Before
Christmas and New Year passed in a blur and it’s race week – finally. It had been 15 weeks since I had finally committed to this race and it definitely didn’t feel long enough to prepare, despite the assurances of my optimistic teenage daughter. Acknowledging that my priorities for training had become rather skewed vs life of a busy working mum, and listening to friends experiences with a coach, enter Kev from Evolve Coaching. Whilst not the distance of the ‘Full Spine’, it was still 160 miles of trucking through rough terrain, in Winter, with a full pack. Many years of long distance hiking, ultra distance trail races, sky races and mountain marathons still hadn’t extended into races more than two days. I think 38 hours was the longest I had spent on my feet continuously to date, and that was in summer with endless daylight.
Coaching was a revelation. Being accountable made me prioritise in a way I hadn’t done for a while. I’d always felt that having a coach is only for the elite and seriously competitive, but there is much to be gained from sessions designed to fit round ‘my’ life and the needs of my body. In the months running up to the race I covered more miles than I had done in months, the training was all about endurance so my speed wasn’t taking any great upturns, but I didn’t need speed for this. Christmas was tricky, there was much procrastination over the final long run, I was tired physically and mentally, but ultimately it was the best way to spend Christmas day, in my favourite forest, sandwiched between Festive feasts with my favourite people.
Post-Christmas the pile of kit in the back room increased as I tried to reduce the size of my inbox at work. Off to Tesco’s for the last minute food stocks to fuel me – stollen, eccles cakes, peanut M&Ms, salted peanuts, cheese, and dehydrated mini pasta soups to go with my calorie dense Christmas cake I’d made. Domestic logistics in place – the boy teen was drifting around not yet back to uni, the girl teen had a week of prelims ahead, and while she seemed to have it all in hand, I’m always so grateful for my fabulous friends who calmly and quietly support in the background enabling me to run away on an adventure with a little less stress. Race adventures are never just packing my bag and walking out the door, but this race had me in a proper meltdown tail spin!
Travel logistics from the NE of Scotland are epic, particularly in Winter. But a Facebook post just weeks earlier revealed the generosity of Richard ‘tricky’ McGrath who not only lived in NE Scotland but was also heading down to volunteer for the race. His offer of a lift was a gift and partner Jon dropped me and my bags off with Richard on Friday morning in Huntly. We chatted our way South, eventually depositing me outside The Fountains Hotel in Hawes early evening. For once I had managed to arrive more than late the day before the race started, I felt exhausted from all the logistics.
Saturday came with typical Spine weather in a region already saturated from endless days of rain, and today brought a strong cold wind and sleet and I thought of the Challenger South runners setting off on their journey this morning. In the breakfast room I found other racers and the easy banter of the Irish crew definitely helped calm me. Hawes High St has a few shops of note, Cunninghams was doing a fine trade in panic purchases of extra gloves, and the chemist for foot supplies. Entry to the race comes with an extensive kit list; Lindley Chambers, who compiles the kit list, does a fantastic job of putting together a pack explaining the will pass/won’t pass, while patiently answering the endless kit queries. I used pretty much everything I carried, you need the kit and it has to work. I already had much of what I needed but it’s amazing what you decide you absolutely ‘must’ have in the final days pre-race.
I spent the afternoon hunched on the floor fine-tuning the bag that would move Northwards through the main checkpoints of Middleton-on-Teesdale (54 km), Alston (64.5 km), Greenhead (64.7 km) and the finish (67 km). The hunching wasn’t a clever move and my back went into an interesting spasm, which was as much about me being really stressed than anything else. With a 20kg weight limit for this bag I think I ended up with about 17kg. My 3000 calorie food supplies were separated into large clear food bags, marked with their calorie content, the rest: bivy bag, sleeping bag, sleep mat, stove, waterproofs and spare layering that’s carried throughout, went into a large IKEA bag for ease at kit check. Full pack, including food and water, a front pouch for essentials and a bum bag with ‘on the go’ food supplies was likely 10kg overall.
That night I dined with Katy Boocock and her husband Peter who popped up with his camera and video kit at random points throughout the week. I first met Katy in the summer as part of a Women’s Veteran Munro Relay (a proper crazy and inspiring adventure). She was heavily involved in the Northernmost sections of this challenge and I joined for a weekend. Taking part was definitely the catalyst for applying for this race. Standing on the slopes of Sgúrr na Sígne, in the middle of the night, hunting down the summit, in pouring rain and a howling gale, I was buzzing! I spotted Katy’s name on the race roster and met a couple of times before the race, getting to know each other a little. In November we had clambered in the Northern Corries of the Cairngorms, in storm force winds and snow, a perfect pre-race taster! As we ate and chatted about how we thought the race might pan out, we considered the idea of travelling together, the thought of sharing long days and nights with a kindred spirit sounded way more fun, but I vocalised some clear concerns that Katy was both fitter and faster, our pacing may not match. She was certainly outwardly a whole lot more calm and collected about what was ahead! The last thing I wanted was to hold her back and put extra pressure on myself. More food and a medicinal glass of wine, then it was time for my last sleep in a proper bed for a few nights. Predictably it was not restful but my bed was comfy and eventually I slept.
