In the summer of 2022, I discovered the beauty of the Peak District. I know, late to the party. Somewhere I had intended to visit for many years but had never quite made it that far north.
One Friday in mid-August, I looked at my diary & realised that I had an unexpectedly clear week coming up. By Monday evening, I was in Edale, the small Derbyshire town in the heart of the Peak District, sitting outside my tent with a gin in my hand, watching the world go by.
After an early morning train via Sheffield, I arrived, rucksack on my back, in the picturesque village at lunchtime. I pitched my tiny one-person tent at the idyllic Newfold Farm Campsite nestled at the foot of the Pennine Way & by early afternoon was scampering up the nearest hill.
And what a hill.
Those familiar with the Peaks will know Grindsbrook Clough. For a southern girl, this was less hill, more mountain-esq & unlike anything I had ever run* (*gently tip-toed on) before. At points, with no discernible path, I was clambering over huge rocks & literally climbing up a waterfall.
But oh my god. I was in literal heaven.
I had no idea what I was doing, or even in all honestly where I was going. All I had was a route borrowed from that there internet on my watch & I was blindly following the little blue arrow as it took me further into the rocky enclave. But with every cautious step & every glance over my shoulder at the view beneath me, my smile grew. I knew I was discovering something magical.
At the top, with my heart pounding from the effort of the climb, I simply stood & looked. I marvelled that just a few short hours ago I was submerged in the hustle & bustle of London town, and now, here I was standing by myself on one of the highest points in the Peaks (Kinder Scout at 636 metres).
I continued following the blue arrow on my watch to the trig at Kinder Low, around Edale Rocks, down Jacobs Ladder & back to Edale via the Pennine Way. In 8 short miles, I fell in love with the Peak District.
Skyline
The following day, I ran the iconic Edale Skyline route circling the Edale Valley.
From Edale, I go straight into a lung-busting climb up to Ringing Roger. The path is a simple worn grove between the multitude of rocks. I jump over small gorges. In the winter they would be gushing waterfalls but in the heat of the summer, there is barely a trickle of water. I pull myself over large rocks & turn to watch the remnants of a cloudy sunrise light up the valley behind me.
Along Upper Tor, my eyes pick out the route I ran the day before. Onto Edale Head with Kinder in the background. Brown Knoll to the Lord’s Seat & onto Mam Tor. Standing on the top of Mam Tor, I look over the ten miles I’ve already run.
On the Edale Skyline route
Lose Hill, down to the village of Hope & a vegan sausage roll. Onto Win Hill, overlooking Ladyblower Reservoir. Across fields & along the ridge, looking across the whole valley to Mam Tor & Lose Hill. And finally scrambling back down to Edale.
24 miles of some of the hardest & most challenging running that I had ever done. But also some of the most fun & rewarding.
4,600ft of elevation gain with 1000ft in the first 1.5 miles – at times I was quite literally climbing. The whole route was less jogging & more hiking/scrambling. Arriving sore, tired, & slightly grimy back in Edale at the end of the day, I felt a sense of pride in what I had achieved.
Pennine Way
After a night snuggled deep in my sleeping bag, lulled into a fitful sleep by the sound of heavy rain beating down on the tent, I was somewhat apprehensive about venturing up into the hills again. But I was also determined to make the most of my last few hours in the Peaks.
This was to be my proper introduction to the Pennine Way. The path I had spent the past 48 hours looking out on from my tent.
The Pennine Way was the first National Trail in England & has subsequently become of the UK’s most famous long-distance paths. It follows the rocky spine of England from Edale, through the Peak District, the Yorkshire Dales & the North Pennines before heading over Hadrian’s Wall to the Cheviots & finishing, some 268 miles later, in the Scottish town of Kirk Yetholm.
My introduction was a simple 8 miles out, 8 miles back, ascending & later descending Jacobs Ladder; a steep, rocky, never-ending climb. Up & over Kinder Low again, this time I carried on towards Kinder Downfall.
As I ran (*hiked/scrambled) along the ridge at the top, the fierce wind – blowing in every direction – was bitterly cold. I was wrapped up in a base layer, waterproof, hat & wore thick gloves. In August. I began to understand the importance of having proper kit when in the hills & mountains.
