Arc of Attrition 2025

• Distance: 102.8 miles (tracked, missing a section)
• Elevation: 17,703 feet (tracked, missing a section)
• Elapsed Time: 31:44:035 (official)
• Estimated calories: 13,759
• Position: 151st
• Total finishers (within 36-hour cutoff): 259, of 515 starters (50% DNF)

Hell's Mouth, near Godrevy Point

Dire predictions

As the final few days before the race ticked by, the increasing chatter on the event's Facebook group switched from an endless stream of clarifying questions about mandatory kit requirements to something more concerning: Storm Éowyn. The dire forecasts that had residents of the northern parts of the UK fretting were now shifting to include Cornwall, right down to the very tip. The predicted wind speeds looked worrying for anyone owning a roof, and surely would concern those considering setting out along the cliff tops of the Cornish coast. Gale force gusts were set to continue through the first few hours of the race. The six hundred or so runners who had spent their winter training, planning and buying kit were less concerned with personal risk than being unable to start the mission they were so invested in: "I hope they don't cancel".

What is it that motivates anyone to undertake a challenge like this? No doubt, at the time of signing up, there may be dreams of beautiful coastal experiences followed by the glorious sense of a monumental achievement, conquering the extreme distance and terrain. But when the reality hits with ferocious winds, driving rain, cold, pain from every part of your lower body, the despondency of a mind deprived of sleep and adequate nutrition, and the isolation of plodding along in the darkness alone for hours, what would drive anyone to continue? I'm still a bit stuck on the answer, but a 50% dropout rate indicates the sort of battle that it is.

Pre-race

 

With some disagreements between the moving forecasts, the race organisers had bravely decided, with 48-hours to go, that the race would still proceed, barring a further worsening of the situation; it appeared that the worst of the winds would have occurred early morning on the Friday, and it would have tapered to a (debatably) moderate level by the time the runners set off at midday. This left some challenges; the planned festival village would be cancelled, as it wasn't viable to set up all the tents in time, and the finish line would be erected later in the day. It was a good call, and as the time neared, the winds were predicted to pass earlier in the morning. As it turned out, we'd be starting with barely a breeze in the air, and clear skies.

As 9:30am approached, the runners of the 100-mile event were congregating at Mount Pleasant Ecological Park, having loaded their mid-way drop bags onto a lorry. This was the finish venue at Porthtowan on the north coast, and buses were to arrive to transport us to the start line at Coverack on the south coast for our midday start.

Runners gathering at Mount Pleasant Eco Park

The route would follow the meandering coast path around the very tip of England, with the large, mid-way checkpoint falling at Land's End. We had 36-hours to make it round, with nine aid stations distributed along the route where we could refuel; each aid station was also a checkpoint with a cut-off time, and if you hadn't arrived and left again before the cut-off, you would be immediately disqualified.

While the event has run for a number of years, this year was the first under UTMB ownership, and the fixed aid stations replaced the traditional roving support of the "Arc Angels". I was familiar with the UTMB approach from a previous event, and had checked what food options would be available; Penzance (39 miles) and Land's End (55 miles) would be providing hot meals, the rest would be mostly finger food, with soup and rice pudding at some.

I dismounted the bus at Coverack and was ushered to the area for wave 1; my UTMB index, earned from a few previous events, had placed me in the top half of entrants. I was very pleased about this, having heard many tales of people being caught up and delayed in heavy foot traffic in the early stages of the race, where the paths are very narrow. I could set off in the pack, feeling confident that the pace would be at least appropriate, and knowing that my final finish time would hardly be impacted by those first few hours of the race, unless I were to set off at high speed, chasing the very top runners.

Having made the practical and mental preparations for adverse weather conditions, it was a surprise that it was dry, mild and barely even breezy at the sea front. As we waited for the starting time to arrive, I realised that I was going to be far too warm in my running tights. I dress on the side of warm, and will usually be in tights for half of the year, but here I was at a winter endurance event, changing into my shorts.

