stepped Cathy bearing a flask. Yes! I thought, caffeine. Nope - of all the things to put in a flask when meeting someone who was complaining of falling asleep while on his feet, and only having less than an hours kip in the last 48 hours, she had bought hot Ribena??!!

Ribena i ask you? really? Ribena?

I smiled at her, took a drink and sort of grinned a thank you through gritted teeth, but inwardly I was already drinking the coffee that would be waiting at the van - or at least there had better be.

Plodding into Horton, I quickly checked into the monitoring station and then carried on towards the van which was parked along the road a bit in the public toilet car park. The very same ones that saw me and Cathy have a cozy breakfast in a couple of months back.

Arriving at the van in Horton

I was quickly fed and watered, and then the talk settled on the final stretch. It was now about 09:45 Monday morning which meant I had about 10 hours left to cover about 15 miles. This could be a bit tight we thought. If I wanted a safety buffer to take in possible stumbles, getting lost, and the odd rest then I had "better get a wiggle on". Emotions were running high as I pulled out of the car park, now equipped with a coffee in my stomach, a goal in my heart, and a cheese and spinach quiche in my pocket.

Setting out from Horton, on a mission!

This was it, do or die (not literally), there was absolutely no way I was getting this far only to time out and not officially finish in within the 60 hour limit.
I blasted out of Horton (as mush as someone who has just covered 93 miles in 50 hours with less than an hours sleep, could "blast" ) and started the final climb up towards the Cam high road.

This stretch is mostly uphill. Imagine a number 7 lying on its face. You climb and climb and climb steadily up its long back until eventually you reach the top, then it is a very short but steep descent to the finish,
I started up the climb. As we were in Horton, two of the leaders of the full length race had come past,and now as I gained height the third place man shot past. I thought I was moving fast, but these guys were rocketing along, rounding a corner expecting to see him in the distance, he was just gone, nowhere to be seen, he was that quick.

I munched on the quiche as I climbed, it was very tasty and quite moist (I love that word), just what I needed as I couldn't manage anything dry without sipping copious amounts of water to help me chew. It was one of the only savoury things that I managed to completely finish.

Jeff and Cathy had mentioned a possible meeting up near the top of the Cam road, and as I got to the road I expected to see them, but no I was on my own. I had probably gone too fast and they were not expecting me there yet. I carried on, forever upwards, really beasting myself now. Imagine one of those army recruit documentaries where the evil corporal shouted at the slow recruit, "get a blinking move on you piece of ship" (or something like that), I was actually shouting at myself in the lonely misty wilderness that was this place (I checked first for people around me in earshot), marching up the hill, breaking out into short running bits where the gradient allowed, all the time coercing myself along with verbal abuse.

This bit of road was one of those magic "go on for ever" bits you sometimes find. Crossing a small brow in the climb thinking you were near the top, only to see it disappearing into the distance and knowing I had to cover that bit before finding out if it continued further over the next brow. There was not a person in sight and certainly no welcome van.

Climbing and climbing, I was tiring again and started craving my next caffeine hit, maybe it wont actually be until the finish now as I knew I was fast approaching a turn off marking the end of the cam road and the start of the final muddy stretch before the final steep descent to the finish.

Rounding another corner I suddenly made out the van in the distance, right on the above mentioned turn. Awesome I thought - I love them both.

Arriving at the impromptu meeting at the top of the Cam road

I downed the coffee they presented me as Jeff and Cathy marveled at the speed I had covered this last bit. I had a quick bite to eat, not wanting to waste any time I had made up. We had a quick rendition of our event song "Everything is awesome" from the lego movie, really just to pick up the team spirits, it was now nearly over, just about 7km left, half muddy track and half murderous descent.

I marched off into the mist, still speeding along as fast as my tired legs and painful feet could carry me.

The nice ground under foot was soon replaced with a muddy rutted path, deep puddles loomed, waiting to suck me in, but I was relentless, ploughing through everything, praying for the final descent and the finish. My mind started to drift, in and out of full consciousness, despite my forced pace my brain was still sleep deprived, and was doing everything in its power to force my body to stop and take a nap. Suddenly my feet slipped side-wards and I found myself sprawled out on the grassy bank next to the path. I had landed on my side and luckily had avoided any rocks and other nasties, to find myself in rather a comfy position. This was no good, sleeping here was not an option so I clambered back upright and carried on, and happily before long the final descent started.

Now 4km from the finish, I was on the final steep descent. It was relentless, navigation seemed trickier than the map suggested, I should be just following this wall and turning right when it finished, but I was making a right meal of it, getting stuck in boggy sections and needing to circumnavigate other seemingly impassible sections.

My mindset had now taken a huge leap of change. Where as before it was set on pushing on to ensure I would make the cut off in time, I now knew that pretty much whatever happened I had plenty of time to cover this last bit. That was it, my brain relaxed, its job done, and then the pain took over. It had nothing to stop it hurting now, before my brain was masking it to ensure I could carry on at speed, but with this taken away the pain just flooded in un-checked.

The pain was all in my feet. They had been swilling round in watery boots for about 75 miles, and were letting me know that they would be packing themselves to warmer sunnier climes if I did not do something about it soon.

At last, the final field arrived, but what a sting in the tail this was to be, checking the map, it is about half a km long, but is at what seems like a 45 degree angle and churned up with cow hoof prints and the foot prints of 100+ runners before me. Slip sliding down this with hurty feet took ages, and I cursed every moment of it, there was no easy way, it just had to be dealt with.

Breaking out onto the track at the bottom of the field was a relief (but negotiating the stile was interesting) and off I hobbled down the track, still descending steeply, but at least the ground was solid.
A few twists and turns through the village covering the last km, I at last hit the main road and turned left towards the market place and the finish line.

Jeff and Cathy came thundering up behind me, they had been waiting for me to arrive and nearly missed me, but they were here now, taking pictures of me arriving in the evening gloom.

Arriving in Hawes

I plodded along the final bit, a few people clapping as I approached the finish "line", which was a flag at the doorway of the market house, the hall where all our stuff was, as well as food, drinks and friendly people.

The finish line

That was it, I had finished. The relief was overwhelming, as well as the happiness and the knowledge that all that was left as recovery and memories.
I plonked myself down on a waiting chair and Cathy helped me (well actually completely took over) and removed my muddy boots over-trousers and gaiters, then I tottered into the hall to get my medal. I wasn't fussed about sitting down, or resting, or eating, or drinking, I just wanted that medal.

We went over to the medal area and the chap did the obligatory hand shake, medal round neck and photo, then we had a photo with the three of us, me in the middle sagging on tired legs.

Breaking up after the photos, I stumbled a bit, my legs getting the better of the argument to want to rest, Cathy caught me and I luckily remained upright. We went over to where they had plonked my kit bag and I proceeded to get myself sorted out before the drive to my bed.

