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Let the games begin.

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Edale to Torside I’d taken a position nearish the front in solidarity with the effervescent Women Run Ultras massive, whooping and hollering our way through the crowd, a fair few of us slowing once we reached the car park to allow the racing snakes to fire their engines and bomb on ahead.  In direct contrast to last year, I didn’t faff with my pack a bit after the start – I knew everything was in its correct place, and all the straps on my trusty UD 30 had been sensibly rolled and taped up so they weren’t flying about like great yellow tentacles for the duration. I was moving at a steady clip, probably faster than I wanted to be moving from the off, but that’s little surprise; my adrenaline for this moment had been boiling my blood for weeks and all that energy needed to escape somehow. I could feel my dodgy hamstring and glute reminding me of their presence, but I knew that I’d protect them for the duration and was hopeful it was yet another case of me feeling more pain than act...
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Prologue: Here We Go.

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My account of finally(!!!) finishing my first century, the 2026 Montane Summer Spine Challenger South, 108 miles, will follow in instalments. Herewith the important parts of the lead up. ___ Will you risk it all? When the open door to greatness comes along,  Will you risk it all? Would you take the shot? If it meant the world would see you at the top,  Would you take the shot?* The only thing that was dead cert going into my second attempt at the Montane Summer Spine Challenger South and its taunting 108 miles is that I was committed to risking everything to finish it. I decided well in advance that I’d fight to the bitter end no matter how much it hurt, no matter how slow I was moving, no matter how ill or overheated I was, I’d finish it. If I had to hold myself together with Rock Tape and Fleecy Web (largely the case in the end) I’d finish it. I decided that I’d gladly lose running indefinitely from the inordinate amount of recovery required to finish it. In fact, I was ...
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On light.

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I spent this past weekend crewing two dear friends on a 100k walk. In the midst of a tumultuous time in my life while waiting to move into my new house I've been counting down the days and writing my thoughts on each on my Facebook page. This was my pondering with 41 days to go. ___ Ultramarathons that involve night running have the most incredible phenomenon that you'd never know about unless you've experienced it: you can tell where the route is from any given point along the trail because you'll see a conga line of headlamps dancing up hill and down dale for hours on end. Having never crewed anyone before, I've never experienced this from anywhere other than the tail end of that line, but at the weekend as I was waiting for my friends to arrive I watched this go on for hours from a distant hill.  It was something to behold as a spectator for sure, but what struck me more than anything was the symbolic nature of that light - it cut straight through the darkness, s...
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Pause: an homage to Venn.

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I tell you what, between trail running and my boy's sage teachings, who needs books to learn, really? That beautiful journey gave me far more than a longed-for victory, but a few beautiful reminders of just why I started challenging myself 'out there'. It's so very much more than running, and man alive, did I need that right now. Venn, Venn, at work again.  >>> There are times when you have no choice but to sit down in the deluge. Don’t stay too long or you’ll freeze. >>> When your inner fire starts to fizzle, sometimes there are people around who can rescue you, but more often you need to find a way to keep yourself warm despite the odds. On these occasions, order means nothing. Get yourself up, grab your things, and get moving. Never stop until you thaw. >>> Forgive yourself for the poor choices you’ve made. Celebrate yourself. Pat yourself on the back. Literally. Often. >>> Always stop and do the thing; see to yourself when you nee...
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Tiny riot.

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Barbury Castle - Avebury   As I stepped away from the shelter at Barbury Castle, the wind made clear its mission to blast off the left side of my head and nick my poncho. Despite tucking the ends tightly beneath my vest, nature’s attack on the foil was equally deafening and agitating. I spent the entire crossing of the great field bent at a 90 degree angle with my head tipped right, to protect my face from the horizontal rain. The body position made it challenging, but not impossible, to search for the steep chalk descent I’d always found elusive. Fortunately, reflex and memory directed my feet, so when I finally paused to look up and get my bearings, I was nearly upon it. It was little surprise to find my penultimate descent a sludgy and slippery mess right the way down. As per, my chronic decision paralysis joined the party at the most inopportune moment, making it near impossible to determine which rut seemed safest while I was getting battered by the elements. That pha...
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Into the storm.

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Foxhill – Barbury Castle   You’d think the weather was a bit pissed off that I’d caught it snoozing along the preceding stretch, because the minute I passed through the Foxhill junction, the sun promptly disappeared behind a cloak of clouds and the wind bid me a glorious afternoon. A friend had warned me that serious weather would be coming in near 5 pm, and despite it being a few hours away, it was patently clear Ma Nature had hurled that gauntlet like a javelin and the time for a comfortable onward journey had now concluded. Please return your tray tables and seats to an upright position and prepare for a bumpy landing. As I crossed the M4, I searched for a spot to pause and layer up again, deciding a slab of grassy verge would fit the bill. After a reasonably quick turnaround I tried to get up, which, considering the level of activity I’d managed so far, would seem to be simple. Ah, but no. I can only wonder what the man headed towards me was thinking as I delivered m...
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I am here. It is now.

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Sparsholt Firs – Foxhill     Despite my determination to finally complete the route on this new day, I could only summon a trudge from my weary legs as I stepped from that cozy car into a brisk and foggy morning. As luck would have it, I hadn’t been walking for more than 10 minutes, when the terrain decided to tip its hat with a rowdy GOOD MORNING! HOW DO YOU DO?! REMEMBER ME?! I stopped cold at the sight of a mucky chalk pond that had consumed the crossroads. As I debated which part of Michael Rosen’s Bear Hunt antics I’d use to reach the other side, I started thinking about the next section of the trail, which I recalled from previous outings would be a lengthy, knee battering, chalk descent – and hard as a rock. Not today. Of course. Silly girl! I crossed The Marvellous Junction Eating Pond along the path of least resistance (read: trying not to get swallowed up) and minced my way along the left side of that now sludgy descent, with the ever-present fear of skiin...
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