Despite the less-than-optimum weather conditions, the rocky but runnable path from Kinder had me skipping along with joy. In just three days I’d found my confidence on the technical terrain & I ran gleefully up & down the path, my feet dancing as I bounded from rock to rock with a huge smile on my face!
Looking out over Kinder Downfall, summer 2022.
I crossed Kinder Downfall, the magical waterfall where when conditions are right, the water blows back on itself, creating a steam cloud that can be seen from miles around. Today, it was just an ordinary stream. Then, midway along the flagstone path leading to Snakes Pass – and having already sneaked in a couple of extra miles – I reluctantly turned to make my way back towards Edale & the train back to real life.
I could have quite happily kept on running along the Pennine Way.
On my way home, full of endorphins & buoyed by a pint while waiting for my train, I popped my name on the 2023 Summer Spine Sprint waitlist.
A bit of background. The Spine Sprint is part of the Montane Spine Race Series. Marketed as “Britain’s most Brutal”, the full Spine race runs the entire 268-mile length of the Pennine Way from Edale to Kirk Yetholm in Scotland. Called the Spine because the Pennine Way – running up the middle of the nation – is referred to as the Spine of Britain. The Sprint, at a mere 46 miles, is its somewhat younger sibling.
Fast forward ten months.
Race Day
I am in Edale again, this time with 100 other intrepid souls about to sprint* 46 miles along the Pennine Way from Edale to Hebden Bridge in Yorkshire. (*there will be no sprinting…).
Still some 20 minutes from kick-off, the promised sunshine has turned into rain & I’m wrapped up in my waterproofs trying to keep warm. There are whispered rumours of incoming storms lasting for several hours. I feel a sense of dread as I remember the bitter wind at the Kinder Summit last summer. I run these races partly for the challenge & partly for the beauty of the routes. When I say beauty, I mean the landscape photo opportunities of sunny views, blue skies, green grasses & trees in full bloom. The grey & dullness of the rain somewhat spoils the photo & the joy of romping around the rugged countryside.
I arrived at Race HQ with Windsor Andy some two hours ago after a slightly long & convoluted train journey from the finish line in Hebden Bridge, via Manchester, to the start in Edale. In our wisdom, we decided to camp in Hebden Bridge so that at the end of the race we could just roll into our tents. I know future me will thank past me, but current me is regretting the 5am wake-up to get to kit check & the race start in time.
Campsite views
It’s the most stringent kit check I have ever experienced for the most detailed & comprehensive mandatory kit list I have ever been given. But I think back to my brief foray on the Pennine Way last August when even in the middle of summer, bad weather made it feel like winter & I know that every item on the kit list is there for my safety. (Except perhaps the shit shovel… That is probably for other people’s safety…). I only hope that I don’t actually need to use any of it, but equally, I know that if anything should go wrong, I am carrying the right equipment to be able to look after myself & keep myself safe.
Registration is smooth & painless. You can tell that the Spine crew have done this many, many times before. My kit is checked. It passes. I show my ID & I’m given my race number, my photo is taken for online tracking & the tracker is fixed to my pack. I now have an hour or so to faff & repack my bag.
Alongside the multitude of mandatory equipment, I am carrying three litres of water. As the race is self-supported – there are no aid stations or checkpoints on route, I am carrying as much fluid as I can. Three litres is equal to three kilos. My pack weighs just over 6kg in total. Equivalent to a little over 10% of my body weight. It’s heavy.
I’ve done a number of training runs, including reps up & down Box Hill & 50km in the Pennines three weeks ago, carrying the full race day kit to try & get used to the weight, but it is still a shock when I pick the bag up.
Start line selfies with Windsor Andy!
Standing on the start line, I’m slightly apprehensive. I sneaked this race into an already full schedule & my lead-up has been far from perfect. I came out of a hard marathon training block at the start of May with a tight Achilles. This took a few weeks to settle & I had barely started a very condensed Spine training block before a knee niggle scuppered any plans of squeezing in any heat & hill training specificity ahead of race day.
It was only three days ago that I made the decision to run. Two weeks ago, my left knee hurt walking. In fact, it pretty much constantly hurt. I had no idea what I had done to it. I went to bed one night, woke up the next morning, got out of bed & my knee hurt… One of those freakish niggles with no rhyme or reason behind it.
