Report by Greg Jones
It seems I have some demons lurking on the Pennine Way. I’ve attempted the 108 mile Spine Race Challenger South three times, and each time, something or other had prevented me from finishing. So, time for another attempt ? Well yes, but this time I thought I’d do the full Spine Race – the whole 268 miles and show that pesky Challenger South who’s boss! Or so said the gin one night.
As ever, my training was far from ideal but things took a definite turn for the worse just five weeks before the race – I stupidly sprained my ankle at the end of my drive. Swelling to the size of a grapefruit and turning green and purple – this was not good news. I could barely walk for a week and as I took tentative steps to get moving again it was clear that the ankle was still very unstable. Between the sprain and the race, I rolled the ankle a further two times. Did I stand any chance of success for this year’s Spine Race ? Well, I had no options to defer or transfer my race entry and no insurance for what is a pretty expensive race, so I resolved to get to the start line and see what happened.
I adjusted my sights and worked out a timing plan that would get me over the finish line with 5 minutes to spare. So long as I could keep ahead of this plan … Effectively I was aiming to come last ! But finish !
Race day came and I was on the line at 8am on Sunday morning. And we were off ! The weather was good, going on hot and breezy and the ground was mostly hard and dry. Good fast conditions but hard on the joints.
I had a stupid amount of tape holding my ankle together but it seemed to be working and I was making pretty good progress. I reached the first checkpoint at 11pm a good 2 hours ahead of plan and I got my head down for a few hours of hot, achy dozing.
Just after dawn I was back out and, on my way, passing a half dozen runners on my way to Gargrave. Now, Gargrave has been a sticking point for me twice before but this time I sailed through not daring to stop for more than a few minutes. Onwards to Malham, up above the cove and as night fell, I headed up on the Fountain Fell and over Pen-y-Ghent. So far so good. But I was getting tired and ahead lay the endless and notorious sole destroying Cam High Road.
After an eternity (or two) on the High Road the trail eventually headed down and I reached CP2 Hardraw around midday on Tuesday. That’s the end of the 108 mile Challenger South course. The finish line that had eluded me for so long. Done ! I patted myself on the back and settled down for a couple of hours rest in a baking hot tent.
Now just the 168 mile Challenger North course to do !
Crossing the moors as it got dark, I arrived at the Tan Hill pub just after closing time. But I had a cup of coffee, togged up for a quite chilly breezy night and headed back out in to the bog.
I arrived at CP3 Middleton on Wednesday morning – curry for breakfast. My feet were not feeling great and were swollen and inflamed. Was it just the heat ? I’d been wearing waterproof socks thus far and was wondering if that was just too hot. I pondered this as I grabbed a delightful 3 hours sleep in another baking hot tent. As I woke, I found my tent was the only one still standing. I was bang on plan but that of course put my right at the back of the pack. But I was ok with that – I was still moving. Many other runners had retired by this stage.
The route took me up past Cauldron Snout (I didn’t fall in this year) and up to the spectacular High Cup Nick. Around midnight I reached Dufton where I was hoping to stop for a while, but as it happened, I was cold and reasonably awake so I settled for 7 minutes of shut eye before heading back out in to the night over Cross Fell.
Just after dawn I came across one of my favourite waypoints – Greg’s Hut! Yes, I have my very own hut on route! I was feeling ok so pressed on. But it wasn’t long before I came across a racer huddled at the edge of the track. Richard had taken a fall. He was shaking violently and couldn’t form a sentence. I sat and talked with him for a while hoping to re-ground him. It turns out he’d been hallucinating all night and had spent hours running around Cross Fell fighting and evading tanks. And now he didn’t know what was real and what was not. He didn’t know where he was or what to do. He clearly needed some sleep. As it happens, we were in a mobile black spot so I headed on up the hill to try and find a signal. Eventually I got a message out to Race HQ to let them know and headed back to Richard. He was back on his feet by now and feeling a bit more with it so we headed off, talking about anything and everything just to keep him engaged. Eventually we met up with the Safety Team. Richard was much improved but I agreed to stay with him until the next checkpoint where we could both get some rest.
I got about 2.5 hours of good sleep at Alston and after many many many helpings of lasagne I was good to go again. It was even hotter, around 28C and my feet were not great so… I decided to ditch the waterproof socks. A decision I would come to regret. Just as I was leaving, I received some fanfare I was awarded 20 minutes ‘Good Samaritan’ credit. Which was nice. But it didn’t move the cutoffs and I was now over 2 hours behind plan. I had some catching up to do.
