Some advice first, this distance was new to me, and went reasonably well (6th place finish).

• Pace yourself, even more than you think. I held back in the Lakes and was still too fast.
• Eat plenty – the time penalty of eating does not outweigh the longevity penalty of not eating. I run through checkpoints pretty quick on a 50 miler, but here it paid to eat hot food when available.
• Sleep is good. I pushed through the first night, which was fine, slept in the second. A 1 sleep strategy seemed to work for those close to me in the race.
• A larger pack is more comfortable than a small pack stuffed full.
• If a message service is available, encourage people to use it. It’s really nice!

The training

Training had gone well. I was more diligent than useful, aiming for 1 tempo and 1 interval session per week, and 3 lots of progressive strength and conditioning. Life got in the way a few times, and I predictably struggled to stick to flat tempos on beautiful days, but it was there or thereabouts. In the winter build up, Pendle Way in a Day (70km) went well, as did the Corris Round, and then I got a surprise PB in the Grindleford Gallop, despite being at max training load.

But, a bit of a problem developed during taper – my right achilles tendon became tight and sore after a longish run. It gradually eased, through exercising and stretching, and by race week I could do a single leg calf raise (going up on tiptoes) without discomfort. But this was only just in time.

I’ve enough experience with niggles to know it’s sometimes worth testing them out, rather than assuming the worst. Running works like mountaineering: it’s worth taking a close look before ditching an attempt. 

I also ended up with a job interview the day before the race, to cover maternity leave on what is pretty much my dream job. That gave me something else to think about rather than just putting my feet up. So the few days leading up to the race were a little more stressful, rounded off by the flat on Friday night being a little on the noisy side.

I had set myself a few goals for the race…

1) enjoy it

2) finish it

3) finish in <60 hours

4) finish close to 50, or even 48 hours.

Nothing about finish position, because that tends to be more influenced by who else has entered. I did know that <60hrs might put me in the top ten. I also knew that with Damian Hall in the race, there was going to be at least one extremely fast time!

The race

Unusually Jane dropped me off at the start, normally I get permission for these events but they are solo ventures. It was lovely to be seen off, and far more relaxing to be driven than to have to sort out transport. 

We got a brief talk from Shane (organiser) and then we’re off. Damian’s starting pace was immense, and it wouldn’t be long before I lost sight of him. What is always surprising is how fast everyone else starts. I chatted a bit with Rob, who had clocked that I was walking every incline, at this stage there were plenty of people ahead.

The views from St Bees Head were incredible, blue sky and clear air allowing all the Lakes summits to stand out clearly. The early miles flowed easily, taking it steady, not worrying about others running ahead, even so, I got.to Ennerdale Bridge a little earlier than expected. A brief stop and on we go.

Easy paths to the lake, and then a technical trail along the southern shore, one of those Lakeland valley paths that is remarkably slow going. But that gives way to forest tracks, with uphill walking breaks, all the way to picturesque Black Sail Hut. 

Loft Beck must be the steepest climb on the whole route, followed by a traverse round part of Moses’ Trod and a descent into Honister and then Rosthwaite. I caught up with David on the way down, who would finish 3rd, but was having a bit of early stomach trouble. I moved through the support point quickly, taking some pizza and coke, and planned on a steady plod to Grasmere.

But it was here that I started struggling a little myself, probably caused by the valley heat. I had been eating well, but was having the symptoms of being underfuelled. Several people caught me on the way up, including David who surged past never to be seen again (by me). I made a few places back with my efficient downhill trot, and fell into step with Sebastian, a Lakes traverser.

Emerging out of Far Easedale, I met Jen and Liz who had come out to support me. It was a real lift to see friends on the course, reduced just slightly by their tales of tea shops and ice cream! As a bonus, Sam, a friend from a previous Dragons Back Race, was cheering people on at the main road crossing.

More people overtook me on the way up to Grisedale Tarn, and I was starting to get some nagging doubts. Had I already gone too fast? Was this difficulty here going to cost me for the rest of the race? Time to open the mental toolkit, look around, enjoy where I am and the privilege of being able to do races like this. And eat a bit more. Once again, downhill was better.

Jen and Liz were waiting again just before Patterdale, having been a little surprised how far it is to drive round. We had another quick chat before I slid into the checkpoint for some proper food – two rounds of soup and a bowl of chips.

The food definitely made a difference, I started steady, was overtaken a couple of times, but then held my position and did much better uphill. Sunset fell around Angle Tarn, and it began to chill down. Strong winds hadn’t felt cold earlier but now began to bite. I had layered up, and I would put on full waterproofs before the top. I helped a couple of people, saving a couple of people from a wrong turn, and finding a headtorch in the gloom using mine.

The route takes small trods over Rampsgill Head to Kidsty Pike, and then down the steepening slopes into Mardale. This felt like a fellrunner’s opportunity – the running was grassy, and in places sneaky trods avoided rocky sections on the path. I caught lots of people on this descent, and was feeling good when I hit the Haweswater path.

