Broken - Surviving Britain's Toughest Fun Run - The Montane Spine Challenger 2019

Gargrave looked just so pretty. 

Its church tower rising above its meadows, flanked by attractive buildings and beyond that the rolling hills. I stopped to take a photo – this would be my last Spine photo. I wanted to record the end of my race. There was no shame in that. It was a rational decision I had come to over the previous hour or so. It was the right decision. It didn’t even hurt that much at the time. I knew I could not face those moors again another night, I was broken. It would be unsafe.

Gargrave - the planned last Spine photo

I had worked out my "Did not Finish" (DNF) planning. I don’t do plan-less. I scanned for signs of a Spine Support Team (SST) on the edge of town. If one was there, it would be easy “I am going to retire”. If there was none I would text Race Control, then find a taxi and work my way up to Hardraw to collect my drop bag. I hoped for an SST, the prospect of immediately hopping in a minibus and speeding my way to the finish was attractive. As I entered the town I saw the Team, a couple of figures stood by the road looking down my way. I wobbled then. I stopped 50 meters or so from them, turned and leant heavily on my trekking poles. This was the moment of truth. I hated it, but it was the right decision. No shame. The sentence I had been rehearsing for that last hour changed though, in those seconds before. “I am going to retire” changed to “I am thinking of retiring”. That was ok though. They wouldn’t let me carry on, it was still over.

I turned and walked towards them “How are you doing” they called. “Not good”, I replied, adding the rehearsed line. The man spoke first “No you’re not”, the woman added “No way, you are.” If I’d done my homework I would have known these were probably the last two people I would have got away quitting with, the response was totally unexpected. It threw me. “That last section is horrible” the woman added. “No that, I explained, just all of it, the night was pretty bad”. There was a bit more chatter then then a plan emerged. “There’s a café just down there, go and get yourself warm, get some food inside you. If you still want to quit in an hour, fine, if not we’ll watch you leaving and heading for Malham.”

It seemed a pretty good deal. What harm would a cup of tea do now?

I’d been thinking about the Spine for a year. It is the ultimate Dot watching thrill, early January in the post-Christmas lull, watching the virtual figures moving slowly up the map – then watching the videos and the grit of those taking part. I resolved to make the start line.

The application for the Spine is not straightforward. This is no “click and enter” event. You have to apply with a mini-CV of what you have done before, and I think persuade them you are genuinely mad enough to take part. I received the email acceptance to my application a week or so after I sent it in, and was excited and daunted in equal measure to be offered a place. So daunted in fact that I sat on the email and did nothing for a month or so. I was aware that clicking “enter” really would be jumping off a cliff and that once entered I was committed to being there.

I worked pretty hard in the autumn, and was better prepared for the Spine than I had been for anything, managing to get decent long runs in, and clocking up a good general mileage – peaking at 70/80 Km a week at the beginning of December. It wasn’t enough of course, it never is. The only thing I think I would generally do differently would be to do more training runs with a pack and with poles. You can feel a bit self conscious running around rural Surrey looking like a Foreign Legion escapee, but it does make a difference.

Peak training

The week before the event was fairly hectic, writing check lists, packing and unpacking my back pack about twice a day, thinking through logistical issues and becoming paranoid about single points of failure in my plan.

Single points of failure - now bear with me (or skip this section, but be warned it is highly relevant later!) - as a good example lets look at head torches: I have an excellent head torch I bought before The Oner a year or so ago. It is a Lupine Piko. It is incredibly light and produces 350 lumens at “low” power, which is really very bright. On full beam it produces 1800 lumens, car head lamp brightness. It was amazing for the Oner and minimized the risk of falling off the cliff tops in the night! The niggle in my head was the burn time on low was marginal at 16 hours, unless I dropped it down to the backup 40 lumens brightness when it would burn for 160 hours. 40 lumens is pretty weak. I would carry a backup battery giving me an extra 8 hours on low, and 24 hours should have been enough. However, crunching the numbers, potentially on the second leg of the Spine from CP1 to CP2 I could be out there for 8 hours (night 1) plus 16 hours (night 2) plus 4 hours (night 3) totaling 28 hours. In the end I changed the programme the torch was running on so “low” was just 170 lumens (still bright)  not 350 and this gave me the potential burn of 48 hours with a good margin of error. Still a failure point though, if the whole unit failed. I decided to pack my Petzl e+ Light as a back up. The e+ is the lamp everyone throws in when the race rules say you need a backup lamp. It only produces 50 lumens – you don’t want to have to use it, but if your main lamp fails it should get you home. That should have covered my SPOF anxiety around head lamps, but the day before the race I found myself looking around for a second brighter lamp to throw in, until I told myself to stop being stupid and forgot about the issue…… It wouldn't be a problem.... 