As the crowds gathered, I didn't bother to push towards the front; I shuffled in near the back of the group, exactly where my ranking would place me.

Coverack, venue of the race start line

Wave 1 of the 100-mile event waiting to set off

The race

Disclaimer: events may not be chronologically or geographically accurate. My memories are hazy, and I've had to reconstruct the timeline based on photos with their location and timestamps, referencing event-tracked checkpoint arrival times, comparing map locations with images found on the internet and recalling conversations with Claire. I'll make corrections as errors become apparent. I'll also admit that during the race, I barely knew where I was most of the time; the names of places that I've used in this post were mostly deduced from the location of photos I took.

Leg 1: Coverack - Lizard Point

Friday 1200hrs, 0 miles

We descended the road to the sea front with applauding crowds lining the street. This event, along with the UTS, is the biggest I have done, and with over 500 people starting the 100-mile distance, the biggest field I have raced in (aside from some 10k road races many years ago). It made for a fun start. The big pack was soon funnelled in to single file as we peeled of the coastal road on to the path. The up and down began, and a fairly bright day with a noisy, churning sea made it exciting. As we got a little space between us, I started pointing my phone camera at things as I ran.

The sea was mesmerising. Despite living in Cornwall for my teenage years, I have never seen the south coast, or even the north, look like this. Each bay was filled with whiteness, and the waves were coming in closely-spaced and big. It was hard to assess the scale from above, but at points they looked like they could be hitting 20ft. Already this was a worthwhile exercise; turning up at the coast after a storm can be fabulous, and we were set for an epic showing.

A busy start through Coverack

Fierce waves at Black Head

The nature of the trails was much as expected; it was up and down on steep paths and tall steps retained with wood. Hard on the quads going up, hard on the knees going down. I was well-trained for the climbs, and knew the descents would be tough. 100-miles later, they would be really tough.

The downpours of the previous days meant the trails were also muddy. Runners with lesser grip on their soles struggled. We were still running close together when a runner in front of me slipped, falling hard on one of his poles, and snapping it in the process. He'd now have to face completing almost the entire race without this expected equipment, but also having to carry them, as-per the regulations. I was thankful for a shoe failure a week before the race that had caused me to order a new pair; I was on fresh tread, and it was working well. I was also glad of my decision to not use poles, the first time I've undertaken 100-miles without.

The path was punctuated by the small, traditional village of Cadgwith. After dropping in to the village, we headed up the steep road out. A row of supporters applauded the runners. Their enthusiasm picked up as I approached one of them for a quick kiss - it was solicited, of course; this was Claire, my partner who, along with our dog, was my support crew for the weekend. No hanging around for chit-chat though.

The scale of the waves continued to impress, and as Housel Bay, near the Lizard, came into view, I wondered what the locals would make of the conditions. Surely it would be quite a day for them too; the waves were both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Cadgwith

Housel Bay, Lizard

Leg 2: Lizard Point - Porthleven

Friday 1411hrs, 10.5 miles

The cafe hosting the aid station was surrounded by enthusiastic spectators. I hadn't really got engaged in my race strategy yet, and simply defaulted to filling my bottles. I made a token effort to eat some food, but didn't stick around long. It felt early in the race, and I wanted to get moving.

We tracked around the lighthouse and then Lizard Point, continuing enjoying the display of the ocean. We dropped down steeply to Caerthillian Cove. The tide was high, and the water near as we crossed a bridge over the stream. The rocks looked like double cream had been poured all over them, and the whipped up liquid sloshed in and out.

After tracking above Pentreath Bay, I spotted a carpark, familiar from our planning, that we had identified as a potential spectating spot for Claire. As I passed through the carpark, I spotted the van, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. I figured she might have wandered along the path with the dog ready to intercept me. I continued, but it became clear she'd missed me. It transpired later that she'd believed me to be further back on the route as the tracking information was delayed, and was out of sight with the dog.