It’s only down to my fabulous Spots Therapist Lauren that I am standing on this start line. Three sessions of massage, ultra-sound & intensive rehab exercises worked wonders. Rather than treating the symptom – a sore knee – she traced & treated the cause, a tight sartorius muscle pulling on the knee. Loosening this muscle, eased the pressure on the knee & there was not a single grumble from it all race. For a runner, a good sports therapist is worth their weight in gold!
Edale
At 12 midday the starting gun sounds. Full of nervous enthusiasm the crowd surges across the start line & runs across the field as one. Rain is beating down on us as we leave the grass & hit the road through town. We run all the way through town before passing Newfold Farm campsite. I smile as I remember last summer’s adventure.
Turning onto the Pennine Way, I reel in my ego as I slow to walk up the gentle incline. Many continue running & pass me one by one. I remind myself this is my race, no one else’s & that it doesn’t matter what anyone else does in the first mile. It’s hard. Ego’s are big things & to have half the field overtake me in the first mile brings a flutter of doubt & uncertainty to my mind. But I know the route, I know what is coming. I know walking the early gentle inclines will conserve energy & mean I may be able to run the latter hills.
Today, knowing what is to come feels like a major advantage. The race is self-navigated. There are no race markings, no arrows pointing us in the right direction or pieces of tape flapping in the wind to guide us along the path. The Pennine Way is a National Trail & as such is marked with the iconic acorn, but the marking is at times somewhat ambiguous or even nonexistent & I wouldn’t want to rely on it. I have the race route on my watch & having run all bar about seven miles of it previously, I feel confident with the navigation.
After running the first eight miles last summer, I popped t’up north last month to recce the latter stages of the race. Staying overnight at a youth hostel in Manchester, I got an early train to Glossop & ran along local trails before picking up the Pennine Way just before Topside Reservoir. From there I ran right through to the finish in Hebden Bridge. About 30 miles in total. There are only 7-8 miles between Snakes Pass & Torside that I haven’t run.
Knowing the route gives me peace of mind. I can visualise much of it, I know what is coming, I know where the trickiest sections are, where the runnable bits are & where there are possibilities of water top-ups. (With the lack of aid stations, water availability during the race is one of my biggest worries).
Within the first ten minutes, I take my waterproofs off. It’s still lightly raining but after only a mile I am far too hot & decide I would prefer to be rain wet than sweat wet.
On the approach to Jacobs Ladder, the eat alarm on my watch sounds. 30 minutes have passed already. I eat a peanut butter sandwich.
As I did with A100 last October, I am not looking at my watch for anything other than feed alerts & keeping a check on my heart rate. It’s on my wrist, it’s recording as usual. I am not interested in time, distance or pace. My strategy is simple, run the best I can, keep my heart rate in check & don’t forget that in three weeks’ time, I am running Wendover Woods 100… (aka don’t break myself…). I will also use my watch for navigation when I need to.
Peanut butter sandwich fuelled, I feel surprisingly strong on Jacobs Ladder, the first significant climb of the race. Jacob’s Ladder, named after a local farmer, Jacob Marshall, who farmed the land at Edale Head in the 18th Century, is a set of stone steps cut into the hillside, ascending from the small hamlet of Upper Booth onto the Kinder plateau.
Looking down Jacob’s Ladder in the summer of 2022 – I didn’t pause for a photo during the Spine!
From the Grade II listed packhorse bridge over the River Noe at the bottom, to the cairn part way up is around 300ft in a quarter of a mile. Keep going right to the Kinder Low trig point & you’ve climbed 800+ft in a little over a mile.
I keep my effort in check but I find it easier to power up the hills rather than dawdle. Baring the occasional brief glance over my shoulder to take in the view, I don’t stop. I now overtake many of the people who overtook me earlier.
It was the final block of hill training that was missed with my untimely knee niggle so to feel so strong on the first big climb is an early confidence boost I wasn’t expecting. Some of my apprehension begins to drift away in the wind & is replaced by a renewed enthusiasm.
I settle into my grove dancing along the path, letting my feet follow the worn grove between the rocks. The rain has stopped & the sun is threatening to break through the clouds. I remember the joy I felt here last summer & I can’t help but smile. Past Edale rocks & the trig at Kinder Low. The path is just as I remember it & I scamper along it with glee.
Crossing Kinder Downfall the stream is completely dry. The water isn’t even flowing in the right direction, let alone the wrong direction… I didn’t realise that there had been that little rainfall up here.
