All hail the underdogs.

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-quailty 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 down this far along in the race, I announced that I was ‘probably not very good for your head right now,’ before we silently parted company, as you do. We’d see each other a few more times before all was said and done.

As you do.

The ascent was mostly grumbling drudgery until I finally reached the trig and immediately recognised the location from a recce last spring. As I scanned the horizon, admiring the stunning long views and imagining what was yet to come, I spotted a man quietly ascending to my left. Despite the shadow in my head keeping my cheer in a choke hold, I turned and gave my best ‘hello, other human’ generic smile, which quickly morphed into the delighted grin of recognition – OMG I know this person!

It was my friend Rob who lives nearby that had come out to wave me through. Amusingly, he wasn’t privy to the fact that he was next in line to carry the baton, and that I’d be passing it to him after the race. I’d plotted with his partner to hand-deliver it to her when I went to collect my car, but for a split second I considered how much easier it’d be to just give it over here. It was only when I jigged how much I still needed it that the thought of convenience left me at a pace I could only dream of at this point.

After reluctantly declining the tea and snacks he’d carried up (rules are rules!) we parted company and off I went towards Gargrave with a renewed pep in my step. I could picture the chimp still camped out in my head, wearing a skanky doo rag and a patch over one eye, sat cross-legged on a tall table, grinning through his rotten teeth while gleefully hurling doubts at me like darts. But I didn’t give them my energy – I just shunted them all into the boot of the car I was driving, to keep company with the pain I’d long since taken on as passengers. I soldered that boot shut using the blaze of belief to fire up the iron.

It took a few days after the dust had settled for it to dawn on me that meeting Rob in that moment, at that trig, on that hill, in that head space, was the precise turning point of my race.

And it wasn’t just because I had seen someone I knew, nor that the someone I knew said I was doing great and looking strong, nor that (potentially of greatest urgency) he thought I’d plenty of time to make it to the Co-op in Gargrave before it closed. That interaction changed everything, because in that moment I remembered the enduring power of the baton and realised how very much the friendship and seven years of support it represented had guided me all this way, for all this time. The gratitude surged and energised me completely.

I knew immediately that I would accept nothing other than to load that baton up properly with a finish, once and for all. I couldn’t give him an empty baton, I had to fill it with triumph. The precise memory has faded, but I think I may have told him that there was no way I couldn’t finish now that I’d seen him. And it was God’s honest truth. Before the race as I worked through my visualisation and latest attempts to manifest my success, I’d always believed I would only know that I’d finish once I reached Horton, but as it played out in reality, it was much, much sooner.

I followed the flagstones that eventually became farm track in search of the elusive tuck shop which refused to present itself. I eventually arrived to find the runner I’d met in Lothersdale taking her own break. We exchanged pleasantries after which I decided to get the most out of a fiver with a few drinks and snacks, both for the break and for the road. I was still a bit chilly so popped on my foil poncho to keep the heat in while I rested. My long-honed expertise in doing up my shoe with a double knot before realising I needed to take it off again did not fail me yet again, and after a few tries, I got my shoes back on and got moving.

I began the never-ending trek across field after field en route to Gargrave, delighted that the previous day’s rain had made the soil sodden enough to remove the ‘walking on Legos’ sensation I was expecting. My progress was halted at a field where the farmers were hard at work cutting down the grass and one of the windrows was completely blocking my access to the exit gate. Clearly my brain had begun shutting down, as rather than just walking around the edge, I made eye contact with one of the farmers in a tractor and repeatedly signed ‘do I go straight through or go around?’ Pretty sure the dude doesn’t know Makaton, so I’m already minus one in the communication stakes.

He’s flailing his arms at me and the reflection on the glass is making it impossible to see what he’s trying to tell me.

I sign again, go through or go around?

He’s flailing, flailing, and then I see the guy driving the hay rake moving out of the way to my right.

I’ll go around, I sign.

He throws his hands up in the air like everyone in England after we went 1-0 to Argentina.

I skirted my way around and escaped the field, eventually reaching the canal and going up the steps to nowhere as I always do at the bridge before heading back in the right direction. It was another instance of making a mistake and then calmly problem-solving my way back to where I needed to be, which is an extremely useful pattern to practice if you mean to finish a race. I don’t honestly know how I managed to ‘keep calm and carry on’, but of all the factors which impacted my approach and my head game in completing this race, it was the ability to not freak out when things went tits up that made all the difference in the world.

