The Spine Race 2025

Arriving in Edale

My journey to the start line would be via Ashbourne, dropping Harriet and Jack off at the in-laws (as well as Ollie the spaniel, for his holiday at the farm) before my lift up to Edale. The Peak District was absolutely stunning, with beautiful winter conditions the whole way up. It really felt like driving through the Alps or Canada with frozen white trees and endless snow-covered fields as far as the eye can see, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen it.

As we approached the Hope valley, the roads got busier and busier, with plenty of people out enjoying the incredible conditions along the Mam Tor ridge. We took the back road, rather than the combination of Winnats Pass and Mam Nick, which had been closed on-and-off for the week before due to the conditions. Edale was absolutely rammed once we arrived, but thankfully I was dropped off directly outside The Peak Centre for registration, avoiding hauling my 17kg drop bag (plus my race pack - weight unknown…) any further than I needed to. 

Joining the queue, which was already snaking outside, I was thankful for the good weather and for the extensive warm kit I’d bought, which was already proving useful.  John Kelly was ahead of me in the queue; I said a quick hello and asked to check the validity of his spork ahead of kit check, which he obliged. It looked like a pass to me!

The queue was moving pretty quickly, and kit check did prove to be a very well-oiled machine. After reading the waiver on entry (a final attempt to scare us off?) I was guided to my table for kit check. How extensive your check ends up being is dictated by your race number, and I’d won the lottery: full kit check! In a way, I was quite happy to know that I did indeed have absolutely everything listed on the mandatory kit list (over 35 items, I believe), but while still wearing all my layers from outside I was incredibly hot and sweaty by the end, hauling things in and out of my pack and drop bag before hastily trying to stuff them back in, all while trying not to encroach on the next table! James Elson was the runner on that next table, so I thanked him for his extensive kit videos, and pointed out the many items of kit I had with me that were based on his guidance. 

After kit check, there was the minor formality of signing off on the waiver we’d read on entry, saving the Race HQ numbers into our phone in case we needed them, receiving our race number and drop bag tags, and having our photo taken for the tracker. Having still not properly packed my bags again, I stuffed everything anywhere it would fit, and hastily got out of the way before heading down to the Village Hall for the race briefing. 

The next minibus back up the valley to the YHA, where many of us were staying, wouldn’t leave for another hour and a half, and so to save lugging my drop bag around Edale or standing in the sub-zero temperatures for any longer than I’d need to, I opted to sit through the briefing three times. All of the information was well drilled into my by this point, but I did also catch the announcement that CP1 had been moved to the centre of Hebden Bridge, as the team hadn’t been able to get to the original location due to the ice! This would make the second leg of the race, already the longest, even longer, at about 110km. Finally, I bought a Spine-branded buff (why not?) and headed outside to wait for the minibus. 

Thankfully, I made it onto the next minibus, as spaces were pretty limited, especially with everyone’s drop bags. I’d been chatting to Quentin, from Paris, while waiting, and I gathered I wouldn’t see much of him on the course as he was aiming for a Thursday finish! Unfortunately, he wouldn’t go on to finish, being forced to retire with a suspected blood clot, resulting in a trip to hospital. 

On the minibus, I was sat behind Dougie Zinis, multiple Spine finisher and Double Bob Graham Round record holder, and it was fascinating simply listening to him talk about previous races and his plans for this one. I didn’t think his race strategies would be of much use to me (in the end, he would finish over 50 hours ahead of me…), but it really is a privilege that in ultra-running we’re able to get so close to the elites. 

Once at the YHA, I had the task of repacking my bag properly, whilst also getting talking with Terry. He actually recognised me from Instagram, which is a first, and little did I know that I’d be seeing a lot more of him over the next week! He was a self-confessed ‘huge fan’ of John Kelly - aren’t we all? Eugeni Solé, a former winner of the Spine, was also staying in the YHA, though he had actually lost a bag on his way over to Edale and so would be running in a lot of spare and borrowed kit. I can’t imagine being thrown off so much before such a huge race, and it’s a testament to his mentality and abilities that he still started the race, staying in the front pack until unfortunately having to retire. Eugeni also recruited Terry to take a video of him explaining his situation (entirely in Spanish) which seemed to be for him to send to his family.

Not knowing what the YHA would have by way of a food offering, I’d brought a packet of tortellini with me, but they had plenty of food on for Spine racers and so I opted for pizza and chips for dinner before heading up for an early night. I shared a table with Eugeni, who was looking a little stressed with his kit situation, but who also polished off a huge plate of chilli plus a beer!

Knowing that those involved with the Spine would likely have a lot of kit and large bags to contend with, the YHA had only half booked each room, which was very welcome. In an eight man room, that gave me four roommates: Bruce, who would go on to finish after me at some point on Sunday morning; Phil, a Summer Spine and penta-Ironman finisher (five times the distance of an Ironman!) who would unfortunately retire just after Hawes); and Taro, who had flown in all the way from Japan and would finish well ahead of me!

All things considered, I managed to get a decent night of sleep, with a 5.30am alarm to head back over to the dining room for an early breakfast. Again, I’d brought my own trusty meal (overnight oats), but I supplemented this with a small plate of cooked breakfast. In terms of calories, the more the merrier ahead of something like this! Once I was happy that my pack was ready for the first leg of the race, everything else was stuffed into my drop bag and it was back onto the minibus and down to the start in Edale for tracker fitting. 

The collection of the tracker was very quick and then left us standing out in the cold for longer than we’d have probably liked. I saw Terry again and we agreed we would have probably opted for a later minibus if we’d have known just how quick and easy things would be; we were both interviewed by the media team, my first of three appearances on the daily video updates. I also recognised Allie Bailey (on media duties, and who actually recalled our chat at the South Downs Way 100 from 18 months previous), Sarah Perry, and Mel Sykes, chatting with the latter as we headed to the start. We were urged behind the starting line, where I managed to grab a selfie with Jack Scott (hoping to steal some Spine magic…) before finding a spot and getting ready for our mammoth 450km journey up the Pennine Way. 

Edale to Hebden Hey

Without too much in the way of fanfare, and with a palpable sense of nervousness amongst the 160 runners, we were off and running up the road through Edale to the Nags Head at the start of the Pennine Way. Down in the valley it was very foggy and cold, but I was soon too hot in the layers I’d been wearing to keep warm before the start, especially as we began the gradual drag up towards Upper Booth. After a couple of kilometres, there seemed to be a collective agreement to stop and remove some layers, to which I obliged whilst also taking out my poles ready for the first big climb up to Kinder Low. 

It definitely isn’t the time to be a hero on the first climb of such a huge race, so the pace was steady all-round as we made our way up Jacobs Ladder. As we approached the top, we escaped from the cloud and fog sitting in the valley to be greeted by the most stunning cloud inversion from the Kinder plateau. It was a true Alpine scene, with snow covering every inch of the hills that stretched out into the distance, glorious sunshine, and an ocean of cloud sitting below us. Even so early in the race, it was obvious that this would be a real highlight, and the exact conditions and views that you wish for when you sign up to something like the Spine, with the added bonus of still being fresh enough to actually enjoy it!

Being so fresh, I was moving well along past Kinder Downfall, with what is usually fairly hard to navigate terrain being made easier by the obvious path worn into the snow ahead of us by the runners that had gone first. Here, I ran with Bev for a little while, chatting about our training, particularly around Edale, and our dogs! There were a huge amount of hikers on the trail (I felt sorry for them having to let 160 runners go past…), as well as ice climbers out on Kinder Downfall, something I definitely haven’t seen before. Many hikers and runners gave us cheers and ‘well done’s as we passed, which was welcome but didn’t seem deserved after less than 10km (“they’ve probably gone further than we have so far!”). 

Before long we were heading back down into the fog and cloud, heading down the steep descent to the paving slabs that run across to Snakes Pass. The slabs, usually a game of Russian roulette that can leave you waist deep in bog, were covered in a very runnable layer of compressed snow, which was a welcome change and made progress quick over to the road. After a quick water top up at Snakes Pass from the Spine Safety Team we were straight off up Bleaklow Head, passing a man with skis, who by his own admission, only gets to use them up here once every 10 years!

The further we got into the race, the more grateful I was for the path that had been forged by the Sprint and Challenger South runners the day before. God only knows how they had managed to break the trail through knee, and sometimes waist, deep snow for so many miles. The going was slow in places along the stream, zig-zagging across the water, with the mixture of snow and water making the ground less than stable. There was a good group of us, useful for navigating, and before long we were descending to Torside, with Bev’s first (of many) exclamations about me not using my spikes on the descent! I managed to make it down with one minor tumble onto the snow, to a very welcome cup of tea and (many) biscuits from the Mountain Rescue Team at the reservoir. 

Here, I chatted to Richie, as well as Jonny and Dave who were both two time finishers of the Spine, and tried to steal some knowledge particularly around the sleep strategy for the first checkpoint. I’d see Richie a few times later, including for a full English at the cafe in Dufton, but unfortunately the other two wouldn’t finish at their third attempt. 

Crossing the reservoir and heading up the steps to the short forest section, another runner was being greeted by his wife and children before joining me for the stint through the trees… Little did I know then that I’d be spending the next 240km with Lee, all the way to Langdon Beck! We chatted up the long and quite disorienting climb up over Black Hill, again relying on the path laid out for us by yesterday’s runners, where following the descent there was another welcome water top up from the SST, before a push over through the darkening fog past Wessenden Head to a surprise MRT aid station at Brunclough Reservoir. This was a real unexpected haven, with salted potatoes, flapjacks, and Coca Cola all going down an absolute treat! It goes without saying that the support from the SST and MRT is absolutely incredible, and makes this race what it is. 