Just past Kinder Downfall
From a cramped start, the field has started to spread out. There are a few people in front of me & a few behind me but we’re no longer running side by side, jostling for space on a narrow path. There are three or four of us who cross paths fairly regularly between Kinder Low & Snakes Pass. One of us is strong on the inclines & pulls ahead. Another is stronger on the descents. Someone else comes alive jumping from rock to rock on the flatter paths. We share a few words here & there.
At Mill Hill, we turn right & hit the flagstone path across Black Moor. With a small incline, the smoother surface is pretty runnable. I’m always slightly wary of the flagstones because although they are a path as such, they are often uneven & any small lack of concentration could result in a trip.
10 miles in & we hit the A57 road crossing. The Safety Team (ST) are parked up here. The ST are stationed at various points along the race route, primarily for, well, safety, but they also carry a limited supply of water. It’s not an aid station, they have nothing else & the maximum they will give you is 500ml if you need it. You also can’t guarantee where they will be because if there is an accident or a runner is in trouble, that is their priority.
I’ve drunk close to a litre so far so I top up one of my soft flasks. Although it’s overcast & the temperature has dropped by several degrees since the unbearable heat of yesterday afternoon, it’s still very humid. I am struggling to quench my thirst & whilst I still have a couple of litres of water in my pack, I am anxious about running out so take the opportunity for a refill.
Fall
Leaving the ST behind I am on new-to-me territory. This is the mid-section that I have not run so I know I need to be a bit more observant with navigation. A few minutes later I take my eyes off of the path to check the route on my watch. I’m not looking where I am going, I stumble, fall & slide ungracefully across the gravel path. Self-consciously, I pick myself up & look around. Thankfully no one saw me. Blood is pouring down my leg, mixing with the dirt & dust. My left hand – put out to stop my fall – is also bleeding & there is dirt all up my arms.
I’m annoyed with myself & berate my stupidity for falling. I am also stubborn & that stubbornness immediately comes into force. A fall isn’t going to stop me. I glance down, my knee looks a mess but I am pretty certain it is only a graze. Grazes always initially look worse than they are. I barely break my stride as I keep moving. Nothing hurts, no bones or muscles appear damaged, just a wounded pride. As I’m jogging along I dab half-heartedly at the cuts with a tissue soaked in anti-bac hand gel. I have my first aid kit in my pack but decide that at the moment, it won’t help. Dressings won’t stick & there is no point in cleaning the wound properly until the bleeding stops.
After 20 or so minutes I cross a stream & dip my buff in the cool water to wash the worst of the dirt & dried blood off. I slap on some more anti-bac gel to try & keep the wounds as clean as I can. Whilst it stings like hell, I now look marginally less dishevelled. As it’s not affecting my running I decide to simply ignore it.
With my mind distracted by the fall, I don’t fully appreciate this section around Bleaklow. I would have enjoyed it a lot more in a slightly more positive frame of mind. Undulating rocky paths crisscross tiny streams. Where the Kinder plateau was fairly barren, here the path winds through moorland filled with colourful heather & grasses. I see Torside Reservoir, the largest man-made lake in Longdendale, in the distance & know that I will be on familiar paths again soon. It was somewhere around here that I joined the Pennine Way three weeks ago.
Torside Reservoir
I drop quickly down from the ridge along Torside Clough to the reservoir. A quickly corrected navigational error whilst chatting with another runner (my only one in the whole race) adds a couple of hundred metres as I run around & over the concrete barriers to the other side. 16 miles in & it’s starting to feel a little tougher.
Black Hill
Coming up from Crowden I’m about to hit the second-biggest climb of the race on Black Hill. It was one of my favourite parts of the run a few weeks back. I like the climbs. I’m not fast but I’m strong & I can keep on going. Like with Jacobs Ladder, I keep my effort in check & simply keep moving.
The path gently winds its way through a carpet of deep green ferns. It is grassy & runnable. The higher we climb, the rockier it becomes. Soon we’re clambering up & over rocks. Finding groves to steady our feet whilst pulling ourselves up with our hands. I relish the challenge, again marvelling at just how strong my body is.
