It's 07:30 am, and over a 100 people are congregating in a field in sub-zero conditions in the small Yorkshire village of Hardraw. We are about to take on "one of Britain’s Most Brutal endurance races™️ ”, the Montane Winter Spine: Challenger North. Our extensive mandatory kits had been comprehensively checked the previous day (in nearby Hawes), and through icy breaths and nervous chatter, we were now getting our electronic trackers fitted. We were also able to deposit our drop-bags (max. 20kg), which contained food-supplies and the extra clothing and equipment needed for the next 4 ½ days (108h) of racing. Suddenly there was only 5 minutes to go, and after an understated count-down we set out on what would be the biggest challenge many of us had ever undertaken: a 250km, 150 mile continuous race along the northern stretch of the Pennine Way in deepest winter. Gulp.
The DNF (did not finish) rate for this race is high, and as we headed off, I looked around at the other runners – as many as a third would likely not finish the race. I quelled a surge of anxiety about my own race plan. This was to be my first major race since finishing immunotherapy treatment for Stage 4 Head and Neck cancer, and my longest race by far dealing with the ongoing impact of 7 weeks of intense daily radiation therapy to treat a previous bout of cancer in 2020. Like many head and neck cancer patients, the salivary glands are collateral damage from the radiation treatment targeting the cancer cells. Subsequently I don’t produce much saliva, so eating is extremely difficult when on the move, and any spice, no matter how mild, burns and ulcerates the inside of my mouth. However, I knew my mantras and motivations off by heart for when times got tough. No matter what, I was going to treat the race like a celebration, the Challenger Celebration if you like, for getting through to the other side of 2 years of immunotherapy. With my A-game being to finish the race in under 84h and meet my partner David in the pub in Kirk Yetholm by Thursday 8pm, I was eager to crack on!!
Start (Hardraw) – Langdon Beck: 40 miles / 64 km
We left Hardraw to climb the Great Shunner Fell, and while this wasn't a difficult climb, it was long, cold (wind chill = -17 °C) and icy, prefiguring conditions that would persist for the rest of the race. But as we climbed, the sky at our backs was on fire, with one of the most intense sunrises I have ever seen, pushing us forward to the top of the Fell. My goal for the first leg was to get to the Langdon Beck youth hostel within 12h, so I adopted the well tried-and-tested walk-up-all-the-hills-and-gently-jog-on-the-flats-and-downhills approach. On the way I chatted to many interesting runners, hearing their experiences (or not!) of running previous winter and summer Spine races.
Around noon I reached the world-famous Tan Hall Inn (Britain’s highest pub!), feeling positive about reaching the first timed location on the course.
I was able to use the toilet there (yay!), drink a cup of tea with lots of sugar before setting off again across the remote Sleightholme Moor and its many sinkholes. The terrain to Middleton-in-Teesdale was fine and uneventful, and I had really nice chats with several other runners (including Tom Moss and Jamie Hall) on topics ranging from climate change to architecture to other running communities that we were part off. A highlight was being passed by Damian Hall, a previous winter Spine winner. I ran behind him for about 30 seconds before being left for dust!
Just after Middleton, however, I lost (then found) a glove (for the umpteenth time) and ran the 7 mile stretch to Langdon Beck by myself, along the River Tees, past Low and High Force waterfalls, which could only be heard and not seen in the dark. Weirdly, I found this stretch quite hard going; lots of tree roots and stumps, and fenced-in enclosures made me stumble a lot and also make several navigational errors on the way.
I reached Langdon Beck c. 8:20 pm. It was very busy but efficient, and already some of the elite full Spine runners were there. When you arrive, you are met by a volunteer who, I think, assesses how you are feeling and if you are having any problems. You are checked in, your shoes and poles are taken away from you, but labelled, and then you are sat down with your drop bag. To minimise faff and mistakes, I had a checklist of what to do on arrival and before departing for each checkpoint; for example, charge all the things (watch, GPS, phone etc), replace used food, used torch batteries etc. You are offered food and drinks, from the amazing volunteers, who do everything they can to make sure you are set for going out on the next stage.
Langdon Beck - Alston: 32 miles / 51 km
There was a new warning of snow falling on Cross Fell at noon the next day, so I decided to race straight on through the night to Alston, the second check-point, allowing myself only a 90 min stay at Langdon Beck. Because of the extreme cold, there was also a diversion in force – we would no longer be climbing up the side of the Cauldron Snout waterfall because the frozen conditions had made the route too treacherous. Given these warnings, myself and Jimmy van den Kieboom (a runner who had been staying in the same hotel as me in Hardraw) decided to pair up for the night. On setting off, we picked up Tom on the way, but then our first error kicked in; Jimmy stopped to adjust the number of layers he was wearing while Tom and I trotted slowly on. But unbeknownst to us, we missed one of the diversion signs, and ended up going in the wrong direction for several kms! Thankfully, our trackers were being monitored and a member of the safety team was able to drive to us and tell us to turn back and find the right turning (by ourselves). By this time, however, we’d lost Jimmy. Back on track, we got the opportunity to test out our skills at using the mandatory GPS and mandatory paper maps to make the decision on whether to cross a bridge or not, just before we approached High Cup Nick. Being a Geographer, I was a bit gutted not to be able to see this magnificent glaciated u-shaped valley of in daylight. However, the run, hike and scramble along the steep northern flank towards the monitoring check-point of Dufton was still exhilarating.
