The Montane Summer Spine Race 2025 - by Chris Hunt

 

The Race

Montanes own description of the Spine race series is as follows,  “The Montane Spine Races are widely regarded amongst the toughest endurance races in the world. The non-stop, expedition style of racing will test your physical and mental resilience in the most challenging of conditions”. Elsewhere it’s tagged as "Britain's most brutal race” which is probably nearer the mark. 

I was back here for the second year. Last years attempt ended in a sad way. I managed to get 190 miles in, but by then, was suffering from multiple ailments to include, a chronic back ache with my back hunched over permanently, a bad knee, a stress fracture to my wrist, a tooth ache, complete fatigue, shredded feet, and balance issues. In addition, I had been battling closely with the cut-off. I got to a stage where I was continuously falling and couldn’t continue another step, and reluctantly had to be rescued by what is not very pleasantly termed the “Broom Wagon”. Nobody wants to end the race in this way, so here I was, back at the start for the 2025 race, far better prepared, with better physical strength, better trained, and with a solid plan to include nutrition, sleep and mental attitude to get me around. Also in 2024 I had feared the effects of sleep deprivation due to needing my regular 9 hours of sleep a night. Having coped with that, all be it with massive weird hallucinations, I didn't have this fear in the back of my mind this year. Only bad luck would stop me, but that does happen, and more than 50% of competitors succumbed to this last year, so even with my optimism, nothing was guaranteed. Last years retirements were half down to falls and hyperthermia, and half down to foot issues, and probably a few down to under training and fatigue. I would mitigate the risk of these with my kit and being meticulously careful on the most treacherous parts of the route.

Well, what makes it difficult? It's a combination of factors really, The distance for a start – 268 miles, the terrain, cut-offs, the self-supported nature, the bogs of doom, the fells and moors and general underfoot conditions, the ascent, the variability of the weather, the inevitable sleep deprivation, and the mental strength required, amongst other factors.

Not helping are the numerous gates and stiles - 719 of them to be concise, comprising 249 timber stiles, 183 stone stiles, plus 287 gates. The stiles vary from the crypton factor type with ridiculously narrow gaps half the width of person plus backpack, to the tiring 8ft high ladder type ascending over dry stone walling, just more unnecessary climbing. There are ones with stepping slabs protruding from a dry-stone wall with an obstacle of a highly sprung tiny gate at the top.

Being a non-stop foot race means your time continues throughout the day and night, so minimising sleep is critical, typically being less than 2 hours a day either at check points or trail side, so sleep deprivation and hallucinations are all part and parcel of the package. My watch recorded an accumulated total of six hours and nine minutes of sleep over the time I was out on the course, although that does seem on the low side of accurate. My own calculation puts it closer to nine or ten hours of actual sleep including all the power naps.

The route takes one through some incredible terrain and scenery to include three National Parks in its transition through Derbyshire, Cheshire, Yorkshire, Lancashire, County Durham, Cumbria, Northumberland, and finally Roxburghshire (in Scotland) finishing at the wall of the Border Hotel in Kirk Yetholm. The race comprises the Pennine Way Nation Trail end-to-end going from South to North which is often described as “the backbone” of England, hence the event name “The Montane Spine”

 

The weather is generally challenging, you can expect a storm or five, the famous Helm Wind (the only named wind in the UK) on Cross Fell and plenty of rain in general. In fact, parts of the Pennine Way receive up to 2.5 metres of rain a year. What made this summer's event special was the lack of much rain before and during the race and the relative dryness underfoot compared to last year, along with the heatwave conditions for the final three days reaching 26C, 29C and 28C respectively. Over all, these weather conditions suited me when compared to the potential alternative, and surely aided my progress.

 

The overall ascent is of 11225 metres (36825ft) - put in to context that’s more than twice the ascent to Everest from base camp. The ascents and descents are nearly always quite perilous, often paved with loose rock/stone strewn uneven ankle breaking paths, or otherwise difficult to navigate tussocky moorland – it’s quite tricky to get any sort of rhythm or fast stride going whether it be flat, an incline or decline.

 

There are in addition the technical scrambles, not to be recommended in the dark – climbing up the side of the biggest waterfall in England named Cauldron Snout with the drop offs quite spectacular and a real risk if the wrong route is taken and that’s so easy to do as it’s a scramble over boulders with no precise path obvious. There’s also a couple of tricky’ish scrambles up the final part of Pen-y-Ghent where going too far to the right poses significant danger. Plus there are further scrambles over various boulder fields.  

The bogs represent another obstacle, with the negotiation of these involving guesswork zig zagging over the uneven tussocky bracken and heather laden moorland, constantly poking the ground in front with your trekking poles to ensure you are not going to plunge waist deep (I’m proud to say I managed to avoid going more than knee deep this year, and that was a fall in to a sink hole). However, after several days the descents become the biggest obstacle both on knees, quads, and toes.

 

CP0 (Edale) to CP2 (Hawes) – 108 miles

The first stage was a bonus for me. Clive whom I’d trained with, was doing the Spine Challenger South, a separate race that started the day before. He’d fallen heavilly after the very difficult first 10 miles, concussed and with gashes requiring hospital treatment and stiches. It was devastating news to hear that it was all over for him. However following an extensive medical examination the following morning, he was given the all clear and was back with me for my start to give it a second try. It was fantastic to have his company for the whole day, which seemed to pass in no time. Despite his injuries and swollen leg, our paces seemed to match, I was probably faster up the hills, he was faster on the flats so we would keep to those comfortable paces and generally stick together without either of us having to compromise their own race.

 

We’d been going 16 hours and it was now about midnight, and we’d reached CP1 at Hebden Hey. Annoyingly CP1 is a mile or so off of the Pennine Way, so there is an out and back to the checkpoint. After a section of road, the path descends steeply, on a wet slippery stoney winding path, in to what I would call a deep pit with the CP being the scout hut at the bottom. The nickname of this checkpoint being Hebden Hole, as it is very like dropping in to a hole. Once down, and you eventually leave the CP, you have of course got to retrace your path climbing out of the hole.

 

I had always planned to continue on without sleep following dinner at CP1, whilst Clive was going to attempt to get a few hours sleep before considering to continue or not (he’d already completed the Spine Sprint race by now, all be it on the wrong day). However, after dinner medics refused to let him continue unaccompanied – probably a sensible decision with the potential lingering of the concussion, but at the same time extremely frustrating for him. The consolation was that Clive had just raced his longest ultra ever, and that being on an extremely undulating and difficult course. Congratulations on that!

 

The highlight of this leg for me had been the burger van somewhere near half way. I was starving, sat down in a camp chair in the sun and had a sandwich crammed with about five or six sausages and brown sauce, along with a coca cola – they knew what we Spiners needed. I topped up my depleted water bottles, and also washed down a cup of coffee, I think in combination with my hourly snacking, this had given me ample energy to continue on from the CP1 once I’d also eaten more food there.