Halfway up, I stop at a small stream tumbling down the hillside. The crystal clear water gushing over the rocks is enticing. I pull out my water filter. Fill the bottle from a small waterfall, screw on the filter & drink. The water is cool & oh so fresh. It’s absolutely delicious! I greedily gulp down a whole bottle before refilling again & stashing the bottle in my pack. This is the first time I have used my filter & drunk from streams. A gadget I never thought I would use but one I am so grateful for today. Whilst I still have some of the water I started with, every top-up I can find on the route keeps me going that little bit longer.
Refreshed & revitalised I carry on climbing with a spring in my step.
Looking back from somewhere near the top of Black Hill. This was one of my favourite views.
Even knowing the path, every time I think I’m approaching the summit I round a corner to discover another incline. The climb feels never-ending but the views make it worthwhile. I pass a number of other runners on the way up, some obviously struggling with the severity of the climb.
I reach Laddow Rocks, a sheer rocky outcrop with splendid views over the rugged moorland below. The narrow path is precariously close to the edge of the ridge & I’m reminded of running along the cliff path in January’s ARC50. I do not want to fall again here! The Pennine Way follows the path of Crowden Great Brook as it crosses the moorland, crisscrossing tiny fords & streams. Follow the stream & you will find the path.
Wessenden
At Wessenden Moor the ST are parked up by the side of the road. Sadly the truckers van selling ice-cold cans of coke a couple of hundred metres further along is closed. With several hundred thirsty runners passing by, they missed a trick there. I ask the safety team for another 500ml water top-up.
I walk along the road sipping the now-warm water conscious that I have missed a couple of my fuelling alerts (missed, AKA ignored…) I force down a peanut butter sandwich. I gag with every bite & have to mush it up with water in my mouth to be able to swallow. In the heat, I’ve been struggling to eat for the last few miles & I am not sure how much more I will manage. This worries me as I am only just over halfway through. I have many hours of running left & if I am not fuelling properly I will end up making the remaining miles much harder on myself.
With the sandwich just about eaten, I head towards Wessenden Reservoir. The well-packed paths around the lake are easy miles providing a welcome respite for the body & mind. There is one path, slightly downhill, and one way to go. I zone out & let my feet do their thing. It feels good to let go & simply run for 20 minutes.
Wessenden Reservoir – see the lovely path tp the right!
A sharp left & steep drop takes me down to the small brook meandering along the valley floor between the reservoirs. I let gravity take over & I fly, feet barely grazing the ground as I skip from rock to rock.
A couple of Challenger South runners are sitting at the river edge, packs thrown to the ground as they peel their socks & shoes off. The gushing water looks cool & inviting & I am tempted to join them for a paddle.
The Spine Challenger South is another race in the Spine series. It started in Edale at 8 am this morning & finishes in Hawes, North Yorkshire. The runners have 60 hours to complete the 108 miles. If my race, the Spine Sprint, is the younger sibling of the full Spine race, the Challenger South, alongside the Challenger North, is the middle sibling.
I saw my first Challenger runner just before Torside Reservoir & a few others between then & now. I wonder how hard it must be for these guys as we overtake them, knowing that – although covering less than half of the distance they are – we started four hours after they did.
The path up from the river follows a tumbling waterfall, the water noisily crashing down the hillside as I scramble up alongside it. I pause at the top* (*it’s never really the top…) & look back in the direction I have come. My eyes trace the path back as far as they are able.
The path along the top & the steep descent to the right-hand side of the image.
I am now struggling quite considerably & my mind is faltering. I’m hot, sticky & no matter how much I drink, I still can’t quench my thirst. As I look back along the path, I try to reflect on how far I’ve already come, rather than looking at how far I have to go.
I make myself push on. Simply focusing on moving forward. As long as I keep moving I will be okay. Crossing the flagstone paths around Black Moss I stumble a few times, catching my tired & heavy feet on the edges of the stones. A couple of deep breaths to try & calm my mind. I force down a gel, hoping the caffeinated goo will give me a much-needed boost.
A couple walking their dog around Black Moss Reservoir cheer me on. One of them asks if I am doing the Sprint & tells me I am doing well. She mentions third & I think fab, third lady. I’m surprised by that & it gives me a much-needed & timely boost. I know that there is at least one other lady not far behind me & I start to hope that I am able to hang on.
Energised by the gel & the cheers of the walkers I find myself running up a gentle incline when previously I had been walking.