Anne ran me to the station on the day before the race and I headed off with the contentment that comes with carrying everything you need to survive a few days anywhere, even if that meant bivouacking in a toilet and eating freeze dried food. I had an hour to change at Sheffield, and was soon spotted on the platform by Stuart and Elizabeth who had travelled up separately from Norwich, and met on the train. The “big kit bag, little pack bag” was a bit of a give away. 

Registration is right next to the train station at Edale, we were quickly inside going through the usual kit check and having the Dot Watch photo taken. The actual race briefing was up the hill at a different centre. I had 45 minutes or so wait for that, and I took the opportunity to go for a walk, the atmosphere of the registration was a bit intense and I needed fresh air. I walked up to the Pennine Way start point, took in the view then wandered back down to the briefing.

There was a bit of a hiatus between briefing and the shuttle bus to the Youth Hostel, I joined up with a small group who headed to the pub for dinner; Elizabeth and Stuart joined by Antonio (Spain) and Adeodato (Italy). We talked races near and far before heading to the hostel.

Leaving the YHA, as ready as I'll ever be!

On the morning of the race we wandered back to registration to pick up trackers then walked to the start line, in an adjacent field. 8 o’clock arrived and we headed off. The pace was really slow at first. I always head off slow, but even doing this I realized half the field was behind me after a kilometer. We soon reached Jacob’s Ladder and started the slog up. The wind was really whipping and I popped my super cheap super amazing Decathlon photochromic glasses on to protect my eyes, they would stay on for most of the race. 
Near the top of the Ladder I passed Jen Scotney who I recognized from last year’s event video. “Did you win last year?”. She corrected me (third) and I found myself wondering if I was being too quick, but I really did not feel I was over-pacing at this point. I met a chap called Barney somewhere on the Kinder Plateau. Over the next couple of hours we uncovered amazing coincidences of almost knowing each other, our kids were the same age and at the same school but probably missed each other by one summer’s holiday before moving away.

Jen overtook both of us, and we followed. Her pace was reasonable, the running very easy on the plateau, mostly with flag stones. There was no need to navigate whilst following a previous podium holder, which we did all the way to Snake Pass. After that she left us for dust, on the way to another third place, arriving at the finish 13 hours before me!

I stopped at Snake Pass. It was two and a half hours in to the race and I had planned to have a snack here. The SST guys had hot water and I made a soup sheltering behind a car boot. The weather was grim, driving rain and I started to cool so I made the stop a short one before heading off towards Torside. This was a slow section, it was possible to run parts of it, other sections were through the furrows in the peat, over rocks and down slopes. I caught up with Barney and we met a couple of girls and ended up finding our way down the indistinct path to Torside together. Torside was reached four hours in. Glossop Mountain Rescue had set up a tent with luxurious seating inside and hot water. I had a dehydrated expedition meal, and was surprised others passed almost straight through barely stopping. This was lunch, dinner was scheduled at the famous M62 Burger van, which lay 4 hours further on.

Torside's Glossop MRT stop

The climb out of Torside to Laddow rocks felt really hard work. It’s a fairly steep climb but for the first time in the race I felt tired. I took it easy but was frustrated to be overtaken by a few others. Doubts flickered through my head “not fit enough…” The gradient lessened and progress became easier, although the wind was still brutal and bringing with it the rain. Wessenden Head was particularly bad, I met a lady walking a dog “It’ll be easier when you drop down”, and she was right. I don’t think I ran much from that point on. The race rapidly turned in to a walk of attrition as night fell.

