Keeping the faith.

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 corner at the stream. I shot daggers at the flagstone that turned my ankle in March, cutting short that day’s recce when I, and my friend and fellow Spiner Diane, had planned to take on Edale to Hebden Hey. It hadn’t been the time for heroics though, so we had called it at Wessenden Head. Good thing too, that ankle was fully operational today and making me awfully proud of it.

The journey up to Black Hill summit was as uneventful as it could possibly be, in deep contrast with last year’s catastrophe when I was already dehydrated and struggling to take on any fuel at all. This time there was no photographer to capture the strong version of that previously defeated woman. This picture would have to remain burned into my memory.

Up and over again, we were switching up walking and trotting down the hill, with more running than I’d planned but we were making good time so I stuck with it. We skirted round the bog of doom on the descent, and to my everlasting delight miraculously arrived at Wessenden Head when the snack van was still open, for the first time in all three of my Spine Race visits. A quick chat and top up from the trail angels at the gate and we made a beeline for the van.

I spotted Allie Bailey (who doesn’t know me from a bar of soap) yet even to my own surprise I immediately accosted her for a well received ‘girl power’ cuddle, and was advised that her pup needed love too, so I gladly complied before we moved on. We sat down to take on some drinks and a few minutes’ rest, and had a bit of friendly chat with Mel Sykes on media duty before we started feeling the chill. The darkening sky prompted us to get a move on, but perhaps my move on was slightly too abrupt – I’ll just say it is not advisable to try to buckle a hip belt hidden beneath your nose bag with cold hands while racewalking up the road towards the Wessenden Head car park.

The descent to Blake Clough was much easier than I remembered, and I detoured for a wild wee before we crossed the bridge and made our way up the new stone steps. More steady and quick progress up to Brun Clough but my knees were starting to remind me with a bit of teeth that we hadn’t planned to do all this running.

We took a much-needed 30 minute break there, where my second sock change revealed more of the same pristine feet and my continued joy. 28 miles of Pennine Way and nothing of note disturbing the feet. This was such a good sign to me and I was feeling really confident. Strangely, being handed one of the most incredible salted boiled potatoes I have ever eaten increased this confidence more than it should have. One thing I learned along this journey is the power of giving your body the precise food it is demanding at the correct time. The nutrition stars were certainly in alignment for this attempt.

I added another layer and hoiked my pack on again, grateful for all the modifications I’d made regarding cushioning and tying off straps, and off we went, jeffing our way to Nicky’s. It would be a short and sharp visit with little more than a loo stop and a drink as I didn’t feel the need for more food than that. When I stepped inside, I spotted Gerry who said he’d been having a hard time and called it a day. I was sad to be unable to chat long before we downed our tea and dashed out, me carrying half a Coke I never managed to finish. We were aiming to get up and over Blackstone Edge before dark and didn’t have time to waste.

A successful crossing led to the descent towards the White House, which I was surprised and delighted to see in the daylight for the first time. We certainly had been making great time, but I was finding the pace way too much of a push from my original plan and my knees were deteriorating rapidly, much like they had the year before. The descent to White House was excruciating and I growled my way down behind gritted teeth. It was too early for that kind of pain and my chimp started his shitty little dance in my head. I told him to piss off and get in the boot, I’m driving this car, then spent some time re-taping my knees to improve the support. I was glad I’d planned for this eventuality, so I’d made sure to carry two knee braces in my drop bag. I hoped my efforts here would last the next 11 miles. (Hint: they did.)

We were on the move again in no time at all, and moved steady on down the path. By the time we reached Light Hazzles Reservoir I knew I had to cut the pace back for at least a while if I meant to finish the race, but the other runner wanted to move faster so we parted company. I found myself alone in the dark fully back in charge of my race plan, which was met with some relief. I realised that all the solo training I do is for a reason and Me, Myself, and I will always be my preferred company in a race situation. I like to stop when I need to, speed up when I need to, ‘be bothered’ when I need to. Maybe I don’t play nice with others!? But maybe that’s actually why I run ultras at all. Miles in every direction with no one else in sight? Where do I sign up?