We hit Kynance Cove, and the zig-zagging white waves were chaotic and powerful. I mused that anyone finding themselves in those waters would be beyond saving by even the most equipped rescue party. It was a great distraction, but I didn't notice that I was neglecting nutrition, and this was mid-way through a 14-mile section. As the miles ticked by, I started to really struggle. I should have been fully in race mode by now, but I'd made my first big error.

Caerthillian Cove

Kynance Cove

After working around the coves of Mullion, Polurrian and and Poldhu, and around a bit more headland, we dropped down to work along next to Porthleven Sands, a very long beach leading up to the checkpoint. Midway along, we had to cross the sandbar that separates the coast from The Loe, the largest freshwater lake in Cornwall. It was a slow trudge, with the sand giving way to every touch.

Sand bar at Porthleven Sands

Leg 3: Porthleven - Penzance

Friday 1708hrs, 25 miles

The light was beginning to fade. We were nudging marathon distance as we followed the road along the side of the harbour, towards the checkpoint. Many spectators were giving vocal encouragement and, reading the names from our race bibs, were calling out our names with encouragement. Each time they did, the emotion bubbled up and I was struggling not to burst into tears. It was a familiar place to be, but was far too early in a race for me to have tipped over this point. It was a major nutrition failure, and I was falling apart. Claire intercepted me and realised my struggle. I sat down in the aid station and sobbed. I couldn't answer what I wanted or needed, but it definitely included a break. We tried tea, sandwiches, soup, anything savoury, anything to recover the situation. It was helping, slowly.

I caught eyes with a familiar face. As I asked the question "where do I know you from?", he immediately answered "13 Valleys". It is always encouraging to see someone you have been in the wars with. He was on his way out while I was just getting started on my checkpoint routine.

Porthleven aid station. Composure regained after soup and coffee.

When I was feeling more composed, I got up to set off. I'd cooled down a lot, and so had the weather. I realised it was time to switch from shorts to tights. I went back in the aid station. It then occurred to me that foot maintenance would also be prudent. I removed my socks, wet from all the muddy stretches, and cleaned my feet. A fresh smothering of lube went on, and clean socks. This would serve me well as the race progressed. I put on my headtorch, and the mandatory tail light on my pack, and headed out.

After a rocky section around Trewavas Head, we joined the road leading along Praa Sands. The path weaved through the beach car parks. Some spectators were pointing where I should go and calling "this way!".They thought I was ignoring them, but I was approaching Claire for a hug.

It was quite moderate terrain round to Cudden Point and onwards to Perranuthnoe; the headland was not high and rather than exposed edges, we were tracking through the sloped heather banks. No difficult climbs or technical terrain to worry about. I arrived in the streets of Marazion, and spotted Claire parked up in the van. After a quick hello, I continued along the streets of the sea front, entirely unaware that I'd just passed St Michael's Mount.

The coast path headed onto the sea wall, St Michael's Way, which then joined up alongside the railway. I was weary and still suffering from my nutritional errors. I hadn't done the necessary work to recover the situation, so was still dehydrated. I was plodding and aching. A much younger runner was doing a lot of stop-start to cope with the mundanity of the straight concrete. We shared our displeasure, as trail runners. My slow plod loosely matched the average of her pace for a while, until she picked it up and headed off the CP. I was in the warzone already. Rookie error. Damn that stupid concrete.

To amplify my frustrations, as another runner asked a question to clarify the route through the carparks at Penzance with me, my watch rebooted. There was a problem every time I interacted with the map screen. To stop further reboots, I switched to another screen; at least this course was mostly obvious, and otherwise clearly marked with flags. I'd leave it alone to track my race.