Race Day
Race day was an ultra in itself with the start not until 6pm, but with kit check slots spread between 10am and 4pm, for many of us that was a lot of time to be spent hanging around with nowhere to go – the YHA was OOB aside from for kit check. I had a 10-12 am slot, but the host at Katy’s B&B very kindly opened up their wee resident lounge, a calm space, for the final kit packing. My Montane 20+ race vest required a bit of precision packing but it sat well and I didn’t feel too overloaded, which as a smaller framed person is a definite consideration with all the kit.
Everything passed, the lady doing the check and I had a great chat about the joys of menopause, and how for me, this was a bit of an experiment as to whether the generally sore and grumpy body could handle this stuff still. What I’d taken for granted a few years earlier, filled me with anxiety regularly, and things definitely hurt more, and with unpredictable energy levels. I convincingly powered up my handheld GPS device, loaded maps and showed I could summon up a grid reference. I don’t use this sort of kit in the hills at all, much more at home with map and compass and a back-up of OS maps on the phone. But handheld devices are on the MUST HAVE list due to the mostly unpleasant weather – phones generally won’t hold their charge and wearing many layers means manipulating a handheld device is easier. I’d loaded the GPX files onto the gps device, watch and phone, as well as carrying the required maps and a compass so I knew I was covered whatever I decided to use! Mostly I used my Garmin 945 watch. Next up was tracker fitting – so the Spine safety team and you could all follow my dot!
At 5pm Peter ferried us and our bags back to the YHA for the race briefing before we were loaded into minibuses for the short trip to the start in a field at Hardraw. We were last to be ferried and it was a sprint to make the start line! The forecast predicted a cold night with chilly winds and a ‘feels like’ temperature on Great Shunner Fell of -15. It was stunning as we stood under the illuminated arch, 3-2-1 we were GO!
Start (Hardraw) – Checkpoint 1 (Middleton-in-Teesdale) 54.2 km + 1643m (Sunday)
The first significant landmark is Great Shunner Fell, upwards from the off. I have run up here before, in summer and unencumbered by winter layers. This time it was a yomp; on fresh legs with the wind on our backs. My heartrate felt too high and I was overheating, the culmination of a week of stress finally releasing now I was on the trail, layers were removed. Those early kms were sociable, head torches slowly spreading out along the trail and the rear mounted, small red flashing light blinked comfortingly. Later in the race spotting a little red light ahead made you feel less alone. From the back Katy and I moved steadily, overtaking in places, soon past the summit shelter and descending. It was seriously icy and the snow didn’t really offer much braking, I was so glad of the ‘dobs’ on the bottom of my running boots. Arriving upright at the bottom it’s into Thwaite, pause to locate the easily missed gate, contouring round Kisdon Hill on fun wee trails with a steep drop to our right and boulders scattering the way. Through Keld, no pausing, all eyes are on Tan Hill. It’s the highest pub in England and a monitoring station with refreshments, but a time limit of 30 minutes, also the first item on our ‘Spine Race Experience’ Bingo card we were mentally ticking off!
Tan Hill appeared quite suddenly. Registering outside we head into a welcoming space nothing like the vague description of a function room out the back. With mood lighting, squishy leather sofas, and open fires you might never leave!! And everyone is so kind, our first taste of the ‘Spine Family’ vibe. I needed to make adjustments to my left ankle – the elastic cuff of my boot was chafing – scissors sorted that as I warily perched on the arm of said squishy sofa – Beware the Chair! We also sniff out the chance of a cuppa, everything’s better with tea! But now it’s time to hit Sleightholme Moor. It gets a bad rap, with recent rain plus the addition of a new sink hole bang on the trail soon after the Inn, we were not feeling the joy. I was pleasantly surprised, yes it was boggy, and wet, and the wet was freezing cold wet, but I didn’t encounter any of the bouncing bog in the pre-race videos, neither of us went into the body-encompassing sinkhole and we navigated across efficiently. My feet clad in GoreTex footwear and long waterproof socks were warm, I was happy.
Off the bog, and under the A67. The weather was still dry, but infinitely colder, the wind more pronounced. We passed time with a couple of guys from the US, with just 13 km left on this section, we were safe in the knowledge we were well ahead of the 24 hr cut-off for CP1. It feels like the race warm-up, at least 10 km shorter than the following legs and less challenges overall, with fresh legs. The only mild niggle was a physical one starting to manifest, an on/off right hip niggle I’ve had for years but I pushed it to the back of my mind. We walked into Middleham-on-Teesdale just before 7am, it had begun to snow and was just getting light.