 

Sadly I said my goodbyes to Clive with a pang of guilt for not waiting to give him the chance to join me after catching up with his sleep. I left the CP and marched on through the next 40 miles to Malham Tarn Activity Centre, where one was allowed to stop for 30 minutes, with hot water being provided for my much needed dehydrated double porridge meal. It was all quite un-eventful, apart from a lingering shoulder pain meaning I had to shift the weight of my pack to my right shoulder, sometimes taking the left strap off entirely. This was a bit bothersome, but with a prescribed codeine tablet I got through the worst of it, and also that had a bonus of helping dissipate the pain with a minor knee issue. Both these injuries healed themselves within 36 hours, so again I was very lucky, with a bonus being I now had picked up an extra prescribed codeine tablet for any situation that later arose.

 

My only other issue had been a fall in a river where I bloodied my knee and broke the BOA wired lacing mechanism on my left shoe by bashing it on a rock during the fall. It had already been rattling after a previous fall, The mechanism was now left dangling, and the shoe was left lose like a slipper, flip flapping on my heel. I tried everything to put it back together but it seemed it must have physically snapped, and hence beyond repair. I tied some linked cable ties around the complete shoe, but that was useless too, so had to remove them again. I think I had about six miles to Cowling at this stage, and would have to cope with this broken shoe (or no shoe at all) at least until this point, where I may be able to beg someone to borrow a pair of replacement shoes. Trialling the ‘no shoe’ option, I soon decided after just a few steps that the lose slipper option was the superior choice. Luckily there were no bogs to completely devour the shoe, and I made it to Cowling where there was a semi-official rest station with bacon butties – a tent towards the end of Ickornshaw Moor, appearing in the middle of nowhere, set up by the Craven Energy Triathlon club. I managed to awkwardly proceed to this place, and whilst stuffing my face, a lady (Katy?) had a look at the shoe suggesting I look on youtube on how to put it back together. I thought this would be a complete waste of time but somehow without having to do that, after five minutes, she had snapped it back in place. You are my hero! I tentatively put it on and tightened it once and for all, hoping against hope it wouldn’t loosen or fall off again before CP2. Potentially she had saved me from a DNF at this early stage, as I don’t think I could have carried on with the shoe flapping off my heel at every step for much further. All it had to do was last me to the next CP, where I would change to my spare shoes stashed in my drop bag.

 

I think it was whilst at this Cowling rest stop that I got a message from Clive that Laura (whom I’d trained extensively with), had completed the Spine Challenger South without sleep in an amazing sub-42 hours, I was elated and couldn’t fathom how she did this, she’d come 6^th female as a bonus. What a result for someone who was initially rejected on application due to lack of adequate experience, ha ha. Congratulations big time! This news gave me energy and enthusiasm once more to get the job done, not that I didn’t have anything but completion in my mind, it was just that it was too far away yet to contemplate.

 

So far all pretty smooth and steady progress, apart from the aforementioned shoe fiasco, and getting lost over the top of Malham Cove and ending up at the top of a cliff when actually I needed to be at its base, thus involving an extra mile of horrible almost unnavigable perilous craggy terrain, with hidden open chasms and further sink holes and caves, to get back on course there. I’m sure I wouldn’t be found for weeks if I were to have fallen in to one of those deep off route crags, so I made especially sure that I didn’t. From here I proceeded slowly up hill, up rocky steps and onwards to the tarn, with no relent from the most baking part of the day, to my much needed dorm for the night – a deserted bird hide on Malham Tarn.

I was about 80 miles in to the race and about 33 hours so far without sleep. I had the bird hide to myself. I did the usual foot check, change of clothes, and wet-wipe wash. The floor was a grotty mix of mud, leaves, grit and grime, and strewn with visitors discarded garbage. I swept one end out with an old sun hat lying in the corner, got the sleeping bag out that I had carried on this leg for this purpose, leaving the blow-up mattress in my pack as I couldn’t be bothered to inflate it. Setting the alarm for 7:30pm and waking before it rang, I managed to get a decent one hour and nine minutes of deep sleep according to my Coros. Pleased with that and feeling refreshed I packed up and was ready to set off.

 

I now had a big dilemma, the next stage comprised of two massive climbs, Fountains Fell at 668 metres, then Pen-y-Ghent at 694 metres high, annoyingly descending pretty much all the way down between them. I guessed I might complete Fountain’s Fell in day light but it would then be the more tricky Pen-y-Ghent in the dark, something I had planned to avoid like the plague in my pre-planning, but there it was, fact, I would have to either do that or sleep for four hours at altitude and wait for first light – this was out the question as I may later need those hours I had in hand to finish the job, I wasn’t going to squander them, so reluctantly set off solo.

The path was fairly obvious to start with, following a path slowly gaining height with Fountains Fell a massive shadow blocking the view ahead. But after an hour or perhaps two, I saw two sets of flashing red lights quite far ahead (these lights were compulsory on the back of our packs for the night sections). I stopped, turned mine on and got my head torch ready for when it got darker, as it wouldn’t be good trying to find it when the wind and rain picked up when it finally got proper dark. Pleasingly I soon noticed I was gaining on these two sets of lights, so I then made an effort to push the pace, thinking they could be my saviour over Pen-y-Ghent. Everything seemed to be falling in to place on my side this year. Finally catching them, and being welcomed to join them, I eased my pace considerably and enjoyed the progress once more. Apart from annoying them with my navigation, all went well from here on (my watch had picked up spurious satellite positions at the bird hide when I’d resumed navigation, and was leading me in false directions – I soon realised the issue and reinitiated the satellite positioning without messing my recording of progress, Had I been on my own I may well have got ridiculously lost trusting my watch as gospel.

 

Soon we picked up more competitors and eventually there were six of us, Stewart, Emma, Pat, and a couple of others whos names evade my memory. We were all grateful of each other’s company it seemed, and were all discussing Pen-y-Ghent, deciding to continue over before bivi’ing. One guy (Pat?) was extremely sleep deprived and wanted to bivi before Pen-y-Ghent but was by default of everyone else’s plans to continue effectively out voted, so in order to stay with the group sacrificed his essential reboot, at least that was my take on the situation. My plan being to continue on whenever they did eventually stop, as I’d had my hour of sleep back at the bird hide. We stopped at some point to put on extra layers and waterproofs due to a combination of the altitude, exposure and change in the weather.

 

The plan worked fantastically, up and over Fountains Fell, then the climb up Pen-y-Ghent, and apart from one guy falling and taking what looked like a nasty tumble down a rock or two on the final scramble, and another guy suffering from a sidewards lean which appeared extremely uncomfortable, all survived and stayed together over and down from Pen-y-Ghent constantly schecking everyone was accounted for.

Finally in the early hours, on arrival at Horton next to a public toilet, in a spot I didn’t feel was very attractive for the purpose, damp and cold, the party proceeded with their plan to bivi for a couple of hours. I was later told from one of the party that, at least for him, it hadn’t been very comfortable and had indeed been cold and wet and sleep hadn’t come easy. I skipped the sleep and continued on lonely, but was exceedingly grateful for the company I’d had over the worst of the two climbs. I now felt I had it in me to reach Hawes, the next checkpoint (65 miles from the previous CP and 108 miles in to the race) before requiring some further sleep. I was really happy with progress at this stage.