I headed out into the heat towards one of my least favourite parts of the course. The moors ahead were usually mile upon mile of wet bog. Given the heat and the dryness so far, surely it would be dry up there now ? Apparently not. And with the wrong socks on my feet got very wet and stayed wet. Dito my spare dry socks.
But as the day ended, so did the bog and I headed up on to Hadrian’s wall. Exhausted and with my feet in a bad way I fetched out the bivvy bag and huddled up for a cold and uncomfortable hour and a half by the wall. Foolishly, I slept with my socks on.
I was moving again by dawn but my feet were killing me. I took a look. They were severerly macerated. Oh for dry socks! Or waterproof socks? That would have been a good idea over the bogs ! I cursed my stupidity.
Nevertheless, the sun rising over Hadrian’s Wall was spectacular and I was still moving ok.
All was well for a while … but then things started going a bit pair shaped. I was 5 miles from the next checkpoint at Bellingham. If I could make it there, I could regroup, sort my feet out and get some rest. But I was tired. So so tired. I was semi aware that I was staggering and weaving down the lane but I thought I was still vaguely in control. I started seeing little tents in the bushes, then cars hiding behind the trees. Then people in Dickensian costume bustling everywhere and a dog kept dashing between my legs…. Until I could stand no more. I slumped to the verge, rolled onto my back and instinctively set my alarm for 5 minutes hence (I think/thought) and was gone.
I woke to my alarm. Confused. I was 800m off route and had dropped about 300m. How long had I been there ? Not idea! Climbing 300m back up the (unnecessary) hill I regained the course and weaved my way slowly down to the checkpoint at Bellingham.
I was now four hours behind my scrape-through timing plan. And I was exhausted. I checked my feet – they were not good. My heels were badly macerated and both of my little toes were badly blistered. My race was in tatters.
Now I was up against the checkpoint cut-off and the well-meaning staff were making suggestions on how I could turn it around. I insisted I just needed an hour of sleep and then I would work things out with a clear head. But the message about the looming cut-off had sunk in so I revised my sleep plan to … 28 minutes. I set my alarm and was out like a light.
Right, wide awake (?). Let’s get this done. Is it possible ? Don’t know. Just get moving. I dressed my feet, reloaded my pack, kit-check and back out I went.
Remarkable I made good progress overnight and regained some lost time. I arrived at CP5.5 around midnight. It was a midgey hell hole and I lingered just long enough to grab a coffee and fill up with 3.5L of water. The next section is very very remote and right now, completely dry.
I pressed on to the Church at Byrness – a favourite stop for Spiners. The pews and the floor were strewn with a dozen other racers but I found a vacant slot between the pews and settled down. The stone floor was cold and hard. I put on every item of clothing I had, fashioned a mattress out of a hat and a pair of gloves and set my alarm for two hours hence – 2:30am. I woke at 5am. Bugger! I popped my head up over the pew – everyone else had gone. Once again, my race was in jeopardy. Throwing my kit on I headed out into the early morning light of Saturday. The climb up to the Cheviots is quite short but very steep and having just filled up with many litres of water the climb certainly woke me up. Maybe I could pull this off ?
I pushed on along the Cheviots stopping for little and hoping that the Sleep Monsters wouldn’t catch up with me. Inevitably there were a few moments when I just had to stop and close my eyes for 10 minutes but I tried to avoid this if I could. The break is nice but the pain of restarting is not so nice.
Morning rolled in to afternoon and the miles clicked by and with every step the finish line at Kirk Yetholm came ever closer. I came across Chris just one mile from the finish who was in a pretty bad way. He was barely moving, his stride was around 15cm and he was clearly in a lot of pain. I didn’t have the heart to blast (i.e. shuffle) past him and, knowing I had just enough time in hand, I chose to stay with him for the last mile. We crossed the line together.
So that was it! I finished!
268 miles (440km) in 155:05 hours (6.5 days). One of 102 finishers out of 165 starters.
With just 55 minutes to spare it was a bit touch and go at times but I finished … not quite last. I’d beaten my demons from the Challenger South section and my ankle had held out. So, I finished – happy !