I needed to have a good sit down when I finally reached Stoodley Pike, and took it with much pleasure. It was long after I’d suffered its taunts, so much like the Monty Python fish slap dance, ‘here I am, you’re near! Ha ha turn RIGHT and walk away from me! You’re far again!’ The effervescent Liz Burke has suggested there are villagers moving that blasted monument around on some kind of trolley and after many visits, I’m inclined to believe her. Just as I stood up to continue, a man popped round the corner coming from the wrong side and scared the bejeezus out of me. There followed a few others in quite a hurry coming from the expected direction, so I figured they were sprinters…sprinting.

After I made my way downhill, I stopped to get something out of my pack (precisely what it was is now lost in the fog of Pennine Way war as I didn’t include it in my notes) and a small group caught me up, including the lovely MRT Emma who was suffering terribly with blisters. We took the long way to the road at Charlestown via the switchbacks and stayed at the crossing to take on some food in preparation for the final push into Hebden.

On this occasion, the track between Charlestown and the checkpoint made Stoodley Pike’s taunting look like child’s play. I’d forgotten how ridiculous and neverending it seemed. As we made our way I would describe the different complexities along the route, in part to support Emma in knowing how much farther we had to go, but also to remind myself ‘that shit part is done and we don’t have to do it anymore’.

At long last, we made it to the road and the turn off to descend to the scout hut. It was as slippery as expected, and I minced my way down, trying to protect my knees and not fall over, while fighting the fatigue. It was three am, and I’d arrived at the ‘fast’ side of my arrival window but at the heavy cost of significant knee pain and far more fatigue than I had hoped to have at this point. I upped the pace near the bottom of the hill just in time to smack my head on a branch I didn’t see – that woke me up pretty sharpish, but only just.

I was greeted at the bottom by a lovely volunteer who led me inside a very buzzing room and got me situated in a chair slap bang in the middle of it. Just like last year, I didn’t consult my checklist but this time I had memorised the most important bits on arrival and asked for water to take on my Tailwind Recovery, topping up the bottles, strong sweet tea, and I rooted around the drop bag for my rice pudding. Step one was always to get my head screwed on so I could actually do the admin.

But I struggled hugely to organise myself at the chair, as once I got the hot tea and tailwind under the chair, trying to take off my muddy shoes and not dump mud into my drinks was a circus. I managed to get my sliders on and the muddy shoes packed away as the revival snacks kicked in. Suddenly I was clear headed enough to get my watch on charge, get my checkpoint coat and hat on, and pull out my ‘building 2 bag’. I’d planned a shower and some food, no plan yet to sleep, and off to the shower I went. I tell you what, it was bloody Baltic in there, mate. I genuinely thought I was going to shrivel. There followed a quick pre-shower chat with another runner who was in a group of ladies about to have a sleep. She asked if I was going to sleep and did I want to join them when they went back out. My heart said maybe but my head knew I needed to continue alone. I said I’d see how things went at the checkpoint.

The shower was hot and comforting so exiting it for the freezing bathroom was a shock to the system. You’d think it would have woken me up but it just made me more tired, which is odd in and of itself. My head was tired though, dog tired, boss. I got dressed, pulled on my knee braces, and went into the canteen area to ingest more rice pudding before heading back to the main room. I decided I had time and was tired enough to lay my head down for an hour. I was swiftly assigned a bunk and made my way there. I didn’t bring a sleeping bag, nor did I put any socks on. I wanted to be a bit chilly and uncomfortable as my goal of this ‘Race 1 of 3’ segment had always been ‘get out of Hebden’.

The hour passed with me panicking that I’d miss the alarm, and I thought that fitful rest would be enough to get me going. I went back to get more food, this time some leek and potato soup, and more sweet tea. I was a bit irritated to hear people still being told they had to be up the top of the hill by 8 am to make the cutoff when long in advance I’d asked three people in the know to clarify that wasn’t the case. I was told when you left the CP your time is recorded and if that’s in front of the 8 am cutoff, you’ve made it. The only caveat is that you must escape the checkpoint boundary at the top before you can stop. Last year, that errant ‘ascend the hill before 8 am’ instruction contributed to my DNF when I felt I wouldn’t be able to climb up the hill fast enough. This time it wouldn’t be an issue for me regardless. My plan was to leave at 7.