 

Further on I met up with Richard, a guy in his mid 70’s who was proceeding strongly still. We got chatting and after parting and meeting several times I learnt his life story – it was beyond anything I’ve heard from anyone in the past and more than most would be able to deal with, I did feel privileged that he had shared this with me as it must be painful to retell and relive. I won’t go in to it, but he was the nicest guy you could meet and didn’t deserve what life had dealt him in the past. I felt a great deal of empathy for him. Luckily his partner popped up to meet him at a couple of places and that must have been a godsend when things got difficult, which they did for him in the latter stages.

 

Together we reached Hawes at 7:59am and had a mini celebration – this being significant, as that made it one minute under the 48 hours from the start to CP2 (a race distance in itself called the Spine Challenger South), and 12 hours under the cut-off of 8pm. We would cross paths again later, spending some time together progressing towards Hadrian’s Wall some many many miles ahead. I think it was somewhere just past Hadrian’s Wall that I sadly learned Richard had regrettably called it a day.

 

Arriving at CP2 just after dawn, I proceeded with the usual faff with sorting through kit, dealing with feet, washing, changing clothes, charging devices, shuffling through drop bag, and eating breakfast, I managed to get my longest sleep of the event here, a really decent 2 hours 41 minutes, before waking for dinner, kit check and setting off. I’d sadly squandered far too much time with the faff – a few hours. I’d specifically planned unsuccessfully to cut down on the faff this year by organising my drop bag, labelling different bags, and separating stuff for different check points. My failure was down to not putting in to practice the trialling of my planned CP transitions.

 

 

CP2 (Hawes)  to CP3 Middleton – 36 miles

This leg started off with a massive climb up and over Great Shunner Fell at 716m. Before leaving the checkpoint we were warned to keep our goggles handy as a storm was forecast to hit shortly. Indeed it did, and finally on this second Spine attempt I got to use the kit list item stuffed right at the bottom of my pack, that I had thought was a bit over the top. I had purchased four sets of these, as last year I couldn’t find my main or spare pair during kit check, so had been forced to buy two more. Two, as I was worried one may break in the pack when squashed. I then of course found them when in less of a panic.

The storm hit from the side, blowing extremely hard, making me miss steps and my trekking poles to swing out horizontally. Luckily the rain was not too heavy. A few hikers were coming down from Fountains Fell in the opposite direction as I was climbing, and they looked like they had a harder time and had taken a real battering. This did make me a bit nervous about what I would face ahead having only just started the climb. Once at the top I could have sheltered as there were a crisscross of seats in all compass directions sheltered by walls. What a great idea, however I was keen to keep moving and get down out of the storm.

 

After descending, passing through Thaite, and continuing for a few miles I came to the notoriously horrible path to Keld. This was a twisty narrow path with a vertical rock face above and big drop off on the right down to a river, almost like trying to circumnavigate a landslide, The path was strewn with loose rocks and stones and amusingly with some rocks the size of my garden shed teetering on the hill/virtual cliff just above me, seemingly with no support to prevent them tumbling. Plenty of boulders had previously tumbled to the bottom. It seemed to go on for several miles but probably no more than two miles in reality. It was slow going. Another part of the route that would be voted by me in the ‘worst sections of the Pennine Way’ awards.

 

After emerging from this, getting down to Keld, and crossing extended moor land, Tan Hill Inn came in to sight, the highest pub in the country. I’d looked forward to this immensely. Last year was after midnight where unexpectedly I found a self service buffet of soup and as much bread as one wanted was immediately offered. This year being during the evening, I’d decided I would order a meal from the bar. My sleep deprivation got the better of me here effecting my mood, and I got pretty grumpy. I’d ordered a chilli con cane, thinking that was a pretty easy dish to heat up, and asked several times how long it was going to take, each time not getting a definitive answer. The bar was busy and everyone else seemed to be served but me.I think it took them 40 minutes, and even though I’d paid £22 I had thought several times about abandoning it and moving on, I really hadn’t planned to stay any longer than 30 minutes.

 

In the end the served meal was really dry and disappointing, and had cost me time. I continued on in rather a foul mood, as I’d so looked forward to this stop, which had been such a saviour last year. I also worried I would receive a time penalty for exceeding the 30 minute permitted stopping time.

 

My mood soon lifted or more like distracted with the concentration needed to navigate what was regarded as the worst bog fest on the event. We were warned to be very vigilant and take note of the signs keeping right of an extremely dangerous and deep bog hole. It was much dryer than last year, and I had day light on my side this time, so all in all this section wasn’t of a great difficulty so long as concentration was maintained as the route through this lumpy uneven moorland was easy to lose.

 

I don’t remember much about the remaining 15 or 20 miles to the next checkpoint other than Richard popping up again in front of me many times. He was slower moving, but had a strategy of mostly not sleeping or stopping for anything, so whenever I had a ten-minute nap trail side or went off course and got back, there he’d be. I’m sure he had told me he’d only slept 18 minutes over the preceding days.

 

Middleton was a lovely checkpoint, as it was tents again. I preferred this as I could spread out, have my drop bag at my side, and rustling through my stuff wouldn’t disturb or annoy anyone.

 

I think it was here that I had porridge for dinner, then had my shoulder looked at again. Initially the previous medic had suspected a collar bone issue, but soon eliminated that and suggested it was a rotator cuff injury, I was prescribed another codeine tablet to only use if the paracetamol didn’t give enough relief. Luckily the muscle/ligament damage repaired itself completely very soon after this. After a sleep I was served Tandoori Curry for breakfast – it was just the time of days mixed up as I was at this CP during the day. Curry for breakfast would be my last choice normally, but this was superb, served with Nann breads, and was most delicious. The CP is very famous for its wonderful tandoori.

 

  

CP3 Middleton to CP4 Alston

Loved this section, or at least the first half to Dufton - all done in day light. It starts off with a fairly level easy path right alongside Low Force, a series of beautiful waterfalls and white water bubbling along the river between. Eventually it turns a corner and follows a flattish route alongside a larger wider more gentle meandering river with several challenging boulder fields to navigate, requiring extremely careful decisions and jumps between rocks. Once past these, it’s not long before Cauldron Snout, a scramble over rocks right alongside a series of steep drops ascending up a waterfall. Careful navigation is required here as the drop off is vertical and it’s a bit slippery, with the path not discernible. Poles are useless here, hands are needed for heaving yourself up on to the next rock. It’s scary but the views are stunning, it is one of the top highlights of the whole holiday/race, perhaps the top one. Shortly after this ascent is another stunner – High Cup Nick, a beautiful steep sided gorge that continues in to the distance. I arrived at the top with Dave and Emma, and several competitors and tourists were all taking photos, it’s so stunning that it’s compulsory to take a photo. I passed my phone to a tourist who took a shot of the three of us, sadly blocking out the best of the view behind us – typical.

 

 

 

What followed was the descent to Dufton and the famous Post Box Pantry. We hoped it would be open. Luckily the owner is one of these Spine legends who goes out her way, she’d seen us approaching on the tracker, so had stayed open even though it was about 8:30pm. Just before this, the friendly Spine Safety Crew checked we’d exited the ‘no signal’ zone and rushed us on to the café. My time here was extremely memorable. I was very comfortable, in high spirits, and it appeared there was ample time to comfortably reach the finish in a couple of day’s time. I was very relaxed. and there was no concern amongst any of us about this down-time having any impact on timing and finishing, I enjoyed the most fabulous full Scottish breakfast, it was massive and tasty, including the haggis and black pudding which in any other circumstances I’d object to. I was in good company with four or five other Spiners, including Richard and his partner. I took in the moment and savoured the memory.