I was just above Round Hill when I decided to get my head torch on. Alone then, I had been waiting for shelter to stop. I needed to put another layer on as well as find light. There was no shelter though, I could not wait longer as it would be dark, so I hunkered down with my back to the wind and went through the routine I had last practiced at Lakes in Day on Helvelyn. Managing to avoid losing kit in the wind I carried on, then unexpectedly found myself at the A62 crossing complete with SST station. I scolded myself for not having the route mentally wired as it would have been so much easier to do my admin at the SST.

Soon I arrived at the M62 crossing, to be greeted by the indefatigable Steph Dwyer who I had chatted to in the pub the night before and who holds the Mountain Rescue Team Record for the Challenger course. The bad news was no burger van. That meant no dinner. The good news, Steph explained, was that Oldham Mountain Rescue had set up a shelter just a few Km ahead at the White House. I left with two other Spiners, Basil and William. 

We headed across the M62 footbridge and on to Blackstone edge. Suddenly and strangely we came across a figure slumped down by the edge of the path in the dark with no torch. “Can you help me lads, can you phone 999” he called. An elderly chap, he was lost, seemed to have found the path and slumped down waiting for someone to come by. He looked cold, but was able to stand. “How many layers have you got on?” I asked. He showed just a single layer beneath his jacket. I dug out my spare fleece as William contacted Race Control. Basil found his spare head torch. “Are you hungry?” I asked -  yes. “Do you eat chocolate? Oh sorry out of chocolate! Biscuits?” We agreed with Race Control to walk him back down towards the M62. Basil would take him, I offered to go with him, but Basil was happy to take him alone. We agreed as it was the main Spiner track if there was a problem Basil would soon bump in to more people coming up the track. In any case he had his survival and sleeping bag, unlike our new friend who seemed to have no equipment other than an empty rucksac. There is something hugely satisfying about snapping in to instant team work with a couple of strangers, knowing you are all equipped to survive in the worst winter can throw at you. Basil and the lost man disappeared back down the hill as William and I packed to move on. The man was lucky. Had the Spine race not been on I suspect he would have sat on that track without being found, until he could no longer move and died of hypothermia.

It was not too far to the White House where, as promised, Oldham Mountain Rescue had set up a small gazebo with hot water and some munchies. I filled my flask and made myself a porridge in lieu of dinner. I figured out that the main checkpoint was only a few more hours away and I could wait for dinner until then. I wasn’t really keen on another rehydrated meal. Setting off alone I felt pretty strong. The section from the White House is along the reservoir edges on hard track. I power walked, something I had trained to do at other events – especially Ironman France when I was walking as fast as some were running along the promenade. It is much less punishing on the feet than running and on flat smooth surfaces really effective. I made a minor navigational error and ended up at the bottom of the dam wall at Warland Reservoir. For help to future Spiners see the diagram. I don’t know how I managed to miss the path which goes on the top of the dam. Once you end up where the track runs out (circled) it’s a long way back, but if you carry on over the grass it is an easy climb up at the end of the dam.

Warland and the navigational error 

I joined another runner at the end of the dam and we headed towards Stoodly Pike. The wind increased towards crazy strength, we were being blown about although happily it was more a side than a head wind so we could make progress. At the monument we took shelter in one of the alcoves for a few minutes before agreeing to get off the hill as soon as possible. The drop down towards Hedben was fairly quick and the wind mercifully dropped as we did.

Tiring now, the last few miles to the checkpoint was awful. It is a steep and unpleasant climb out of the valley, followed by a series of undulating and seemingly meaningless paths meandering across farmers fields. CP1 could not come quick enough. My race mate had dropped back so I arrived alone at about 11.30pm to enjoy an hour’s respite after 15 hours or so on the trail.

Keeping warm and sorting kit at the luxurious CP1

It wasn’t especially busy, so it was easy to find space to do the necessary admin. I changed socks, taped a pressure area on my foot, changed my snack and supplies bags. I plugged in a replacement head torch battery and changed the batteries in my GPS. Dinner was pizza and chicken with rice followed by rice pudding. It tasted amazing. I had been feeling pretty bad on the way in to CP1, but after refueling and resting I felt so much better. If I knew what I know now, I would have grabbed a couple of hours’ sleep at CP1, but as it was I headed out again not long after midnight.