Tom and I arrived at Dufton at 4am Tuesday morning, but, in line with the regulations, we could only stay for 30mins. This was long enough for me to charge up my watch, which was worryingly loosing charge more quickly than I anticipated in the cold, and fill up my flasks with Tailwind. The going after Dufton quickly got tough – climbing the long, steep ascent to the highest peak on the Pennine Way, Cross Fell (over 890 m high), passing first the Knock Old Man obelisk and then the Great Dun Fell radar station, and two sneaky cairns that we mistook for the summit, only to have our hopes dashed, until we eventually reached the peak’s trig-point.
I must admit, if it had not been for Tom, an experienced fell runner, I’m not sure how I would have completed this section. But one of my goals in taking part in this race was to challenge myself, and climbing so steeply, using poles so extensively, in freezing conditions in the dark certainly ticked that box. Cross Fell has its own microclimate. It is highly exposed, and finding the track through the snow and sheet-ice was extremely difficult; instead of snow starting at noon, it had definitely started earlier at 7am, when we were on the summit. The ice formations on the cairns and other structures were weird and wonderful, and reminded me of an SEM (scanning electron microscope) image of biological tissue, and I wasn’t even hallucinating yet!
The cold also threw up new challenges in that the valves on my water flasks had frozen up, so drinking was no longer possible. This poses a major challenge to anyone racing, but for me it also meant I could no longer eat anything apart from gels, as the water acts as a saliva substitute helping me swallow food. Nevertheless, by c. 9am we were eventually rewarded with the site of Gregg’s Hut, one of four mountain bothies on the Pennine Way, and the promise of hot noodles (minus chilli!) and tea.
After chatting to several other runners and helpers in the hut, Tom and I set off on the final stretch, a well-defined track down to Garrigill then along the River South Tyne, and through fields to Alston Youth Hostel. Chatting on the way down, Tom and I decided that we made a good team, and would run the other night-time sections together, which alas soon turned out not to be what happened.
We arrived in Alston at c. 13:30 Tuesday, well ahead of the cut-off, and decided to get some kip there for a couple of hours. Checklists were done, famous lasagne eaten, tea drunk, and then I was out like a light for 2 full hours in the bunk room. But I faffed a lot with getting my final bits and pieces together, so Tom and I didn’t leave Alston until 6pm (still 6 hours ahead of my original race plan, though).
Alston to Bellingham: 37 miles / 60 km
The route between Alston and Greenhead in the dark was a bit of a blur; the skies were clear and it was bitterly cold, and the route seemed to wind in between many walled and fenced-in fields, where it felt like a game at times trying to find the exits and entrances to the next one. This was then followed by a romp through what I think was Hartleburn Common then Blenkinsopp Common. The route was muddy and frozen and tussocky all in equal measure, and the going took a fair bit of energy out of us, especially as there was no distinct track to follow. Energy levels dropped quickly, so we decided to pitch down for an hour (c. 23:00h) to cook some food and maybe grab some sleep (thus getting more of the mandatory kit tested in the field, especially the sleeping and bivvy bags!). We were wondering why very few people had passed us, and it turned out that conditions got so bad on Cross Fell after we had left, that all runners were stopped from going up there for 3 or 4 hours til the weather got better, which meant that some runners were held in the checkpoints too. Eventually we were caught up by a couple of MRT (Mountain Rescue Team) runners who seemed to know their way through the boggy commons, and although we lost them again at Greenhead, it was good to have other people navigate for a change.
However, when we got to the start of the Hadrian’s Wall section, Tom’s energy levels dropped, and he needed to go find some public toilets in Greenhead and bed down for a couple of hours. I decided to crack on, as selfishly perhaps I didn't want to lose any more time to sleep, and I messaged Race HQ of our plans. This meant that I was to tackle Hadrian’s Wall at 4am on my own, and I really wish I’d recced this stretch of the route. I had in my mind that I would be going over a couple of old ramparts, and the rest would be a clear path, but the route was so much more complicated that: it took me 11 hours from the start of the Wall to reach the next checkpoint, Bellingham. The night was really, really cold, my flasks of fluids had frozen up, my chocolate bars had frozen, and even my gels were thick and viscous and difficult to eat.
On this section, the sleep hallucinations started, and I really started to wonder if dawn would ever break. Eventually of course it did, and I was treated to a wonderful ethereal sight of trees gradually appearing through a mist, and then a golden sun piercing a cloud inversion before eventually burning it off. It was here that I could imagine strapping Roman soldiers appearing through the mist, although unfortunately I had yet to hallucinate them.