We were immediately greeted and registered, poles and footwear tagged and stored. Then into the main hall, to a chair with our drop bags waiting for us, fabulous efficiency. Everything designed to support you and keep you moving forward.
While removing socks I’m offered tea and toast and I realise I’m starving. Then they start to gently question – do I have a plan? Am I planning to sleep? Do I want hot food yet? The questions befuddle my brain and remind me of the list in the lid of my drop bag, my checkpoint plan. First, charge devices; with an extremely overloaded looking plug/socket/cable jumble in the dining room I’m better off using the large power pack in my drop bag. I know nothing will be unplugged and it’s easily located. I change layers and socks, top up food supplies and swap out the dobs for my Topo shoes – more toe wiggle room but still a decent grip on ice and snow. My feet are good so hot food is next, the Chicken Curry barely touches the sides. Then it’s back to sorting out my drop bag and race pack. Despite my doubts about holding Katy back, we are already an efficient nav team and enjoying getting to know each other so we plan to press on together. Ahead of the cut-offs and with a long tough leg ahead we opt for a short snooze now, knowing there is plenty of daylight ahead. In a near-empty bunkroom I curled up in my silk sleeping bag liner packed for checkpoint sleeps, and fell into a deep doze, waking up with a start just 30 minutes later. I had another massive kit faff to leave which I probably didn’t need but I just could not engage my brain and felt inexplicably emotional and tearful. The pre-departure kit check asked for ice spikes and goggles; with the next section all about ice and snow taking in Cauldrons Snout, High Cup Nick and Cross Fell in bitterly cold conditions.
Middleton-in-Teesdale – Alston, 64.5km + 1893m (Monday)
Two and a half hours after arrival, we’re back out in a winter wonderland. What a day, blue skies, sunshine and snow underfoot, it’s stunning, and I cannot believe how lucky we are. The route to High Cup Nick snakes along the valley on a trail of fresh grippy snow. We yomp with Phil whom we’d played leap-frog during the night, easily identifiable by his distinctive rucksack. Strange hours you pass with strangers, sharing nuggets of your life, never to see them again. Entering Upper Teesdale there are picture boards explaining the landscape, we pause to read and I feel briefly like I’m out on a glorious day hike! There are shoe brushes to keep soil contamination to a minimum. Past Low Force the path climbs, becoming more rugged, but after the boggy moorlands it’s welcome. High Force can be heard roaring before it comes into sight and the trail criss-crosses Maize Beck as it ascends, a few more Challenger North-ers appear sharing words and smiles.
I’ve been ignoring the hip flexor, but it’s filling my ears with negative whispers and I start to wrestle with my head and Cauldrons Snout still hasn’t appeared!! Paracetamol takes the edge off and I focus on the beauty of the landscape, one of the reasons I wanted to do this Northern race, to cross these very landmarks. My dad particularly is in my thoughts – he is passionate about this area, it being part of adventures from his youth; I know he will be following my dot with OS maps strewn across the table.
Initially the boulder fields of Maize Beck are easily negotiated, nothing worse than you’ll find in the Northern corries at home, but by Falcon Clints, the ice makes it trickier. Finally Cauldron’s Snout appears – a thundering, dirty cream cloud of liquid and spray pouring over the rocks. To the right lies the scramble up the side and I look at this with relish despite my body woes. I love scrambling and this fills me with a happy buzz. At the top, Katy is waiting with Harriet and they give me a rallying boost while we add layers and shove in food with mitt-clad hands. The sun sets as we head for High Cup Nick. There’s a lot more snow up here, it’s hard work but fun crunching through it. This is a GPS dead zone, the trackers won’t work and there is to be no stopping. The main trail splits off into a few wee trods on the plateau and it’s seriously icy but we pick our way through and are treated to the most stunning sunset with sweeping views over the edge of the ‘Nick’. I still can’t believe this, truly spoiled, rather than tentatively navigating it in the dark as others will.
The descent to Dufton goes on a bit in fast fading light, the head torch is out and there is a small group of us spread out along here. It’s icy going so concentration is needed but my hip woes are distracting me properly now, is this a deal-breaker? I march onwards having a bit of an angry stomp of sheer frustration at feeling so strong and fit but being sidelined by a niggle that never whimpered in training!
