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Just a matter of time.

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Day 2: Hebden Hey to Lothersdale I had enough things that would threaten to slow me down in this race, so immediately after sending that message to my friends I screwed on my sensible head and announced I’d be going dark. I popped the phone on airplane mode and started up the road into that Great Big Unknown. Day 2…day 2…on repeat in my head like a kid on a road trip constantly asking ‘are we there yet?’ Thankfully I wasn’t asking that question as it’d be soul destroying. But Day 2 suited me just fine. And here I found myself firmly back on track to my original Plan A. In no time at all I was turning back on to the trail and apologising to the jovial ‘Free Sticks’ sign that I’d not be making any contributions today, I had a race to finish. After I summited the short sharp climb, the Engo patches in my left shoe decided to part like the Red Sea and I could feel one of them rolling up under my last two toes. That wasn’t exactly starting as I meant to go on, so a quick bit of admin ...
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Keeping the faith.

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Torside to Hebden Hey There was little time wasted after that first sock change, when I, Gerry, and another runner headed towards the dam. It didn’t surprise me that it wasn’t long before Gerry got away. As was my plan, I took on food as we crossed, still chewing as we approached the staircase that leads into the little woodland and its photographer asking how we were feeling. I replied around a mouthful: ‘hungry!’ A few other runners were waiting to cross the road, and we darted over to begin the steady climb up the path in the direction of Laddow Rocks. I was feeling comfortable, if a bit pushed by the pace, but pressed on to retain the company. Once we reached the ascent, we paused as each section leveled out to catch our breath and have a little snack. The calories seemed to be burning as much as my asthmatic lungs. We’d play leapfrog all afternoon with a lot of the folks we saw in this section, moving steadily onward until at last the summit was behind us and we rounded the co...
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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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