A quick change of clothing and into something dry, then came the feet. I peeled off my socks to reveal some very sorry looking feet. They had been battered and tortured for 108 miles, 75 of which were while being wet, and they certainly told that story well enough just by looking at them.

I rubbed some foot powder on them as best I could, and then donned some dry socks and my comfy trainers.
Saying our goodbyes I hobbled out of the hall, at a quarter of the speed that I went in at. We walked the (what seemed like) mile to the van (it was only about 10 meters I think) and I climbed in. I really wanted to sleep now, but my brain must have been waking up a bit as it became suddenly very aware that Cathy who was driving probably hadn't had much sleep over the last few days either, and thus I was obliged to keep chatting to her in order to keep her from driving us into a ditch as she attempted to catch up on some overdue sleep.

We arrived at their house, a quick shower, some more foot powder and then a very welcome hot meal cooked by Cathy's husband Paul.

And then to bed.

To bed for a very fitful, sweaty, but long, oh so very long sleeeeeeeeep..........zzzz

A Charles Dickens quote comes to mind: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" but as I Googled the extract and continued to read the longer quote, more and more of it rang true. Here it is, it is from A Tale of Two Cities:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us".

This pretty much sums it up for me and I suspect most of the other racers that toed the line 2 weeks ago on their own adventures that are the Spine race series.

This third post in my trilogy of Spine Challenger blogs covers what came after the race. I will cover my physical and mental state, what went well, what didn't go well, my high points and my low points, and what I intend to change for next years assault on the full version.

I woke up in the middle of the night absolutely drenched. It was about midnight, and laying there the night after the race I started to think of what I could tell Paul & Cathy about the state of their bedding. I hadn't wet the bed, honestly, i was just sweating for England. I got up, mopped myself and the sheets as best I could with a towel and laid back down on a dryer area of the bed, and fell into an immediate sleep.
Waking further into the night, this time it appeared I had been moving about a bit in my sleep, instead of being the normal way in the bed with my head at the pillow end etc, i was at 90 degrees with my head pressed up against the side wall and my feet dangling over the other side of the bed. Again i was wet all over with sweat.
This pretty much summed up this first night, sweating, fitful mobile sleeping and frequent waking up.

Finally, giving up to wakefulness, I got up at 7ish and inspected the damage to my feet. They looked a whole lot better. The night before Cathy had given me a bottle of her finest moisturising cream, and a small tin of "badger butter" which was met with much mirth.
Before turning in I had spread both products liberally over my feet in an attempt to get them looking more human, and the combination had not done a bad job.

My foot the morning after.

Now that they were not all wrinkly and waterlogged I could see what was happening under the surface. I had a total of 8 blisters. The area between the ball of the foot and the rest of the foot was 2 blisters joined together in the middle, each little toe had a blister, one heel and one of my other toes also had one. They were not very deep and the skin had not broken so at this stage they were manageable.

I equipped myself with a needle, some antiseptic wipes and some loo roll and "dealt" with them as best I could, after which i could walk almost normally. 

Both ankles were very swollen. As Jeff pointed out I had a fine pair of "cankles" (yes I had to Google it as well), the left one was worse and was also bruised from wearing Jeff's boots when I did.

As far as my legs were concerned things were not too bad, my calf muscles were the worse, and my hip flexors also, but the rest of them felt fine, a little weak, but not at all bad considering the battering I had given them.
My shoulders were also quite sore. These lightweight race packs are all very well, but they are not very supportive and do rely on strong shoulders and back to hold them in shape. 
Luckily I had the foresight to have booked a massage the following day, and it was bliss, she ironed out the kinks in my legs shoulders and back, but I had to repeatedly tell her to stay away from the feet!

Two weeks on and most physical things have sorted themselves out. I still have a swollen and bruised left ankle, and two toes on this foot are without feeling. My blisters have all healed and I am shedding skin from my feet like a pet python going through a growth spurt. I am also still having the odd sweaty night. Interestingly I Googled this, It is hormonal, where during and after extreme exercise, hormone levels change to ramp up your metabolism and thus make energy resources more quickly available.

Mentally I am up and down. During the race was interesting. At no point in the race did I consider giving up, it just didn't enter my head. Sometimes during other events you sometimes get a niggle in the mind saying "is this all worth it?" but you dismiss it and carry on, but this time nothing, just a dogged mindset that I would complete it whatever. There were however two points during the race which were particular low points and I did consider the point that I may not be able to complete it. 

The first was during my sleep at Malham Tarn. My coughing fit and rattling lungs did get me seriously worried. I managed to cough up some very thick gungy stuff that once this was gone it did improve things somewhat, but during the coughing I was thinking that I may have picked up an infection in my lungs. Things were going through my mind, like seeing a medic at the next checkpoint that was just down the road, but they might retire me if it sounded bad. Once the alarm went and I got up (and thus upright) I had no rattling or coughing, so I thought no more about it.

The second was at Horton in Ribblesdale. Timings were getting tight. We worked out that I had about 10 hours left to cover 15 miles. This was too tight for comfort when you start allowing for getting lost, getting injured, having a rest etc, and the thought of getting timed out so close to the finish really affected me mentally. I rallied round and really bullied myself during the next section in order to regain a time buffer, but while we worked things out I (and I am sure Cathy and Jeff) were a bit worried that things were not as they should be.

Now I am mostly good. Walking about I keep inwardly smiling, thinking to myself that I had done it. I had finished the hardest race I had ever done. I am a champion, etc, but occasionally I think to myself that my next race is ages away, nearly a full year ahead of me with nothing but training runs with the occasional trip to the hills for a play, but it does seem a long way off. I may just book a couple of marathons to keep things ticking over...

My High points are easy. The start for one. I was happy just to be toeing the line with the other racers. It was cold and crisp, there was snow on the ground and I was fit and prepared for everything. 
Then there was the moorland after snake pass. The sun had come out, there was snow on the ground making the scenery most lovely.
And then of course there was the finish, always a high point in any race, but this one was special as I had my wonderful friends there to meet me. I couldn't have been happier.

My low points were definitely the two things I talked about above, my coughing at Malham and the time talks in Horton, but in addition to these has to be the final descent into Hawes when my brain relaxed and the pain really started to kick in.

What went well? Well firstly the fact that I was a supported runner with a support crew worked really well, the meeting places were perfectly distanced and I looked forward to each and every meeting. The whole crewing operation went so well I think I can say that without them I would not have finished.

Navigation went well also. This was one of my main worries, but the well trodden path, the lights of others and of course my maps and GPS all worked well together to mean that there was no point i was lost. I may have taken a wrong turning or two, but it was quickly rectified without much time wasted.

What did not go well? My footwear choice I think was the main thing. If I had just added some waterproof socks to my available kit I think the whole race would have been more comfortable.

What would I change? Just a few gear tweaks for next year. Different boots with a lower ankle and couple these with waterproof socks (including several spares) should do the trick feet wise.

My goggles were next to useless. I have taken advice and got some Bolle safety ones which several other racers had and they were impressed.