(There was one massive exception but again, I’ll get to it in order!)

I was on a mission to get to the Co-op and when I finally reached Gargrave, had a 20-minute window and absolutely zero idea which way it was from where I stood. Fortunately I spotted a couple heading to their car who pointed me in the right direction.

Folks, there is no big enough superlative to define how it feels to reach a resupply point which most of your timing plans assured you that you’d probably miss. The ability to access this shining blue oasis in the middle of a sleepy little town, catering to some of the most road weary travellers around was nothing short of a miracle.

I was mostly after a Muller Rice and some fruit, along with something I may want to eat once I got to Malham. My head was seriously wonky at this point, and despite the fact I was reasonably good at choosing my food, once I got to the self-checkout all bets were off.

I opened up a bag to my left and scanned one item. I popped it into the bag. The till didn’t seem to recognise it.

Took it out. Put it back in. Nothing.

Out. In. Out. In. Do the hokey cokey and you turn yourself a–

A man appears at the till next to me. Looks down at my bag. Looks at me. Looks at the bag.

It’s sitting on his basket shelf. I’d put it on the wrong side. We looked at each other and I started cackling like I’d completely lost my marbles, like full on Precious Pup laughter, and I smiled as I moved the bag over, punching the air again as my shopping was finally weighed and measured. He’s just smirking at his own shopping, trying to be kind to the goofball stood beside him.

Hoo boy, I needed that shop to be open alright, because I was long off with the faeries.

I took all my bits out to the bus shelter by the church where I found an SST and two MRT who had withdrawn that were awaiting their ride. I texted my friends: ‘Made the Co-op!!’ and started to tuck in to my treasure. As I chatted with the people sat beside me, I said something about how I would finish up and continue running away from the Lanterne Rouge. Out comes the SST, bluntly: ‘no, you’re behind it.’

I immediately wanted to get up and away, and not because I was behind.

Note: this is the most entirely unhelpful thing you can do if you are meant to be supporting Spine runners as an SST. If you’re ever a volunteer in any capacity on this race, do not ever be so blunt with a back of pack runner because your role is not meant to destroy hope, it is meant to enhance it.

End note.

Onward.

I conducted a bit of quick pacing maths and was surprised to find I was still well on my own plan despite the rude awakening. Still, I hurried myself on, mostly to get away from the negative energy more than anything. I had always planned my pacing to arrive within the final hour before each cutoff and I was no longer doubting I’d be at the monitoring point well in time. Still I didn’t waste any of it. I didn’t bother taking the pack off, but merely tied the shopping bag on to my pack and headed for Malham, getting battered by a green bag full of snacks for miles and not even feeling it.

Having perpetually suffered from race-ending blisters in every long ultra I’d ever done, I was absolutely delighted that I had no major foot issues all that time. But time wasn’t entirely on my side, considering the first telltale scratching of a blister appeared only after I’d left that lovely enormous bench with space to work in Gargrave, and after the second span of darkness had fully arrived.

I wanted to wait until I found a suitable place to sort it properly, and eventually found a stile to sit on and sprawl my stuff out. I decided to move my sock change up a fair few miles rather than put the wet ones back on, and good thing too, my feet were beginning to macerate from being so sweaty all day. Seems the trailtoes was a great solution overall but I would potentially have done better with trench foot cream. That will be tested at length before I pursue an attempt at the North.

De-greasing a foot to get tape to stick on is another kettle of fish altogether, and it was an absolute project, but fortunately I only had to manage just the one blister between my first and second toes. (I later discovered there was a ball of glue under the Engo patch that was pressing on the spot, and had I removed it I may have had a far more pleasant ‘rest of the race’. Moral of the story is, if your Engo patches have shifted, check for glue balls!)

After all that patching up (and fast forwarding to the end a bit) that blister would hurt and irritate me for the rest of the race, but it never got worse. This was perhaps the hugest learning of all, you will have that pain come through but if you stop it fast enough YOU will take control of IT, not the other way around.

If you’re keeping score: Mad Max 2, Chimp 0.