 

On leaving Dufton it would soon be dark, and the four massive fells had to be crossed, before the slog to Garigil and on to Alston checkpoint. Lots of water had to be carried as there was nothing until Garigil except for bags of strenuous hiking. First was the climb of Green Fell at 794m, followed by Great Dunn Fell at 848m, Little Dunn Fell at 842m, then the infamous Cross Fell with its guaranteed gale force wind at 893m. The wind is so prevalent, it has been given a name by the meteorologists – the Helm Wind (the only named wind in the UK). Only, amazingly it turned out to be quite calm to what one would normally expect – another Brucie bonus. I enjoyed the fell crossings and didn’t find them of any difficulty, there was quite a lot of limestone paving over the worst parts, along with steps in places, nothing especially difficult, just the climbing and descending, no scrambling or anything particularly technical, I was going over in my mind how early I would arrive at the finish which eas just over 90 miles away now, I was really looking forward to arriving at Garigil, just 5 miles short of the next checkpoint. It was here last year when I dropped in to Annies house. She’s another famous supporter whom opens her house up 24/7 for the week inviting every spiner in and offering soup, sandwiches, hot drinks, and homemade cake.

 

The last 5 miles in to Garigil was painfully difficult last year. This year was no problem, I expected it to be a bit tedious as I wouldn’t have the views I had last year as it was now the early hours in the dark. What I hadn’t envisaged was how awful the resurfacing of the path would make this section. When I say re-surfacing, this is Yorkshire and not Wiltshire, no smooth tarmac is involved. What had been done was a load of builders rubble - broken stones, broken bricks and rocks, had been dumped loosely on the old surface that had part sunken in to the ground. It was horrible on tired feet, all in torch light, every step was at a different angle due to none of the stones being flat and all being loose. What was worse, was someone whom I think may have been mountain rescue, whom was just ahead saying it got better after a short while – well it never did in my opinion. I would say this was in my top three ‘worst sections of the Pennine Way’ awards, the worst two, little did I know at the time were to come. It went on and on and on, and I was so so tired I wanted to sleep, but for some reason wanted to keep the group in front in sight, maybe so that I didn’t have to think about navigation as I was too tired for that. The group didn’t seem to mind the path and marched as if it were flat, perhaps they had walking boots on and it was easier, I don’t know, or they were locals who were used to the majority of paths being loose stone.

 

Finally, we were off this monstrosity of a path and in to Garigil and ushered in to Annies. She fed us well, reminisced about rescuing me last year, and sent us on our way loaded with extra cake to take with us for later. Last year this location was especially memorable as I was 20 miles passed being where I should have retired with injury, suffering back ache and unable to stand straight, a stress fracture to my wrist, knee pain, and feet in tatters. After Annies boost last year, I was rejuvenated just enough to carry on the mile or so through the village being supported by kids rushing out the houses in support, before collapsing several times, heaving myself back up each time only to fall again. I then called support for the broom waggon to take me down the road to Alston, but there was no signal. Annie had seen me stop on the tracker, came out to where I was lying down, made the calls, and got me sorted, she’s a life saver and saint. This year she immediately recognised me and recalled the story. She was pleased to see I was in a completely different shape, further ahead, and she later sent me a message of encouragement on the tracker.

 

By the time I reached Alston I hadn’t slept for 24 hours, and was in dire need to get my head down. I was still buoyed however by the fact I’d now reached further than I had last year (I had clocked 190 miles on that occasion).

 

Having arrived at Alston 15 hours ahead of the cut-off I got a bit lax. I’d squandered the max time allowed here – 6 hours. I’d made use of the bunks, but that was mostly wasted trying and failing to sleep, something I had a habit of in bunk dorm rooms, eventually napping for maybe just an hour, the rest of the time excitedly chatting and working out between us that we could walk it in to the finish at a crawl from here and still make it in time to get to the finish.

 

Despite it not mattering too much regarding the wasted time, I much preferred the tents at other CPs and regretted even trying to sleep here. I’d also wasted the usual amount of time soaking and treating feet, having a much-needed shower, and of course eating – this place is famous for the Lasagne and I had bucket loads. I think it was all washed down with a pudding, but my memory of this is all a bit hazy. The sleep combined with rest was like a fresh start for me, I was now in new territory having exceeded last year’s effort and I was raring to go and get this done.

 

 

CP4 Alston to CP5 Bellingham

This was a day of two halves. Setting off, what immediately struck me was the heat was still intense. It soon reached 29C. One of my two water bottles had only been half full, and I soon completely ran out. Progress was quite swift as the terrain here was luxurious, only mildly undulating, easy and soft underfoot being generally of grassy fields. This was perfect for my feet and dampened the pain somewhat. I knew at Slaggyford Railway Station, just 6 miles in, there was a café and I’d arrive mid-afternoon, I’d planned for a small meal and now as I approached, thought of my urgent water replenishment required there. Joining a road, the heat just seemed to be getting worse. I took a wrong turn to a campsite that seemed to be on the GPX but quickly realised my mistake, got back on track on the road again alongside a river. Merging off the river and taking an even smaller road, I reached Slaggyford and wasted time and energy going up and down this road trying to find the elusive café. In frustration I eventually waved down a car, whose passenger said they were themselves the café owners. The café was just 100m around the corner, but they were now going away until Saturday, so it would be closed until then. Great, not even an offer of water, I was really annoyed I’d wasted time, and concerned about the water situation. I remembered I had a full 250ml emergency water bottle and began rationing this over the next few miles.

 

Luckily, about an hour after leaving Slaggyford, I stumbled upon a stream. I filled everything with filtered water, including a litre in a platypus I hadn’t made use of until now. I also placed sterilising tabs in my two water bottles. I now only had to eek out the few sips of clean water in the emergency supply for 30 minutes for the sterilising tabs to take effect. I was back on track and happy, all be it swelteringly hot and tired. I was rescued from the desperate situation, and congratulated myself on the late decision to take a filter bottle on this event. From here onwards over this first half was straight forward, I got a few 10 minute kips, and continued through the rest of the day light.

In the early evening I reached a garden that had to be passed through. There were chickens all over the place, and Rasta Ralph appeared. “Have you heard of me” he said with a video recorder on his shoulder. “I’m famous on the Spine, and have my own youtube channel” he stated, whilst at the same time filming me. I felt guilty and told the truth that I hadn’t. He was apologetic for not having the barbeque ready, but offered me a burger if I could wait for it to be set up and cooked. In the end I settled for a king size bag of crisps which he insisted I take, and perhaps I should’t say, some very dubious white powder folded expertly in to some thin card, which he said he’d purchased for his health. I got the impression he’d given up on the health idea for the preferred life of a good few beers, deciding they were better for him. What a great guy, looking out for every competitor, and providing them with sustenance and water refills.

 

I joined Richard again somewhere soon, and in darkness pushed on, we eventually arrived at a barn with masses and masses of choice of snacks, hot drinks, and soup. What a god send this was, all put on by a generous local supportive couple off their own back. A shame they weren’t there at this time of night to personally thank. I took the opportunity of the comfort of this place with somewhere to sit to finally remove my waterproof socks. It had been dry for the last few days and my feet were possibly suffering from the beginning of hot spots. My feet had swelled somewhat as putting my oversize shoes back on they felt tight but very comfortable - ready to proceed.