Leg 4: Penzance - Porthcurno

Friday 2107hrs, 40 miles

Amongst the various aches that were developing, my right knee was getting sore. I know that resting and elevating it can recover the situation, so I located some bench seating in the aid station and planted myself there. I felt the need to lie down for a few minutes. One of the Arc Angels asked me if I was ok, and even I could hear the incoherency of my affirmative response. She asked what I wanted to eat and drink, and deciding an answer and then formulating a response was proving a challenge. We got there eventually, and I tried out some hot food. Beef casserole with dumplings, on rice, was the choice, and it was pretty good. I think I had a tea or a coffee, or both, as I was trying to pull myself together. I knew I needed this.

Departing the checkpoint, it felt like rigor mortis had set in. It was still a long way to half distance. I hobbled along in the hope that both my core and my joints would warm up soon, and something more akin to running might become possible. I drew some strength from experience, knowing that things can improve with nutrition and daylight, and that I do pretty well at the endurance side of things. I also pondered that whatever battle people thought they were fighting with those around them, we hadn't got to half way yet. It was obvious to me that Land's End, the half way point, would be giving up time for many; psychologically, it is very difficult to feel utterly broken, yet set out to do the same all over again. I told myself that the actual race would begin when I left Land's End.

Yet more tedium on tarmac as I plodded around Penzance and through Newlyn. Claire was stopped at the roadside in Newlyn to give a moment of encouragement, as supporters were not permitted at the Penzance checkpoint.

Newlyn Harbour

Things get a little hazy from here to Land's End. I don't tend to take many pictures at night, for obvious reasons, and the stretch to Porthcurno is only punctuated by a couple of notable places - Mousehole and Lamorna Cove - but nothing really stuck in my head. I'm sure if I were to retread my steps, I'd be able to correlate some memories of negotiating the terrain.

Leg 5: Porthcurno - Land's End

Saturday 0046hrs, 50 miles

Porthcurno was the halfway point by distance, but with the drop bags and hot food being at the Land's End checkpoint 4.5 miles later, this would only serve as a intermediate stop. The checkpoint was up on the hill, in a marquee.

I wanted to keep the stop brief, and so attempted a small amount of fuelling, as well as filling my bottles. I'd been ensuring that I refilled 3x500ml bottles, at each stop, with the Naak energy drink supplied at every aid station. Whilst it is a complete nutrition drink, it must be consumed at the required rate to cover both hydration and calorie requirements. I hadn't been. Given I was supplementing with food, I should have taken a mixed drink approach and ensured I was getting sufficient fluids down. I wasn't, and the dehydration challenges continued. It seems so obvious as I write this, and from prior experience I know how to handle this approach, but a late decision to use this instead of my own supplied Tailwind powder had impacted my strategy significantly, and I wasn't thinking straight. I left the checkpoint, once again dehydrated and feeling rough.

I forgot to look out for the Minnack Theatre as I headed out from the checkpoint into the darkness. As best I can remember, we were on a section with a lot of clifftop running. The sea was intimidating, roaring and crashing below us. Occasionally, it would hit a cave and a low boom would resonate through the air.

As I navigated awkward rocky paths, scrambling up, between and down rocks, and sliding around in mud, I'd occasionally point my head torch to the side, and be reminded that only the grip on my soles and some good balancing skills were protecting me from falling to my death, either by rocks or being swallowed by the monstrous swirling currents. Miniature flags were used to mark the route, and they were easily picked out with a head torch. Occasionally, a red one would appear, gently indicating the substantial risk of a cliff edge. I slowed my pace when I realised the risk level, but on one occasion I leapt down a rock, steadying myself in some mud, only to realise I was less than a ruler's length from a very big drop. I was glad that we weren't been subjected to high winds, and hoped all the runners would make it round safely.

Weaving through rocks at Nanjizal Bay

Despite the shortness of this leg, I was feeling a bit desperate to reach the Land’s End checkpoint for a proper rest and some hot foot. I could see lights on a high point in the distance, but it appeared a long way off. I kept plodding, and eventually the lights got closer. Just to delay it a little more, there was inevitably a descent followed by a steep climb to earn that break.

