Believer.
Near on two weeks later and I'm still waking up on the Pennine Way in my dreams. Usually a technical bit, the rocks underfoot distant cousins of the one that tripped me up and fractured my finger on the Ridgeway back in May, this time buried to the left of a steep drop off. One false move and I've got a motherless disabled son at home. Good lord what a journey was that Spine Sprint. To start with, I finished. I finished while walking with Joy (quite literally, my trail companion from darkness to finish line was a redhead named Joy, like some kind of mantra in my skull handing out deliverance "you'll finish and you'll finish happy and here's just the person to rally with.") We had some 29 minutes to spare, after 17 and a half hours of what was for me the most stunning, anxiety-riddled, clock-chasing, addictive race I've ever done. My goodness, I actually did it. How on earth did I finish this race? I trained my arse off from the minute I booked ...