Approaching Standedge I see the ST. Once again I ask for some water & am given my 500ml ration. Rummaging around in my pack, I pull out the emergency sachet of Tailwind, thrown in at the last minute. In the heat, I’ve been sweating far more than I expected to & in a rookie error have neglected to take on any salts. I wonder if this might be contributing to my feelings of nausea.
The unending flagstone paths across the moorland become monotonous. I find this section somewhat bleak with less appealing views & very little to distinguish it. There are no discernible hills so I move with the gentle ebb & flow of the path, running as much as I am able. In the distance, I see the TV mast that I know is next to Nicky’s Food Bar. I fixate on this, allowing it to pull me in as I start dreaming about what I will buy when I reach the cafe. Nothing fancy. An orange Callippo would be my absolute dream. Maybe some Coke.
Nicky’s
Nicky’s Food Bar is a small roadside cafe housed inside an old shipping container near the M62 road crossing. Usually serving truckers & passing motorists, the Pennine Way crosses its forecourt & as a result, it has become a Spine institution.
There are no checkpoints or aid stations in our Spine Sprint race. The 108-mile Challenger South has one checkpoint & the 268-mile Full Spine race has about eight. Although there are limited official aid stations, runners are allowed to stop at shops & cafes along the route. Bar the small snack van at Wassenden Moor (which was closed…), Nicky’s is the first place on the Pennine Way that you can do this.
The cafe has a special “Spine Menu” for runners & opens before the first person passes the door & won’t close until the last runner has gone by. Runners can pre-order a meal & Nicky will follow the trackers to have it ready when they arrive!
As I run up, there is a party-like atmosphere outside with several runners – I don’t know if they are Sprinters or Challengers – and supporters gathered around chatting noisily.
I buy a can of orange pop (sadly no Callippos so the next best thing…), drink a cup of flat coke & top up one of my water bottles. The temptation to join the party is strong but I just want to keep moving. I don’t feel good at all & am hoping that the Coke may help settle my churning stomach.
I open my can of fizzy orange & walk for a few minutes as I drink. After hours of warm, flavourless water it is absolutely delicious! I acknowledge to myself that I am in the middle of a real low point & I know that I am going to have to work hard to pull myself out of it. At the worst possible time, when my mind is already wavering, two Sprint ladies run past me. The first is absolutely flying, the second is running hard behind to chase her down.
Do I push & go with them?
Do I chase?
Looking back, I wish I had.
Is Wendover in the back of my mind when I decide to let them go? Or do I just use that as an excuse to choose the easy option?
Now, I wonder. Should I have had more confidence in myself? Should I have at least tried to keep up? I always say that you never know what you are capable of if you don’t try. Here, I didn’t try & in hindsight, that disappoints me.
Baring the crowd at Nicky’s, those two ladies are the first Sprinters I have seen in a long time. Although I am regularly passing Challenger runners, my own race has become very solitary.
I’m still moving well, albeit slower than I was. My legs feel heavy & tired & are starting to lose some of their strength. They don’t have quite so much power on the climbs. Is this because I pushed too hard early on or is it because I missed my final three weeks of hill-specific training?
Heading down the hill from Blackstone Edge I pass 8, 10, 12, maybe more Challengers. They cheer me on as I trot (no longer flying) down the rocky descent & cross the road towards the reservoirs.
The next three miles or so are a tedious slog.
The trail follows paths alongside three reservoirs. It’s ‘easy’ running. It’s flat & relatively smooth (although I am convinced that there is a very subtle incline), but oh so boring. After allowing the ups & downs of the rolling hills to guide the pace of my run, my mind & body struggle with the constant repetitiveness of the flat. There is no natural respite.
I take a couple of walk breaks, as much for the mental break as the physical. I count to 60 in my head whilst walking & then make myself run again. Not quite the same as the structured 9:1 run-walk ratio of A100, but having a definitive start & finish stops me from walking more than I need. It can be very easy on these long jogs to get distracted & suddenly realise that ten minutes have gone by & you’re still walking.
After what feels like an eternity, the path bends slightly to the right. A gentle incline leads us away from the soullessness of the lakes & back onto proper trails. Almost as soon as my feet hit the uneven, rocky path my spirit lifts & with a second wind, I find myself running everything bar the steepest of inclines. My feet feel at home on the unevenness of these paths. Sometimes dirt, sometimes flagstone, sometimes rock. They relish the differing surfaces & the variety of the terrain beneath them.
