Spine Race 2020

"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved."

Helen Keller

You might want to make a cup of tea, this - like the 268 mile race itself - is not going to be brief.

I’ve referenced in previous blogs that I failed to finish the Spine in 2019.  Whilst that was due to illness that started before the race did, in truth, despite a lot of homework, I’d just totally underestimated the race.  There was no big, compelling reason or set of reasons to go on.  Unlike UTMB for example it wasn’t a race that had ever really appealed - it seemed faintly ridiculous as did the people who became utterly obsessed with it to the exclusion of all else.  Having spent many years claiming it would never be of interest, it’s hard to recall exactly why I ended up registering in 2019.  The best I can guess is that It just seemed an essential rite of passage, after which I could confirm its pointlessness and move on. Safe to say that’s not quite how it turned out.

It was clear from my previous races that having a strong sense of purpose is key to success in these long events, and if at least part of that purpose is related to others rather than oneself, all the better. In this case, motivation came from:

1) Pete Reed: Pete is a fellow member of the Oxford University rowing family, and one of the finest oarsmen ever to have represented this country.  He won 3 consecutive Olympic Gold medals from 2008 to 2016.  A serving Naval officer, Pete experienced a spinal stroke in late 2019, rendering him for the moment paralysed below the chest.  I’ve always been inspired by Pete but never more than now, such is the grace with which he is dealing with his diagnosis.  I had wanted to use the Spine to raise money and offered to support Pete directly.  He demurred and asked me to support the Royal Navy and Royal Marines Charity, for which he has been an ambassador for many years.  Pete’s support via WhatsApp through the race was a key factor in getting to the finish and a great example of his own mindset of serving others first, despite his own difficult circumstances.

The man, the legend......

2) Inspiring others, including my daughters: It’s hard to cover this without seeing immodest, so I won’t try.  I know that doing these kinds of things inspires people - maybe not many, but more than enough to make it worthwhile.  A number have reached out since and said that witnessing my experience of this race pushed them to do something out of their own comfort zone.  Most importantly, I want my daughters to see what it means to commit to a big goal and work towards it methodically - and to understand that we are all capable of so much more than we know.

3) Being more effective in my professional career: This seems a strange one, perhaps.  I’m enormously grateful to do the job that I do, and in it I’m privileged to be responsible for a team of more than 500 and in turn more than 100,000 customers.  I take that responsibility seriously and see it as my obligation to be the very best leader I’m capable of being for my team and in turn for the customers they serve.  It’s clear that better humans make better leaders or as the rugby cognoscenti might have it “Better people make better All Blacks”. I feel that testing my physical, mental and emotional limits, building resilience and better decision-making skills all make me in some way better.  A better friend, father and leader, hopefully.

4) Living without regret: Having experienced loss in life, it’s clear how fragile, and short, it is and can be. I am very clear that I don’t want to be in some future moment looking back on things that I wanted to do, was perhaps capable of, but didn’t do. 

"Avoid the pursuit of happiness. Seek to define your mission and pursue that” John Barlow

2019 had been a consistent year - lots of steady weeks of about 10 hours of training, PB’s in the half and marathon and a good finish in the Lakeland 100 miler. I ran the 38 mile Tour de Helvellyn about 3 weeks before the Spine, which didn’t really go to plan but was a useful training session nonetheless.  Christmas became about resting and endlessly repacking the kit for my rucksack and drop bag which I’d get to access about every 50 miles in the 5 main checkpoints.  I also spent time reflecting on the reasons to carry on, visualising how I would reach for them in the inevitable low moments.

Soon enough it was time to travel to the High Peak, after an extensive kit check and safety briefing and a restless night in the YHA it was finally, mercifully, time to go.  

We wound out of Edale on the Sunday morning at 8am with the foreboding 268 mile Pennine Way ahead of us.  Wind and rain were as predictable as the front runners pushing the pace up Jacobs Ladder to Kinder Scout.  I took it easy, remembering how far we still had to go, running some of those early hours with eventual women’s winner Sabrina Verjee. Climbing out of Torside reservoir there were some streams seriously in spate that made crossing quite tricky, and a lot of classic Pennine sloppy mud.  Worryingly, by now I’d started to feel a twinge in my left calf, unfortunately at this point there was little that could be done other than take care and make a mental note to tape it at the next aid station. Crossing the A 635 my colleague Liam came out from his nearby home to cheer me on, which was incredibly welcome.  After a quick selfie (below), I was off again. 

