Mad Max Runs

Horton to Hardraw I’d eventually had enough of all that rest and joviality and decided it was high time I headed out for a last bout of Type 2 fun. The delights of the Cam High Road were calling, and seeing as how I had no jet pack handy, it was unfortunately going to be a ‘one foot in front of the other’ job. As it happens, I’d actually been looking forward to reaching it, because I knew that was where I’d finally bag my elusive century. I joked a few times before the race that I’d probably be the only poor sod smiling up there, but I figured I had a pretty solid reason to be unnaturally cheerful, so it was perfectly acceptable. I crossed the bridge and sighed at the missed opportunity to stop at the new-and-improved Crown Hotel in support of its new-and-improved Spine-friendly ownership. I genuinely didn’t know when I’d be back, let alone if . In my imagination, this dream had always concluded once I reached Hardraw, which bumped another summit of Pen-y-ghent pretty far down the ...

Day 3: Malham to Horton   I had been clever enough to ask the Malham crew where I’d find the bird hide in which I was planning to sleep, at the same time learning that what I thought was the hide was actually the boat house. Still, me being me, I eventually went down to examine that boat house up close and personal, for the sheer pleasure of adding an extra hill to the journey. After I righted myself, it seemed I walked an absolute age down the path looking for that elusive structure. I was sure I’d missed the turn off when I spotted a group of people standing just off the side of the path, in deep and animated conversation. I’ll just ask them. It was only when I reached this group, fully prepared to wish them a cheery good morning, that I found little more than a stand of twigs and brush blowing in the breeze. I chuckled and shook my head, realising that I was definitely not in Kansas anymore. Fortunately, it didn’t frighten me – I was well aware I was hallucinating and on...

Precisely as I hoped when I’d dreamt of it, I was genuinely revived by that Coke of Dreams, and it wasn’t long before I was once again fully committed to the cause. I wangled myself back into my pack before giving my legs an almighty whack like Usain Bolt in advance of an Olympic final. Sadly, they didn’t deliver Olympic-quality pace, but they didn’t protest any more than they already had been, so I took that as a reasonably good sign. Still, the chimp didn’t seem to give a toss about my commitment, but took great delight in toying with me almost immediately as I realised I was more than a bit chilly having sat outside in a damp t-shirt for so long. As I stopped to dig out my arm sleeves, another runner approached and soon we were on our way towards Pinhaw Beacon. Much to my dismay, my head was having other ideas that looked nothing at all like ‘companionship’ but was instead trying to nestle back into ‘that dark ultra place’. As I worried about my negativity bringing someone else do...

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 ...