I felt back on form through the miles to Shap, reeling people in, and feeling comfortable. It was just under 100km to the checkpoint, the idea that all this was about a third of the run was a little intimidating. I had learned my lesson from Patterdale, and stopped for a decent food break.

I left Shap shortly after midnight, only a little behind the optimistic schedule I had set myself. What followed was a drag, lots of gently uphill miles, over fairly featureless hills and fields, in the dark. I caught up with a runner who seemed a little lost, and gradually gained on a couple of others. Yesterday, people had been chatty and friendly, but there wasn’t much talk at night. 

On the last few miles to Kirkby Stephen, I made a minor nav error, and was somewhat annoyed when the runner behind me didn’t call to me. I had saved about half a dozen people from minor errors up to that point, and have always found people to have a team ethos part way though a big ultra. This person had been following me for miles, where I’d needed to concentrate on the route, so this seemed disappointing.

Kirkby Stephen was somewhere I thought I might sleep, particularly during that earlier hard spell in the Lakes. But I felt ok, and dawn was approaching, so after another good feed I cracked on. It was noticeable now that after stopping I needed some time to loosen up. Leaving the village, there is a very disappointing sign: pointing back to St Bees (82 miles) and ahead to Robin Hood’s Bay (108 miles). OK, even what’s left, in isolation, would be the longest continuous run I’ve ever done.

The march up to Nine Standards Rigg was pleasant enough, and the top felt like a psychological, if (still!) not literal half way point. The descent was very gradual, pretty boggy even after the dry weather, and at some point I caught my foot on a tussock, pulling my achilles. Up until that point it had been largely behaving itself, but was going to become a bit of a problem from here on.

Once Nine Standards was left behind, the rest of the Dales section was really nice. Swaledale was beautiful and unspoilt, the point where the Coast to Coast crosses the Pennine Way feeling very remote. There were a few walkers around, and at one point a lovely curve of valley opened up with a tempting trail: not the way we were going! Instead the route climbs up and crosses some streams with old mine workings, all very pretty and interesting.

Since Kirkby Stephen I hadn’t seen any other runners, but though the mines there was someone around 5-10 minutes behind me who was keeping pace. The gap didn’t close down the long miles of Hard Level Gill, and then approaching Reeth, the first Dales traversers would come through. The person tailing me turned out to be Fiona, who would go on to win the women’s race and come 4th overall. She caught me descending into the village, and we ran to the Dales Bike Centre support point, both stopping for coffee and cake.

This was one of the more leisurely stops, but it seemed worth having a breather. Some kind people in the queue let me go ahead, once they worked out what the race involved. I took on more water, as well as a middle class latte and some pear and ginger cake, and started shuffling onwards towards Richmond.

The next section felt quite luxurious, a short hop between support points, through pretty fields and villages. The faster Dales traversers were overtaking me, and were complimentary about how I seemed to be doing. Again, Fiona gradually caught me, having stayed longer at Reeth, we ran together for a while and then she started to pull away. But it wasn’t long before I got to Richmond.

I had wondered about sleeping here, having had this recommended by David as long ago as Saturday lunchtime. But I wasn’t feeling drowsy, so pushed on again after a feed. Rory set off ahead of me, and Fiona again spent longer in the checkpoint and set off later. I was finding it hard to run now, and walked the first couple of miles.

Sure enough, Fiona caught me again, and then we started to run together over the mainly flat ground of the vale of Mowbray. This seemed to work well for both of us, it was hard to get going, and hard to keep going, but easier to do both with someone else. It wasn’t fast but it was consistent, and the miles began to tick by. Sometimes we would split slightly, if one of us needed to eat, or sort kit, but would come back together again. We learned that starting running was hard, but keeling running was easier. 

This was the first time I looked at the online tracker during the run, as Fiona had dropped back a little and I walked up a hill. There was another lady ahead, but the gap was closing, and we were also gaining on Rory. It started to chill down again as the sun set, and the angle increased ever so slightly as we moved closer to the Moors.

To our surprise, we caught Liane just as the long road section ends. She had just phoned Shane, having become cold and shivery, and had made a minor nav error while on the phone. Liane had been running tremendously, generally ahead of record pace, but was now struggling. We both talked to her, including about some of the options to stop and get warm if necessary. Liane had wrapped up warm, and thought she would be OK to continue.

Fiona and I continued on, but it wasn’t long before she upped her pace and I decided it best to fall back, not sure keeping up would work long term. There were a few awkward nav sections through fields with only minor paths, and a series of gradually uphill roads and tracks to grind out. I stopped for a coffee and some fridge raiders at the Ingleby Arncliffe garage (warm!) before heading into the moors.

Heading uphill, my achilles complained again. It had coped pretty well with the gentle flat jogging, or mild inclines, but it was hard to push from my toes on a steeper hill. It felt a long climb to Beacon Hill, but the way down was easy and quick (now a relative term). The climb out of Scugdale was steep, and then a long, cold moorland section (waterproof trousers returned) before the steep descent into Lordstones checkpoint.