The section to Hebden Bridge is generally far from inspiring with multiple major road crossings. Though I now love the Spine Race, I still don’t love the Pennine Way because of sections like this. That said, I do recognise it makes a great racecourse; testing all aspects of the runner - physical, mental, technical, decision making and more. 

Before Hebden it was great to see the Dorringtons, for once in an ultra with a smile on my face - normally they have the misfortune to catch me in a grumpy funk. Calf aside, I was feeling good. Hebden aid station took longer than I wanted as I had a hot meal, full change of clothes and took care of feet and body. I ended up waiting a few minutes for Debbie Martin Consani as I felt we’d both benefit from company through the long dark night. Sure enough the night ticked by and we added to the 50 plus miles already covered steadily.  By Cowling Debbie wasn’t feeling great and took a moment to sort herself, instructing me in no uncertain terms to crack on without her.  Soon I was enjoying sunrise at Malham and a rejuvenating chat with the kids on FaceTime as I picked carefully across treacherous cracked limestone pavement. I grabbed some of the hot water on offer at the mini checkpoint and made up a dehydrated spinach, rice and dal firepot meal which went down a treat.

Over the interminable Fountains Fell and onto Pen Y Ghent, the building wind signified the approach of storm Brendan. Suddenly I was really sleepy, having been awake for 30 hours and having run over 90 miles, Also, nausea crept in making it challenging to eat and drink enough.

I enjoyed the Yorkshire 3 peaks section, thinking of my friend and 3 peaks cyclocross legend Dave Haygarth. Dave practically owns this place in my mind and it felt rather like I was trespassing on his hallowed turf. Thinking of Dave reminded me of he and I force feeding Alan in his Bob Graham, and I imagined Dave’s massive hand shoving food in my mouth - an effective tactic that got me eating again.

By the time we hit Cam High Road Storm Brendan was well and truly in with gusts of up to 70 mph and driving rain. It was like a scene from Apocalypse Now, and I got blown over twice. Thrilled to turn my back on the wind and head down to Hawes, concern remained how Debbie was doing right behind me.  It was clear, though, that waiting for her wouldn’t be an option in those conditions. The lights of Hawes in the early evening were incredibly welcome when they eventually came, as was the checkpoint. Sleeping at Hawes was not a definite part of the plan, but with weather worsening and Great Shunner Fell to come it seemed sensible to bank an hour or two and allow the storm to pass.

Pip, the wonder medic, dealing with my less than pleasant feet.  268 blister free miles!

Waking up and filling up with hot food, I saw Debbie also getting ready to go out and so we agreed to once again head out together.  Great Shunner Fell was extremely windy still, but at least the rain had passed and after a long slog we were descending into the village of Thwaite.  A fiddly section followed to Keld, where the village hall had been repurposed to a self-service tea room, which was heaven at about 3am.  I was really sleepy and had a 10-minute nap while Debbie cracked on for Tan Hill. Once I headed out myself, the Tan Hill Inn (the highest pub in England) was a welcome sight.  I had a coffee and rehydrated another firepot meal. Trying to eat it while crossing the bogs of Sleightholme moor was an error as I very nearly lost a shoe, the better path would have been to stash it and wait for the harder ground later. The sunrise was lovely, and I enjoyed quick FaceTime chat with the girls again.

The awesome, unstoppable Debbie on an earlier recce at High Cup Nick....