 

I think there was soon another place where a couple provided snacks and drinks. They were sat in their car as it was night time, and as we passed jumped out and called after us to stop for refreshments. What amazing kindness and support. Very soon after this haven, less than a mile maybe, I think it was Blenkinsopp common, towards what should be the penultimate day, we’d come across a Tussocky gorsy water-logged section that went on for what must have been 4 or 5 miles. What a mistake abandoning the waterproof socks, as they were immediately drenched and remained so for hours afterwards with this continuous wading through water – the first real unavoidable bog to be encountered. I believe this to be my downfall, and what would turn out to be maceration around my forefoot and toes, and blisters galore. 

This would turn out to be a major problem over the next 24 hours, with 60 odd miles still remaining. In addition, a lot of sand that had previously unknowingly worked its way into my shoes had found a way in to these openings around my toes, which felt pretty nasty and grating every time my feet landed.

About 18 hot and clammy miles in to this leg and just after dark, a complete surprise struck me. For this year, my highlight in my mind was to see Harian’s Wall, something I regretted not getting to on last years DNF. I knew the Pennine Way went just across the border to Scotland and in my naivety, I thought the wall represented the boundary between England and Scotland so expected to see this sight a few miles from the finish. Well suddenly out of nowhere I saw this big dark silhouette of a huge escarpment appear in front of me, then I saw Hadrian’s Wall. Could it really be? It was substantial and I did not doubt that’s what it was. In the moon light of the clear stary sky I could then make out the wall following it’s way up the mount ahead. I was genuinely excited, I hadn’t realised it was quite so substantial, and here I was to see this ancient Roman construction with my own eyes. I remained excited until I realised the Pennine Way didn’t go around this hillock but followed the wall over this massive escarpment. Oh well so be it, I again hauled my tired body over another hill. It was steep, tiring, and challenging. It weaved it’s way away from the wall then back to it, but the route was not clear and if the wrong path were taken, it would involve an extra climb and descent. At one stage I got hopelessly lost and went around in circles for half a mile before taking a gamble on what turned out to be the right path out of my spider’s web Strava trace. I soon realised there wasn’t just one escarpment but several.

Finally going through a large four bar gate and across a lane to another gate, I assumed I was out of the touristy area of historical significance and the route would revert to a more navigable flatter path. How wrong I was, within two minutes I rejoined the wall, and up and down it went again very steeply. It went of for seven or eight more miles, before I finally had enough of it and escaped to more preferable terrain. This had completely drained my energy, it would soon be day light again and the burning sun would return. The forecast was 29C so I was hoping (despite my sleep deprivation) to get as far as possible without rest so as to make the most of the relative coolness. There was a further 12 miles before the check point at Bellingham.

I think it was the lack of sleep as my emotions came out when I finally approached the checkpoint. The Spine crew were out filming and asked if they could do a short interview. It was here that I mentioned my motivation for doing the spine – being that I’d done parts of the Pennine Way as a 12 year old kid with a school friend, and I’d loved it so much I had always wanted to come back someday. This wonderful friend passed away this January whilst out on his bike. It was hard to get the words out, but my motivation now for finishing this year was related to this, and I managed to convey that in the interview before wandering off towards the CP with a tear in my eye, but with this strong motivation and confidence, I now knew I would get to the end whatever was thrown at me in the meantime.

 

 

 

CP5 Bellingham to planned Finish at Kirk Yetholm

 

Bellingham CP had tents. A few of us had (some miles back), discussed options for this CP and I’d agreed with someone the best tactic would just be to eat and then get on. Sleep was needed but better use of time would be to sleep trail-side for ten minutes whenever needed, and so effectively saving the CP hours in exchange for a whole bunch of lovely trail-side naps. This would then provide the option of just not sleeping if the demands of the final cut-offs at Bryness or Hut 1 and Hut 2 in the Cheviots necessitated that. It was unlikely with such time in hand as I had, but I did decide this was a preferable tactic.

 

What actually happened was that I arrived at Bellingham mid-day in the blazing heat with the inevitable related exhaustion. Going on would risk heat stroke, so I decided to wait until 4pm, thus having some hours out of the main heat of the day before facing it again for what would then be less hours before the cooler evening kicked in. Sadly, I squandered those hours at the CP. I think it was the excitement of being close to the end and getting chatting with others about how we were all going to comfortably make the finish now. There was a group sense of euthoria, we were all ahead of schedule and in good shape bar the foot issues everyone seemed to have. I treated my feet here the best I could with hypodermic needles, fresh dressing and some fleecy web kindly donated to me.

 

I still struggled to walk from the main tent to my personal tent which was sited as far as you could go on the field. I was hobbling with my skin sticking to the plastic inner of my sliders, then had the feel of pulling the skin away from my feet as I raised my foot off the ground. They were in a pretty dire state, but when I did finally put my spare pair of running shoes on again, they temporarily felt much better – the Altra Olympus 5 are such a superb cosy shoe, I’m so glad these size-up shoes had been packed as my spares, no other shoe would have given me enough cushioning, protection and toe space.

 

This next section started off innocuous enough, but soon to come was number one of the top three “Worst sections on the Pennine Way” charts. It went on for 8 or 9 miles, and I tackled it at night. It consisted of forest tracks and fire breaks, not particularly difficult in their own right, but it was a midge and mosquito infested forest area on approach to the much read about and equally infested Bryness CP 5.5 right in the middle of this hell hole. Falling asleep on my feet I tried to lie down trail-side for a quick nap and some much-needed relief of pressure on my increasingly painful feet, but within 10 seconds I jumped up when I heard 1000s of insects descending on me and buzzing in my ears. How would I continue on? I was staggering, sleepily missing my footings, wandering off the path into the uneven soggy ground of the woods to the side of the path, but I had to carry on plodding taking a caffeine gel, and some Tiger Roars for additional caffeine, doing my utmost to stay awake and concentrate. It was tedious so that became very very difficult. CP 5.5 being a half CP meant a marshalled point with hot and cold water and a 30-minute stopping limit, and I was desperate to reach it. 

Finally in sight of CP5.5, I was met by the famous John Bamber, dressed as if he were about to tackle a bee’s nest covered from head to toe and with netting over his head, I was about to get in the tent for a ten-minute nap potentially away from the swarms of nippers, but was told the tent was only for medical purposes. Thanks Mr Bamber, for tolerating this place, making up my rehydrated meal and walking me around to a retreat from the midges - a disabled loo some 200m onwards. I felt justified in using this disabled facility as I needed the handrail to hover over the bacteria engrained seat, plus it was 2am in the morning restricting its clientele to just myself. At least there, although no tap or sanitiser, just a rain water flush, and no electric (so no light), I managed to eat undisturbed by people or midges.

 

I laid my foil blanket then my sleeping bag on the floor for a mattress, lay on top and got 10 minutes of desperately needed sleep in this luxury hotel. By that time the smell of the urine-saturated floor was too much for me, I quickly dealt with my feet, lancing blisters and applying some fleecy web, then packed up and got on my way. The other option had been finding Bryness church and sleeping on a pew - I knew this would involve being disturbed by other competitors and I wasn't in any state to find this off trail location anyway.