Here, it was time for headtorches, and then a couple of very similar climbs over Standedge and White Hill taking us in to the welcome respite of Nicky’s Food Bar, where we had a burger waiting for us. The darkness was already proving disorienting even at this early stage; depth perception is seemingly non-existent when looking at lights in the distance, and the snow compounded this, with the grey snow blending into the grey sky above. As we entered Nicky’s Food Bar, Bev was finishing off her food and still astounded at my lack of spikes, but I pushed on without them over Blackstone Edge to the final MRT station of the day at The White House pub. I think my reluctance to use spikes was simply the sunk cost fallacy in action: “I’ve made it this far without them, the snow will disappear soon…”. 

From here, we knew there were no more stops until the first checkpoint at Hebden Bridge, and it was time to settle in for the proper night shift. A long, disorienting section past a number of reservoirs that seemed to go on forever, and felt like we were going round in circles, before finally climbing up the long drag to Stoodley Pike. Again, the darkness was disorienting here, and not realizing the size of the monument marking the summit, it always felt like it was closer than it ended up being! 

Once we’d eventually made it to the top, there was a fairly pleasant descent down until the signposted diversion to leave the Pennine Way, heading down to the revised checkpoint in the centre of Hebden Bridge. We passed Bev going the opposite way, unfortunately she’d dropped a glove that she wouldn’t end up finding, though thankfully it wasn’t much further until she’d be able to grab a new one from her drop bag.

We were treated to a very steep road descent which hammered the quads nicely, passing Mel going the other way who seemed very fresh and in great spirits. From there, we were taken along the canal, through the town centre (past an extremely drunk man who was staggering around, and who I wouldn’t like to run into on my own), before a very steep road ascent that finally led us to the checkpoint. We knew that sequence of ups and downs would be hard work on the way back out! On the final drag up, John went the opposite way, one of four members of Lee’s running club who I hadn’t met up to this point, but who I would spend plenty of time with later in the race. It was then that Lee mentioned another member of the running club: “John Kelly is his hero”… I asked whether it was Terry, by any chance, which it was! Small world.

We’d decided not to sleep here, so the plan was to get in, eat, sort out kit admin, have a short rest to recharge, eat again, and get back out as quickly as possible. All-in-all, we were there for about two hours, which was what we’d agreed on beforehand, including a short ten minute lie down. I really didn’t eat as much as I should have here, having only two portions of food in total and opting for the ‘chicken and rice’ option, which was more of a stew and didn’t have a huge amount of carbs (the vegetarian pasta option looked like much better fuel in hindsight), and I’d be sure not to make that mistake again in later checkpoints. Before leaving, we teamed up with Terry and Emily (another member of the running club!), as well as Patrick (Terry’s fellow scouser who he’d met at Nicky’s) and, after a brief panic that I’d lost my bivvy during kit check, we set off into the early hours of Monday morning.

Hebden Hey to Hawes

This was the longest section between checkpoints even before the first stop was moved, and now this leg was going to be well over 110km long. We also knew that there would be a lot less additional support here compared to the many SST and MRT stops that we’d had on the first leg, with the first decent stop coming at the triathlon club aid station in Lothersdale after well over 30km.

The snow was still very heavy going, and with the fog and darkness it was a real slog, at times feeling like we were going in circles or just going up and over the same hill time and time again. Even just the section back through Hebden Bridge was hard work, and that was followed by a tough climb before a seemingly aimless trudge across fields of deep snow, trying our best to avoid falling knee or waist deep. Sometimes we would be wading through the middle of the field, trying to find the best line among the many sets of footprints laid out before us, sometimes we would be forced down the path down the edge of the field, with the stone wall on one side and waist high frozen snow on the other. A real struggle with barely enough room to get one leg past the other, never mind your poles!

Even the short road sections, which might sometimes have been a welcome relief, were ice rinks that took a lot of concentration to navigate, and the whole night was very slow going, making the distance feel more like 50km. Circling around the endless moors in the dark, I never considered quitting at any point, but I definitely found myself wondering if I had bitten off more than I could chew. The darkness of the night seemed to be going on forever, and knowing I probably had five more full nights, with sixteen hours of darkness each, to look forward to was a pretty daunting prospect.

Finally, we made it to something that resembled civilisation, as we descended into Ickornshaw as the sun was starting to rise. Crossing the main road was a bit surreal (“A school bus? We’ve been hacking through the hills all night and people are going to school?”), and we were even greeted by a member of the SST, though having maybe expected them to be closer to the aid station, finding out we had another few kilometres to go wasn’t ideal. The first glorious sunrise of the week lifted everyone’s spirits, and after a couple more short climbs, with increased conversation after a very quiet night, we made it to Lothersdale and the haven that is the triathlon club pop-up aid station. 

A couple of coffees and a bacon sandwich went down a treat here, and we even managed to catch a couple of minutes of sleep to recharge in the camping chairs (with Patrick displaying his incredible deep sleeping abilities). There was a fairly loose thirty minute limit on our stay, which helped keeping us moving when it would have been easy to linger for far too long. From here, it wasn’t too far to Gargrave, so we pushed on, picking up John who we’d seen before, who had decided he’d gone off far too quickly in the first leg and had waited for us.

Lee and I ended up pushing ahead, feeling pretty strong, and passing the welcome sight of the tuck shop in Thornton-in-Craven, where I grabbed a sausage roll as well as a steak bake which I planned to save for the monitoring point at Malham Tarn. A short way up the track, I realised I’d left my poles behind! Thankfully I didn’t get any further without realising, so not too much added distance. 

From here we had a couple of easier stretches along the river and two or three small climbs up over farmland before dropping down into Gargrave, making much quicker progress with the easier terrain and the benefit of daylight. I also knew the next section to Horton well from one of my recce runs, so this felt like a good milestone to hit. We decided to opt for a portion of chips and a five minute nap in the pub (after asking their permission), followed by a quick stop at Co Op for a meal deal and some salted peanuts to give my palate a break from all of the sweet foods I’d been bombarding it with. Then, it was up the road towards the fields, with a brief conversation with a dog walker who asked where we were headed (“Scotland?!”). 

This section was fairly uneventful, as we made good progress down the river and over the fields to Airton and then on to Malham. I’d remembered some of these fields being very boggy, and hard to pick a good line through, but again the ability to follow the footsteps of others proved very helpful. The others from our group had passed us while we lounged in the pub in Gargrave, and we caught them at Malham Cove, just before the start of the climb. It was still daylight at this point, and Lee and I had started discussing hallucinations, expecting them to come in the second night once darkness fell. Not long after, he pointed out the photographer waiting for us up ahead… unfortunately it wasn’t a photographer, it was a cow. The hallucinations were maybe starting a little early! 

The snow was tough and treacherous here on the limestone pavement, made worse by some bits of broken fence that lurched out of the snow baring barbed wire. Headtorches went on as darkness fell, and thankfully the going got easier once we were up at the top and at the tarn. Lee and I were again feeling strong, and pushed on, shortly afterwards arriving in the comfort of the Monitoring Point, albeit with a strict (and I mean strict!) thirty minute limit on our stay.

The sight of a microwave here was beautiful, and I blasted my steak bake from the tuck shop and wolfed it down, giving me a new lease of life. The team here were great, other than kicking us out promptly, and this was the first time I’d meet one of the head medics, Alex, who would potentially save my race in a few days time! The weather was due to take a turn for the worse, and with Pen-y-Ghent removed from the route for safety concerns (a combination of ice and apparently an avalanche risk - in Yorkshire?!), the main course of the next section was Fountains Fell. I’d enjoyed the climb up Fountains Fell on my recce, but then it hadn’t been raining, windy, and the middle of the night either. The six of us managed to get a few minutes of sleep, and after a failed attempt at using “I need to finish my coffee” as an excuse to outstay my welcome (“you can finish it outside”) I was ready to go.

We set off and again Lee and I pushed on once more, feeling good and moving well despite the tough conditions. The snow here was still heavy underfoot, but the rain was going to make this even trickier by throwing in a good helping of slush and making it even harder to judge whether a drift of snow would take your weight. As we approached the farm at the bottom of Fountains Fell, we experienced our first proper hallucinations, and a joint one at that. We were both sure we could hear a radio playing somewhere on the farm, but I quickly realised it was just the sound of the cows moving around inside the shed! Shortly afterwards, I also had a strange and confusing moment, with the sleep deprivation causing me to forget Lee’s name, and ending up convincing myself it was either Ross or Russ… Thankfully, I didn’t call him either, and managed to realise my mistake a few hours later.

Fountains Fell was tough. Really tough. Howling wind, heavy rain, and lots of snow. However, where earlier it was easy enough to just follow in the footsteps of the Challenger South runners, here a new challenge presented itself. We would follow the path through the snow as we had been doing, but suddenly we would come upon a huge patch of the fell where the snow had melted. Unfortunately, the path made by those before us wasn’t necessarily on the Pennine Way, as they’d been unable to see it due to the snow, and so were forced to just make their own way and design their own route up to the summit! So the pattern became: follow the path through the snow until the snow disappears, navigate back to the actual path, follow this until the snow returns, follow the path through the snow, and repeat. This was really hard work and often had us trudging through the snow drifts back to the Challenger South path, which on multiple occasions led to me falling waist deep through the semi-melted snow into the bog or stream that waited beneath. It was really treacherous, and had I been on my own I could well have been in trouble. Without Lee to haul me out, I could have been stuck for a fair while, getting even colder and wetter. 

It sounds innocuous, but when you fall into the snow, and then try and use your other leg or arms to haul yourself out, and they fall into the snow too, you end up being unable to stand up! In hindsight, the conditions were really dangerous here, with many extremely experienced runners and mountaineers taking part in the race saying it’s some of the worst conditions they’ve ever been out in. I’d have to agree!