The next section across a few reservoirs towards Middleton was quite enjoyable and I couldn’t suppress a shout of joy when Middleton itself hoved into view.  The checkpoint though was really cold, and the showers disappointingly tepid. Tired and struggling, the checkpoint process was not efficient here and a lot of time, and daylight, was lost. Eventually a group headed out towards Dufton and it made sense to join them, given dire predictions about the weather for the section ahead, including the rock climb section of Cauldron Spout. I lost the group shortly afterwards when I stopped for a 10-minute trailside nap, which seemed essential given how dangerous it would be not to be fully switched on at High Cup Nick where the consequences of being 20 metres to the left of the path could be terminal. As much as I wanted to compete, finishing was more important, and getting back to my daughters the most important of all.  I only had one quote physically written on me, on some tape, and it summarised my priority at that time:

“Remember that your life belongs to others as well.  Don’t risk it frivolously” John Barlow

I was learning a lot about sleep pressure and circadian rhythm, no matter how much sleep I did or didn’t have, I felt good and bad at the exact same times every day.  Knowing this now, I would definitely do things differently in future. Through Dufton, and through the dawn onto the slopes of Great Dunn Fell and Cross Fell, a quick stop was required on the snow line to put on nearly all my kit including goggles.  The wind was again very strong and the deep snow frozen on top. Every step took an age as the surface cracked and feet carried on down to the ground below. One mile in particular took 35 minutes to cover, and with the wind chill it was very cold, around -10 by all accounts. I don’t think I’ve ever been in such a present, almost zen, meditative state, as if the mind simply couldn’t summon the energy to do anything else. One mile at a time, this chance may never come again, it has to be now.

Grim, grey, cold. Loving it. The way to Great Dun Fell.

I was really looking forward to Greg’s Hut and the legendary noodles provided by John Bamber, which were the absolute highlight of the race so far. Buoyed by the noodles and the social interaction, after being alone for hours, the miles downhill to Garrigill passed quickly. At the bottom however, it was clear that my left calf and knee were in real trouble.  Every step caused shooting pain; stumbling and hobbling the boggy last miles to the Alston checkpoint.  A sleep here turned out to be a mistake, not only wasting more daylight but allowing the knee to swell like a balloon. 

Leaving Greg's - credit John Bamber

It wasn’t clear at all whether I could, or should, continue.  I spoke to coach Ian Sharman and guru David Thunder on FaceTime, which helped enormously.  David has looked after my body flawlessly for years and he helped the medics tape the whole leg.  Ultimately there was a risk that the widespread tendinitis developed into a rupture, which certainly would end the race.  If I was able to carry on, it would need to be slowly to mitigate that risk, so I consciously reminded myself that the main goal was to finish and reluctantly accepted that racing for a high position just wasn’t an option.  Most importantly I didn’t want to put myself in a position of needing to be rescued, which wouldn’t be fair to those charged with effecting that rescue. Fortunately, the miles after Alston, while slow and boggy, are quite sheltered and not far from civilisation, providing the opportunity to test the leg without risking too much. 

“Don’t trouble yourself with matters you truly cannot change” John Barlow

Random boggy track....could be anywhere on this route...

Winding through the fields and bogs to Greenhead, the window of focus narrowed even further. One step, one mile at a time - no more than that. Despite the constant stabbing pain there was a numb, dreamlike quality to those miles. The interminable bog of Blenkinsopp common eventually gave way to the golf course and the now traditional fall on the short muddy descent to Haltwhistle, most of which passed sliding out of control on my back in the mud. As the sun rose over Hadrian's wall the welcome figure of Paul Wilson arrived, and it was incredibly pleasant to spend a few minutes together. As Paul faded into the distance, Hadrian’s wall did likewise, and I took a quick 5-minute nap behind a stone wall.  Then on to Bellingham through boggy forests with Martin Luther King’s words in mind:

“If you can't fly then run, if you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward".

Hadrian's wall - lots of this. Not fast.

The miles to Bellingham wound away slowly, spending a bit of time with Trish Patterson and Simon Roberts who were also carrying injuries. The last few miles to Bellingham were as close to a mental capitulation as I came in the race.  The aid station just wouldn’t appear, the navigation was fiddly, it was dusk, and I needed an light but the energy to take the pack off, find a head torch and some layers would not come. I screamed and swore at no one in particular in the middle of another pointless boggy field. There was never any danger of stopping, and I was moving all the time, just very slowly. In hindsight, eating something would have helped a lot at this point. Trish and Simon were long gone. The road to the checkpoint eventually, inevitably, was reached and a quick feed and very short sleep later, I said a final goodbye to my drop bag which I wouldn’t see again until the finish.  