Food - more wet stuff. Trying to eat bread rolls was hard work when your mouth is dry from all the heavy breathing. I think lots of different snacks for the hills and good wet meals for the checkpoints or crew meetings will be the best option for me.

Other than that the rest of the kit performed very well which is good as it means less frantic gear searches as the race next year looms.

All it leaves now is to thank everyone involved in the build up and during the weekend of the race.

Firstly I want to thank the organisers for putting on a fantastic race with some of the best organisation I have ever experiences in a race. Not only the people you see, like the marshals and the CP staff, but also the people you don't, like the ones who ship the kit bags from the start to each checkpoint and then to the finish. Great work chaps.

Then I have to thank Jeff and Cathy for their amazing job at crewing me in the race. They went beyond what i expected of them, they were totally focussed on getting me to the finish. I also need to thank Paul, Cathy's husband, who moved things about and looked after the kids to ensure Cathy could accompany me on my training weekends and the race.

Lastly I have to thank my long suffering wife Lesley. I know I obsess about things, I cant help it, it is what I do, and you must have had an awful year with me going on and on about this race. I will try to keep it off the topic of conversation as much as I can this year. But without your supporting me when I do stuff like this, well it would just not be good...

I hope all the worry you go through when I am out in the hills was worth it when I came home brandishing my new medal and a massive grin on my face. xxx

Written by Chris Worton - http://chrisjworton.blogspot.fr/

Hello my lovelies.

I have finally got my head around what I have just done, so it is time to put it down on the metaphorical paper for prosperity. I have so much whizzing about in my mind that I think it is sensible to split this down into at least a couple of parts, and maybe more depending on how this goes.

So make yourself a hot beverage, sit down somewhere comfy, and relax (not too much, you don't want to be falling asleep now do you?).

Firstly let me take you through how the weekend would go. Jeff Cooper and Cathy Casey had previously agreed to be my "crew" for this race. This means they would meet me at previously agreed places in the race and ply me with hot drinks, food, and sympathy. Jeff and Cathy go way back. I used to work with them both in my Outdoor Shop days. I now work with Jeff in my current job (I actually sit next to him) and Cathy owns The Climbers Shop and Joe Brown shops who  kindly sponsored me for this race.

So Jeff would pick me up and drive me to Edale on the Friday so I could register for the race. He will then drive up to Cathy's place and they would then drive back down in her camper van to meet me at the first meeting place.

Then they would drive to the next meeting place and this would continue until I either finished at Hawes or crashed out of the race, where they would then take me home again after a meal and a sleep. All great and very slickly planned.

So - here we go. Jeff rocked up in his mini on the Friday morning. I crow-bared my kit bag, food crate, race pack, and spare clothing pack into the back of his mini, along with all his kit (which included a 3 inch thick sleeping mat), and we set off northbound.

We arrived in Edale to a thick covering of snow and ice on the ground. This was looking amazing I thought, I don't often get a chance to play in the snow, so snow for a race would be awesome.

I hauled my kit bag and race pack out of Jeff's car, said my goodbye and off he drove - I just prayed I had got everything as the next time we would meet would be about 25 miles into the race.

I went into the registration area and waited my turn. I had my name written on my kit bag, and because of my high exposure on the race FaceBook page, I got many "oh so you are Chris Worton - it's good to put a face to a name", it seems I was famous. Some people even wanted a picture with me :-)

One of my fans (Lindley) who wanted a picture with me.

Registration includes exchanging contact information, phone numbers of my crew and loved ones, as well as showing them ID to prove I wasn't Mo Farah or some other super runner in disguise. I was pretty flustered with all the excitement of my new found fame, so when asked for my crew head name I said Cathy Gibbins (g-i-b-b-i-n-s) and proceeded to look for her number in my phone. Oops - sorry she got married (nearly 20 years ago!)- she is now Cathy Casey.
Registration done I went over to where they take the photos with the runner holding their number. This would be used in the tracker so you can see the runner when you click their name. I had thought ahead about this and was wearing my DJ and bow tie hidden under my jacket, so I quickly slipped my jacket off and posed in my DJ with my number, much to the delight of the surrounding people. (They didn't actually use these pictures after all so what a waste eah?)

Then came the kit check. This was on a raffle system, you picked a ticket and either got to show some random items, or the whole caboodle. Luckily I just got a 3 item check, my first aid kit, waterproof over trousers, and hat. I Had a large tin of flapjacks I had made the previous day for this occasion, so I dug them out of my kit bag and gave it to my kit check person with instructions for him to share amongst the volunteers. I heard later that they had gone down a treat.

A few flapjacks left.

After my kit check I was good to go, so I grabbed my stuff and headed out into the cold. My next destination was the peak centre up the road where the safety briefing would be. My timings were spot on and I arrived just in time to be let in, and I made my way to the front row, I didn't want to miss anything now did I?

All keen, sitting on the front row.

The safety briefing included useful numbers to store in my phone, and other things to do or not to do if things didn't quite go to plan. All pretty standard stuff for me as my background of mountain life covered most of these anyway.

After the briefing I had booked myself into a simple training session which also covered some useful route notes, including where other people had gone wrong in the past. As usual people recognised me from FaceBook and I got several "Hello Chris" from strangers. Most embarrassing.

After this I was done. No more official stuff to do, so I set off in search of my accommodation, a lovely B&B called Stonecroft Guesthouse. I checked in and was led to my room, where I disgorged the contents of my kit bag and race pack all over the floor so I could properly sort out the kit and pack my pack.

All packed I then set off for some food. Heading down the icy path to The Ramblers Inn, it was a tricky task not to slip over and break something - a disaster indeed, but all was good and I made my way into the steamy bar where everyone was already there eating and drinking merrily. I ordered a fish pie and a pint of John Smiths and sat at a table in the corner. Then a loud voice from the other side shouted "Hey Chris, come and sit with us." This was Stuart Smith, one of the Safety coordinators and definitely a larger than life character. I squeezed in amongst them, and started chatting when I suddenly noticed the chap sitting opposite me was none other than Pavel Paloncy, a previous winner of the Spine race and an all time good bloke. A bit star struck, I was glad when my fish pie arrived and I could tuck in. 
Making my excuses I headed out into the cold and back to my room where I made some final kit tweaks before turning in for a very restless night before the big day tomorrow.

I woke for the 75th time that night and checked the time. It had not been the most restful of nights, and I was willing the hours and minutes by until it got to a semi reasonable time where I could get up and get ready to brave the elements.

6am arrived and I rose, showered, dressed, and exited, heading down to the start area and the hall where we would congregate prior to setting off. 
We got our GPS trackers attached to our race packs, so the race people and those at home could follow our every move. Then we just stood around nervously chatting and glancing at the clock on the wall waiting for 07:45 when we would be ushered out into the cold ready for the 08:00 start.