Despite all of this, on the climb up Fountains Fell I actually felt good, really good in fact. I don’t know if it was the steak bake but on the ascent I entered into what I can only call a true ‘flow state’, and something I have never experienced to that extent before. I was absolutely 100% focused and determined on the task at hand, and I don’t think I stopped for more than a second to check navigation, seemingly just knowing which way to go and making strong and steady progress up the mountain. Lee even remarked on how well I’d guided us up and over, and I spent the next few days boring anyone who would listen with the story of my steak-bake-blessed superpowers. In hindsight, the potential danger of the situation was probably what triggered this, but I’m sure the steak bake played a part.

Unfortunately, this didn’t mark the end of the leg for us, and after the descent and a short stint along the road, we turned up the start of the climb to Pen-y-Ghent before joining the Yorkshire Three Peaks route for the diversion down to Horton. It was tough going down here, with the snow and ice still out in abundance, and I was glad of my familiarity with the path to avoid the worst sections and the rockiest terrain. I felt sorry for those who’d been thrown out onto the new route with little warning and no GPS track to follow on their watch, especially those who weren’t familiar with the path. 

Eventually we made it down to Horton, where we hoped there might be some form of shelter for us to take and potentially try to dry off at least some of our kit. We’d been well and truly soaked over Fountains Fell (keeping very true to it’s name), but unfortunately the only shelter to be found was the public toilets, with their broken hand dryers, wet floors, and freezing cold interior. We had a glimmer of hope from the SST stationed there that the church might be open, with tea and coffee available for Spiners, but after trotting back the few hundred metres up the road, unfortunately it was very much locked and closed, and so we trudged back to the toilet block feeling pretty sorry for ourselves. I got changed, putting as many dry layers as I could on first, before adding some of the damp layers on top for any additional warmth I could find. My waterproof had done a fantastic job to be fair, but there’s only so much you can withstand when you’re in torrential rain for so long (and you’re also falling waist deep in snow). 

As we stepped back outside, I asked the SST if we could sit in the car for ten minutes just to warm up. I already knew the answer would be ‘no’, and as expected he responded “absolutely not” with a laugh, brutal. We were at least somewhat dry, and a nap on the floor of the toilets was out of the question with how wet it was, so we decided we needed to push on before we got dangerously cold in an attempt to restore some body heat. 

Sleep deprivation was beginning to kick in now, with Lee heading off the wrong way and bumping into Dave, another runner who’d got some sleep in a barn only to be locked in by the farmer, finding himself having to climb out the window! We regrouped and made sure to set off in the right direction, but my hyper focused state on Fountains Fell had taken its toll, and as we headed off up the Cam High Road the need to sleep really started to hit me hard.

I was sleep-walking at times here, and desperate to find some sort of out-building to nap in, hallucinating many times that a barn would appear in the distance, only for it to disappear as we got closer. Other hallucinations included thinking that snow drifts either side of the path in my peripheral vision were people sat on benches, watching us go by in the middle of the night. A couple of times, I attempted to take the lead on navigation, only to wander off the path asleep and end up knee deep in slush and ice before waking up! Finally, Lee suggested taking a nap and I slumped against the wall in the rain and fell asleep immediately, waking up two minutes later and panicking that I’d been asleep for hours. I felt surprisingly refreshed, having never taken the on-trail power nap option before, and using the same tactic a couple more times meant we were still making progress, however slow.

Conditions were awful for the entirety of this section, with snow drifts covering what would normally (I think) be a pretty runnable track and forcing us to traverse up across the snow-less and heather-packed hills. This was quicker, but meant added distance zig-zagging back and forth from the path, and was by no means runnable. The kilometres were ticking by incredibly slowly and even when the distance remaining to Hawes displayed on my watch was less than 5km it still felt like we were ascending rather than descending!

Eventually we started moving steadily downhill (through more truly awful terrain), and past a couple of inquisitive highland cattle who seemed to think about following us to the checkpoint. Lee had mentioned earlier about not being a massive fan of cows, so I neglected to point out the huge one he hadn’t see in the dark, a metre or so from where he was going through the gate.

After making it safely across a few more fields and finally onto some tarmac, we made our way through Hawes and to the destination that felt like it was never going to come: CP2. It truly felt like my entire being had only ever known the desire to make it to this point, I almost couldn’t remember a time where it wasn’t my goal. Lee and I had a fairly somber shaking of the hands before we headed into the checkpoint; it really felt like just making it through the last leg was a huge achievement! 

Sleep was a necessity here and the plan was to shower, eat and get ready for bed, set an alarm for three and a half hours time, then eat again and head out as quickly as possible afterwards. I don’t think we ever outright said it, but Lee and I had been working well together and in my case, I was definitely happy to aim to leave together on the next leg! The lack of sleep to this point, however, meant that everything I wanted to do in the checkpoint took twice as long, and I spent far too much time staring either into my drop bag or into empty space. 

Whilst we were faffing with our drop bags, we shared war stories with some familiar faces. Bev and Mel had arrived ahead of us and had been working together; with Mel having managed to soak her sleeping bag and just about avoid going hypothermic wrapped up on the toilet floor in Horton! Eventually I managed to tell my brain to get to the shower, which again took far longer than I’d have liked, but this felt like a non-negotiable given the awful weather we’d faced and the fact we had been soaked through. Once my phone, headtorch and watch were charging, I had two helpings of food (I can’t remember what!) and headed to bed to try and get some sleep.

I think I successfully got between two and a half and three hours here, which felt like a lie-in compared to what we’d had to this point. When I woke up Lee was already back out and getting ready, which was definitely a positive for me to avoid any more faffing and wasted time. I had two more helpings of food, porridge this time (“loads of peanut butter and jam, please!”), which really made me feel better, packed for the next leg, repacked my drop bag, and got ready for kit check. After sailing through kit check, with no scares of missing items this time, I squeezed my feet back into my wet shoes, and we were off.

Hawes to Langdon Beck

We set off back through Hawes, with a brief stop at the shop to secure some more sustenance. I picked up a breakfast pasty, a sausage roll for later, and a pack of Tuc biscuits which turned out to be a fantastic addition to my arsenal. From there it was up through Hardraw before starting the climb up and over Great Shunner Fell.

It was becoming hard to know what time of day it was, with it feeling like morning due to having just woken up, but it actually being early afternoon as evidenced by the people we ran into who had already been to the pub! On the ascent, we both felt strong and despite the lingering snow and ice in places we made good time up Great Shunner Fell, passing Zac on the way to the summit, who I would see a few times throughout the race. Without much to report, other than a fall on the slabs where I banged my left knee, we made it successfully up and over the climb. The weather and overall conditions were thankfully improving, and though we didn’t have much in the way of views on the summit, in comparison to the previous days, it was lovely!

The descent off Great Shunner Fell down to Thwaite was fairly good going, with a nice runnable track into the village, and from there it was just another smaller climb before the descent down to Keld. We stopped for a quick two minute nap for Lee on the way up the climb, while also admiring the skeleton of a squirrel that hadn’t moved since Lee had done a recce of this section, likely preserved by the snow and ice!

As we arrived in Keld, one of the SST came out to meet us to walk us in to the Village Hall which had been opened up for Spine racers to use. This was a few hundred metres off the route, and might be easy to miss if you weren’t aware it was going to be there, but it was a very welcome rest point with a roaring fire, and a great to chat to the safety team and Andy the photographer. We didn’t linger for too long though, and the refuge of the Tan Hill Inn was only a few kilometres away, so after doing some modelling for photos and a quick cup of tea, we were off again. 

The climb up towards Tan Hill was fairly uneventful, at least compared to what had come in the days before, and it was a much clearer night than the previous two, with plenty of stars and even a planet (not sure which) on show, along with the full moon. The terrain underfoot was as good as it was going to get for the rest of this leg, too, and so this short stint of a few kilometres was actually quite enjoyable. As the climb flattened off, we could see the pub in the distance, and again one of the SST came out to meet us and guide us into the correct room.

The room accommodated by the SST was very warm and cosy, with underfloor heating keeping us toasty, and we decided to take a little longer here, especially after finding out the pub was still serving food. I treated myself to fish and chips, as well as an alcohol free beer, then a lie down while waiting for my food. Being offered some soup by the team, I accepted to incorporate a starter into my meal, though I thought they were joking when I was told I’d be paying £3 for the privilege! Turns out the soup was put on by the pub rather than the SST, which would have been nice to know before I asked for some… It would have been easy to hang around here for hours, but we set off not long after finishing our food, shortly after Zac had arrived having caught us up. 

We were heading well and truly into the third night now, and a long stint to Langdon Beck where we wouldn’t see any other people for a long time. I’d been warned by a few people about the bogs after Tan Hill and they lived up to expectations, with Lee falling waist deep at one point fairly early on, and the snow cover making it even harder to navigate. Using our head torches to locate the posts that marked the way across the moor, we picked a route carefully across the remainder of the bog without much further incident. It was fairly slow going overall, until we hit a road section before navigating more (thankfully less boggy) fields on our way to the A66. This was another section that felt like we were twisting, turning and doubling back on ourselves, and again the darkness was making it hard to judge just how far away the road crossing was.

Eventually we made it to the tunnel under the A66, and Lee had sworn there was a bird hide or some similar structure somewhere around here that he’d seen on his recce (he’d ran some of this section with Lucy Gossage, who was on her way to winning the women’s race!), but it didn’t seem to exist and we gave up hope as the miles ticked by slowly. In the darkness, this section seemed to go on forever, as we would climb up and over endless moorland with seemingly no end in sight. Up, over, down, rinse, repeat.