Dufton is a 30 minute monitoring station with hot drinks. We pass The Post Box Pantry, one of a few places along the route embracing the race and its competitors. Open 24 hrs there is hot food, but we avoid it, worried we might struggle to leave promptly, whereas we know we will get kicked out of the CP!! The CP is warm and there is tea and cuppa soup available. I have sore toes I want to check but getting shoes off is a challenge with frozen laces that have lumps of ice on them. The endlessly kind and patient checkpoint helpers supply warm water to melt the ice. I didn’t quite expect the very tasty looking blister bubble on the nail bed of my left toe :-O. So tasty looking a few swooped in to photograph!! I chat with a medic, deciding I’ll drain it and they help me tape it effectively. We also have a chat about the hip, I’ve texted Jon with my woes, he’s obviously watching my dot because he replies and leaves a voicemail (which I don’t listen to in case it makes me cry) and I decide, with the offer of some Ibuprofen, that I’m going to press on to Alston, remembering this race can only be One Step, One Section. I hadn’t expected to be reminding myself of this until much later in the race, but nothing is predictable here and I am nothing if not bloody stubborn! Meanwhile the angel-like volunteers are plying us with more tea, and kicking us out the door. Cross Fell is calling.
We head directly to the public loos in Dufton to dip into our own hot food rations. This is a Spine ‘thing’, if you are really lucky you get to sleep in them too, it’s all so classy! The two American guys from earlier are here, one drops out but Ed is keen to continue and joins our little party. In a complete turnabout I feel totally energised, Katy is ahead but I’m hard on her heels with Ed bringing up the rear, and despite the climb there is a fair bit of chat. Upwards into the deeper snow we meet a couple of other groups and become quite the merry band. The wind picks up and the calm becomes blizzard so we pause to dig out goggles. I am ridiculously pleased with mine – £10, clear lens, safety goggles off Amazon. The effect is transformative and they fit perfectly over my glasses. You can concentrate more easily and feel slightly shut out from the weather as it blasts at you. It feels really crazy up here right now, exhilarating and I’d be disappointed if it was calm and tranquil!!
The climb to the summit of Cross Fell is endless; despite scrutinising it on the maps before the race, I’ve lost sight of that imagery. It’s dark, the wind is howling and the snow is whirling around you, all you can see is the column of your torch beam, the exhilaration wanes to be replaced by grumbles and swearing. We plod and I have a little cavalry behind me that seem to like my pace: Green Fell, lose height, Great Dun Fell, drop a bit, Little Dun Fell, drop again – clearly NOT on Cross Fell yet then, still can’t see anything, just footsteps in the snow, thigh deep in places sometimes I stumble sideways. But finally we are climbing towards the summit and I can just about pick out the wall of the cairn which I’m ridiculously excited to reach. We are covered in rime and our goggles are frozen to our faces. Just over a km away is the chilli noodle haven of Greg’s Hut so we don’t hang around. This is a big tick off the Spine Bingo card and soon enough we can see the lights shining through the icy gloom. It’s busy there, but the thought of a hot drink and noodles before we make the final push down to Alston some 20+ kms away is uplifting. We are warmly welcomed, given seats, orders taken – I admire anyone trying to get a sensible answer from frozen weary Spine racers! Is that 3 or 4 teas? 3? no 4? We play musical chairs with seating in the two rooms, taking turns to sit near the fire. On a sleeping platform in the corner lie three competitors in a bad way, a sombre reminder that most of us were only a short step from hypothermia should something go wrong and very grateful to the team in the hut for being there.
We can’t linger, we’re all slightly defrosted and warmed up, but the melted ice makes your clothes all damp and I’m actually starting to chill down and stiffen up; we need to get to Alston. The wind feels extra cold and there is absolutely nowhere to hide from it, Katy and I have a bit of a moment and depart doing the conga much to the bemusement of the others, we sing for a while and then acknowledge that knowing one line isn’t going to get us far!! The wind chases us off the hill seeking chinks in damp layers, the goggles stay on and the Corpse Road feels an apt name for the track. Still dark it feels like forever before we actually stop circling the hill and descend to Garigill. We are still the group that was on the summit and we help each other over the many stiles in the dark. Stiles are a huge part of this route, some are designed with extreme care and precision, others barely held together with bits of barbed wire and string, but for the entire race they were all covered in a veneer of ice making them a risky proposition for stiff-legged racers. In Garrigill the large group breaks up, some are enticed into a kitchen for food, we decline, spurred on by the words ‘it’s just four miles to Alston’. The longest 4 miles ever and I hit a new issue – actual sleep walking. I try so hard to keep my eyes open but still my eyelids drift downwards. Shovelling in food from my chest pouch seems to work and convinces my brain I’m awake. It feels like we are staggering our way towards Alston, the route feels fiddly and we are all so tired it feels like we are going in circles. There is some sleep deprived arguing about the route, with devices apparently giving different directions, but Katy and I plod on single-mindedly and Ed keeps tag behind us.