Stoodley Pike
In the distance, I see the Stoodley Pike monument standing tall on top of its namesake hill. Dominating the skyline above the small Calder Valley town of Todmorden it was built at the end of the Crimean War in 1856 & is a useful marker just before the Pennine Way drops down the hillside towards Hebden Bridge. I know that from Stoodley Pike, it’s downhill almost all the way to the finish!
Stoodley Pike in the distance. Photo taken during my recce run three weeks before the Spine.
It’s still several miles away but gives me something to aim for, a bit like the TV mast before Nicky’s. I feel very tired, both physically & mentally. I keep losing concentration & stumbling on the edges of loose flagstones. I am thankful when the man-made path ends & the simple groove in the dirt winding around the rocks reappears. For some reason, my feet feel safer on the naturally worn path.
I pass another Challenger who tells me I’m looking strong & says that the ladies are smashing the Sprint. At the moment I don’t know what he means by this but thank him for his kind words.
Over my left shoulder, the sun is sinking low in the evening sky. Streaks of golden orange are partly hidden by low clouds. One of my goals is to not need to use my headtorch & for this reason, I deliberately packed it at the bottom of my bag.
Sunset is scheduled for 21:38. By the sun’s current position, I estimate it is approaching 9 pm & as darkness won’t throw its blanket over us until 30 or so minutes after the sun has set, I have an hour to finish if I am to achieve this. I know I could look at my watch but I have made it this far without absorbing any of its data & that stubbornness that I have already mentioned rears its head again!
As a side note, I am not a weather buff but as a photographer, I am well-versed in reading the light & gauging how much time I have before the sun sets to get those magical golden hour photos. I do wonder if I might time it right for a photo of the iconic Stoodley Pike monument with the sun setting behind it but sadly I am a little too early!
From Stoodley Pike, the next three miles are almost all downhill & it is pure JOY. The initial descent down Stoodley Pike Hill is wonderfully steep, rocky & technical. My legs don’t quite have the strength & stability in them at this stage in the race to fly down with my usual reckless abandonment. I tip-toe gently down with a slow skip rather than a jump, placing my feet carefully with each landing.
Across a field, sheep scattering as I approach. Over a stile & along a small country lane leading into a patch of woodland. Adrenaline pumping, I know that there’s only a mile or so left. A giant yellow arrow points to the right. Challengers to the left, Sprinters to the right…
Hebden
Down a steep slope through the woodland to the river bed. Across a small bridge before climbing up the other side. Pretty soon my feet hit the tarmac & I’m running down the road into Hebden. The road is steep & running is actually quite difficult. I don’t dare let gravity take over, I’m unsure if my legs would keep up.
I hit the valley floor & take the road bridge over the river before turning sharply to the right. I made sure I ran this last section through the town three weeks ago so that when I knew where I was going. I have a habit of nailing navigation on deserted trails & then getting lost in the hustle & bustle of town (see Hayle at ARC50…!). Thankfully bright yellow arrows point the way. I don’t need to think. I can just run.
It’s a pleasant summer evening. Running along the narrow cobbled path by the river I pass several bemused-looking couples on leisurely evening strolls. I do wonder what I look like; haphazardly running along the riverside, legs caked in dried blood, dirt smeared up my arms, dust, sweat & windswept hair… Up through town, noisy Saturday night party-goers spill out of the bars & pubs & bars & onto the streets. I cross the main road & follow the arrows onto the street that leads to the end. I know that, just like the ARC in January, the finish line is on top of a hill.
As much as I would love to run it & finish in glory, there is absolutely no chance of that. I have no power in my legs & this hill is steeeeeep. I walk as quickly as I can, turn left & through the gate to the Hebden Bridge Hostel. Run down a small side alley smiling as I cross the very unceremonious finish line.
It’s still light.
Finish
I finish the race absolutely spent. I cross the line & collapse into a chair having left everything I have out on the Pennine Way. I immediately know that I just ran my absolute best & that I could not have done or given any more.
I am led inside the hostel. A volunteer takes off my shoes for me whilst someone else hands me a drink. Another volunteer gives me my drop bag & I’m given a certificate & finisher’s t-shirt (sadly cotton & I debate giving it back as I don’t wear cotton t-shirts but there is something about the prestige of having a Spine t-shirt that makes me keep it).
All I want is a shower. I am filthy.