Finally, Father Time got a bit bored and signaled to the organisers that we aught to be on our way, so we were herded out of the warm hall and into the crisp morning gloom.

The weather forecast for today was very cold and crisp and it was true to its word. A heavy frost lay over the light covering of snow that was already there. We made our way over to the start area and waited for the off.

Eventually we got the final countdown and we were off - This is it, I am actually here and racing in the race that I had prepped for the whole year for. I had purposefully got myself near the back of the pack, I knew my race would be slow and that I would be one of the back markers so I saw no sense in getting in other faster runners way.
We set off up the hill in Edale, the air was cold, but there was the odd spit in the air. I was wearing my windproof shell at this point as I wanted maximum breathability, but as no rain was forecast this should be fine, Wrong! Within 30 minutes of the start it started sleeting really hard. I stopped behind the shelter of a wall (copied by many other runners) and donned my full waterproof gear.
The sleet quickly turned to snow and as we climbed higher full blizzard conditions arrived.Navigation in these conditions became "interesting" and I took a small detour before realising the rest of the field was heading in a different way, so about turn I went.

We continued over Kinder, the snow had abated a bit now but was a good 6 inches on the ground, with drifts of over 2 feet in places. The slabs over Featherbed moss were not visible, but it was obvious to me which way to go, being near the back of the pack I had plenty of foot prints to follow.

Over Snake Pass we went and I briefly stopped to put on my "Yaktracks" which would hopefully stop me from slipping so much. They worked really well but did keep moving around on my boots, requiring me to keep having to pause and re-position them. Over Bleaklow we went, stopping once to confirm the direction with my GPS as the way wasn't obvious in the snow, but all was ok and we were spot on.
I descended to Torside reservoir where the next small monitoring post was, I scrounged some water from a support crew as I had nearly ran out, and then continued on my way towards Black hill.

Climbing back up into the snow line, things were much the same as on Kinder, but no blizzard, just lovely snow and a crisp silence.

Over the top of Black hill I started the final descent towards Wessenden where Jeff and Cathy would be waiting for our first pit stop. I arrived at the road, I couldn't see them so I carried on assuming they were at the car park we had used on our recce weekend months before. I was powering along the road when I saw the familiar shape of Jeff calling me back. They were on the main road after all, just a bit along, so I cut the corner and headed back down to them.

Coming into the first crew stop at Wessenden.

Arriving at the van, I quickly sorted out what I wanted to do. A sock change, a bite to eat, replenish my food and water for the night ahead and to slip on another layer as the temperature was dropping. Then off into the night I went.

This next section was another load of high moorland. Still with snow on the ground, the going wasn't too bad, and the light from my head torch was magnified by the snow meaning I could have it on a lower setting to conserve the battery.

Dropping off the moor to the marshal point of Harrop dale, I just showed my number and blasted straight over and back up to the dark moorland. In my mind the next thing to look out for was the sharp left turn before the sweeping right towards the white house pub. Across the moorland I went, it seemed to be going on for ever, no landmarks as such, just a bleak snowy nothingness with a path in the middle.
I saw what looked like a large post up ahead. Ahh I thought, this must be the left turn, although the post must be new as I didn't remember it from the recce, but I suppose it is put there so people don't miss the turn. I carried on, the post kept drifting in and out of visibility in the dark misty air, dimly silhouetted against the dark sky. It didn't seem to be getting any nearer - it was just there in front of me but I could never reach it.
Eventually I went over a small crest of ground and the story was laid out in front of me. There was a car park, complete with mountain rescue monitoring crew, a burger van, the M62 in the background and what I thought was a marker post turned out to be the 300ft tall windy hill transmitter! 

Windy hill transmitter and car park (in the summer)

I rocked up at the car park, cursing my ageing memory, how could I forget the M62 crossing with its huge aerial? I stopped for a hot beverage at the burger van (a hot chocolate - yummy) and pressed on as quickly as I could.
Much of the snow was now gone, or very much on the way out, rapidly being replaced by treacherous ice, both water that had frozen, but also snow that had compacted down and made glassy smooth by the light rain that was now falling. Crossing the M62 over the purpose built footbridge, I was warned to keep to the left as this was less icy - it was still icy and I slipped my way across, but at least I was on the best side according to the people I met.

Up over the other side of the M62 I climbed up to Blackstone edge, a very rocky and confusing place in the dark, but managed to find my way down the other side, and eventually to the real sharp left turn that I had so longingly looked for earlier, following the path down and around, to the White House pub, out of bounds to Spiners, but in the car park I had another hot beverage supplied by the mountain rescue people manning this point (a hot blackcurrant juice if you are interested).

The next section was pretty flat as it skirts the reservoirs on the way to Stoodley pike, this was easy ground until the path peters out near the pike and you have to pick your own way up. I took a bit of a wrong turn here (or rather I didn't turn and went straight up) this was a mistake as it led to a 200 meter section of boggy, uneven ground. I hopped (as best I could) from tousle to tousle, trying to avoid the wet mess between them, to make matters worse some poor chap had followed me into this soggy place. I battled on, veering slightly right towards higher (and hopefully dryer) ground, glancing back it was clear my follower was checking his navigation. I should have but I knew if I could get above it things would improve, which indeed they did and I trotted off towards Stoodley pike monument which I could see looming in the distant darkness. I never saw my follower again, despite repeated glances back for his light.

All this soggy ground was starting to affect my feet. I could feel they were wet, I was pretty sure the boots had started to leak, especially the left one, although some wetness also seemed to be coming over the top of the boots. Having wet feet at this early stage wasn't great, but I would check them at the next crew meeting near the first main Checkpoint.

Descending into Hebden Bridge was uneventful (although I thought I had missed a turning and was cursing myself on now having to take a large detour along the road to regain the path), when I rounded the corner to see another mountain rescue monitoring point, it seems I was spot on again - awesome :-)

The climb up out of Hebden Bridge was quite intricate even though I had done it in the summer, and a bit of tricky navigating got me out onto the path across the fields, down the dip into the fairy glen, and then back over the fields onto the Slack road - at last I could turn off the Penning Way and head towards the main Checkpoint. I also knew Jeff and Cathy would be waiting along here so I could get re-fuelled and watered.

Arriving at the second crew point near Hebden Hey

Meeting up with them, I checked my feet. Sure enough they were very wet and showing signs of getting waterlogged. I knew Jeff had bought his boots along which were exactly the same as mine, so I asked if I could swap them over, which he had planned for anyway, so that's what I did.

I ate the KFC they had kindly got me from the valley, topped up my hill food, donned Jeff's less muddy boots and headed out towards the legendary descent into the checkpoint proper. Yes it was a bit muddy after it had been churned up by most of the field of runners before me, but it was fairly straight forward, right a bit, then a sharp left for a fair way (over a tree trunk and under some annoyingly sharp holly), then right, and then finally left into the scout centre.