This was a really long section of gloom and dark in the wind and rain. A loose group of us came together for a while, as we climbed up towards Top Withins. We tried to take a group selfie by the bothy. After that the others pulled ahead and I was happy to drop back at my own pace, quite enjoying the solitude of the moor top in the small hours. 

Failed group selfie at Top Withins

I was tired though, and occasionally struggling to stay awake. The path was indistinct at times and I forced myself to keep focused on it. I would have maybe been better to have used the bothy at Withins for a nap, but surrounded by company I was much more awake an hour previously. There was no shelter on the moor. I don’t remember passing the SST at Oakworth but they clocked my time so I must have! Just around dawn I found a sheltered spot by the path at Cowling and made myself breakfast (porridge again), another Spiner passed me. Soon after I saw an SST chap “making a brew were you?”, he’d asked the chap in front if he’d seen someone stationary on the path as the tracker showed I was not moving. You’re supposed to notify control if you plan to stop for over an hour, so they can then start to get worried, but it was nice to know someone was dot watching! The chatter was friendly and supportive “just over the hill, you’ll get to Lothersdale, there’ll be some folk with a pop up waiting for you”.

Climbing up from Oakworth I spotted a barn ahead with a large inviting open side, and saw a figure sleeping with poles outside. I later learnt it was Mark getting his head down, he too had had no sleep until that point.

I could see the promised aid station in the valley below as I arrived at Lothersdale. It was outside the closed pub, and the welcome from the local triathlon club manning the station was amazing. They sat me down on a folding chair, I chose marmite as my hot drink (not had that for years!) with lentil soup and bread. The gazebo had sides and was the first proper shelter I’d had for 12 hours. It was so tempting to stay for ages. Mark arrived just as I was leaving, I managed to forget both my gloves and poles, but remembered 20 meters down the road and came back for them.

If Heineken did pop up aid stations - thanks Craven Energy Tri Club!

The benefit from the fuel stop didn’t last too long. I started to tire on climbing again, and really needed a proper meal. I am starting to think I only perform with decent food inside me! I found a handy wall in Thornton-in-Craven and decided to make lunch. It was chicken curry this time, but my hot water was not really hot enough to properly hydrate the food, and it was crunchy and gloopy to eat. I managed only about a third and the rest went in the ditch. I was starting to feel properly sorry for myself, now exhausted, hungry and starting to get cold. Mark caught me up mid-meal and we had a brief chat. I told him I was thinking of quitting at Gargrave. That was a big thing for me. I have never DNF'd a race, and whilst every runner feels like quitting at some point, in some races, I'd never even vocalised I might quit to anyone, in any race, before. 

 “Don’t, you’ll regret it” he urged. He explained he had DNF'd the race a year or so ago, and was so frustrated with himself he had driven back the next weekend and finished the section he had missed. I promised to think about it, and promised to catch him up after I’d cleared lunch away.

Mark kindly slowed ahead, allowing me to catch him. He knew the route well and it was a huge benefit not having to navigate for a while. As we arrived at the canal I needed to rest again, I told Mark I would see him at Gargrave. He went on ahead.

I thought through my options. The problem was I felt spent, I was done. I’d travelled around 70 miles and had been on the go non-stop for around 30 hours. I told myself DNF’ing was no shame. I was worried about being cold, it had taken ages to warm myself up again, even keeping my duvet jacket on to walk in. I was thinking to the night ahead, coming in only 5 or 6 hours’ time. It would be dark, I faced the hill tops again. I had an imagined conversation with Anne in which we both agreed that stopping was the sensible thing to do. It took me about an hour to get to Gargrave, and I’d spent all of that time refining my DNF strategy. I hadn’t banked on Peter, Sarah and Mark.

The SST team at Gargrave pointed me in the direction of the café at Gargrave and pretty much ordered me to go and have a nice cup of tea. I wondered in, and found Mark sitting at a table, sipping at a cup with my chair waiting. “I was waiting for you before I ordered food” he said. He told me he had tipped off the SST of my planned DNF, so they were not surprised when I told them. Mark explained the SST were Peter Gold and Sarah Fuller, both highly experienced Spiners who know what its like when it gets tough. Ironically Sarah had written a long posting about the psychology of the Spine just before the race, and how to avoid DNF’ing, to quote Sarah; "Stamp your feet, have a cry, throw your poles across a field, have a protest in the middle of a road (yes I've done all of those). Lose it then refocus and stomp on...."