Back in the main room, I spotted Gerry waiting to get picked up, and let him know I’d be leaving the checkpoint alone. I soon discovered that my watch hadn’t charged properly on the brick, so I swore at it, which unfortunately didn’t seem to make any difference. I resorted to rooting around for my wall plug and got it set up on the power strip. The act of sorting out my second ‘half’ food was another circus, and I was struggling to re-pack my bag so job one was to get the food out of it and bin the stuff I’d not been wanting to eat in part one as I'd probably still not want it going forward. I retrieved my tube of Primula, which would, in fact, be the giver of life for the rest of the race. I cannot recommend this product enough, it’s like the biggest shite you can buy, but it’s salty and fatty and cheesy and is always going to be in my rations now. My endless gratitude to the Women Run Ultras member who suggested it in a long ago chat!

I finished faffing, trying to make my kit explosion look tidy by only taking up three chairs. It was genuinely laughable and I think it may have been light years easier had I not chosen an 80 litre bag, there was just not enough space in it to work with. I managed to get out my second half shoes (exactly the same but half size up) ram everything back in, and take my watch off the plug, only to find the activity had shut down. I probably gave the groan heard round the world and more swearing ensued before I promptly…

…put my only watch charger in my drop bag and zipped it up.

(That’s worth its own line because that mistake would change the entire face of the rest of the race. I’ll get there eventually dear reader, but in order. I have a tendency to drift and I’m trying very hard to stay disciplined!)

I waved at the volunteer that I was ready for my kit check, and naturally the first thing he wanted to see was the bivvy bag at the bottom of my pack. Out it came, more kit exploding across the chairs and eventually I was congratulated at passing kit check and being released back into the wild. It was something to behold, that congratulations, totally unexpected and uplifting at once. I got my poles back, with a label on one and elastic hairbands around the other to help identify them. This was particularly good prep on my part as my head was still significantly wackadoo from lack of sleep but I still recognised my kit at a glance. That said, I could tell the mental fatigue was very much on board. It was about to be an extremely long day at the office.

I announced to everyone outside the building that I’ve made it out! I’m leaving Hebden! I could barely contain my excitement – this is where I’d failed last time. But I wouldn’t be failing today.

‘Let me at that hill, I’m having it!’

I was absolutely exuberant. A little too it seems, as I forgot about that wayward branch and clobbered my head on it again as I left. But it didn’t matter, I made it. I was choking back tears climbing that hill, you best believe it. It was 7 am. Four hours after I arrived, I was actually leaving Hebden Hey. Mission number one completely accomplished.

A proper Cheshire Cat grin took me over as I reached the road, and all I wanted to do was message the dear friends who had been texting me for the duration, my constant companions in that baton, in my phone, in my heart, not just for this race but for every one of the past seven years I’d been seeking my century. I’d been putting them through it alright, and they have never left my side. Not for a minute.

They will have well remembered the previous year when I’d not been able to get out of the checkpoint and until they saw me out, I know they will have been wondering if today things would be different. So I didn’t want to merely tell them I was leaving. I wanted them to know I was still completely ready to rumble. I wanted them to know – and to genuinely believe – that the moment I had been chasing all this time was well within my grasp.

I sent a selfie, smiling. Exhausted. Proud.

Good morning. I'm good. I'm moving on. There's no place like Hardraw. 💖💪👉

I’d made it out of Hebden Hey. 

I’d made it to day 2.

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I wanna say to my sisters and my brothers
Keep the faith
When the storm flies and the wind blows
Go on at a steady pace 

When the battle is fought
And the victory’s won
We can all shout together 'we have overcome!'
We’ll talk to the Father and the Son
When we make it to the Promised Land. 

– My Sisters and Brothers, Jerry Garcia Band

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Other blogs in this race report:

Prologue: Here we go. (Pre-race)
Let the Games Begin. (Edale to Torside)