As I wondered in they took my number and got my drop bag, I proceeded into the conservatory to remove my (now very muddy) boots and gaiters, which is the rules, then I pottered into the hall to the kit area.
In my head this was to be a large hall with kit bags everywhere, stuff disgorged from them and loads of people milling around sorting themselves out. Well that is partly correct, except replace the large hall with a small box room and you get the idea.
I balanced my kit bag on the top of a pile of 10 other kit bags, grabbed some socks and my foot powder and made my way to the mens loos to sort out my feet. They were getting bad with a deep fissure developing in my left foot between the ball of the foot and the rest. I rubbed powder into them and donned my dry socks, this should help I thought to myself. I then tried to go to the loo, but the double dose of Imodium was still staunchly doing its job, so I gave that up as a bad job (pun intended).
I downed a mug of strong coffee while having a quick chat with a couple of fellow racers, then grabbed my stuff and back to the conservatory to head out. I was in a bit of a quandary about how I would get into the muddy conservatory to get my boots on while in just my socks, but one of the helpers located my boots for me, and we laid out my gaiters like stepping stones with the clean side up, and I used them to get to a seat while keeping my socks dry. 

Complimented on my quick turnaround, I headed out into the night (this was about 04:30 Sunday morning by the way) and back up the muddy path with no dramas (although another racer did come a cropper at my feet as he descended rather quicker than he intended).

I headed back out onto the Slack road, past the van where Jeff and Cathy were snuggled up to sleep, and back onto the Pennine way.
The ground was now proper icy, hindering my every step, I was slipping and sliding all over the place, the stone slabs covered in a thick layer of glass-like ice. I descended slightly off this bit of moorland onto a very wet looking track - and Bam! I was on my back. It wasn't wet, it was a huge sheet of ice. I lay there for a couple of seconds, slightly winded, and checked for hurty bits, but I had landed on my pack which was fairly soft so everything seemed ok. Stumbling to my feet, my gloves now saturated and I could wring them out, I dug out my mitts and donned these instead.

Concentrating hard now so as not to slip over, I carried on my way. I recognised (only just) a bit where we had gone wrong due to too much chatting, and avoided that again, heading up past the obvious sign we had missed before. Now I was at the series of reservoirs heading towards Wadsworth moors and Withins Heights. I trotted along the path/track next to the reservoirs when there loomed out of the dark a track coming in on my left. Strange I thought, that shouldn't be there, so out came the map, and sure enough I was heading away from the correct path. Heading down this surprise path would mean I was back on track after a small detour so I followed it back down, and re-joined the Pennine way. A couple of smaller false paths eventually led to the correct path up into the moors.

As I rose again the path got increasingly icy, meaning I had to move much slower. I did think about putting on my ice spikes, but as the ice was intermittent with the stone slabs I thought it would take too much time taking them off and putting them back on again. With hindsight I should have just put them on and left them on, it would have been far safer and probably faster, but my thinking wasn't the most sensible of thinking after about 24 hours on the go.
Descending to Top Withens, the supposed sight of the house in Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, I paused on the bench outside to adjust my boots. My ankles had really started to hurt, Jeff's boots were obviously a different shape around the top, and my bony ankles were taking the brunt of it.

Dropping down to Ponden reservoir was uneventful as was the climb up the other side to cross Oakworth moor and Ickornshaw moor. These were both a mix of icy slabs and deep peat bogs. Several times I was up to my knees in the cold wet goo, but my momentum mainly got me free just as quickly. Descending from the moors into Cowling and farmers fields, the ground changed dramatically from peat moorland to cow churned fields, often plodding through endless fields of ankle deep mud, each step pulling you back, but at least it was daylight for a change so I could see where I was going.
Over one more hill and I was descending at last into Lothersdale which was the next meeting point for Jeff  and Cathy. I hobbled into the village as my ankles were really hurting now and there they were right by the pub, parked up and rearing to help and assist me.

Arriving in Lothersdale

They plied me with a bowl of chips, but they were quite dry to eat so I needed to sip water between each mouthful to get them down. I think I only managed about half of them.

I needed to sort out my feet now, there we no way I could carry on with Jeff's boots so opted to change back to my leaky ones. I changed socks again to prolong the dryness and did everything up, even now my ankle felt like it had more room to move. I would just have to put up with soggy feet for the rest of the race.

Changing my boots back to the more comfy ones.

Not wanting to waste any of the precious daylight I was keen to get moving as quickly as possible, so without any more delay I was up and out. A quick ascent onto Elslack moor and Pinhaw Beacon and then heading back down to Thornton-in-Craven. I passed a chap handing out quality street, but I declined as I just didn't fancy chocolate. It is very strange how my tastes changed at various times during the race. Things I loved before I just couldn't face, and I craved other things that normally I wouldn't choose to eat. The rehydrated meals for instance. Usually I would not go to these by choice, but every time Jeff and Cathy presented me with one it was very welcome, even if I couldn't handle the full meal.

Lots of very undulating fields and mud later I reached the canal, and then crossed more very muddy fields (the site of the muck spreading area in the summer) and then I was in to Gargrave. Mentally Gargrave was a huge target. It was at about the 72 mile mark, but the last recce we did went from Gargrave to the finish so this was very fresh in my mind. I had also thought before the race that if I got to Gargrave then I would finish the race. This was a great boost.

Arriving in Gargrave Jeff and Cathy met me again. This was a stop we had planned at the last minute due to possible road closures caused by snow. The road was open but they kept this meet up in as agreed just as a bonus. It was starting to get dark again now and as I left them (after another rehydrated meal) I suddenly remembered my little red lights on the back of my pack. I called back to the van feebly but they didn't hear me, not wanting to walk back in the wrong direction all of 50 feet, I said to myself forget it, and carried onwards.

Walking up the road out of Gargrave I came across another racer coming down the road in the opposite direction. She said her feet were in a bad way and couldn't continue, I sympathised with her, it certainly wasn't easy under foot, and this next section across the fields and along the river would not be any let up to the wetness under foot. We parted, me heading up and her heading down (I think this was Maxine Lock according to the retirement lists).
Making sure I didn't miss the elusive right turn into the fields that I had already completely missed once, and nearly missed a second time on the 2 recces that went across these fields, I then trudged across the next set of waterlogged fields. All signs of snow and ice had now gone, and we were treated to a persistent light drizzle, My waterproofs were doing their job though and I was perfectly comfortable in the cold wet darkness.
The river was very high and I could hear its rushing and gurgling noises in the darkness, a bit disconcerting when you cannot actually see the water. I knew this part quite well, but it is still a long drag into Malham village.

Straight through the village I went, without stopping and heading up towards Malham cove and eventually Malham tarn where we had previously arranged with Jeff and Cathy I would stop for a short sleep. Heading into Malham cove I was really starting to feel tired now. I was 38 hours and 78 miles in and things were really turning strange. Ascending the steps next to the cove, they seemed to go on for ever, and I had started to feel my right knee twinging a bit. I flexed it back and forward which relieved it a bit. It didn't help that my coordination was also beginning to suffer. I would step up a step or two, but then lose a bit of balance and was forced to step backwards and down, only to attempt the step again, a sort of up 2 steps and down one. I got to the top of the cove, and still had the brainpower to navigate my way behind the limestone pavement, avoiding the worst of the slippery limestone.