I ordered a cheese and ham toastie, loved the cup of tea, and started to feel better. Peter came back in to the café to tell us the race had been diverted around Pen y Gent due to the severe winds so “you don’t even have to worry about that”. A few minutes later a running friend from home, Ian, popped in to the café “you’re famous” he declared – explaining that he had spotted me on the tracker, and the SST had told him where we were and that I was thinking of quitting. Shortly after Jon, another friend of Ian’s who was doing the Challenger also arrived at the café. The atmosphere had changed in the space of half an hour from one of impending doom to a party. It was really very strange. Looking back now it is hard to explain how you could feel so rubbish, and want to quit, yet so quickly find the energy to carry on. They say endurance is 90% psychology, which would explain it. 

I rationalized with Mark – ok so if we carry on, all we need to do is get to Checkpoint 1.5 at Malham Tarn, and then if I feel really rubbish I can quit before we do the moors again. It seemed a fine plan. We thanked the café owner and went on our way.

The section from Gargrave to Malham is notorious for being tricky to navigate. Mark knew it well, so the GPS was switched off and I simply followed him. It seemed fairly straightforward (easy when you are following!) and we reached Malham village just before it was dark. We headed straight for the pub and went to the walkers’ bar. The bar staff were delighted to welcome us and we bagged a large table next to the wood burning stove complete with drying rack. We had reached a kind of heaven. I dried some kit, ordered some food and a drink and we chatted over our strategy for the night ahead of us. Mark was tired and needed rest, but preferred to stay warm in the pub. I was keen to get horizontal for an hour or so, so we agreed I would head to the Public Toilets for a sleep.

We are in an Ultra Race, honest!

I left some of my kit on the pub drying rack (luxury!), put my pack on and wandered out of the pub. My head torch would not switch on. I ignored it, and walked carefully in the dark down the street towards the National Park Centre, a hundred meters or so down the lane. The toilets there are well known as a Spine napping place, although protocol dictates this should not be done during daylight hours for fear of scaring the ramblers! The car park was virtually empty by now, it was early evening on a Sunday in January and I thought I was pretty safe. I found the loo around the back of the centre building and went in, happily automatic lights went on as I did, and I found the most suitable spot for a kip just below the baby changing table. I unpacked my kit – it was luxury to be able to do this away from wind and rain, left my Spine race number showing to offer “ID” in the event I was found,  inflated my mattress and got inside my sleeping and bivvy bag. It was so cosy, even though the gale force wind was blowing the toilet door in now and again, creating a bit of a draft. I had almost fallen asleep when I heard a noise and a rambler came in for a last minute pee before heading home. “Evening”, I cheerfully called. “Evening”, he replied, as if we had passed on the street. He had his pee then left. I felt slightly self conscious, but was rapidly drifting to sleep and hoped I would now have the place to myself.

Home sweet home

I had agreed with Mark I would return by 8pm. As it happened I slept like a log for about an hour, then woke just after 7pm feeling really good, and decided to get up again. I felt pretty stiff, and my right calf was feeling really tight, but a few stretches helped. I had a look at my head torch. There was clearly a loose connection somewhere as most of the time it was totally dead, but in some positions it sprung in to life. Practically though, it was now useless. I wandered back to the pub to find Mark with his eyes closed on the sofa by the fire. He stirred quickly when I arrived and we agreed to get ready to leave. Two of the Spine media team were in the bar and came to have a chat. The girl took our photo for the Facebook page, and promised she would not mention she’d found us in the pub! I packed away the practically useless head torch and got my Petzl e+ Light out.