I reached a small road crossing where I asked a question of the pair of SST, who responded ‘sorry we’re not sure – we just got here’. Enter the Wackadoo Head bants, I grinned and said ‘no no, I’m afraid that’s not good enough, there’s no excuses allowed!’ and cackled my way into the darkness. I suspect my cheerful banter and positive outlook was probably good for the SST to see, considering I was the DFL person for so long. I’d imagine they will expect to see a haggard carcass just loping along in that position, and won’t I have been a surprise?!

But isn’t that just ever so contrary to what everyone expects to see in the back of the pack, other than those of us who actually live there? There is power. There is joy. There is energy. There is pride. There is resilience. There are dreams. There are guts. There is passion. There is pushing oneself to one’s limit that may not look like yours. We race ourselves. We succeed against our own limitations.

We aren’t inspiring or otherwise to ourselves, we are bloody Joyful Warriors. The Watch Me Collective. I don’t think we sing about this enough, but by god, we should. That is what I have been doing since the day my son was born. It’s a Festival back here in this place of personal pride and all goers are forever welcome.

And we will never ever run out of bananas.

But I digress. (If you know me, surprise! Ha!)

The trail thereafter was just beyond awful to see in the dark, I will not lie. I felt as if I was zig zagging a bit like that great black lighting bolt across Charlie Brown’s t-shirt, but good grief is far too polite for what was coming out my mouth. I would imagine in the light this trail was probably obvious but despite me continually seeking a better line I never found one. It was just endless mud runways.

I didn’t recognise much of this section which only got worse when I reached an almighty brow of a hill to go over before countless paths went off in all directions and the gpx looked like I was meant to just take a step and fall down that hill right over there –

It was like re-living my SW80k Part 1 nightmare, my head was totally refusing to trust my instinct to find which way to go, and I was convinced I’d figure it out any minute now. No…this minute…wait…this one…no…no…

Worse still, I could see just beyond the giant drop off a conga line of headlamps heading up Malham Cove and all I needed to do was cross this thing and it’d be smooth sailing.

I spent what felt like a solid 20 minutes going back and forth (I haven’t checked the actual time but must!) before I finally went the way I originally started going (naturally) and made it over to the other side with a very loud and ragey

What was THAT?!!!! What the everloving FUCK was that?!!!?!!

It was the only time during the race that I completely lost my head. I suppose it could be for many reasons, but I think it was most likely down to the difficulty I was having seeing the trail in the dark. If given a replay, I’d have carried two torches, one head and one waist. I like to see where I’m going and it’d be worth the extra weight to be able to move that much faster.

Still, the steam emptied from my head (probably enough to actually engulf the beam of my headlamp in a fog) but I managed to pull myself together and get moving again. As I reached Malham, I took another wrong turn up the left hand of a required right hand fork in the road, and my earlier steady state took over again. Fortunately, no further aggro entered the chat and onward to the ascent went I.

I was entirely blown away at the ease in which I found this climb at this point, which completely topped up my grit bin. I had expected to drag myself up those steps like a sack of spuds, but I was still feeling strong and the hideous fatigue I felt way on back in Ickornshaw Moor had surprisingly eased loads, without any measureable sleep. It seemed the longer I kept going, the more I was able to keep going. Sounds like madness and absolute contradiction but it is fact.

I reached the top of the cove and veered in the direction of the high route to avoid the worst of the slabs. Just as I hit the point where I’d need to begin making my way across, my headlamp flashed three times, indicating the battery was on its way out. No problem, I thought, I’d just replace it with one of the two fully-charged spares I had in my pack. Enter an absolute circus. I was dropping batteries in the wet grass, the one I put in started flashing immediately, so I thought I’d accidentally taken a used one, but lo and behold every battery I tried was flashing that it was dying.

‘This is not happening.’

Oh my darling, but it was!

I pictured the charging box full of two spares that I’d left in my drop bag along with my watch charger and gave myself a stern talking to. Why pack it if you aren’t going to carry it, you absolute donut?! There were F bombs but it’s not yet past the watershed and the one is enough for this blog!

There were also two more batteries in my drop bag that I’d chosen not to carry. Bloody batteries galore back in the bag. Great work, Einstein. What I’d have given for some real batteries and a cheap spare torch! One for next time because ‘what if’ helps nothing.