 

I think it was at the CP that I just passed where I was forced to take on an extra 3 litres of water due to the extreme temperatures predicted, as we were now approaching the challenging Cheviots and there was no guaranteed water source until the end, some 20 or 25 miles further on. It's still all a bit of a blur, so not sure it was here or earlier on. I really resented the weight of this as it began to make my back ache for the first time, which was the trigger of a sequence of injuries curtailing in my DNF last year. Illogically, as I wasn't thirsty at the time, with my sleep deprived slow mind, I started thinking it would be a good idea to jettison the whole 3 litres once I got around the corner, I still had an emergency 250ml bottle tucked away, plus the remainder of one of my 750ml bottles. Sensibly I resisted the temptation, as this could have been catastrophic as well as perhaps earning a disqualification. In reality I would have got away with it, as water did later materialise at places, but there was no way I could know that at the time.

 

Onwards I went, one painful foot in front of the other more painful foot. Soon but not soon enough was the escape from the midge fest, comprising a rock climb out of the forest and in to the Cheviots. Better tackled with ropes, this ascended near vertically  up a wet rocky path half hidden by the damp undergrowth. It was extremely technical and hard to believe this was the Pennine Way – I just don’t see how anyone with a big backpack could actually climb up this safely. It went on and on, eventually emerging on flatter ground.

 

So, this was the Cheviots, the last section that would take me to the finish. It felt good to know that, but not so good to know it was a hilly unsupported 18 miles further to go, in a climate in terms of heat similar to the Sahara. I think I was on my own for quite some distance before joining Lisa and Katie whom had teamed up together, somewhere before the landmark of Hut 1. Lisa is a member of Dirty Dapps Muddy Tracks, a Welsh running group I joined in the old days of my ultra racing, She’d gained hero status from previously completing the Winter Spine, an infinitely more difficult race, and had timed that one perfectly to finish minutes before the eventual cut-off. I trusted her strategy, pacing and experience to do the same on this race, so really wanted to stick with her. It had been great to bump in to her a few times on this event as she was always jovial and smiling. I wanted to keep up for the company, and for quite a few miles I joined her and Katie whom got me closer to the finish, at a decent enough pace, However, eventually it became a struggle to keep up with their speed, and as I needed a toilet break anyway, I made a conscious decision to drop back. They proceeded to finish in good time.

 

Although really struggling with the feet, I still had a very generous 40 minutes for each of the remaining miles to reach the finish at Kirk Yetholm before the event cut-off. This seemed like bags of time, and every mile that I did in less than 40 minutes increased further my time per mile that remained. I think I was soon at a required average of a massive 45 minutes a mile, boosting my confidence that the race was in the bag. I did know that there had historically been more than a handful of retirements at Hut 1 and Hut 2, so tried to not get too relaxed about my prospects of finishing especially the way my feet were further deteriorating.

 

The huts 1 and 2 came and went, both with supplies of water (this had not been guaranteed, in fact we were to believe there wouldn’t be any). It was silly, as I still had two litres spare water in my backpack at Hut 2 that I had carried untouched all the way from Bryness – an extra 2kg to help slow me down. As it was just a smidgen over 6 miles to go, I now dumped this spare capacity.

 

I’d stopped in each hut, had a coffee I think, and also had a couple of ten-minute powernaps along the way, I think I was back down to 40 minutes a mile required. To anyone reading this, that would sound like a sinch, nobody could walk a mile slower than in thirty minutes, right? Well, no, that’s wrong, my miles were increasingly taking longer and longer, and although I still felt I was in safe territory time wise, I had to be careful not to waste time.

 

I had to use the remaining time wisely. I cut my naps from10 minutes to 5 minutes, but still stopped a few times to treat my feet which by this stage were getting worryingly agonising. Not helping was the fact that my trekking pole gloves had caused big blisters on both thumbs but this wasn't so much of a worry as my feet. I really couldn’t bare taking a step, but just had to. Internally I cursed on every foot placing. My right foot had taken over as the most painful, and I was trying to land and take off on my bruised heel to avoid moving or touching my toes on anything. It was impossible of course, and I failed to achieve this consistently. The best description I can give is that the toes felt like crushed glass was being mashed in to the open cracks and legions on every step.

 

My brain was pleading with me to stop, but I was trying to override it, as I had to finish, I was six miles from the end, and in my mind the last five miles were down hill (from previous study of the hill profile).

 

So here I was 5 or 6 miles from the end. I asked the next competitor who passed me “please tell me we circumnavigate that great big hill ahead”. It wasn’t that massive but felt it at the time. The answer shocked me in to desperation. “I’m afraid we do go straight over the top, before descending and then going over The Schill”. “The Schill, that name doesn’t sound very nice”. The answer was something like “that’s the last big hill, it’s the BIG one”, “bigger than the one in front?” I enquired. “Oh yes, but it’s the last one”. I couldn’t understand this, had my memory deceived me. Actually, it had, as it was the last 5km or thereabouts that was downhill, and NOT 5 miles.

 

I was completely miserable from here on, and started to panic just a little about finishing in time. I think I still had about 4 hours to cover 5 miles. In all other circumstances I could crawl faster than this, but in the situation I was in, I did start to worry that all my effort of the previous few days and indeed the training over the past two years may all be in vain. No, I just couldn’t let this happen. I was scared to sleep again in case I didn’t hear the alarm and it would be game over. Only I knew I’d have to sleep, as I’d already fallen asleep momentarily whilst walking and that was dangerous. I knew in the next few minutes I’d just have to sleep, I was weaving again and couldn’t keep my eyelids open. After finding a place (that was the easy bit as at this stage I wasn’t fussy at all), I set three separate alarms, 7 minutes, 10 minutes, and 12 minutes. I would fall asleep within the first two minutes, then wake on the first alarm after 5 minutes of deep sleep, the others alarms just being paranoia backups. When I woke it wasn’t from an alarm, I just suddenly awoke. Oh crikey, I’d slept through all those alarms - the lot, my heart rate shot through the roof, I was quite scared not knowing how much time I’d accidently squandered. I soon discovered with massive relief, I’d woken before any of the alarms. I did feel slightly less sleepy, so struggled to my feet using my poles as levers pressing in the palms of my hands to avoid the blistered thumbs, and was on my slow dawdle again. My mind was really slowing, I couldn’t work anything out. I couldn’t convince myself of any calculations in my head being correct, the navigation being right, and which of my hallucinations were real and which imaginary.

 

This wasn’t my only worry, it now looked exceedingly unlikely I would get over The Schill before the storm hit. It was already past 3pm and the skies were darkening. The forecasted storm at 4pm would start to hit at the top of the next climb and who knows how long it would prolong, most likely for my climb over The Schill as well if I ever reached it. I was prepared to risk my life with the lightening, as well as throwing away my expensive lightning conductor trekking poles to lessen the risk of a lightning strike if need be. I couldn’t wait it out, that wasn’t an option. Calling MRT or Spine Support was always an available option if I got in to terrible difficulty now in the pending storm, but the fear they  might instruct me to turn around and descend thus ending my race would make that an absolute last resort that I really wasn’t prepared to consider. A couple of MRT guys actually passed me in the opposite direction possibly to rescue someone (if there was indeed anyone still behind me) – they asked if I was ok and I lied that I was fine. Not far now they said – that’s not how I saw it, every 10 metres of progress was very very very far such was the pain. I really wished I’d had company at this stage, as I was losing it a bit, and the pain was filling my mind and preventing me concentrate on the game in hand.