Surprisingly, after giving up hope, we ended up coming across the shelter that Lee had been hoping for, and it proved to be the ideal place for a ten minute nap, being totally sheltered from the elements and even having a few camping chairs. Practically five star accommodation! I’m still not sure what the building (if you could call it a building) was for, as it simply had a sign saying ‘shelter’ on the outside, unless that was a hallucination! 

One thing we knew was coming up soon was the extensive tuck shop at Clove Farm, which proved to be another haven in the endless nothing that we’d been navigating since the road crossing. Here, we snatched another ten minutes of sleep in a camping chair, and another microwave made an appearance, allowing me to reheat my sausage roll from Hawes. There were plenty of snacks and drinks on offer here with an honesty box system, and I took the opportunity to top up on some Tunnock’s wafers and a Tunnock’s tea cake for good measure. The resident cat took an extensive interest in the sausage roll, and also tried his best to tear up my waterproof trousers, while I was disappointed to spot (only after our nap) there were also mattresses and sleeping bags to be used in the back of the barn! Maybe for the best, as an hour of sleep on a mattress might have been more tempting than just ten minutes…

Slightly rejuvenated, we continued on through yet more repetitive landscape, lots of ups, lots of downs, and lots of bogs. One final unexpected pop-up aid station was a welcome sight not much further along the route, and chance we decided for another five minute nap in the provided camping chairs. We wondered who the car parked up next to us belonged to, only to be woken up by Neville jumping out of the front seat to serve us a cup of tea! He was a local farmer who had been camped out in his car outside the barn for the best part of 3 days, setting his alarm to approximately wake him up as runners arrived according to the online tracker; a real character showing true commitment to supporting the Spine, another example of what the race is all about.

I was having extremely strange dreams during all of these mini naps, which almost felt as though my brain was short circuiting, and which are very hard to describe. I would sit down and almost immediately fall asleep, but whatever I was thinking about as I drifted off, my brain would zero in on to try it’s best to construct a dream. However, the dream would consist of nothing but an internet browser window, where whatever I was thinking about (one example being ‘Malham Tarn’) would be hurriedly typed into the search bar, after which hundreds of search results would pop up, each frantically opening in a new tab or window all over the ‘screen’ that was my mind. I can only assume this was my brain saying “I am far too tired to construct a dream, but here is everything I can find on your chosen topic, do with it what you will”, but it was a very unique and weird experience, albeit slightly disconcerting. 

The darkness was starting to take its toll on me here, particularly with the nondescript views making it hard to break up the sections of this leg into distinct segments. Finally, again after what felt like forever, we made it to the last descent of the leg, down to Middleton-in-Teesdale where we finally got to see two members of the SST for the first time in what felt like forever. This was a welcome sight, and even though all they had for us was water and words of encouragement, it was good to know we only had a handful of kilometres left to CP3. I remember feeling pretty good at this point, which maybe lulled me into a false sense of security, because what followed next would be one of the hardest stretches of the whole race for me mentally, eight flat miles along the river to the checkpoint in Langdon Beck.

I’m not sure what really caused it, but I had non-stop negative thoughts pretty much every step of the way up the river. Whether it was knowing I had three more full nights and over 200km to go, or just a random wobble mentally (as always happens in races of this length), or maybe both, I couldn’t shake the voice in my head telling me I couldn’t do it. I don’t really fully remember anything that went through my head at this point, I simply remember feeling well and truly defeated, and I think things were made worse by how easy this final section of the leg was. I knew I would make it to the checkpoint, and I knew it would make me feel better, but I still had to get there, and it was going to take a long time! A couple of quick naps, a small cry, and chatting things through with Lee helped at least drag me in the right direction, and the sunrise made a huge difference with a couple of kilometres to go, as it always does. One thing was certain, I needed a reset in the next checkpoint, taking some time to at least try and sleep and just relax and get my head together.

Lee wanted to push on as quickly as possible, to make an effort at hitting Cross Fell before dark, and so we decided it was best for both of us to part ways here, which was definitely the right decision, albeit hard to make after so many enjoyable miles together.

Arriving in the checkpoint, as expected, was a huge relief, and I wolfed down two plates of full English breakfast immediately much to the amusement of the checkpoint volunteers. An unclaimed full English came out of the kitchen as I was finishing my second, and despite the encouragement from everyone stationed there, I assured them it wasn’t mine! I took my time getting things together, without any real schedule or plan in place, and went to bed hoping to get around three hours of sleep.

One and a half hours later I woke up, feeling significantly better (even though I’d been aiming for twice as much sleep) and deciding that trying to get another hour or so wasn’t worth it. Taking stock, I didn’t rush to get ready for the next leg, but ideally I thought that I would like to get out before darkness fell again to at least feel like I’d made use of a tiny bit of sunlight, and maybe get up to the reservoir at the top of Cauldron Snout as I had already done the descent past High Cup Nick in the dark in my recce, so this didn’t feel too daunting. 

After a bowl of porridge, and a bowl of porridge mixed with rice pudding (one of the volunteers was determined to get someone to try this concoction, and I happily obliged - it was lovely!), I taped up my feet, focusing on the one very large blister on my little toe that I couldn’t be bothered (and couldn’t convince the medics to help with) draining and mustered up the energy to get over to kit check. “You’re going to ask to see my sleeping bag aren’t you?” Yes, they were! After more faff getting things in and out of my pack, and feeling much better than I had before arriving, I stumbled to the door, and for some reason, maybe to try and force some positivity through my brain, literally danced out onto the next leg.

Langdon Beck to Alston

This was the first time I’d been on my own for the whole race up to this point, but thankfully I’d seen the business end of the next section on a recce run, so I wasn’t too worried. There was a diversion in place to avoid the usual climb up to Cauldron Snout, which I wasn’t too unhappy about given the conditions, and we were taking the road up to the reservoir before the the drag up past the farm to High Cup Nick.

On the climb, I chose to listen to music for the first time ever in a race. Even during a 100 miler, I’ve never used headphones! This helped keep my mood pretty high, belting out some Blossoms and Arctic Monkeys as I progressed upwards while also taking some time to appreciate the sunset. Running into photographer Andy again was another highlight, as he took easily the best photo of me ever taken, which will certainly take some beating! I didn’t even begrudge him getting me to walk back and forth multiple times so that he could get a good shot…

The traverse across to High Cup Nick itself was fairly steady going, the track is good past the farm and ice wasn’t too much of an issue any more, but then time did seem to slow down a little after this point with again the dark making it difficult to judge how far along you were. 

I stopped at the farm to check the tracker (there was a WiFi point set up by the SST here), and I saw Lee was a decent way ahead having set off from Langdon Beck while I was in bed, and that Terry, Emily, John and Patrick had made it to Langdon Beck and set off behind me. I posted a message on Lee’s tracker to let him know I was hunting him down, though I imagine he didn’t see it as he’d also been inundated with messages from (I’m guessing) kids at his school! 

Switching from music to podcasts, I couldn’t decide if this was making things better or worse, as time was going very slowly at this point and Dufton started to feel further and further away. It was the start of a stunning night though, with perfectly clear skies and stars continually popping out of the blackness the longer you looked. I wondered what the ominous orange glow creeping over the side of one of the fells was, until my question was answered by the full moon cresting the horizon. Another glorious sight. I tried to take a photo, but needless to say it didn’t do it any justice whatsoever…

High Cup Nick eventually crept up on me, and thankfully I wasn’t sleepwalking at this point as if there’s anywhere you don’t want to take a tumble, it’s over the edge of that! It’s a shame to have hit this point in the dark, as anyone who has seen High Cup Nick in good conditions knows it as one of the best views potentially in the country. In the pitch black, it was quite an eerie feeling, knowing that the huge drop and open space lay just a few metres away in the darkness. 

It was slow going around the side of the natural amphitheatre, with several of the streams transformed into rivers by the extensive snow melt, but Dufton eventually came into view and I joined the much more runnable track down into the village. I called Harriet here, which was a big boost, chatting to her and letting her know my plans to catch up on a bit of rest in the village. I was starting to feel some discomfort in my right shin on the descent, a slight dull ache on each step which unfortunately would only get worse as the race went on!

With the monitoring point in Dufton having a thirty minute time limit, my plan was to visit there first, before returning to the Post Box Pantry (a cafe that had committed to staying open until the last runner was through - amazing), for some more substantial food and maybe a sleep. I popped my head in on the way past, double checking they would still be open on my return, then carried on a couple of hundred metres up the road to the village hall.

The monitoring point was interesting, with volunteers singing and playing what I think was a lute as well as wooden flutes on my arrival (maybe a tactic to ensure no one wanted to stay past thirty minutes?), which definitely wasn’t a hallucination. I wolfed down a variety of snacks here, as well as some juice, and took the full half hour to relax and chat to the volunteers. The medic here (I never managed to catch her name) I had also seen at Langdon Beck, and would see again at both Alston and Bellingham. Once my time had ticked past about twenty-five minutes, I was promptly reminded I needed to be out before that hit thirty, so I scrambled my things together and unceremoniously headed back out into the cold. Retracing my steps, I was back inside the very cosy and welcoming cafe.

Here, I ran into Richie again, as he was finishing off a full English that looked absolutely delicious. Immediately, I ordered one for myself. The race tracker was up on the TV and I could see the familiar group of four behind me weren’t too far away, making their way down the descent from High Cup Nick. I asked the owners if they would mind me getting my head down on the table for a quick sleep after my food, which they were happy with, so having polished off the absolutely impeccable full English I set an alarm for 30 minutes and went straight to sleep with my head on the table. 