At last, thank god the YHA. The same routine: poles are tagged and stowed – along with their ice balls, shoes now tricky with frozen laces are eventually removed and we emerge into a checkpoint that feels way busier than Middleton. It’s overwhelming and I feel stressed, but I am assigned a chair and my dropbag is found. Hiding in a corner I attempt to focus, Phil from earlier in the day is there and we both wonder if sleeping in a corner by our bag is an option. It’s not, so as before, I change base layers and socks and consume tea, toast and jam. Here we are asked to sort our race packs and drop bags before we sleep, but that feels beyond me until I’ve slept. I’ve been allocated a bunk which is fab, but between some CP team stress that’s going on, and my inability to locate my bunk in a dark room, it’s all feeling too much but I’m soon sorted and fall into a heavy doze, alarm set for an hour. I wake shortly before that and have a quick browse at messages then it’s time to get my shit together. Tuesday morning and I’ve been on the go since 6pm Sunday on 1 1⁄2 hours of sleep! There are hot showers here and it occurred to me this would be good. I wouldn’t say I felt a new woman but with clean teeth it was almost a miracle.
Back downstairs after confessing to abandoning my kit in a pile, it was located stashed in dustbin bags by the kind team and I got on with organising myself, and also spotted a wide awake Katy raring to go. I felt far from efficient but actually I did OK. My portion of the infamous Lasagne barely hit the sides, with hindsight I should have asked for more but it was so overwhelmingly busy in here that it felt like a battle too far. Next up feet, I had a similar bubble blister on the right big toe – matching, so pretty!! (I later identified this as a newer version of tried and tested waterproof socks with a seam in a stupid place! – test everything even if they are like for like). So both toes were drained and re-patched. Whilst the right hip was a dull constant ache to be ignored, I now had very audible creaking coming from the back of my left knee, plus my feet, ankles and lower legs were swelling, something I’ve never suffered from before. All collateral damage to be ignored! I’m now in that place where I will push my body as far as I need to and deal with the fallout afters!! Eventually I’m all sorted, Katy is ready, kit check done (bivy kit and stove), we were out on the trail again.
Alston – Bellingham, 65km + 1800m (Tuesday)
We’re out in daylight again, it’s before midday so this is good for the body clock. Ed was keen to join us again and was planning to catch us up, sadly we never saw him and later discovered he had dropped at Alston. I hadn’t been looking forward to this section at all from my map-geeking pre race, despite the motivational chat at the CP that it was easier – no big climbs – there was a lot of low-level fiddly path swapping. But it was another stunning day, sunshine with a few more clouds. well below zero so I’m wearing gloves inside some very old Phoenix ski mitts, two thermal base layers, a mid-thermal layer plus primaloft jacket and my waterproof. I’ve got two pairs of winter tights on. The bonus is that the boggy fields were partially frozen saving on foot-sucking, but frozen rutted ground is harsh on battered feet, and the water in the bogs still freezes your feet. It was definitely a double-act on the navigation. We are well and truly a team, little things like helping put in/get things out of packs, opening food wrappers, helping each other on the endless stiles, all with humour and care. Lambley Common felt particularly soul-sucking, also frozen foot sucking. But there were highlights too. I can’t remember names, but we were greeted by a guy hunting down Damian Hall with a cup of tea. His wife was in a camper at the roadside and plied us with tea and sandwiches with homemade chutney (how British, how wonderful), along with some much-needed girl power, morale boosting chat.
More random trail, some of it really not clear, a sign-post through someone’s garden and their squawking hens, over a stile into their scrapheap and then onto Hartleyburn Common which becomes the infamous Blenkinsopp Common. We know that Damian is on our shoulder somewhere and frequently cast our eyes back to see if we can spot him. On the plod up Wain Rigg he passes us and we exchange our joy (lack of) of this place, and then he is away. I watch his quick, efficient stride with envy, in the knowledge he has covered many more miles than me and wish I had just some of his finesse! Blenkinsop is hell, you could die here and never be found, with little signage, random tracks through the bog and the occasional duckboard. No joy here. I spend a lot of time cursing at the lack of signage while trying to power along with my plod plod plod – my poles are my saviours, and Katy is a fair bit ahead feeling just as joyless, but she’s off track and I’m yelling loudly to call her back. Back together, ‘just get us off here’ she cries and on we go as darkness chases us off that moor.
We reach the A69 feeling happier although neither of us are feeling up to a speedy dash through fast moving traffic. On the other side we find the legend that is Joe Faulkner with gruff words of encouragement and a flask of hot sugared tea, we left him with an empty flask (sorry Jack!) but a renewed spring in our step as we finally headed to The Wall. More treats were in store at Greenhead Car Park, first we’re met by the Spine Team, checking us in; but Katie is trying to explain there is a friend called Jodie here to see me – I look blankly, who? OMG, I must be tired, I’ve spent a fair few hours on the trail with Jodie, how did I not know given she lives not far from here!! The penny drops and there are tearful hugs. Greenhead is not a checkpoint but there are lit, heated public loos 😃 More hot food in a public loo! We tentatively open the door to the ladies, in case it’s already full with sleeping runners. We are in luck, just one other person – empty except for kit belonging to Yvonne, but she’s next door sharing her vegan fare with Damian H. Yvonne, Katy and I sit on the floor together prepping for the next section – 13 kms along Hadrian’s Wall. It felt too early to sleep so re-fuelled on noodles and hot chocolate, Katy and I are off.