And then the hallucinations started kicking in...

I had heard about these from other blogs. When you get to extreme tiredness your mind starts to play tricks on you. I was fully expecting this so wasn't unduly worried when I started to see all sorts of objects in the stony track. All rocks or stones took on some form or other, a face, squirrels, an alligator, an owl, a lizard, I was sort of smiling to myself, wondering what would be next. Luckily they were all immobile and I knew what was happening, so no dramas.
Coordination was still an issue, couple this with a hurty knee and the hallucinations and things slowed somewhat for the last mile into the meeting place. It was very foggy now, but I knew the way without too much problem, and eventually emerged from the fog to the sight of the twinkling fairy lights that was our van.

I was welcomed into the confines of the van, muddy boots, gaiters and over-trousers off. I shoved some food down my throat and then got ready for some much needed sleep. I just took off my jacket and a fleece and dived into my sleeping bag. Set the alarm for one hour please and that was it, but as soon as I laid down I was racked with a coughing fit, some gunge had built up on my lungs with all the heavy cold air breathing, and was rattling about as I laid there. After several minutes of wheezing and coughing things got a bit better and I must have slept a bit.

Having a sleep. I am in there somewhere.

The alarm woke us with a start and I sprang up as refreshed as less than an hours sleep can make you. I donned all my clothing that I had removed and quickly exited the van - into the thickest fog I had seen for a while. Jeff pointed me in the right direction and off I went into the void, trusting my compass, GPS and the force.
I think I got a bit disorientated as I came across what I thought was a track coming up from the tarn (a track which wasn't there the last time we were there) and started following it to the right, but then just to be sure I checked the GPS and it was actually the track leading to the next checkpoint, and I needed to be heading in the opposite direction. I turned round and headed the other way, the force was screaming to me that it was the other way, Soon enough I came across the pile of logs that I knew where there from before so I knew for definite I was heading the right way.

Skirting round the tarn I eventually arrived at the next checkpoint. This was just a hall with hot drinks and a toilet, no sleeping facilities like the main one, but as I said, it had a toilet, time for another try. This was about 2am Monday morning and the Imodium had been doing its stuff for about 44 hours...

About a stone lighter I popped another couple of Imodium and some paracetamol for my feet, which were really starting to hurt now, and carried on into the night (after a sneaky coffee in the hall).

Not far out of the checkpoint Jeff and Cathy drove past on their way to the checkpoint, they had been asked to ferry a couple of retirees there as the mountain rescue people had to be elsewhere, so they obliged.

Leaving the road I started the long slog up Fountains fell. This is one of the longest climbs of the race, and doesn't it let you know that, it goes on for ever. Not far into the climb I saw 3 lights coming up fast behind me, these must be the leaders of the Full Spine race that had started the day after ours, what with me being near the back and the leaders moving really fast. They sped past me, but then I could see they were just "normal" people, maybe they had had a better kip than me because they were really flying.
I had gone a little bit astray at this point, and needed to follow a wall across the climb until I found the stile over it, by this time they were well in front, but I could see their lights which was handy as this bit can be a bit tricky navigationally.

Continue the climb, every now and again I saw a light up ahead from the people in front, either they were checking for followers, or they were helpfully shining a light back to aid followers (me) in this tricky ascent.
Rounding the summit I started the equally long descent to the road between Fountains Fell and Pen-Y-Ghent, the highest point on the race.
When I reached the road I met a camera crew who were eagerly awaiting the leaders - obviously they were not that far behind, but I had seen no more lights behind me since the speedy bunch had gone past, so they must still be fair distance away.

Trotting along the road, which seemed longer than I remember, I eventually started the climb up to Pen-Y-Ghent. This is quite a technical climb, certainly much more so then any other part of the race, It was still dark on the ascent, being 07:00 ish Monday morning.
Now the ascent is a bit of a scramble, but me with my rock climbing background shouldn't find this a problem, especially as I have done it a couple of times before, once at night, but when I hit the steep ground I was really struggling. Before the climb I was suffering from sleepiness again, but this soon woke me up. My problem was that I was still a bit shaky on coordination and still needing to take the odd step backwards like at Malham, and this was the last thing I wanted to do mid scramble in the dark, so I reverted to a sort of  kneeling, swimming, crawling gait as I ascended the rocky steps, poles dangling from my wrists and my bare hands making sure I had a proper grip on something before risking a step upwards. Being in this very unnatural position meant I missed the correct way up a couple of times so I really made a meal of it, but my mind was all over the place and I was playing for safety rather than speed.

Eventually I crawled over the last steep bit and arrived at the summit plateau, relieved that the technical bit was over I headed for the summit and the descent down the other side, a much safer rocky path, complete with hallucinogenic faces, lizards, alligators, squirrels etc.
I fired off a text to Cathy saying something about being asleep on my feet, hoping she would take the hint and get a coffee to me somehow. She replied with something like someone was heading up with a coffee. Great I thought and sped up downwards. It was getting light now so I could see the path disappearing into the distance, but nowhere could I see the coffee bearing superhero heading my way.
I skirted round a field full of old cars and vans (this may have been in my mind), and downwards towards Horton in Ribblesdale, the last proper civilization before the final leg to the finish.
Nearly at the bottom with no signs of coffee man, when round the corner stepped Cathy bearing a flask. Yes! I thought, caffeine. Nope - of all the things to put in a flask when meeting someone who was complaining of falling asleep while on his feet, and only having less than an hours kip in the last 48 hours, she had bought hot Ribena??!!

Ribena i ask you? really? Ribena?

I smiled at her, took a drink and sort of grinned a thank you through gritted teeth, but inwardly I was already drinking the coffee that would be waiting at the van - or at least there had better be.

Plodding into Horton, I quickly checked into the monitoring station and then carried on towards the van which was parked along the road a bit in the public toilet car park. The very same ones that saw me and Cathy have a cozy breakfast in a couple of months back.

Arriving at the van in Horton

I was quickly fed and watered, and then the talk settled on the final stretch. It was now about 09:45 Monday morning which meant I had about 10 hours left to cover about 15 miles. This could be a bit tight we thought. If I wanted a safety buffer to take in possible stumbles, getting lost, and the odd rest then I had "better get a wiggle on". Emotions were running high as I pulled out of the car park, now equipped with a coffee in my stomach, a goal in my heart, and a cheese and spinach quiche in my pocket.

Setting out from Horton, on a mission!

This was it, do or die (not literally), there was absolutely no way I was getting this far only to time out and not officially finish in within the 60 hour limit.
I blasted out of Horton (as mush as someone who has just covered 93 miles in 50 hours with less than an hours sleep, could "blast" ) and started the final climb up towards the Cam high road.