The section from Bellingham to Byrness is arguably one of the more enjoyable in the race, the sounds of the John Butler Trio in my headphones seemed to suit it as they had in a past recce. Substantial path improvement has made the pre forest track much more palatable, and the slow pace had become the new normal.  A quick micro nap in the heather scared the life out of poor Andrew Heaney who passed what he confessed he had considered might be a corpse. Breaking dawn in the forest before Byrness brought a moment of euphoria despite the pain and fatigue. Lou Reed was slight overkill on the musical accompaniment front, too nihilistic for such an odd, extreme situation. I talked again to David Thunder and shared this slightly psychedelic, out of body experience, then the girls who just rolled their eyes - understandably, and not for the first or last time - at their father’s lunacy.

In the 16 miles from Bellingham to Byrness I’d consumed 2500 of the 4000 calories I’d set out with for the entire last 42 miles.  I ate everything I was offered at the mini checkpoint and stocked up with anything portable. Dietary considerations be damned, the body was very clear if this abuse was to be continued then quantity of fuel was the only acceptable trade. I promised to comply, if only it would transport the rest of me to Kirk Yetholm.

The Cheviots, complete with a genuine Cheviot goat (and a lesser spotted Surrey goat)

The Cheviots are arguably a very underrated set of hills, and energy returned in the trudge to Hut 1, where the commitment to fuelling rather than racing saw me finally use the stove I’d carried from Edale (it’s part of the compulsory kit) to make up a porridge pot and another firepot meal. Daylight, hot food and a slabbed path - what more can a Spine racer ask for?  Well, as it happened, my mate Alan Dorrington who had decided to come and see me home.  I’m always glad to see Alan, but perhaps never more so than now. We travelled together for a while until, lacking a headtorch, he had to head down. That simple change, being alone again, precipitated the lowest moment of the race despite the relative proximity of the finish.  7 hours felt like a lifetime, far too long to contemplate.  The mile at a time plan was the only game in town.

Desolate, lonely, beautiful Cheviots.

Fading light, swirling mist, interminable slow miles, tiresome pain. It was timely to remember that this exact moment was the reason I was here - had chosen to be here - for the full beautiful, terrible experience. To test the limits. It became the defining moment of the race, and without hyperbole, one of the defining moments of my life. I didn’t know how I would do it, only that I absolutely would.  Simultaneously impossible and inevitable.

"You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” Marcus Aurelius

A tussocky, steep descent that shredded the now immobile left knee further led to the haven of Hut 2, where more hot food was procured.  Eventually, reluctantly, the last 7 miles began, replete with warnings they would take 3 hours plus. Nikki Sommers and David Bunn made excellent company as we crested the last top and descended towards Kirk Yetholm.  Still the mind couldn’t, wouldn’t conceive what was going on. “Another mile tick it off, one at a time.”  The tarmac road was a shock - it sunk in that we were that close. Nikki banned us from running up the small hill on the road, and we agreed to finish as a three.

Suddenly, the lights of the village. Cheering. Flags. Finish line. Kissing the wall of the Border Hotel. John Bamber snapping photos. Alan. Pavel Paloncy. The Spine, done. How did that happen? A pint of Guinness, a bit of packing and a sleep in Alan’s car on the long drive back south. Complete inability to process the enormity of it.

Nikki ensuring I kissed the wall correctly......

Nearly a month later, it’s still not clear.  The lessons, however, are starting to emerge.  When we are faced with difficult things - fear, pain, trauma - often our natural reaction is to turn away, to run from them.  What I have learned and continue to learn is that as attractive and logical as that path may seem, what we fear will find us in the end.  The alternative is to walk towards the pain, the fear.  Embrace and accept the inevitability of it. There will be a way through, and taking that way will strengthen the soul, and make it more likely you’ll make that same choice in future. In life, pain is compulsory, unavoidable.  Suffering, however, is optional. The former is strengthening, the latter depleting - and the power to choose is a privilege.

“Live memorably. Love yourself. Endure” John Barlow

Special thanks as ever to Ian Sharman, Shane Benzie, David Thunder and Tabby Spence.