 

It was on this first climb of the two I remembered I had previously stashed away an unused codeine tablet that had been dispensed – it was somewhere in my bag. These tablets are miniscule and I struggled to find it, wasting yet more precious time. I completely emptied my waist pack and it wasn’t there. At this moment I felt like a drug addict scrambling around for one more fix. Great relief ensued when I finally did find it in a zip pocket. In my mind this fix would within the next 15 minutes resolve the pain in my feet and that would also last the few hours remaining to the finish. I suddenly had hope again, my spirits renewed. However, after half an hour it had had absolutely zero effect, damn it.

 

I stopped, took my insole out my left shoe, flipped it and added it to the padding in my right shoe. How clever was that to think up with my sleep deprived brain. Now I’d be in more comfort I thought. I wasn’t, and the left foot was in more pain without an insole. In fact, both feet felt in more pain.

 

I stopped again to put the insole back as it had been. By now I’d run out of fleecy web, I decided to invest some precious time to examine my feet in greater detail, finding a few blisters I previously hadn’t noticed. The feet were in such a mess, I couldn’t tell the blisters from the hanging or leathery loose skin, some were hidden between toes, some were under the folds of my toes. I couldn’t bend my foot enough to see the underneath – probably just as well as the shock may have been too much. I lanced as many blisters as I could find, some wouldn’t burst so I think it was just white swelling over/around old burst blisters. I wrapped my toes really badly in plasters knowing they wouldn’t stay in place, then wrapped KT tape over them and right around my feet. I bound a huge hanging flap of skin back to my foot with further tape thinking that would provide protection from the roarness beneath. and put on a new pair of dry socks – waterproof ones as they were the only spares I now had, and although not necessary, they’d do nicely.

 

How much precious time had I wasted doing all of this I do not know. Yet having done all this they were in exactly the same sort of pain, it was frustrating and fruitless doing anything, and I promised myself I wouldn’t waste any more time on them.

 

Well, without going in to further details, the hill in front and then the Schill eventually were conquered and the storm luckily evaded – I happened to be at a trig at 4pm so that was just as well. The biggest lightening display ever seen would later that night present itself with related flooding of the Border Hotel at the finish line.

 

With maybe two hours remaining on the clock which was counting down, I finally hit tarmac, a road that would lead to the finish. I think it was a mile and a half. I had about two hours, so was reasonably safe if I could just keep moving. I was relieved at first as I wouldn’t have to lift my feet more than a cm off the ground to take a step, so the landings would be less traumatic and maybe less noticable. However, keeping moving just wasn’t going to happen, I kept stopping, leaning on my sticks for relief and getting micro-naps, then moving off again, knowing I still needed a proper nap again. I was putting it off and putting it off to sleep again, but it was getting progressively more difficult to do this. I was unconsciously looking at the verge for soft grass to lay in. I kept dragging my senses back again.

 

My decision making and thoughts were really being compromised now. I couldn’t see the village of the finish, and could only see open countryside around for what appeared miles. There just wasn’t a village within the horizon. Scared now that I’d gone wrong, I phoned Spine Support. I asked if I was on the right route, which they confirmed I was (from the tracker). I asked how far it was to go, and was answered “just less than a mile”. I asked them if I had any time penalties to be added as I really wanted to be clear on time remaining. When they queried as to why I was asking this, I evaded the answer (which was the fact I'd overstayed a 30 minute stop by 10 minutes and hadn't informed them I'd stop at the Tan Hill Inn). They said I had no penalties which was just as well. I still had nearly two hours, but still was a little worried, I remember at one time not being sure of the cut-off time of 8pm, I suddenly had a worry it was 6pm and the time had already gone by, but then remembered the 156-hour total time and somehow (I don’t know how) forced myself to work out in my brain that that would be an 8pm finish. 

There was a hill on the road ahead. This surely can’t be right. Too embarrassed to phone SST again, I phoned home with the same questions – am I on the route, and how far, and how long have I got. They reassured me, but said I had just over a mile to go. I’d gone from less than a down hill mile to go fifteen minutes ago, to over a mile and with a hill, ahhhh, how can that be. It was here that Greg caught up with me from behind and came aside. That was good news as the both of us surely could not be going the wrong way. It was on my nav device anyway but I just wasn’t trusting it. Greg was struggling too, but not quite at my level. I wished him well and waved him on for a strong finish. Only he wouldn’t leave my side, insisting we’d finish together.

 

With Greg’s company and the chat I completely forgot about my need for sleep. I kept asking him daft questions – how far is it, why can’t I see the end. We eventually got to the summit and he pointed to a cricket green, I think. That’s where it finishes. I still couldn’t see it, he pointed again. Finally, I saw it and wanted reassurance that that really was the end. “Yes it is, but we have to go past it before turning back to it”. I didn’t like the sound of that, but knew 100% now that I was going to finish – we were both going to finish together. And that we did, agreeing to run the last part over the village green, through the finish arch and to the hotel with the big “End of the Pennine Way” placard attached high up on it’s wall. Here, it was an obligatory tradition to kiss the wall and celebrate the finish, which we proceeded to do in unison with fifty five minutes to spare in second to last place.

 

There was cheering, cameras around, and short interviews. I immediately took my shoe off the most painful right foot as that was all that was in my mind, There was agony, there wasn’t any celebration, excitement, or feeling of accomplishment felt. I did just manage to smile out of the sheer sheer utter relief that the horrors and torture of the last six miles were over. I have no recollection of the medal being presented and hung around my neck, nor getting to the seating area prepared in the hotel reception for casualties of The Spine. Phew, no more, I could sit, eat, and drink, have a shower and sleep. Had it not been for the feet issues, the whole thing would have been a complete fun fest, but the feet really were a downer on the party.

 

I had Greg very much to thank for my finish, as without him I think maybe I would have slumped down for a nap on the roadside and never gotten up, I was close to that stage before he arrived on the scene I’m convinced. In the end after 275 miles and 155 hours and 5 minutes on the Pennine Way with a combined total of six hours and nine minutes of sleep, I ended up just 55 minute short of the cut-off in second to last place, it was closer than I’d have hoped, having been more than 15 hours ahead a couple of days ago, but what did that matter, as it was 55 minutes on the right side of the cut-off, I’d achieved what I’d set out to do, my dream for the last two years – that of being a Spine Finisher.

 

Here’s Gregs recollection of that last mile.

 

“Morning rolled in to afternoon and the miles clicked by and with every step the finish line at Kirk Yetholm came ever closer. I came across Chris just one mile from the finish who was in a pretty bad way. He was barely moving, his stride was around 15cm and he was clearly in a lot of pain. I didn’t have the heart to blast (i.e. shuffle) past him and, knowing I had just enough time in hand, I chose to stay with him for the last mile. We crossed the line together.”