This stretch is mostly uphill. Imagine a number 7 lying on its face. You climb and climb and climb steadily up its long back until eventually you reach the top, then it is a very short but steep descent to the finish,
I started up the climb. As we were in Horton, two of the leaders of the full length race had come past,and now as I gained height the third place man shot past. I thought I was moving fast, but these guys were rocketing along, rounding a corner expecting to see him in the distance, he was just gone, nowhere to be seen, he was that quick.

I munched on the quiche as I climbed, it was very tasty and quite moist (I love that word), just what I needed as I couldn't manage anything dry without sipping copious amounts of water to help me chew. It was one of the only savoury things that I managed to completely finish.

Jeff and Cathy had mentioned a possible meeting up near the top of the Cam road, and as I got to the road I expected to see them, but no I was on my own. I had probably gone too fast and they were not expecting me there yet. I carried on, forever upwards, really beasting myself now. Imagine one of those army recruit documentaries where the evil corporal shouted at the slow recruit, "get a blinking move on you piece of ship" (or something like that), I was actually shouting at myself in the lonely misty wilderness that was this place (I checked first for people around me in earshot), marching up the hill, breaking out into short running bits where the gradient allowed, all the time coercing myself along with verbal abuse.

This bit of road was one of those magic "go on for ever" bits you sometimes find. Crossing a small brow in the climb thinking you were near the top, only to see it disappearing into the distance and knowing I had to cover that bit before finding out if it continued further over the next brow. There was not a person in sight and certainly no welcome van.

Climbing and climbing, I was tiring again and started craving my next caffeine hit, maybe it wont actually be until the finish now as I knew I was fast approaching a turn off marking the end of the cam road and the start of the final muddy stretch before the final steep descent to the finish.

Rounding another corner I suddenly made out the van in the distance, right on the above mentioned turn. Awesome I thought - I love them both.

Arriving at the impromptu meeting at the top of the Cam road

I downed the coffee they presented me as Jeff and Cathy marveled at the speed I had covered this last bit. I had a quick bite to eat, not wanting to waste any time I had made up. We had a quick rendition of our event song "Everything is awesome" from the lego movie, really just to pick up the team spirits, it was now nearly over, just about 7km left, half muddy track and half murderous descent.

I marched off into the mist, still speeding along as fast as my tired legs and painful feet could carry me.

The nice ground under foot was soon replaced with a muddy rutted path, deep puddles loomed, waiting to suck me in, but I was relentless, ploughing through everything, praying for the final descent and the finish. My mind started to drift, in and out of full consciousness, despite my forced pace my brain was still sleep deprived, and was doing everything in its power to force my body to stop and take a nap. Suddenly my feet slipped side-wards and I found myself sprawled out on the grassy bank next to the path. I had landed on my side and luckily had avoided any rocks and other nasties, to find myself in rather a comfy position. This was no good, sleeping here was not an option so I clambered back upright and carried on, and happily before long the final descent started.

Now 4km from the finish, I was on the final steep descent. It was relentless, navigation seemed trickier than the map suggested, I should be just following this wall and turning right when it finished, but I was making a right meal of it, getting stuck in boggy sections and needing to circumnavigate other seemingly impassible sections.

My mindset had now taken a huge leap of change. Where as before it was set on pushing on to ensure I would make the cut off in time, I now knew that pretty much whatever happened I had plenty of time to cover this last bit. That was it, my brain relaxed, its job done, and then the pain took over. It had nothing to stop it hurting now, before my brain was masking it to ensure I could carry on at speed, but with this taken away the pain just flooded in un-checked.

The pain was all in my feet. They had been swilling round in watery boots for about 75 miles, and were letting me know that they would be packing themselves to warmer sunnier climes if I did not do something about it soon.

At last, the final field arrived, but what a sting in the tail this was to be, checking the map, it is about half a km long, but is at what seems like a 45 degree angle and churned up with cow hoof prints and the foot prints of 100+ runners before me. Slip sliding down this with hurty feet took ages, and I cursed every moment of it, there was no easy way, it just had to be dealt with.

Breaking out onto the track at the bottom of the field was a relief (but negotiating the stile was interesting) and off I hobbled down the track, still descending steeply, but at least the ground was solid.
A few twists and turns through the village covering the last km, I at last hit the main road and turned left towards the market place and the finish line.

Jeff and Cathy came thundering up behind me, they had been waiting for me to arrive and nearly missed me, but they were here now, taking pictures of me arriving in the evening gloom.

Arriving in Hawes

I plodded along the final bit, a few people clapping as I approached the finish "line", which was a flag at the doorway of the market house, the hall where all our stuff was, as well as food, drinks and friendly people.

The finish line

That was it, I had finished. The relief was overwhelming, as well as the happiness and the knowledge that all that was left as recovery and memories.
I plonked myself down on a waiting chair and Cathy helped me (well actually completely took over) and removed my muddy boots over-trousers and gaiters, then I tottered into the hall to get my medal. I wasn't fussed about sitting down, or resting, or eating, or drinking, I just wanted that medal.

We went over to the medal area and the chap did the obligatory hand shake, medal round neck and photo, then we had a photo with the three of us, me in the middle sagging on tired legs.

Breaking up after the photos, I stumbled a bit, my legs getting the better of the argument to want to rest, Cathy caught me and I luckily remained upright. We went over to where they had plonked my kit bag and I proceeded to get myself sorted out before the drive to my bed.

A quick change of clothing and into something dry, then came the feet. I peeled off my socks to reveal some very sorry looking feet. They had been battered and tortured for 108 miles, 75 of which were while being wet, and they certainly told that story well enough just by looking at them.

I rubbed some foot powder on them as best I could, and then donned some dry socks and my comfy trainers.
Saying our goodbyes I hobbled out of the hall, at a quarter of the speed that I went in at. We walked the (what seemed like) mile to the van (it was only about 10 meters I think) and I climbed in. I really wanted to sleep now, but my brain must have been waking up a bit as it became suddenly very aware that Cathy who was driving probably hadn't had much sleep over the last few days either, and thus I was obliged to keep chatting to her in order to keep her from driving us into a ditch as she attempted to catch up on some overdue sleep.

We arrived at their house, a quick shower, some more foot powder and then a very welcome hot meal cooked by Cathy's husband Paul.

And then to bed.

To bed for a very fitful, sweaty, but long, oh so very long sleeeeeeeeep..........zzzz

A Charles Dickens quote comes to mind: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" but as I Googled the extract and continued to read the longer quote, more and more of it rang true. Here it is, it is from A Tale of Two Cities:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us".

This pretty much sums it up for me and I suspect most of the other racers that toed the line 2 weeks ago on their own adventures that are the Spine race series.

This third post in my trilogy of Spine Challenger blogs covers what came after the race. I will cover my physical and mental state, what went well, what didn't go well, my high points and my low points, and what I intend to change for next years assault on the full version.