Media stars

Apart from my tight feeling right calf, I now felt amazing. Proper food and a power nap had transformed my energy levels and the despair of Gargrave now felt distant. We walked towards Malham Cove, my head torch producing a dim glow alike moonlight. It was fine for spotting where my feet should go, but useless for route-finding. As we walked in to the Cove Mark commented my lack of light was slowing us down, and handed me his spare head torch. I felt bad borrowing it – all our resources were limited and we had a long night ahead, but it was the right thing to do, and with a proper torch on we were both able to visualize the technical route up the Cove and beyond towards the Tarn. The weather was now starting to transform. The clouds parted and we could see starlight, and a half moon. It was incredible. We were though totally alone, there were no other head torches around, we had no idea where our nearest competitors were.

After a longer than expected walk we arrived at checkpoint 1.5. The final section was grassy and easy so I handed Mark his head torch and reverted to my portable moonlight for the final kilometer or so.

The “0.5” in the CP’s  name was to indicate this was an official but facility free checkpoint. Stays inside were limited to 30 minutes. There was no food, and the sleeping facility either space on a covered veranda outside or a bird watchers’ hide 500 meters down the track. We went inside to a warm greeting from the lovely checkpoint team. I recognized John Bamber from Spine videos. As we arrived he looked at my head torch and said “Can I ask is that head torch any good?” “No its rubbish” I replied, to laughter, and within minutes John had his toolkit out and was poking around at my head torch whilst I was offered hot chocolate. John’s prodding revealed a broken connection in the plug of the head torch lead, and despite chastising himself for not having a working soldering iron, he managed to crimp and tape it back to working order, which was fantastic.

The John Bamber head torch fix!

Buoyant to now have a proper working light again we left the CP once again re-energised, with the next stop the famous Pen-y-Gent café, which we estimated we would arrive at around 2am. The walk there was long and tiring, Fountain’s Fell being the main challenge. It went on for ever with multiple false summits until eventually we reached the plateau and the dry stone wall marking the top. We stopped behind the shelter of the wall for a snack before climbing over in to the wind to start the descent. We could see a few lights ahead in the valley, it was difficult to know if they were other Spiners or not. At one point a little later when climbing the slopes of Pen-y-Gent I was confused by something floating in the sky. My head torch seemed to illuminate it, yet when I moved my head torch away it stayed still, hovering in mid-air and still shining. I quizzed Mark who stopped and said “you mean the lights of the other guys on Fountain’s?” He was right, but our tired eyes were starting to imagine things. As time went on we entertained each other by comparing delusions, my best being a huge dark sinister figure waiting for us by the track which turned out to be a cat on a wall!

A sign confirmed our diversion away from Pen-y-Gent summit due to the wind, and we started the descent to Horton. It was a tricky descent with tired bodies, and we were delighted to be greeted outside the café by the SST who had been tracking us. We passed a couple of figures outside the café bivvying and agreed to spare an hour outside ourselves after eating. We were way ahead of schedule to finish the race within the allotted time limit of 60 hours, so we could afford to recharge.

Inside the café we were greeted by the team and the café owner. The owner apologized for his reduced “Spine race” menu! I opted for a pre-sleep bacon butty to be complemented by a post-sleep chicken stew. I had given up naming meals by name as times of day really had no meaning any more. We went outside to Bivvy, with the SST Medic offering to give us a wake up call at 4am which we happily accepted.

Second supper at Pen-y-Gent cafe

I actually slept! Not for long, I was down on the floor for just an hour before our wake up call, but probably had a good 45 minutes. Oddly on waking I felt a lot less stiff than I had waking at Malham, my calf felt fine. I went back in the cafe and ordered the chicken stew and a pint mug of tea. We packed up as another couple of Spiners arrived. The SST carried out their mandatory kit check as we watched. When they asked to be shown a working GPS I pointed out the fact these guys had got 90 miles to the right place probably meant that either they had one, or they didn't need one. Humour helps at 4am. 

We offered huge thanks to the team at the cafe, then left. This was it, the last leg. Just 16 miles now to the finish. We started to chat over potential arrival times. We spotted torchlight ahead of us. We moved on slowly but surely up the track. We met the other torches after a few miles, catching them at a river crossing. They were a Scottish couple Andrew and Kathryn. We chatted for a while walking along, then Mark and I eased ahead. Soon the first light appeared in the sky and we switched head torches off "for the last time". The Cam Road appeared, we inched on. Mentally exhausted we continued to misinterpret our surroundings. "There's definitely a couple up there" I declared at one point, "I'm not making it up this time am I?". Mark agreed - yes definitely. We differed in what we thought they were wearing "they're in Camo". Mark disagreed, "no they're an old couple". They turned out to be a cairn. Mark pointed out the Cam Road shivered in the wind. It really did, ripples moved towards us as we walked up it. 