 

 

Epilog

 

I hadn’t made any post-event arrangements as I couldn’t have guaranteed I’d get to the end. I just assumed that somehow I’d get home. The first problem was that there wasn’t any available accommodation. The Spine Team offered me the sofa in the hotel owners lounge – this was almost better than having a booked room up the stairs, I could just collapse and had the space to myself. That I did very swiftly, and despite an open doorway to a rowdy party going on in the bar with singing and loud chatter, once I was asleep, I didn’t awake until dawn. When I saw the first person appear in the morning, they exclaimed “wasn’t that storm something else, I hadn’t experienced one like that before, our room even had rain coming down from the ceiling”. The next couple of guys I saw showed me a video of the multiple lightning strikes that went on and on with no pause between. They couldn’t believe I’d slept through oblivious.

 

Then came the next hurdle, finding food! It was Sunday and early morning, nothing open in the village, and the hotel staff were away doing a buffet for a private function. It looked like I was out of luck and breakfast would comprise some stale fig biscuits and a soggy squashed energy bar or two, disappointing and a bit of a come down from the post event expectations.

 

Luckily a couple explained that a few of them had pre-booked breakfast and I tried my best as a non-guest to gate crash my way in on the invite list, which I did. It turned out to be the second-best breakfast of the last 7 days. It was superb, as well as having another full Scottish there was a buffet section of different bread and rolls that could be toasted, yogurt, cereals, juice etc etc, plus fresh filter coffee. A dream come true.

 

Whilst gnashing away at this feast I over heard a guy telling someone “I watched the last few runners come in last night, they looked like they had suffered the most, the first thing one guy did when he finished was take his shoes off”. I turned to them and they instantly recognised me as that runner, and there was a bit of laughter and banter that followed. This, and my breakfast gave me a short break from my woes and lows of my self pity.

 

The final problem - getting back to Edale some 268 miles South of here to pick up my car with my feet in firey pain. I hadn’t even studied the logistics of this beforehand. I couldn’t contact either of the only two taxi drivers in a 15-mile radius on a Sunday morning so I decided it would have to be a bus journey to the nearest railway station if that were possible. The only problem was the local bus stop was 100 metres away on the other side of the green, and that could take me all day with the hobble I had. My feet had completely swelled over night, even my size-up shoes were tight. I think my body had shut shop too, I didn’t want to move from my spot. My brain had decided to refuse to let me walk on my feet. However, I did end up shuffling with the aid of my trekking poles to the bus stop to find there was no Sunday service. I glumly returned to the hotel, just sitting there in a daze not really knowing what to do or really caring. Eventually a taxi driver did pick up the phone, it was explained to me that he doesn’t answer before 9am on a Sunday – fair enough really.

 

I got to Berwick Upon Tweed railway station and purchased a seven stage journey to Edale. Four connecting trains with changes at Newcastle, Darlington, York and Doncaster, then for the last part where maintenance of the track was taking place, three connecting buses to Edale with changes at Bamford turn-around, and Castleton. Later in that journey, lugging my 20kg drop bag and running backpack over platform bridges and though station causeways, I jumped off at the wrong station, had to get another ticket, and resume, then being late for my next train, but got away with being on the following train that I had no ticket for. The corridor was crammed with people. It was two trains joined together, and due to a technical fault, everyone had been directed to the wrong end, so most seats had two reservations for them, with quite few arguments going on, whilst the other end of the train was most likely empty. There were two police officers on board who didn’t want to get involved staying in the section between carriages where I was stood. Others couldn’t get to their reserved seats due to the aisle congestion. The train ended up with an unscheduled stop, and further police (transport police?) piled on to the train, and along with the restaurant carriage female server, sorted out the mess. I just kept quiet, not having a ticket for this train, not wanting to get mixed in with any fights that sounded like might result.

 

Changing trains and buses was a nightmare with my load and change of platforms required, After the first bus change I was offered a lift by an elderly couple whom felt sorry for me and went 20 miles out of their way to get me to Edale, saving me two of the further bus journeys, thank you so so much. They were later to report to the banks, that they’d found both my debit cards on the back seat – I’d been looking for some petrol money that they had out-rightly refused to take and must have dropped the cards. Luckily I didn’t have any more expenditure to come, other than a few coffees paid for with cash. This added to my lost gear list I later composed to include a sleeping bag, sun glasses, a baseball cap, and a pair of shorts.

 

So it was, the drive home, stopping at every motorway services for a nap and a coffee, eventually arriving home before midnight on Sunday, a long long day which would be the start of a three week initial recovery.

 

The first three days went by in a haze of sleep, eating, and lounging in the sofa, sleep routine was completely random day and night indistinguishable, feet were burning and had to be doused in cold water every two or three hours, the swelling had got worse before receding. I must admit to being in a state of depression for a couple of weeks. I’d heard this often effects people after a big event such as a marathon, but I’d always before had the opposite, and be buzzing for a week after. Luckily I knew this would be temporary and indeed it was. Getting out the house for a cycle, and meeting up with friends was the trigger for pushing the depression away.

 

The exhaustion didn’t really disappear until the end of three weeks, where I broke the monotony by racing in a local five mile trail race - the Hazlebury Hurrah. I managed to get around almost without walking so declared recovery over. However, I know complete recovery (defined as not needing a rest day following a hard effort) takes six months. At least this was the pattern last year and what a few Spiner’s had mentioned in previous years from their own experience. Hopefully with better fitness and being in a much better state at the end of the event, and having taken it especially easy for the first five days during the race, full recovery this time will be a lot quicker.

 

Thank you to Andrew Hendry – one of the Spine photographers, whom it felt like stalked me throughout the event, and got some incredible pictures for me to keep as memories. He popped up literally everywhere, including catching me sleeping in the bird hide, hopefully that’s permitted.

 

Of course thanks go to all the Spine volunteers including the Spine Safety Team, Mountain Rescue, the medics, cooks, drivers transporting the drop bags, organisers, route planners, CP guys, all the other volunteers and paid representatives, and of course all the participants whom I met along the way, you all made the event what it is, very special indeed, and memories to keep for a lifetime.

 

Thank you to my great Spine buddies, come training partners, Laura and Clive for putting up with me on our many training runs, weekends, and recces. It’s been great to share the whole experience and to bounce stuff off each other in the lead up, Special thanks to their partners who surely blame me for talking them in to doing this years event in the first place.

 

Thank you too for all those dot watching addicts, I received 100’s of messages of support and motivation from them during the week. I’m sure when I set out on my journey along the Pennine Way you hadn’t planned to be obsessed by a dot on the screen for a week😊

 

And the most thanks go to my family who took second place during the last two years of my life, my training, and obsession with everything Spine. Their support was incredible, and not once did they whinge when I had to change plans from family stuff to go on a training weekend. I even missed a milestone in my daughter’s life whilst out racing this event – her Prom following completing her GCSEs. I’ll now try to make up the best I can for that.

 

What now? That’s a real quandary and I do feel there is a real void in my life now. I’m sure something will come up, but I’m absolutely in no rush. What will be will be, I do generally need something to drive me, so it does feel all a bit strange at the moment. I’m hoping to look back on the event as a big achievement to be proud of at some stage soon, but for now it’s more contentment.