The Spine have commandeered two of the hostel’s bedrooms, one for men & one for women, to shower & freshen up in. My name goes on the waiting list & as I’ve finished early, I thankfully don’t have long to wait.
Never has a shower been so welcome.
Clean & fresh, a medic checks my bloodied knee & hand. As expected, they looked worse than they actually are. They leave me to clean & dress them myself having reassured me that there is nothing to worry about. This is where the mandatory first aid kit comes in use!
Showered, hair washed, clean clothes & wounds bandaged I sit silently in the corner of the main room. I’m a people watcher & I enjoy watching the hustle & bustle of Race HQ. I watch other runners finish, listening to their Spine stories as they come in. I’m waiting for Windsor Andy to finish before heading back to the campsite.
After a couple of hours of this (yes, it’s a long wait…!), I feel pretty good. I’m tired, it’s nearly midnight & I long for my bed but I don’t ache & I am moving around well. Every now & again I get up & wander around to keep moving. I find it really helps with recovery.
Andy finishes at midnight & at 3 am, nearly six hours after fI finished, I finally roll into my sleeping bag. Almost as soon I zip the tent up it starts raining. Within minutes, it’s hammering down, every drop a loud drumbeat on the flimsy canvas above my head. A flash of lightning illuminates the tent as a roll of thunder rocks the sky around me. I marvel at our perfect timing.
Although at the same time, I think of those runners still out on the Pennine Way. I am hunkered down in the warmth of my sleeping bag & there are still three hours until the Spine Sprint’s final cut-off. The weather out there sounds wild & as I drift into a restless sleep, I don’t envy those still running.
Reflection
It turns out that when the lady just after Black Moss Reservoir told me I was third, she didn’t mean third lady, she meant third overall… I didn’t hold onto this, those two ladies passed me. I finish fourth female & fifth overall. This is mind-blowing, four women in the top five, I don’t know if this has ever happened in an ultra before & shows how strong women are becoming in the ultra-running world.
All four of us ladies break the existing female course record. Hannah Rickman, the first female (second overall) smashed it to smithereens. The second & third ladies finished almost neck & neck taking five minutes off of the record. I sneaked in with seconds to spare.
It’s not often that you break the female CR & finish fifth overall but don’t make the women’s podium! Those three ladies in front of me ran incredible races & I am delighted to have been part of such a powerful women’s field.
I went into the race with zero expectations & the simple goal to run my best. I could be disappointed with losing that coveted second female/third overall place but I’m not. The women who beat me were stronger over the full 46 miles. Finishing 5th in a Spine race is far beyond my wildest dreams & I am overjoyed. If you had told me at the start that I would i) not need my head torch, ii) break the women’s CR & iii) finish fifth, I wouldn’t have believed you!
For someone that does not have ready access to that terrain to train on, I’m thrilled with how it went. Whilst I am an experienced trail & ultra runner, the Peaks & the Pennines are not the gently undulating North or South Downs. My biggest local climb is Box Hill at a mere 370 feet & I’m not sure I’ve ever had to use my hands to pull myself up & over a rock in the Surrey Hills!
I loved every part of this race & it just deepened my love for the Peaks. I had some low moments, I had my struggles & I finished feeling absolutely drained. But I ran 46 miles across the demanding terrain of Pennines & I’d be pretty surprised if there were no low moments.
I had such a good day. I loved the challenge of the race. Of needing to navigate & not rely on race markings. I loved being self-sufficient (and am very pleased that I was able to use my filter & drink from streams!). I was in my element on the trickiest of the terrain jumping from rock to rock & scrambling up inclines with the biggest smile. I loved the lung-busting climbs & reaching the top of Jacobs Ladder feeling strong AF.
I loved the technical trails, the steep climbs, the scrambling, the rocky paths. The beauty of the views, the scenery, the countryside. I loved doing something different & pushing myself outside of my comfort zone.
I loved the whole experience & I feel very lucky & privileged that I am able to take part in races like this.
Who knows, maybe one day I might be tempted to run the full 268 miles of the spine of Britain… but for now, I am very, very happy with my little sprint along its spine!
See my Summer Spine Sprint on Strava
Photos
I didn’t take many photos during the race as I wanted to concentrate on running. To give a bit more of a flavour of the route, here are a few photos from my previous forays along the Pennine Way.
Photo Girl Runs 