I had been feeling drowsy over the previous few miles, tempted to sleep in the woods, which might have worked had it not been so cold. So at Lordstones I opted for a proper sleep, in a frosty tent, gladly accepting a hot water bottle that both Rory and Fiona had used before me. Fiona had also slept, and was just eating as I came in. I slept for something over an hour, went for another round of food, and here was the first time the marshals printed off the Traverse Mail for me. There were dozens of messages, ranging from the expected “good luck” messages, to some Star Wars chat and some people writing under pseudonyms about naked Parkruns if I made the top 5. It was great to receive such a lot of support, and a real boost at the end of the second night.

There are a few really slow miles over Cringle Moor, Cold Moor, and Hasty Bank, but this section was also beautiful at first light. It also felt great to think this was the last dark section, hopefully – when the headtorch went away, it wouldn’t be coming back. It was also likely to be a quiet section – I had seen some headtorches approaching Lordstones as I was climbing away, but assuming a break for those people, they would be a good way behind me. It also seemed unlikely I would catch anyone else now, Fiona and Rory must have had at least an hour’s headstart on me. So it seemed I had settled into 7th place, having not overtaken anyone since Kirkby Stephen, but leaving a few people behind there, and since only seeing Fiona, Liane and Rory.

A pleasant surprise was that it felt more comfortable for my achilles to jog gently rather than walk – the latter involved a push from my toes. So there was even some mild uphill jogging on Urra Moor, and then I made steady if unspectacular progress along the old railway lines. The day began to warm up, and the waterproofs came off. The remaining mileage might have made a sensible day run.

As always, the good times don’t last. A repeated moral of the story is that these long ultras are a journey of ups and downs, literal and figurative. Just as that spell of fatigue in the Lakes was completely left behind, on the way down the Glaisdale, my achilles got worse again, for no particularly obvious reason. (Ok, it might have had something to do with the 160 miles to this point, but nothing had obviously gone wrong recently.) My pace slowed a little more to manage it, and avoid making it worse. I also sneaked a peak at the tracker, and could see that Dean ahead of me was slowing right down, but also that a few people had left Lordstones behind me, and were possibly catching up. Having had fairly leisurely breaks thus far, I decided to be fairly focussed on keeping moving now, rather than have a long stop.

That said, an egg mayo sandwich at Glaisdale was one of the best things I’ve ever tasted, and I don’t even really like egg mayo sandwiches. Add a banana, crisps, coke, and paracetamol, and it was all good. I shuffled on down the road, now mixing up a slow and steady walk with a slow and steady run. There was a lot of variety in the route after Glaisdale, which was really welcome, as apart from the steep hills around Lordstones, it had felt like it had been “empty miles” most of the way since Richmond, with few landmarks or variety. Those empty miles are why I think I’ll always remain a fell runner at heart – trail runners would eat up the easier sections, but I’m always looking forward to the next hill. There was a pretty wooded section, then some flat valley miles, where I say father-in-law Nigel by Egton Bridge, and then a steep climb out of Grosmont (yay, hill).

Descending after that hill, you could see the sea really wasn’t far away. The coast had been visible for a while, but Mr Wainwright, who designed this route decades ago, was into scenic routes rather than just getting the job done, so understandably didn’t aim for the sea at Teesside. Whitby had been obvious since descending the moors, but I could now see where Robin Hood’s Bay was. Perhaps 13 miles to go. On the way down into Littlebeck, I overtook Dean, who had been moving strongly uphill, but was now reduced to a walk overall, and was finding the descents tough. He seemed ok though, and was definitely going to make it. I followed the valley to Falling Foss, declining a coffee stop but taking a tub of ice cream to eat on the way.

There was another climb out of the valley, and then the last of the awkward empty miles, following a minor tussocky path around the moors, before reaching roads and the village of Hawsker. Then the coast path arrived, with stunning views out to sea and along the cliffs, and just a few miles left. My shuffle was now pretty slow, but it wasn’t long until the village came into sight, and then the road down to the sea and the finish line. Shane and a few other marshals were waiting down there. What a relief to have finished, both the completion of the epic journey, and without anything catastrophic happening to my achilles. How it had felt at Glaisdale might have been enough to make me retire, if that level of discomfort had started earlier. As it was, the run had been hard, not gone entirely according to plan, but my finish time and position were both things I was happy with, and better than I might have though at, say, Kirkby Stephen or Richmond.

Reflections

So, this had been great, with changing landscapes, a purpose to the journey, superb organisation from Ourea Events, great support from family and friends, and good company on the way. All of that is really good and I would recommend this event, or the shorter traverses, to others. I still think my real interest is in linking high points, rather than churning out mega distances. The Spine races would be the next obvious things to go for if I wanted more big races. Would it ever beat the memorable days on e.g. the Steve Parr round, or Dragons Back Race? I had a good chat with Shane, who walked me back up the hill to the base camp at the finish, and that was all about mountains and mountain rounds. Perhaps that’s the answer…