Report by Greg Jones.
Well, I did it ! 160 miles (258km) non-stop along an incredibly boggy Pennine Way. Many veteran Spiners rated the ground conditions to be as bad if not worse that winter conditions and more than half of the full distance runners (including many of the front runners) didn’t finish.
But for me, after two previous unsuccessful attempts this was a ‘must complete’ race. Starting at 8am the 55km leg to the first checkpoint was fairly straightforward. Alongside 71 other runners the miles clicked by, past Tan Hill (Britain’s highest pub) and down mile after mile of glorious wild flower meadows. And just there, a strangely familiar figure by the side of the track. Great to see you Mike ! A lovely surprise.
With just the midges for company (the conversation wasn’t great) I pressed on to Cauldron Snout – a massive roaring waterfall. This place was miles from anywhere, a mobile and tracker not-spot. There was nobody in sight for miles ahead or behind and it was now dark dark. As I scrambled over the rocks I was thinking this would be a really bad pace to fall in the river. But it seems I have a special attraction to water and with a slip, two flailing poles and a bit of rock top acrobatics I did indeed find myself in the river. Refreshed, I pressed on up the hill.
Climbing up in to the clouds my world was reduced to a 2m radius (the reach of my ever-dimming torch) and following the barely discernible track proved tricky. Drifting off the track every 2 minutes or so my course was a torturous zig zag across tussocks and bogs for what seemed like an eternity but as dawn broke I reached Dufton. For many hours I’d been looking forward to a quick nap in the bus stop there but as I arrived I found it was already full. And the public loos also had three runners in residence. I set my alarm for 10 minutes hence and settled down for a nap on what turned out to be an incredibly uncomfortable bench.
Rested and refreshed (?) I pressed on, back up the hill and across the infamous Cross Fell to Greg’s Hut. (Yes it’s my hut – get your own hut !) Ok so maybe I’m starting to get a bit tired now. And my feet hurt.
30+ hours and 115km in I reached Alston, the second checkpoint. Oh heaven! Five helpings of fabulous lasagne, a shower and a mattress for 3.5 hours. An hour+ of faffing, foot maintenance and kit checks, rice pudding for breakfast (8:30pm) then back out on to the trail.
That night was all about bogs. Mile after mile of energy sapping, ankle twisting, rocky, waterlogged bogs. 30km of zigging and zagging, leaping and sinking, squelching, sliding and cursing. But as the sun rose, I reached Hadrian’s Wall and settled down with the midges and cows for a 10-minute nap on the wall. Now hobbling, I met the Spine Safety Team who seemed concerned for my wellbeing. They could see that there was clearly something wrong with me (apart from the obvious). I assured them I was ok to continue and pressed on along the wall. The wall was great (apart from the lack of one special Sycamore tree) but soon I was back in to my all too familiar world of bog slogging. I think Blenkensopp Common might have been a low point.
At this stage in the race it does get rather lonely and I’d had spells of 12 hours+ without seeing a single sole. But every now and then I’d come across a place like Horneystead Farm, where the farmer (Helen) watched my approach as she lent on her gate. ‘Do you fancy a cuppa ?’ In fact she had a cowshed with all sorts of goodies to eat, freshly made sandwiches and cake, a fridge full of … Iron Bru and even a shower and a bed. The kindness of strangers can be extraordinary. As I sat in this oasis, two, then four, then six other runners arrived, (mostly runners from the Mountain Rescue race) and we had a half hour picnic in the sun. But the clock never stops on the Spine Race and eventually we all headed back out on to the trail and on to Checkpoint 3 at Bellingham.
At the 175km point and 58 hours in Bellingham was a tented camp. A chance for another 3.5 hours of sleep and sausage casserole. My feet were in tatters now after all that water and bogs and were almost entirely covered in tape. After a rice pudding breakfast (11:00pm) I headed out in to the night. Up on the hills the northerly wind in was cold. This was a ‘summer’ race but it could only have been a few degrees up there so I was togged up in base + fleece + thermal jack + rain jacket, hat and gloves, waterproof trousers .. in fact, I was wearing everything I had with me. And goggles as the wind was painful on the eyes. Another solitary night across the bogs.
The sleep deprivation was really starting to bite now. Yes, I’d been talking to the cows and the sheep for days but now I was saying hello to thistles too. And there was a particularly pretty fresh young pine tree that drew a conversation. I then met another just like it and decided I should say hello to that one too. I could see three ahead so, yes a little bit OCD, I resolved I should say hello to each. But as I crested the hill I was met by an entire forest of said trees. This was going to take a while.
I was soon in zombi mode staggering along unable to keep my eyes open. Every few minutes I’d wake up having staggered into a ditch or with my face in tree. It was only a matter of time before a face plant so time for another 10-minute snooze with the midges. I was getting quite good at this now – pick a nice-looking tuft, lie on it, midge net on, set my alarm, then when my alarm went off, get straight up and walk on. I think the trick is to just not think about it.
On to Bryness and a semi-checkpoint where I got a cup of magic coffee. I don’t know what was in it but it completely revived me. I stomped up the steep hill on the Cheviots and started running. I was feeling great and with just the Cheviots to go my thoughts turned to the finish line. Back in race mode.
Some other runners had caught me up during my staggering slumbers and they were about 1km behind. So I ran and I ran, and they walked and the walked. And yet they still seemed to be closing on me. I ran harder and harder, and still they closed on me. After many hours of this, it was clear I couldn’t keep this up for another 12+ hours, I conceded and sat down to ‘check the map’. Turns out they weren’t racers at all, just a sprightly pair of New Zealand retiree’s out for a (fast) hike. More relieved than bothered I calmed things down a little to a more sustainable pace.
The last 20km lasted a lifetime. More bogs, more ‘just over the next hills’ and mile upon mile of lanes on the approach to the finish at Kirk Yetholm. As I ran in to the village I was met by the whole Spine circus whooping and applauding, cameramen buzzing around. This was truly overwhelming and I’m sure I wasn’t hiding my emotions at all. I was bemedalled (is that a word) and led to the Border Hotel where I’d earned the right to kiss the wall. Emma was there with a big hug which the cameras seemed to like and then to my surprise I was being interviewed. I probably wittered some nonsense but eventually I was released and the enormity of what had gone before started to sink in.
For me this was massive, the biggest, hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s been my thing, my driver, my objective for just over a year now, ever since I had a gin too many and signed up for my first Spine attempt, almost on a whim. And to actually reach the finish line…
Thank you all for your messages of support – they really helped along the way.
It’ll probably take me a while to unpack this all and I’ll try not to bore you too much about it. But in the meantime, I hope you’ve enjoyed my little story.