Eventually I decided I’d just use each battery until it died and hoped I’d move fast enough across the terrain to the Tarn path in advance of the sunrise. I had a few hours to go but it seemed entirely feasible. I could see a headlamp coming up the steps as I stood there, and saw the runner take the gpx route over the front edge. I’d finally reached the fenceline and stopped to layer up a bit, where he eventually overtook me as I was faffing with my kit.

Interestingly, I remember precisely where my hallucinations started.

Shortly after you cross the slabs you reach a gate where you hook hard right and go back on yourself somewhat around the edge of an outcrop, and out of nowhwere I started seeing faces in the stones under my feet. Nothing was frightening, and they mostly reflected what was actually happening in my body, happiness and fatigue. It was a combination of these lovely little smileys, and figures that were similar to the old lady in that optical illusion of the beautiful young woman and old lady. It was almost like seeing scenes from the Led Zeppelin 4 album cover everywhere which worked a treat to keep me moving, to be fair!

Meanwhile, I’m swapping out flashing lamp batteries more than anyone could possibly ever want to, and I reached the big open moor that led to the road crossing. All I could remember was bog to the right that I didn’t want to fall in. After the final battery change, I took the wrong line completely but knew the general direction I needed to go.

As I was looking at the beautiful strip of sunrise peeking through in the distance, I’m thinking I should stop and take a picture but I didn’t want to waste the headlamp battery, not even comprehending I could shut it off and let it get a bit lighter before I turned it on again. Just as I was about to switch it off, it died. I thanked my ever-present-switching-things-off-heavenly-Dad and took the picture, hoping the torch on my phone was enough to light my way to the path. Suddenly it occurred to me that the sun hadn’t yet risen and I was already at the entrance to the Tarn grounds. I did a bit more mental maths and grinned as I realised I was hours ahead of the cutoff!

Some confusing signage and tape boundary prevented me from using the easy path at the Tarn, but I couldn’t tell where I was meant to go and was getting frustrated. My head was now completely up my arse, and I was wandering back and forth again, trudging past a camper van probably containing sensible people trying to sleep at this hour.

I wandered back towards the path and tried to read the signs but I couldn’t see anything well enough. My vision felt like it was going completely squiffy and I just decided to get on with it and charge on in the general direction, grateful that I knew generally which way to go, thank heavens for recces! As the sun came up and lit my way to the path, I bounded around it with utter joy and was nearly bubbling over with positivity as I entered the timing point.

Who was sat there but Jon Shield, who said he’d just retired when I asked how he was getting on. I couldn’t get my brain firing enough to get the pack off sensibly and get the Gargrave shopping bag off to dig inside it, but eventually found myself attempting to take a bite of a sandwich and immediately hand it to one of the volunteers. It amuses me greatly that she didn’t even flinch before dropping it in the bin, sort of expecting at this point in the race that people wouldn’t be able to stomach their food. I had a pack of Stove Top stuffing mix in my pack that I thought was probably so buried I’d use up my 30 minutes trying to find it, so I eventually just tucked into my fruit and remaining Gargrave goodies.

I was chatting nonstop like the bleeding Energizer Bunny, and commented on how many times I’d quit the race in my head earlier in the day. Jon turned to me and said ‘we ALL do it.’ And I tell you what, that will stick with me forever. You kind of know the elites must have those normal reactions, but like that meeting with my friend earlier in the day it was something that stuck in my head and would help carry me to the finish.

My time eventually ran out and I was evicted from that place of shelter, feeling a bit like Demolition Man’s John Spartan being exiled into the Wasteland. I knew I needed to sleep in advance of tackling the final two climbs and biggest challenge of the race, so I paced around until I got a signal and phoned HQ to let them know I’d be stopping for a while.

It was 4 am.

There wouldn’t just be time for a stop and a kip.

There would be time for a finish. I could still do this.

___ 

All hail the underdogs,
All hail the new kids,
All hail the outlaws,
The Spielbergs and Kubricks.

It’s our time to make a move,
It’s our time to make amends,
It’s our time to break the rules,
Let’s begin.

 

- Renegades, X Ambassadors

___

All blogs in this race report:

Prologue: Here we go. (Pre-race)
Let the Games Begin. (Edale to Torside)
Keeping the Faith. (Torside to Hebden Hey)
Just a matter of time. (Hebden Hey to Lothersdale)
All hail the underdogs. (Lothersdale to Malham Tarn)