When my alarm woke me, John was sat opposite me, with Terry, Emily and Patrick on the next table. They were planning to spend the full 30 minutes at the monitoring point to get some sleep before heading up Cross Fell; I couldn’t return to the checkpoint having already spent time there, so decided I’d set another alarm and then meet them outside so I wasn’t tackling the climb alone. After triple and quadruple checking that they wouldn’t set off without me, I set an alarm for twenty-five minutes (not the full thirty, just in case!) and fell back into an instant sleep on the table. 

After a pretty decent sleep, and remembering to pay for my food, I caught up with Zac briefly (he had been met by some family in Dufton and was enjoying some food on the next table), then set back off up to the village hall for the second time. I met the rest of the group outside, and we set off up the road to start the biggest climb of the race up Cross Fell. Terry disappeared for a short while as he’d retraced his steps back to the cafe to find his hat, but soon caught us up and applied the afterburners, storming ahead up the mountain and into the distance. He was absolutely flying, leaving me wondering whether it hadn’t been his hat he’d gone off to find, but some illegal performance enhancers!

I took the lead in our remaining pack for the majority of the climb, at least to Great Dun Fell, feeling pretty strong after my full English and sleep, and pretty confident with the navigation even in the snow and ice. Most of the treacherous stuff had melted by now, which was a very welcome relief, but there were still some tough patches to navigate, and obviously I still wasn’t using my spikes. It was a beautiful night with perfectly clear skies, and despite the wind I was actually quite enjoying myself as I had done on Fountains Fell. Ultimately, I love mountains, and big climbs are where I feel the strongest and most at home. We stopped and turned our head torches off a couple of times to appreciate the night sky in all it’s glory; being up in the mountains in the middle of the night is another reason why we do such mental things, so it made sense to take a moment to actually enjoy it, there can’t really be many people who’ve had the chance to experience the view we had!

Annoyingly, I broke a pole on the ascent, but thankfully most of the climb was behind us and I managed to solider on with one pole for the time-being. I felt bad for accidentally making the guys think we’d reached the summit a couple of times when Cross Fell was still a little way off, miscommunicating the names of both Great Dun Fell and Little Dun Fell, but I assured them the last ascent wasn’t as bad as it looks (it really wasn’t!) and finally we made it to the summit, and Greg’s Hut with John Bamber’s famous chilli noodles wasn’t much further away.

The last kilometre or so down to Greg’s Hut dragged on forever, as it seemingly never came into view, with the lack of electricity and light on offer there meaning you only actually see it when you’re pretty much there. As with anything, the more you want to arrive somewhere, the longer it seems to take! But once we were finally inside, it was a true haven and oasis on the mountain. Solely lit by candlelight and positively hot inside with the heat from the stove, it would have been all too easy to settle in for a full eight hours of sleep!

The main room offered a slightly weird atmosphere with the SST and medics asleep at the back of the room while we quietly drank tea and ate our spicy noodles; John gave us the option of chilli or no chilli, for some reason I first asked for none, quickly changing my mind as not to miss out on one of the quintessential Spine experiences. 

We all silently seemed to agree on trying to snatch a few minutes of sleep here, made harder by John’s head torch blasting you in the face every time he turned around, and even harder again by his rushing outside with a flaming pan from the stove to narrowly avoid setting the hut on fire! Quite the experience in our sleep deprived state. The cramped interior meant we had to leave fairly quickly to make way for the next group of runners, which in hindsight was not necessarily a bad thing as it would have been easy to stay there for hours. In the moment, however, I’d have probably paid a decent sum to take one of the sleeping spots at the back of the hut. I put on all of my remaining layers - a total of 6 top half layers I think: base layer, mid layer, two primaloft jackets, then windproof and waterproof jackets - and we reluctantly set back off into the night.

The descent wasn’t too bad, again on this side of Cross Fell most of the ice had retreated by this point, and before long we hit a pretty substantial track that would take us the rest of the way down to Garrigill. My second pole broke in exactly the same place and way as the first, which was a bit of a worry with well over 100km left to go including Hadrian's Wall and the Cheviots, but there wasn’t much I could do about it at this point and so I hoped I would at least be able to attempt some repairs once we got to CP4. The descent was aggravating my shin again, as it had on the way down into Dufton, but I was at least able to keep up with the group and avoid slipping backwards to end up on my own.

Before sunrise came, another nap was needed. The easier the path was to follow, in this case, a wide gravel track, the quicker the sleep deprivation seemed to hit. John, Emily and I settled down against a wall for one last pick me up, but Patrick had plowed ahead by this point, obviously feeling better than we did! After another five minutes with our eyes closed, we were back on our way and treated to an absolutely glorious sunrise. This was a real mood lifter and the conversation picked up again as we made the descent down to Garrigill, as it always seemed to after the long dark nights.

John and I chose to stop briefly at Annie’s house (the Angel of Garrigill) for tea and toast - another real character and Spine legend - and again it would have been easy for us to let her convince us to stay for hours (which she tried to), but Emily had pushed on, and we made our excuses to leave. John went ahead to try and catch her before the checkpoint, while I was still trying to manage the pain in my shin and kept to a steadier pace. There were a lot of stiles and gates to navigate along this flat section up the valley to Alston, and it was pretty slow going, but eventually I caught up to Emily (with John having pushed on ahead to get a head start on kit admin for the next leg), so we made our way to the checkpoint together.

As soon as we got in, I wanted to sample the famous Alston lasagna, and quickly demolished two plates full before getting all of my electronics plugged in and charging, then heading upstairs to bed for a couple of hours of sleep. The three of us had planned to aim for similar amounts of sleep and a similar departure time to set out on the next leg, so I was hopeful I wouldn’t be heading out into another night on my own. 

When I woke up here, after about an hour and a half of sleep, I felt absolutely terrible. I didn’t consider quitting, but in the first few minutes sat on my bed, trying to get my things together, I wondered how on earth I would get myself into a fit state to continue. It took me far longer than I’d have liked to brush my teeth and get changed, and noticing that Richie had been in the same room as me, after a quick chat I realised he was feeling pretty rough as well!

To make matters worse, as I was getting ready, I realised it was Thursday: the day of the UTMB lottery results. Checking my emails, I’d received a ‘congratulations’, I would be running UTMB (100 miles and 10,000m of elevation gain in the French, Italian and Swiss Alps) in August! Christ. All I could do was laugh to myself and mutter “for fuck’s sake…”, not exactly the news you want to receive five days into the Spine, even if it is the race by far and away at the top of your bucket list. But it wasn’t time to dwell on future events, this one was far from done. 

I somehow made it downstairs (surely sending us up and down stairs in the checkpoints should be illegal?) for a couple of bowls of porridge and to rendezvous with John and Emily, which made me feel infinitely better and much more able to process the prospect of setting out to Bellingham. I think everyone in the race has at least minor foot issues to deal with by this point, and as we were all tended to, John and Emily agreed to wait for me before heading off on the next leg.

The medics were absolutely incredible, helping me to clean my feet and drain my blisters (I now had one on each little toe), before taping them in a much more professional fashion than I had up to this point. It was quite a lengthy process, but absolutely worth taking the time to get right, and I won’t complain about a bit of extra time sitting down. 

Amazingly, another of the volunteers (at least I think he was a volunteer, I didn’t get his name) was also willing to borrow me a spare set of poles that he’d brought with him in case someone would need them! I asked to get some details from him to ensure they found their way home, but he simply said “focus on getting to Kirk Yetholm, then sort it out”, what a legend, and likely a genuine race saver. After another fairly painful kit check, I regrouped with John and Emily outside, and off we went into the waning afternoon sunlight.

Alston to Bellingham

I knew that the next leg to Bellingham had some of the worst bogs of the whole route, and given how bad some of them had been to this point, I wasn’t looking forward to that too much. It was a pleasant afternoon as we set off, however, and good to get out again before darkness set in. As had been the case throughout the race, the conversation was healthy and great for keeping positive, but quickly died off as the darkness slowly crept up on us.

A lot of this first section was flat, boring trails which again made it hard to stay alert and stay awake, with the railway path up to Slaggyford being particularly tough: totally straight, perfectly flat, and incredibly easy-going underfoot. Not long afterwards, John suggested a five minute nap next to the calming sound of the stream, and I certainly wasn’t going to object to that. 

Once we awoke and continued on, there were many, many kilometres of very similar, tough terrain. Up and over farmland and bogs, again feeling like we were going in circles and never getting any closer to the lights that bobbed around in the distance, and battling sleep deprivation all the way. I asked the others if they would mind me putting my headphones in for a bit, which of course they didn’t, and John entertained himself by listening to football on the radio. I powered ahead a couple of times to afford myself a five minute nap, before they would catch up and I’d tag back on, but a lot of this section is a bit of a blur. A highlight was meeting the legendary Rastaman Ralph at his farmyard, where he blasted me with his head torch and phone light, filming me and asking questions that I can’t remember, while swigging from his can of Stella and offering me some chicken thighs. I turned down the gracious offer and continued, but sleep deprivation was starting to get the better of me and had I not been aware of Ralph’s existence beforehand, I think I would have assumed this was another hallucination!

After getting confused at a couple of gates that I thought were marked ‘no entry’ or locked (they weren’t, and in fact some clearly had signs indicating they were part of the Pennine Way), we arrived on some much friendlier terrain as we got closer to Greenhead, which marked the start of Hadrian’s Wall. I began struggling to keep up with John and Emily, again falling victim to the drowsiness brought on by the easier conditions, and eventually gave up for another five minute nap in some comfortable looking grass before we crossed the A69. In hindsight, I think one of the main benefits of the waterproof jacket and trousers at the Spine is the ability to drop literally anywhere on the route for a sleep without worrying about getting wet!