Last torchlight of the Spine

At the high point of the Road we met a media crew. We chatted to them as they filmed us. I enthusiastically explained our various delusions. We missed the cut on that day's highlights video, I suspect it was too weird for prime time. After we left them a drone buzzed around us for a while (now that *was* real!) and we made the cut on the drone footage. 

The march to the finish, me with the red pack (Episode 4 about 1.59 in!)

We turned off the Cam Road as the Pennine Way headed for Hawes. As Mark pointed out it was such a lovely day for walking it was a shame we were too wasted to enjoy it. Our major problem now was we had run out of paracetamol. Mark had mistakenly packed ibuprofen which he quite rightly didn't want to use (its bad for kidneys, the gut and sodium levels especially with endurance exercise) so we had been sharing my paracetamol supply. We both had annoyingly painful minor issues, but going cold turkey at this point was not too much fun! We sort of hobbled down towards Hawes with the intention for finding a shop to buy some more. 

On the outskirts of Hawes a familiar figure appeared in the road (also real...). It was Ian again, and his arrival was a real boost. If you know people doing this sort of thing and have the chance to cheer them briefly, please do. A handshake and a cheer is worth another 2-3 miles to an exhausted racer. I look far more presentable in Ian's photo than I felt. Maybe the camera does lie. 

Ian has a flattering camera

We stopped briefly in Hawes to buy the much needed paracetamol and a few snacks before the short walk on to the finish at Hardraw. I had been told the last stretch across the fields was boring and dragged. I actually quite enjoyed it. It was so pretty, and sun was now shining making the grass green. It felt soft underfoot and my feet hurt less. 

Finish in sight ahead

As we approached the finish, and at a stile in the path, Mark said casually "you go ahead you can take the line honours". "No way", I said, "Without you this would have been so much harder, we're crossing the line together." A few volunteers from the finish came out to greet us. It was wonderfully low key, but welcoming. We crossed the line together, shaking hands as we did. Someone put a medal around my neck. 

We went inside, took out boots off, and sat on a sofa by a wood burning stove. Friendly faces were all around. A handwritten note on the white board read "Congratulations on finishing Britain's Most Brutal Fun Run". That summed it up very well. 



Epilogue

Through complex Snakes and Ladders train scheduling, and to pleasant surprise I made it back home that evening. Anne (she's is so cool) was waiting by the ticket barrier as I shuffled along with my now lighter backpack and now much heavier drop bag, following a shower and a change. As honorary press officer Anne filled me in on the various goodwill messages and shared her excitement. Joshua was still up when I got home, proudly showing off the "Well Done" banner he had made, and a custom made "Spine" cookie. Yum :-) 

I spent the following day sorting my kit out, the washing machine in constant use. As always happens with these things, it had ended quickly, it was over. I was warned about "Post-Spine syndrome" - the build up to the race is so intense it kind of takes over. I don't feel like that. I just feel really happy to have finished the thing. I'm also pleased I actually enjoyed a good 75% of my time out there. (If you do the maths, that also indicates about 13 hours of misery, but lets gloss over that bit...). 

It was genuinely a fantastic adventure. It was long enough to properly make connections with loads of people met along the way. The Pennine Way gets a bad name for being bleak, yet the bits I saw were mostly truly beautiful (accepting that more investigative maths reveals 32 of the 52 hours were pitch black and day 1 was mostly gale and rain. Beautiful gale and rain though...). 

This was though without doubt the best race experience I have ever had, because of three things; Purpose, camaraderie and difficulty. I love linear races - it is crazy looking back at a map and thinking "I went that far?!" 
The camaraderie is always there to a degree in foot races, but at the Spine the support crew are one with you in urging you to hang in there, and the relationships with other racers so much more intense. Difficulty - well it isn't called Britain's Most Brutal (Fun Run) for nothing.