My route took me through Ridley Common and Wark Forest, before hot tea and soup from Horneystead Farm (ran by Helen and several volunteers). The soup was delicious and it gave me the extra energy for the final section to Bellingham checkpoint, where I arrived on Wednesday afternoon at 3pm.
In Bellingham, the cook Karen was super-nice. She’d been warned by the checkpoint manager (Nicki) that I couldn’t eat spicy food due to my previous cancer treatment, and she made every effort to ensure that I could eat what was given, a delicious casserole and mashed potatoes! After eating, drinking, and sorting my checklist out, I went to sleep in the unheated next-door room. But I got a sofa, and I slept soundly for 2 hours. When I got up, Tom had just arrived with a few other runners, but, since he was going to try and get some sleep, I made the decision to leave rather than wait for him (which in hindsight was a mistake on my part). After eating more of the snacks on offer, I left Bellingham c. 7pm Wednesday, 5h ahead of my original schedule.
Bellingham to Kirk Yetholm; 42 miles / 68 km
This section was to prove the most challenging and almost my downfall, with three distinct sections / experiences. The first wound through the Bellingham village, up to Blakelaw Farm, before the Pennine Way entered an extensive stretch of heather moorland and bog. The Way was very indistinct and very icey, and while I crossed this section at considerable speed, running all the way, I started to notice a pain in both ankles, especially the left one. The pain gradually got worse, but was dealable with. I met two security team, and stupidly refused the help of getting more water, and soon had to scramble up a short hill. The route after this became very boring, crossing through Kielder Forest on a very hilly and undulating tarmac road. Only one runner (full Spine) passed me for what seemed like hours before I reached check-point 3.5, Walker’s Inn at Byrness at 02:50 am on Thursday morning. Here you are only allowed a 30 min stop, but the staff could not have been more friendly, and fed me delicious mince and tatties and lots of hot tea. A perfect spot to gather myself before the Cheviots, or what will forever be known to me from now on, as the Badlands!
On leaving the Walker’s Inn, the Pennine Way soon climbed a steep hill, which was more of a scramble, allowing me to perfect the use of my sticks in the dark in very challenging conditions. This was the route onto the top of the Cheviots, which immediately felt like you were on a plateau above the rest of the world. It was bitterly cold and windy, so I put on my Yaktrax and goggles (more mandatory kit being tested).
And this is where, mentally and physically, the wheels came off my Spine race. Physically, the ground was frozen and the path difficult to find. I kept skidding on the ice and hitting my feet on tussocks, such that the pain in my left ankle especially, became really bad. Mentally, I got really confused, and was convinced that I was going round in circles on hilltops, and not in a linear northerly direction. I was pretty much micro-napping whilst running, and I was also hallucinating heavily. The patterns in the paving stones, in the wooden slatted paths, and in the snow and vegetation were rich in images, especially faces, and I wondered if this was an insight into how artists might view the world, where shadows create novel images that we would normally filter out. More darkly, however, I also saw bodies and their rucksacks lying strewn off the route; each time I checked the bodies were OK, they of course turned into bushes and rocks. I found this really upsetting and it was only marginally made up for by the countless imaginary cats and rabbitsthat also followed me on my way.
Dawn eventually broke, but I was close to calling Spine HQ to quit. Thankfully I didn’t, and in about another hour, I stumbled across Hut 1 (Yearning Saddle Refuge Hut), where I just sat in silence, feeling rather distraught. There were a few other people there including a woman getting her foot taped up. After a cup of tea, I headed off back along the Pennine Way, and the next 9 miles to Hut 2. This route closely followed the fence that separates Scotland from England, and I lost count of how many hills I had to hobble-climb and descend.
By now I had to forget all hope of running to the finish line, and so from Hut 2 via the Schil, I hobbled into Kirk Yetholm over the next few hours, arriving at 16:30 Thursday afternoon, a whole 3 ½ hours before my original set deadline, into the arms of David. Those last few miles / hours from the Schil to the end were tortuously slow. But I made it - sore, smiling and for once feeling a justified sense of achievement.
Final thoughts:
It’s now a week now since my 80+h race finished and I’m still processing what happened, but I do know a few things already:
- I couldn’t have done this without the support of @davidadger, my coach @queerrunnings, @camino_ultra, and my family and friends
- I couldn’t have done this without the support of the @spinerace staff, checkpoint, mountain hut and medical volunteers. My heart-felt thank you to you all. And to fellow Spiners as we supported each other through the toughest of locations (especially you Tom Moss!)
- I couldn’t have done this without the belief that I could cross the line no matter how difficult the race became
- “I couldn’t have done this” - well I thought that too, but what can be done is proving yourself wrong. And there’s nothing more satisfying than that!!
And this morning (Thursday 25th) my next appointment for new CT scans of my neck, chest and abdomen have come through to check on my cancer, so it's definitely back to reality! But I have also submitted a registration to volunteer on next year’s Winter Spine Races; I need more than a year off to mentally recover from this race! But fingers crossed I’ll be around long enough to run the full Spine Race in 2026. What was it Arnie said?