Waking up, I felt a new energy and determination to catch up with the guys ahead, as I definitely didn’t want to be on my own for the entirety of the notoriously tough Hadrian’s Wall. There was still a lot of darkness left before sunrise would arrive, and I certainly didn’t want to face all of it alone. I powered down to the A69 (a pretty scary crossing in the state I was in, unless I missed an obvious bridge or underpass!), and made my way across the golf course before meeting up with John and Emily again down in Greenhead, where they were looking for the SST point. According to my watch, it was further up the route, and so we continued up and over the next hill before running into the volunteers at the Hadrian’s Wall visitor centre. 

Whatever we expected in terms of hospitality here, we were disappointed. I, at least, had been hoping the visitor centre would be open for us to get some shelter, however the only internal space available was in the toilets (which were full), and other than that there was a folding table with some water and rudimentary snacks available. Needing sleep, and having been hoping and dreaming of some respite and shelter for hours, this was a bit of a blow mentally, and while Emily managed to find space in the women’s toilet, John and I settled for slumping on the picnic bench outside and wrapping our sleeping bags around ourselves to try and keep warm. Needless to say, these weren’t the most comfortable sleeping arrangements, and after attempting to get, I think, an hour of sleep (but probably less than half an hour in total) we were shivering and needing to carry on to get our body temperature back up. 

After a few more kilometres we came across another car park and toilet block, and had another short nap in similar conditions here (sans sleeping bag), but the lack of sleep as we got deeper into the night was really starting to get to me and affect my sense of direction and speed. From here, we started the seemingly endless repetitions up and down the steep climbs and descents of Hadrian’s Wall. I knew full well this section was going to be tough; everyone’s account of the Spine says that the constant up and down this far into the race is just absolutely brutal. They’re not wrong. 

Reminiscent to the state I was in back on the Cam High Road, which felt like a lifetime ago, I was sleepwalking at points here and only just managing to keep within touching distance of John and Emily. Before they managed to drop me completely, we had another power nap behind the wall. This was quite a surreal experience now that I look back on it, sleeping in the darkness against a wall almost two thousand years old, previously manned by Roman soliders. A truly unique Spine experience that I’ll never forget! 

Overall, it was slow, sleepy and painful (especially for my shin on the downhills!) progress, and it wasn’t too long before I lost contact with the others and had to succumb to another more substantial nap on my own. I set an alarm for ten minutes and fell immediately asleep amongst an extremely inviting crop of rocks, before reluctantly continuing, now on my own. 

This was another big low moment, maybe second only to my wobble before Langdon Beck, and the next couple of hours really dragged on as I waited desperately for the daylight to arrive. Again, I knew daylight would make me feel better, but unfortunately that doesn’t make it come any quicker, quite the opposite. There was still far enough left to go in the race that finishing definitely didn’t feel like a sure thing at this point, and I was really struggling with the shin pain and dealing with so much darkness, with another full night still left to survive. I cried again, though I’m unsure whether this was due to exasperation or more of a cathartic moment and actually feeling proud that I was pushing through so many incredibly tough moments. You know it’s going to happen beforehand, but you can’t fully prepare for just how much the Spine will beat you down. It’s a constant slow grind, trying to force you into submission, with the occasional haymaker to try and knock you out cold. This was one of those haymakers, and though I might have hit the canvas, or at the very least been on the ropes, I managed to get back to my feet and keep on moving. 

Thankfully I was treated to an absolutely glorious sunrise, a blood red sky and stunning views from the peaks along the wall, another huge lift and reward for making it through yet another night. Another plus point was Gill (my aunty-in-law, if that’s a thing!) and her friend Sally (plus her spaniel Oscar) coming out to meet me and to hike with me for a couple of kilometres having followed my dot on the tracker all week. It was great to speak to some people outside of the race, and a real lift after several hours in the dark completely on my own. We also passed the SST that we’d seen at Greenhead again, which was always a welcome surprise. 

There wasn’t too much left of Hadrian’s Wall as Gill and Sally turned back to the car park, and as I turned down into the next stretch of bog I was greeted by the media team, with one of the videographers interviewing me while I had literally no idea what I was saying. I was reassured that my stream of consciousness rambling was an “epic answer”, and I could see that John and Emily weren’t too much further ahead, so I pressed on to try and catch them and have some company again. I managed to reach them, and a bit of morning conversation was again a welcome lift, but I was still really feeling the lack of sleep at this point, despite the daylight. 

As we approached the southern edge of Kielder Forest, we had another team nap, but I was struggling to keep up and again had to surrender myself to a solo sleep, letting John and Emily forge on ahead without me. I was yo-yoing a little bit with Zac in the race again now too, and I knew we were also approaching Horneystead Farm, a welcome oasis hosted by Helen, another true legend of the Spine. Here, I hoped I would be able to properly rejoin John and Emily for the final push to Bellingham, and also get some much needed hot food and drinks!

Helen had soup and bread on offer, as well as plenty of snacks and drinks, and I accepted them all along with multiple cups of tea. As with all of these stops, it would have been easy to stay here for hours, Helen even offers a bed in the corner of the barn which I would have been more than happy to take her up on had I been on my own, and not dragged away by the others! I knew it was best to push on though, and get to Bellingham as quickly as possible.

The last stretch of this leg wasn’t too painful, at least from what I remember, but with the pain in my shin and the lack of sleep I knew I needed another Langdon-Beck-style reset at the Bellingham checkpoint. John and Emily were planning on pushing through quite quickly, but I knew I had plenty of time to rest, reset, and see the medical team while still keeping ahead of the cut-off and having plenty of time for the final leg. Being slowed down by my shin, I was very much now in ‘just finish’ mode as opposed to worrying about when that would be.

John and I ended up pushing ahead a little, and as we crested the final climb, I managed to muster a half-jog down the descent and across the final bog to Bellingham. It was another boost seeing Sally and Oscar the dog again here (Sally works next door to the checkpoint!) and after another quick chat and a photo for her to send on as ‘proof of life’, I was into the madness of the checkpoint.

As almost a final attempt from the race to beat you down and force you to quit, the last checkpoint is far from luxurious, and definitely the worst one of the race. Instead of a YHA with a distinct checkpoint area, then bedrooms with bunk beds, this was much more rudimentary and the sleeping arrangements were a sports hall where we had to use our sleeping bag and mat, with the noise of the checkpoint on the other side of the door. Thankfully, the volunteers, medics and food on offer were still exemplary, and I had my traditional two portions of food, as well as some dessert, before trying to get my kit admin out of the way so that I could relax (as much as you can relax this far into such a crazy race). I also focused on hydrating for the first time in pretty much the whole race, breaking out my electrolytes, and taking in plenty of fluids. In the previous legs, there were a lot more places to either top up water or get a tea and coffee, but I think between Alston and Bellingham I probably drank less than a litre in total - not ideal.

I wasn’t in any rush at all, and so finally dragged myself into the sports hall for a couple of hours of broken sleep. I couldn’t be bothered inflating my sleeping mat, which is probably a bit lazy given it takes less than a minute, so I settled for crawling into my sleeping bag on the hard floor. 

I felt surprisingly okay, and partially refreshed, as I woke up and made my way back into the main checkpoint, got changed, and started to slowly prepare to head out into the darkness. After my classic two portions of porridge (always a game changer in terms of perking you up), more electrolytes, and a coffee, I flagged down Head Medic Alex for some much needed foot care. Both blisters needed draining again (thankfully I hadn’t collected any more), then I was taped up, with some additional taping to support my shin and hopefully keep things intact to the finish. I genuinely don’t think I would have made it to the end of this race without the medics, and the volunteers at the checkpoints, they are truly amazing and cannot do enough for you. A huge highlight of the whole experience.

At the final time of asking, I managed to come up with a much better way of navigating kit check: leaving my dry bags out of my pack, and packing properly once I’d successfully passed. Had I done this from the start, I’d have probably saved enough time to finish on the podium! 

The only thing I was a little worried about here, having let John and Emily go on ahead, was heading into the night on my own. Thankfully as I was leaving, the stars aligned, as Andrew, James and Dean were setting off too, and they were happy for me to join them! A standing ovation from the checkpoint crew, then a quick photo outside the checkpoint to mark our departure, and we were off onto the final section of the race. 

Bellingham to Kirk Yetholm

I was extremely grateful not to be heading out into the dark alone, and it was great to speak to some new faces and share war stories (and navigation) as we made our way through Bellingham. Even picking the correct way through the village itself was a challenge this far into the race, but between the four of us, we just about managed it. 

My body’s heat regulation was now well and truly all over the place, and leaving the final checkpoint I had opted to use my bigger primaloft jacket for the first time. Going out straight into the dark from the checkpoint meant it was already pretty cold, and we’d been warned about some potential extreme cold coming in over the Cheviots. In fact, at Bellingham they had pretty much mandated that everyone must carry an extra warm layer for the final leg, and should we seem to be in a bad way at the final monitoring point in Byrness (without the ability to add warmer layers), we could be pulled from the race! Incentive enough for me to stuff as many jackets as I could into my pack.

Chatting to Andy as we made our way through Bellingham, it seemed he had a similar injury to me, but thankfully we had a long steady uphill to contend with out of the checkpoint which helped warm us up and avoid too much pain in our respective shins, at least to start with. It was still fairly slow and steady going, and very boggy in places, with Dean getting caught out by a slab with a corner missing and ending up waist deep. Thankfully, I think everyone was pretty much fully waterproofed up by this stage in the race, limiting the damage. 

The climb levelled out and eventually turned into a (somewhat annoyingly) runnable path as we approached Kielder Forest again. I managed a shuffling jog at times but was still very limited by the tendonitis and so after trying to keep up for a while I let the other three go ahead as I settled into my own turtle-like pace. Slow and steady wins the race. I saw another runner a hundred metres or so away from the track, lying on his back, hands clasped on his chest, catching up on some sleep. It looked pretty comfy in the heather, and I’m 99% sure this one wasn’t a hallucination.