In the dark it’s tricky to locate the start of the trail on the wall but after a couple of false starts we’re on it. The line is direct hereon in, following every undulation. I’ve been warned about this, stick to the exact line or risk time penalties so we crawl along the contours. A blizzard whirls in and we are briefly back on Cross Fell. It’s pretty cool following the wall but I was not in love with those contours, all covered in snow and ice. There are toilets just after Great Chesters, they look quite cosy but still it feels too early to rest. Always the balance between pushing onwards or rest to re-energise. A flatter few kms allows us to speed hike and chat, marvel at the solitude and complete lack of light pollution. I’m foolishly excited by the sight of a map of the Roman fort on our left when it appears on my watch – it’s the little things!! At some point we are on higher ground again, Jack passes us, like Damian, moving with easy efficiency, but soon he is jogging back towards us, he has a problem with his torch charging pack and there are at least four more hours of darkness ahead. The quick solution is that Katy digs out one of her many spare torches to loan him; he’s delighted, ‘everyone needs a mum on the wall’ he claims as he skips off … How old do we feel!?? The next road crossing brings more cheery Spine Safety Team and a welfare check. We’re moving well, it’s all good, but the trail is a bit bumpy ahead … Bit Bumpy is an understatement. The steep climbs appear again and we pass Sycamore Gap. I never suffer from vertigo on rock but at one point I am at the top of yet another climb, eying the iced up descent with concern I’ll end up at the bottom in a heap, I am done with this wall and very tired!!
FInally we departed the wall, crossing bog to reach the forest to at last search for shelter to sleep. Still windy, and sub-zero – I’ve been storing my snickers in my crop top in order to keep them just soft enough to eat and my water bottle contains slush. Katy spots some low lying branches, clear of snow and carpeted with pine needles – bliss. There is much excitement that we’re ticking off the ‘sleep in bivy bag’ on the Bingo card and Katy can test her new sleeping bag. I love that we are still able to find fun and humour in this very surreal adventure! Alarms are set for an hour’s time and I message HQ to let them know we are sleeping ‘OK, we have your location, Stay Warm’. Friends have been messaging encouragement and I update a couple on the bivy excitement. In my bag I’m warm to start and fall into a snooze but I slide off my mat and wake up cold after probably 30 or 40 minutes. Time to get going, now chilled to the bone my body is very confused. In an attempt to get warm I look for my over trousers, nope, not there. They must have fallen out as I crossed a stile or something! Bugger. Need to think, I remember the foil blanket from our kit – I can fashion a wrap-around skirt instead. It’s actually a genius idea and whilst looking very ridiculous, generated impressive instant heat until I could access my spares in my drop bag.
We’re now on a diversion to avoid the storm damage from last year’s Storm Arwen. Underfoot is firm, and despite great swathes of ice and the odd waterlogged bit of forest road, it’s faster moving terrain and we are recharged by our snooze. Our next target is Horneystead farm and for a while I feel good. You can see the lights from some distance but it takes forever to reach the steep, confusing climb to its door. God knows what I looked like at this point, my knees hurt descending, and my battered feet on frozen ground are so sore, I’m wearing a foil blanket skirt like the latest catwalk wear, and I’ve covered 170 km which is now the furthest I’ve raced ever! Horneystead Farm is an oasis of warmth and good cheer. There are some Spine support team, Yvonne who obviously passed us as we slept, plus the amazing Helen and her family (dogs, children). We’re handed hot tea and bacon rolls – oh god, it’s so good but we cannot daly, ignoring the comfy bed in the corner where Yvonne has settled. It’s 5-6 miles to Bellingham in daylight which helps enormously. We have a very surreal conversation with a woman at a farm we pass, and I recall some short sharp climbs with amazing views that are probably usually a bog fest, but happily frozen for us. We arrived at Bellingham about 10.15am, I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking with my eyes open since we left the farm.