I woke up in the middle of the night absolutely drenched. It was about midnight, and laying there the night after the race I started to think of what I could tell Paul & Cathy about the state of their bedding. I hadn't wet the bed, honestly, i was just sweating for England. I got up, mopped myself and the sheets as best I could with a towel and laid back down on a dryer area of the bed, and fell into an immediate sleep.
Waking further into the night, this time it appeared I had been moving about a bit in my sleep, instead of being the normal way in the bed with my head at the pillow end etc, i was at 90 degrees with my head pressed up against the side wall and my feet dangling over the other side of the bed. Again i was wet all over with sweat.
This pretty much summed up this first night, sweating, fitful mobile sleeping and frequent waking up.

Finally, giving up to wakefulness, I got up at 7ish and inspected the damage to my feet. They looked a whole lot better. The night before Cathy had given me a bottle of her finest moisturising cream, and a small tin of "badger butter" which was met with much mirth.
Before turning in I had spread both products liberally over my feet in an attempt to get them looking more human, and the combination had not done a bad job.

My foot the morning after.

Now that they were not all wrinkly and waterlogged I could see what was happening under the surface. I had a total of 8 blisters. The area between the ball of the foot and the rest of the foot was 2 blisters joined together in the middle, each little toe had a blister, one heel and one of my other toes also had one. They were not very deep and the skin had not broken so at this stage they were manageable.

I equipped myself with a needle, some antiseptic wipes and some loo roll and "dealt" with them as best I could, after which i could walk almost normally. 

Both ankles were very swollen. As Jeff pointed out I had a fine pair of "cankles" (yes I had to Google it as well), the left one was worse and was also bruised from wearing Jeff's boots when I did.

As far as my legs were concerned things were not too bad, my calf muscles were the worse, and my hip flexors also, but the rest of them felt fine, a little weak, but not at all bad considering the battering I had given them.
My shoulders were also quite sore. These lightweight race packs are all very well, but they are not very supportive and do rely on strong shoulders and back to hold them in shape. 
Luckily I had the foresight to have booked a massage the following day, and it was bliss, she ironed out the kinks in my legs shoulders and back, but I had to repeatedly tell her to stay away from the feet!

Two weeks on and most physical things have sorted themselves out. I still have a swollen and bruised left ankle, and two toes on this foot are without feeling. My blisters have all healed and I am shedding skin from my feet like a pet python going through a growth spurt. I am also still having the odd sweaty night. Interestingly I Googled this, It is hormonal, where during and after extreme exercise, hormone levels change to ramp up your metabolism and thus make energy resources more quickly available.

Mentally I am up and down. During the race was interesting. At no point in the race did I consider giving up, it just didn't enter my head. Sometimes during other events you sometimes get a niggle in the mind saying "is this all worth it?" but you dismiss it and carry on, but this time nothing, just a dogged mindset that I would complete it whatever. There were however two points during the race which were particular low points and I did consider the point that I may not be able to complete it. 

The first was during my sleep at Malham Tarn. My coughing fit and rattling lungs did get me seriously worried. I managed to cough up some very thick gungy stuff that once this was gone it did improve things somewhat, but during the coughing I was thinking that I may have picked up an infection in my lungs. Things were going through my mind, like seeing a medic at the next checkpoint that was just down the road, but they might retire me if it sounded bad. Once the alarm went and I got up (and thus upright) I had no rattling or coughing, so I thought no more about it.

The second was at Horton in Ribblesdale. Timings were getting tight. We worked out that I had about 10 hours left to cover 15 miles. This was too tight for comfort when you start allowing for getting lost, getting injured, having a rest etc, and the thought of getting timed out so close to the finish really affected me mentally. I rallied round and really bullied myself during the next section in order to regain a time buffer, but while we worked things out I (and I am sure Cathy and Jeff) were a bit worried that things were not as they should be.

Now I am mostly good. Walking about I keep inwardly smiling, thinking to myself that I had done it. I had finished the hardest race I had ever done. I am a champion, etc, but occasionally I think to myself that my next race is ages away, nearly a full year ahead of me with nothing but training runs with the occasional trip to the hills for a play, but it does seem a long way off. I may just book a couple of marathons to keep things ticking over...

My High points are easy. The start for one. I was happy just to be toeing the line with the other racers. It was cold and crisp, there was snow on the ground and I was fit and prepared for everything. 
Then there was the moorland after snake pass. The sun had come out, there was snow on the ground making the scenery most lovely.
And then of course there was the finish, always a high point in any race, but this one was special as I had my wonderful friends there to meet me. I couldn't have been happier.

My low points were definitely the two things I talked about above, my coughing at Malham and the time talks in Horton, but in addition to these has to be the final descent into Hawes when my brain relaxed and the pain really started to kick in.

What went well? Well firstly the fact that I was a supported runner with a support crew worked really well, the meeting places were perfectly distanced and I looked forward to each and every meeting. The whole crewing operation went so well I think I can say that without them I would not have finished.

Navigation went well also. This was one of my main worries, but the well trodden path, the lights of others and of course my maps and GPS all worked well together to mean that there was no point i was lost. I may have taken a wrong turning or two, but it was quickly rectified without much time wasted.

What did not go well? My footwear choice I think was the main thing. If I had just added some waterproof socks to my available kit I think the whole race would have been more comfortable.

What would I change? Just a few gear tweaks for next year. Different boots with a lower ankle and couple these with waterproof socks (including several spares) should do the trick feet wise.

My goggles were next to useless. I have taken advice and got some Bolle safety ones which several other racers had and they were impressed.

Food - more wet stuff. Trying to eat bread rolls was hard work when your mouth is dry from all the heavy breathing. I think lots of different snacks for the hills and good wet meals for the checkpoints or crew meetings will be the best option for me.

Other than that the rest of the kit performed very well which is good as it means less frantic gear searches as the race next year looms.

All it leaves now is to thank everyone involved in the build up and during the weekend of the race.

Firstly I want to thank the organisers for putting on a fantastic race with some of the best organisation I have ever experiences in a race. Not only the people you see, like the marshals and the CP staff, but also the people you don't, like the ones who ship the kit bags from the start to each checkpoint and then to the finish. Great work chaps.

Then I have to thank Jeff and Cathy for their amazing job at crewing me in the race. They went beyond what i expected of them, they were totally focussed on getting me to the finish. I also need to thank Paul, Cathy's husband, who moved things about and looked after the kids to ensure Cathy could accompany me on my training weekends and the race.

Lastly I have to thank my long suffering wife Lesley. I know I obsess about things, I cant help it, it is what I do, and you must have had an awful year with me going on and on about this race. I will try to keep it off the topic of conversation as much as I can this year. But without your supporting me when I do stuff like this, well it would just not be good...

I hope all the worry you go through when I am out in the hills was worth it when I came home brandishing my new medal and a massive grin on my face. xxx