Before long we reached the proper forest track, probably the most runnable few kilometres of the entire race. Again, this meant simply a slow and painful descent for me. I passed a group of three bivvying out in the forest, which I think was Andrew, Dean and James, but whoever it was, one of them was snoring so loud I could hear them several minutes before I saw them!

I tried to walk backwards a few times to relieve the pain but the weight of my pack on a downhill made this a bit awkward, so I quickly gave up and resigned myself to the familiar shuffle. In the dark, and with thick trees either side and only the greyness of the easy track visible in the beam of my headtorch, it was very hard to stay awake. Trudging down the hill felt almost like it was rocking me to sleep, and as the trees closed in on either side I started hallucinating that I was seeing huge Breaking Bad-style camper vans in the trees, despite there being nowhere near enough room for that to be remotely true. This seemed a good enough sign that I might need a power nap, so I stopped for a five minute sleep in a clump of trees and then soldiered on for a couple of kilometres before the sleep hit me like a wall again, and another nap was needed. This one seemed to do the trick and it wasn’t far now until the flat section along the river to the monitoring point at Byrness, where we also had the option of sleeping in the now famous church that opens its doors and its pews to tired Spine racers.

As I was descending the last of the forestry track, another runner stumbled out of the trees from a nap of his own. He was struggling to stay awake, and so we chatted to try and keep each other's minds going enough to stave off the drowsiness. I was a bit concerned, as he was staggering all over the path and not making much sense, but was also saying that he didn’t want to sleep in Byrness as he was then worried about being up in the Cheviots in the dark. I thought this sounded like a bad idea, given the obvious sleep deprivation, but he jogged on ahead and I was still restrained to a limp at this point I had to let him go. I messaged Race HQ, asking that someone speak to him at the monitoring point just to try and convince him to get some sleep, as I really didn’t like the idea of someone that sleep deprived heading into the mountains on their own, whether it was light or dark! I was a little worried that I might end up being responsible for someone being pulled from the race, but I was genuinely concerned if he tried to push straight through Byrness, and included in my message that I thought he was okay, just tired.

About ten minutes later, my concerns turned out to be justified (in my opinion, at least!), as he came wandering back up the river path towards me. Having got a bit confused, he had ended up going back the wrong way! As he was checking his GPS, I told him to stick with me and follow me to the checkpoint, and again sent a quick message to HQ to let them know, and to confirm someone would be able to chat with him before he carried on. 

Eventually, a few of the SST came out to meet us, having been passed my messages, and in the end I was awarded a five minute time credit for a Good Samaritan act! I asked if they could make it closer to seventy-five hours instead, but they couldn’t quite justify it… five minutes would have to do, and was a nice touch considering I hadn’t actually wasted any time at all.

As I made my way up the out-and-back to the monitoring point in Byrness, Harriet was waiting for me with Jack which was a huge hit of motivation. It was amazing to see them after almost a week and a final boost before the last push over the Cheviots. The monitoring point had another strict thirty minute limit, which I used all of, along with a bowl and a half of ‘mince and tatties’, and some biscuits for the road. 

On my way back up to the Pennine Way, I decided to head to the famous church for a slightly longer nap. I didn’t want to spend too long here, and so decided to set a twenty-five minute alarm. This was short enough that I wouldn’t need to inform HQ of a stop longer than half an hour, and seemed like long enough to get some decent rest without wasting any more time (and daylight) than was necessary. 

Scouring the pews for space to sleep, I then noticed a makeshift bed was already laid out at the altar, cushions and all, so I settled straight in for what turned out to be a very refreshing twenty minute nap before getting myself ready for the final push of the race.

As I started the climb, the media team descended on me again for yet another interview - I’d make it onto the daily video updates three times in total! Then it was straight up a fairly short sharp climb up onto the Cheviots proper. It was a lovely day, and the first few kilometres reminded me of being on the Helvellyn ridge in the Lake District, with it’s multiple summits and fairly easy terrain and navigation. The peaks stretched out in front of me and I couldn’t work out which direction I’d actually end up heading in, but I was really enjoying myself for the next few hours and trying to decide which lump might be The Cheviot was helping to pass some time.

I was making good progress, and gaining on those in front of me, including John and Emily. At times, checking the tracker, I was expecting to see them pop out as I crested the next summit, but each time there was just more open fell. My shin was still hurting, but I seemed to be making better progress and was able to run some of the steadier downhill sections. I started looking out for a structure that might turn out to be Hut 1, the next (and penultimate) SST point, but a couple of times I was disappointed by what looked instead to be sheds for sheep to shelter in!

Eventually, Hut 1 came into view, and here I caught up with John and Emily, along with Zac and Ryan (from Chicago). I recognised Ryan from last year’s daily Spine videos, and the two of us were making the most of being towards the back of the field at this point by offering to help finish off the majority of the snacks that the SST had carried up… they didn’t want to have to carry them back down, win-win! Introducing him to Jaffa Cakes was a highlight, he was very confused but seemed to enjoy them, or maybe he was just trying to be polite. 

Having spent long enough enjoying the snacks, along with a hot chocolate and some old school dance tracks (it was a bit of an après-ski vibe), I left Hut 1 with John and Emily, with Zac and Ryan setting off a few minutes ahead of us. I was still feeling strong physically and positive mentally at this point, and eventually ended up moving ahead of them. Little did I know at this point, I wouldn’t actually see them again!

Despite feeling good, the terrain started to become much slower and rougher, with a lot more boggy sections to contend with and some lingering snow and ice in places. As we moved later into the afternoon, I started to feel like I’d been lulled into a false sense of security earlier in the day, daring to enjoy the final stretch and partly forgetting that this was still the Spine Race! I started slipping mentally at this point, especially as the daylight started to properly fade and the darkness began to set in along with some fog. The Spine wasn’t happy to go down without a fight!

Coming across Windy Gyle, I had my last real wobble of the race. Repeatedly falling knee-deep into snow and bog again took me back to earlier in the race, and at one point I think I shouted “why can’t it be over!” out into the darkness through my tears. It was another real low moment, which seems stupid so late on, but thankfully I noticed a much firmer and well-defined path on the opposite side of the wall, which made the going at least slightly easier.

I saw a head torch up ahead, which initially I thought was someone coming towards me (in hindsight, I’m not sure why I thought there would be someone out for a night-time stroll up Windy Gyle), and eventually I caught up to Ryan, who was really struggling with pain in his leg. I offered up some encouragement, or at least tried to, but it was only a few kilometres to Hut 2 and having composed myself after my latest struggle, I was determined to strap in and get this over and done with as fast as I could.

Though the race route doesn’t go to the summit of The Cheviot itself, you do a big portion of the climb from the Windy Gyle side and I powered up here as fast as I could. I was trying to channel the flow state I’d found on Fountains Fell and made really strong progress, catching up to Zac and passing him while letting him know of my intentions to get to Hut 2 as fast as my legs would carry me.

The higher we got, the thicker the fog became, and though the path was on (thankfully, ice-free) slabs the majority of the way up, patches of snow remained up here and hid the path from view for good stretches of the climb. This wouldn’t be too much of an issue if I’d have been able to see further than a metre ahead of me, but the fog, and it’s bouncing back of my head torch light, meant I was limited to staring at my own feet and following the GPS track on my watch, hoping that the snow would eventually end and the slabs would be revealed again. Once more, it was slow going, and it felt like the race was trying its best to claim one final victim.

After falling knee deep through some final bits of snow, as though for old times sake, I took the left turn before the summit and started the descent to Hut 2. I knew it wasn’t much further from here, but it was similarly difficult to navigate on the way down, with my shin also reminding me of its presence, and Zac catching up as we made our way down. This was quite helpful, as two head torches are better than one, and thankfully the fog began to lift as we lost altitude. Ryan was obviously making good progress behind us, as his head torch appeared some way above us up the hill. Maybe he’d taken my “let’s get this done as quickly as possible” pep talk quite well! 

As the ‘metres to Hut 2’ value dropped painfully slowly on my watch, eventually the head torches of the SST came into view and we crossed the plateau to the final stopping point of the entire race.

After the unexpected final wobble on Windy Gyle, I was in much need of a mini reset here, and it was a relief to see that hot drinks were on offer as they had been in Hut 1, albeit with us having to offer up our own mugs this time around. I won’t hold it against them too much. I asked if they also required our services in finishing off snacks and tucked into a variety of sweets, chocolates and biscuits, but I can’t remember at all what any of them were.

I was happy to recall my woes on Windy Gyle in the comfort of the shelter, and I couldn’t believe Zac was his perfectly calm and soft-spoken self, as he had been at every single point of the course when I’d seen him! He was making me look like a right moaner in front of the volunteers, and so I tried to put on a brave face while getting ready to set off for the final few miles.

In the end, we didn’t linger too long here, and the three of us ended up leaving together, to tackle the final bog, the final climb over The Schill, and then the final descent to the finish line. One of the SST members walked out with us for the first kilometre or so, offering tips on how best to navigate the final bog, which was treacherous and had seemingly no real visible path across it. With about 10km left to the finish, I really didn’t even care about how deep I went in the bogs at this point, so I haphazardly splashed my way towards the final climb up The

Ryan dropped back a bit, with his leg again causing him some issues, and I caught up to Zac as we approached the top of the final climb. Again, I was determined to get to the finish and get this done as quickly as possible, and despite the pain in my shin I began running down the descent. Thankfully the worst of the bogs were well and truly behind us now, and I knew that the final few kilometres were on tarmac, so I set the start of the final road section as a ‘mini-finish line’ in my head.