Arriving here, it’s the usual kit routine and everything is iced up. Bellingham feels much calmer than Alston – thank god! The sleep space gets a bad rap as a fridge, but I love Bellingham – we have space and it just feels calm. Richard is also working here. His motivational chat from Sunday, that he would see me in Bellingham definitely added to the little motivators spurring me onwards. Over the last 24 hours we’ve been leap-frogging with a couple of the Irish lads and Les appears soon after we arrive and we have a bit of chat which helps me feel al ittle more human. Electronics on charge I get stuck into eating, determined to eat more food than at Alston, two portions of toast and jam, French Toast – awesome! Followed by a portion of stew. Still ahead of the cut-offs, we agreed to take the time for sleep. I braced myself for ‘The Fridge’, I was a bit worried about my left knee/calf which seemed even more swollen, but knew that if I could get my legs raised for a while it would help. Putting on almost all my clothing for the next section, I found a sofa and draped my legs up on the arm and slept like a baby! I guess I had about an hour and blearily appeared in the main room to find Katy up and sorted. More toast and jam for me plus final kit tweaks. Out came the 24 year-old Buffalo smock top, much loved it still works. I swapped out my Montane pack for a slightly roomier old OMM one where packing could be less precise. The fit isn’t great, nor the bottle set-up, but stashing a large squashy Platypus bottle in the front of my buffalo smock worked and it didn’t freeze. The ability to improvise while sleep deprived is an essential skill! Kit check for here was all about food – the 3000 calories, as the next leg was long and remote. I was utterly sick of my Christmas cake by now but with so many calories it came with me.
Bellingham – The Finish, 67km + 2000m (Wednesday afternoon)
It’s about 4pm as we head through Bellingham there are still shops open – this is a novelty as virtually nothing has been open so far en route. A pie from the pie shop gives another Bingo tick! Then it’s up onto the moors and the bogs of Highstead. The leading lady for the Full Spine skips past with a friendly wave, her flashing red light soon a distant glow. Troughend Common is unpleasant – more bog with a shocking path. Some of this is the worst of Storm Arwen but it’s just bewilderingly awful! We reach Kielder Forest at dark. I’ve had an obsession with head torch power throughout the race, travelling with two head torches, a battery pack and a lithium battery for one of the torches, plus a handheld torch. Much like the Bellingham stretch, there will be lots of darkness – maybe 16 hours, but that it could be the last overnight of the race is a pretty compelling thought and we pick up the pace as we hit the manicured ice and snow covered forest roads. With straightforward nav and underfoot conditions we’re able to chat as we fast hike. The final 2-3 kms to Byrness drag on as we return to the inevitable twists and turns before a checkpoint. But soon enough we are being walked in by yet another squad of super awesome angels there to look out for us!
Byrness is a 30 minute stop with a hot meal. There’s also a small church in Byrness, open for competitors to sleep in after departing the 30 minute stop. Sofas are covered in sheets so we don’t get our grime everywhere, and the volunteers here are like a great big hug. We were plied with large plates of creamy mash and mince. So good, we devour and then share another plate :-), definitely my winning meal of the race; along with several mugs of tea of course. A medic comes to check, asking how I am – reference to the hip niggle. I’m sore everywhere, the hip is just part of a picture of pain! Drugs of choice are codeine and paracetamol, taken together – marvellous, I’ll be having those then!
We are gently encouraged out of the CP and head to the unheated church to sleep. There are about 10 people lying sleeping between pews, very surreal. Bedding down quietly is a challenge, but the alarm is set for about 2am, we’re aiming for sunrise on the Cheviots. I try to sleep but feel very weird, like my head is lower than my feet and my nose is really snuffly. I think the cold dry air has burned the delicate tissues of my nose, or maybe it’s the strange church potpourri, sleep really isn’t happening and we decide to just get going. Packing quietly we head off into the darkness.
Almost immediately we are hunting for the trail, it’s not obvious of course, up through the trees, near vertical and crossing several large forest roads. I laughed and cried slightly hysterically to myself on this crazy vertical trail with icy water running down it, and boulders more suited to downhill mountain biking!! A few more Full Spine racers are appearing now so the trail doesn’t feel so empty. This whole section felt really really tough – sleep deprivation was really kicking in and I felt detached from it all. If you glanced off the trail or the maps for a moment you were blundering in deep snow, off track, and the footsteps of others were confusing where they too had lost the trail. We climbed higher, eventually emerging from the trees, suddenly at Chew Green, jolting me from my sleep-walking doldrums. The border ridge would start to be more obvious, plus, thank god, it was getting light. The snow deepened but the most glorious sunrise was emerging. A lightening deep blue sky, the setting moon balanced on the tip of a cloud, and the sunrise staining the moon pink. So magical that my battered body couldn’t fail to appreciate it.
Just before Lamb Hill Hut 1 came into view. A spartan place that the Spine mountain team and medics take up residence in for the week, a lonely place for sure. Again, a 30 minute time limit and we are reminded of the self-sufficiency of the race. That said, we’re kindly offered coffee boiled up on a small stove from snowmelt, and we topped up our mini flasks. I’ve been drinking a kind of SIS slushy as the water in our bottles is freezing, but our flasks allow us to make hot drinks on the go – Katy’s apple ginger drink was a thing of glory that lifted spirits in many a dark moment!