As I made my way down the descent, my mind started playing some final tricks on me. I’m not sure if it was the cumulative sleep deprivation, the desperation to get to the finish, or something else, but I had an incredibly strong feeling of deja vu, something I’ve never really experienced before. I was 100% convinced that I had run this descent before, even telling myself I knew what was coming up next and what the rest of the route would look like, even though I’d never been within probably fifty miles of Kirk Yetholm in my life. I’m not sure I was even correct in my supposed foresight of the route, as my brain was truly fried by this point, but I couldn’t shake the feeling, and it was really quite unnerving, and put me in an incredibly strange state of mind. I eventually started to panic that maybe I knew the route because I was dreaming, and I grew increasingly worried that I was going to wake up back in one of the checkpoints or from a nap on the Cam High Road, a truly terrifying prospect. 

Despite all this, I kept moving forward at what I hesitate to describe as a ‘run’ or a ‘jog’, more just a painful shuffle that I was trying to make look faster than a walk. I also began panicking that Zac was going to catch me and overtake me, checking behind me constantly for any sign of his head torch, even though I didn’t care whatsoever if even the entirety of the rest of the field finished ahead of me! 

It was a strange headspace that I found myself in, and again the Spine had one last sting in the tail, with a 20% gradient road climb kicking up in front of me before finally depositing me onto the (actual) last descent of the race. The road steadily sloped downwards and the village of Kirk Yetholm came into view on the right hand side. Trying to pick up the pace, my shin screamed at me with the first sharp pain I’d had in the whole race, as opposed to it’s usual dull ache, but now wasn’t the time for complaining and I continued pushing towards the finish.

I was scouring the darkness and the few points of light to try and locate the finish line without success, so continued my hobble down the road, knowing it wasn’t much further. Again, the dark made it incredibly hard to judge distance (were the lights small head torches, close to me, or larger lights from houses, further away?) but eventually the finish came into view. The village green with the Border Hotel at the opposite side, and the illuminated finish arches guiding the way to the finish line.

The SST volunteer who had helped us navigate the bog had also warned us of the uneven surface of the village green, so as I managed to muster up something slightly more reminiscent of a run, I also avoided face planting the grass and embarrassing myself too badly. The waiting crowd of people cheered and clapped me in, and again Harriet and Jack were waiting for me - I’m so grateful that they made the journey up!

My memory is a complete blur, but one thing is for certain: 158 hours and what felt like a lifetime after leaving Edale, I crossed the line, approached the pub, and kissed the wall. It was over. I had finished the Spine Race.

The Finish

Feeling well and truly delirious, I hugged Harriet and Jack, and took Jack to kiss the wall of the hotel too, something he didn’t really enjoy! I somewhat remember being briefly interviewed as well, though I can’t remember any of the questions or my answers, then I was taken inside by a volunteer to eat, drink and sort out my kit one last time. 

Two portions of mac and cheese, some toast (which I’m informed it took me about half an hour to eat on its own), and a 0% Guinness made me feel somewhat human again, but the pain and tiredness was really starting to hit me now that my body and mind knew I was finished. It took me an eternity to actually do anything at all, but I knew that if I did anything before leaving, I needed to assess the damage on my feet and see how bad the tendonitis was. 

After another eternity spent taking my shoes and socks off, things didn’t look too bad, and I was given a bowl of water to soak my feet in and to help remove the tape. The bowl was a bit small, especially for my swollen feet, but it felt incredible. Removing the tape from my toes, I didn’t have any new blisters and the two that had been previously drained didn’t look any worse than they had in Bellingham - a win! Unfortunately the tape from my shin put up more of a fight (or at least, the hair on my legs did), so after a final bit of pain, the medic sat down and tried to assess if there might be any lasting damage. 

His diagnosis, thankfully, was that any inflammation was likely just swelling that should hopefully sort itself out in the coming days and weeks. The prescribed plan was rest, ice, elevation, and strong painkillers - sounds good to me! It was time to get off to bed, and I didn’t want to hang around too long, or more importantly, make Harriet and Fiona hang around for any longer. Before we left, Harriet treated me to a Montane Spine fleece as a gift for finishing, and though she kept telling me “you’ve done it” and “you’ve finished”, it didn’t really hit me, and I don’t really know if it ever really will.

I don’t really remember much of getting from the pub to the car, or the journey back to Jedburgh, or getting from the car to the Airbnb, but Harriet tells me I had a very long shower before collapsing into bed and immediately falling asleep.

The Aftermath

The next morning it was time to drive home (or should I say, be driven home), and again I remember little of the journey, other than blurting out the odd anecdote and memory of the race, and tucking into a Greggs at the motorway services. I don’t think the rest of my Sunday involved much of any note either, my feet and ankles were in a lot of pain, and moving anywhere at all was a massive chore.

For the next couple of days my feet were a mixture of sore, numb and tingly, and my ankles were absolutely huge and unable to flex at all. Probably a blessing in disguise with the tendonitis. Sleeping proved difficult, being woken by my various aches and pains throughout the night, and I was suffering from the night sweats that I had been warned about from various articles and podcasts about the Spine that I’d consumed previously. A routine application of Voltarol to my feet and ankles, as well as an alarm to take codeine and ibuprofen through the day, was all I was really focused on, along with eating as much as possible and trying to stay hydrated.

Another, unexpected, feature of my sleep was panicking that I was still in the race whenever I woke up, which was actually pretty terrifying. I’d be confused, trying to remember which checkpoint I was in, wondering how long I had until I had to leave, or thinking I’d slept through my alarm, and a few times I thought I’d woken up out on the trail, and I would try to figure out which way I had to go before realising I was indoors. Each time, I’d have to truly rack my brains to remember finishing, and to remind myself that I was definitely done, and to calm down! This lasted for the best part of a week, and I can’t help but wonder whether this was potentially a very minor form of PTSD…

Around three or four days after finishing, I started to feel more myself, though I’d try to carry out some normal daily chores and it would wipe me out later in the afternoon with a wave of fatigue. It was Friday before I could actually get socks on (a combination of the swelling and pain from the blisters in my little toes) and get out for an extremely slow walk. 

The following weekend, one week on from finishing, was a big improvement, with a couple of longer walks at an actual human pace (albeit with an unintentionally modified gait) and less bouts of fatigue throughout the day. As the swelling went down, the pain in my feet and ankles subsided, only to be replaced by the return of the tendonitis pain in my shin (thankfully reduced) and some minor pain and stiffness in my left knee. Walking was definitely helping things, and cycling would be my first return to anything more strenuous, but I wanted to make sure I saw a physio before planning any return to running.

I managed to get booked in with a physio around ten days post-race, and thankfully everything seemed good, with seemingly no long-term injuries to worry about. Similar to the prognosis from the medic at the end of the race, I was told the swelling in the tendons causing shin pain should subside with lower impact, and the left knee pain was similar, just minor swelling of the tendon beneath the kneecap which should also sort itself out in time. Cycling was the recommendation for getting back into some sort of movement, along with some exercises to strengthen the tendons once the pain had gone. Considering what I put myself through, I was pretty happy with the end result injury-wise!

What’s Next?

Two weeks on from finishing, I feel no rush to return to running, but I am starting to feel like I want to run again, which can only be a good thing! I haven’t put myself off for life, at least. There’s been plenty of walking, and with some easy cycling thrown in for a bit of low-impact training to give my tendons a break. Thankfully, there’s around seven months until UTMB, so no need to rush things!

Looking ahead, I know I will definitely benefit from a lower race weight for UTMB with the amount of climbing, and it will probably help to protect my joints and tendons on the descents as well. So the plan currently is to continue with some lower intensity work predominantly on the bike, while also slowly dropping some weight before starting any harder workouts. I’m planning on spending around three months in total with more cycling included, with maybe two harder sessions on the bike per week and slowly bringing in a run workout too, as well as flatter long runs at the weekend to start with. 

The following three months will start the ramp up to UTMB, including a month in the Alps in July which will offer amazing training specificity, staying in La Plagne. We’ve been skiing here a few times, but never visited in the summer which should be equally amazing, especially with a stage of the Tour de France to enjoy as well! I will initially work on flat speed and building volume while we’re still in the UK, so as not to burn out on hill work before going to France. 

UTMB is another huge bucket list race for me, probably even more so than the Spine, and ticking two absolutely huge goal races off in one year will hopefully make 2025 the best yet, and incredibly hard to beat moving forwards! Ever since I discovered that trail running was even a thing, UTMB captured my imagination and I’ve followed it ever since. Being in Chamonix and experiencing the race is going to be absolutely incredible, and I hope I can do myself proud there. 

Would I return to the Spine Race? Honestly, deep down, I can see myself wanting to have another crack at some point, but it would have to be ten years down the line, or maybe even longer. Partly from an inability to do it any sooner than that, but mostly from not being able to put my family through it all again! There’s definitely time left on the table through poor checkpoint management and the slowing down through the injury, as well as being able to manage and plan sleep better, with more planned naps out on the trail rather than solely winging it. However, looking back at it currently, the experience seems perfect. We got the sort of challenging conditions you want and expect when signing up for the Spine, and I can’t imagine meeting a better group of people through my race experience either. Would it ruin it to go back at the risk of getting a week of torrential rain? I managed to avoid the temptation of trying to sign up for 2026 anyway!

Through the rest of my thirties, I still want to push for some faster times over the marathon distance, and I have some more bucket list races to tick off too. My wife will be glad that these are thankfully much shorter (Lakeland 100, Lavaredo 120K etc.), maybe an added bonus of the Spine is that it makes hundred milers seem short! 

Maybe hitting my forties (or fifties) will trigger a second mid-life crisis and a potential return to the Spine? Never say never, I guess…