There are 10 miles between Hut 1 and Hut 2 and it took us 6 hours to cover that ground. To start off it felt ‘great’, with the Cheviots spread out ahead, but ultimately it was torturous. There is no path here at the best of times, it’s usually bog, and I have travelled that bog. Today it was just knee/thigh deep snow amongst the heather, and I spent an awful lot of time falling into footholes and crawling out again, but we at least had a bit of trod to follow, unlike the front runners who would have been breaking trail. Windy Gyle and its summit shelter came and went. Pausing to eat, we’re asked by a speedy full Spiner if there was a ‘race track’ er no … you just have to make your own … off he skipped. I hit my lowest point going towards Kings Seat. With Katy moving strongly in front I told her she should just go ahead, that I was fine on my own – that point when you want to wallow in your own suffering!! Katy was not really having any of it – a blizzard whipped in bringing zero visibility and howling wind; she disappeared from view only to reappear several hundred metres further on waiting on a pile of rocks, we press on together all focus on reaching Hut 2. Past Auchope Cairn, we meet the Mountain Rescue Team emerging from the College valley for some welfare check-ins with us. A quick chat and we’re on our way, descending on a route marked with little red flags; we muse how usually we’d be throwing ourselves down this running with joy, instead I was mostly sliding on my arse. Thank god, Hut 2, sunshine, and a few hours until darkness, we would get this done today, if not in daylight.
In the hut I inspected a very sore shin, it had a square red bruise, the medic took a photo. Katy and I both accepted more codeine and then just got out of there, the finish, some 12km away was shouting loudly. I slithered my way down the remainder of the slope, and we plodded upwards past the turn for the summit of The Schill – thankfully no need to bag that one. The path split at Black Hag, taking the left fork I may have even been spotted jogging down here – codeine and adrenaline are powerful companions! Finally the road and a sign saying four miles to Kirk Yetholm. So close but so far! Up in the snow I had begun to see numbers and names in the footprints in the snow; as darkness crept up on us along that road, back in the world of torch beams, gate posts became people, and plants and bushes were animals. The tiredness!!
We ‘power’ along the road as best we can, crawling up the final hill before Kirk Yetholm. There is a metal bench, we look at it, at each other and sit to take the weight of our feet for a moment. But it’s too comfortable and there is a finish to reach … onward and there is someone ahead – is that Jon? I’m a bit confused by all the random rabbits and sleeping dogs. It is Jon, he looks far too sprightly but my heart is full. After a hug he leaves us to complete the final bit alone, and finally there is the finishing arch, lights and that wall. It’s pretty emotional as we grab each other’s hands to cross that finish line together. I can’t believe we’ve actually done it, companionship and teamwork, with 10 hours to spare! I can’t actually believe my body made it over that line, tested to new limits! Definitely mind over body.
Medal receiving and post-race chat/ photographs feel very surreal after hours of it mostly being just the two of us. We head inside and it’s a bit like the checkpoint routine, but better – no more miles to cover!! Seated with drop bags, and my feet in a bowl of warm water, I’m brought food, cups of tea and bin bags for all the manky kit!! The curry is too spicy for my poor destroyed mouth – I have ulcers on my tongue, and the whole of my mouth feels inflamed – The price of intense cold, a limited strange diet and little sleep is not glamorous! Another medic looks at my shin – the red square is still there and a bit larger, and we conclude I’ve bashed it unknowingly, it’s definitely very sore!
Departing from the Spine bubble is hard and quite confusing. My brain had one sole function over the last few days, just to keep moving forwards, to the finish. Now completed, my brain struggled. It was a huge relief not to be trying to travel home Northwards on my own, as per the original plan. The thought of getting a taxi, a train and then another train with my kit and my exhausted body is laughable! Jon appearing to retrieve me is an absolute gift!! Katy and I parted ways, it felt slightly like ripping off velcro after all that time together moving in sync.
The shin had the last laugh – cellulitis. I’m so glad it was spotted by an eagle-eyed Nikki Knappett who insisted I draw a circle round it and keep an eye on it. By the time I got home there were two big red blobs on my shin and I was cold and shivery. Much amusement at the GP practice when I explained how this came about, and some strong antibiotics issued to send it on its way.
Post Spine, I slept and slept. Regularly just nodding off where I sat. This went on for a couple of days, and I was so relieved I had a few days grace before I was due back at work. It took a while for the shin to calm down and felt bruised for some time afterwards. The swelling in my legs did go down pretty quickly, aided by keeping my legs elevated for the Cellulitis. The brain took a lot longer to recover than my body. Processing those really intense few days took time and reflection, and why it’s taken so long to pull them together into an account. It also wasn’t ready to dive back into any kind of structured running for a while either. Always learning from these adventures … 2024 calls … who knows what awaits …
My potatoes hit the spot perfectly, so I shoved some sweet snacks from the checkpoint in my pack and swapped out my manky base layer for an old windproof top and picked up my poles ready for the remaining steep climb. I didn’t sit down and soon we were on our way again.
Adventures With My Shoes 