Leg 6: Land's End - Botallack

Saturday 0228hrs, 55 miles

Claire was waiting as I arrived. This wasn’t going to be a quick stop, so a different priority order was followed: find drop bag, loo, get changed/washed/lubed, sit, hot drink. I dithered around the next questions about what I wanted to eat; beef chilli appealed, and went down easily. I followed with some chicken soup, which was as much chicken as liquid. I charged my phone, swapped fresh socks and top for dirties in my pack, swapped my charge packs over and grabbed some new food items from my drop bag, though I had barely used anything carried in the first half. I wasn’t wasting time, but inevitably this all took a while.

Once I was ready to resume, it was decision time about whether I would sleep. With this race only straddling a single night (UTS and 13 Valleys cross two for everyone except the elite), no sleeping provision was made. Yet I know that a short sleep can bring a huge freshness, and earn you more than the time it costs. I found a quiet spot on the floor of the hotel lobby, and told Claire to wake me in 10 mins.

I must have drifted off with about 2 mins to spare. Claire woke me, and I got straight up and headed for the exit. My knee felt a lot better, and I was feeling alert and running well.

Over the next couple of hours, I ploughed forward with a strength that had alluded me for a long while. I caught and passed several runners who had leap-frogged me while I slept. The impact of that short sleep was striking - I was alert and pushing, while others were wrestling with drooping eyelids and fatigue. I barely registered the landmarks; it was dark and I was focused on running. The normally beautiful Sennen Cove went by unnoticed. A technical, rocky section around Aire Point required concentration. Gribba Point round to Cape Cornwall was only notable for the technical level, or where I could hear that I was near a cliff edge with the sea roaring below.

Daylight was gradually starting to appear. Those around me were flagging, and some with poles struggled to negotiate rocky patches and difficult descents. I kept catching such people, and they would willingly let me pass, looking broken. One guy commented that I looked stronger than him, to which I replied “my legs don’t feel that strong”. He followed by saying I was skipping over the rocks like a gazelle. He wasn’t wrong. I caught a group of maybe four runners as we hit a bed of huge, smooth, round stones. The group were gingerly trying to step onto the rocks. I leapt around them like it was a game, and skipped my way across, and disappeared up the path. This was going well; all that training around Kinder Downfall was paying dividends.

Leg 7: Botallack - St Ives

Saturday 0558hrs, 63 miles

Though I’d knocked out a very good leg to Botallack, I’d neglected to keep up the fuelling, and arrived at the aid station once again quite broken. There were no hot food options at this stop, and my attempts to eat didn't work too well, nothing appealed and I was feeling quite sick. I only managed a small amount of food and drink, and wanted to get moving again.

The next section developed into something unforgettable for everyone who had reached this point in the race. I had neglected to study the route or factor in the variable distances between aid stations, and this was the longest. It was also significantly tougher terrain than previous sections. Its first delight was a swampy field on a slope where the path repeatedly gave way to streams, and it wasn’t obvious how to get around them without getting soaking and muddy. I tried, but failed. It was very slow going. The terrain eventually switched to rock fields, requiring much care to avoid injury. I was less agile than previously. Rocks and wet mud combined to make some very tricky going. As the plodding went on, I was aware of runners a way ahead and behind, but we mostly held positions; everyone was finding it hard and going slow. A couple of runners eventually passed; I was unsure if they were on a shorter distance event, which seemed likely.

The terrain was stunning, but I couldn't muster enthusiasm at this point. The rock fields at Bosigran required some effort to negotiate. I took a few photos of the big rock formations near Rosemergy, but otherwise just dug in and willed myself to keep moving until St Ives.

Rock formations near Rosemergy

Technical terrain at Bosigran

Porthmeor Cove

Wild ponies near Gurnard's Head

Above Carnelloe Long Rock

Zennor

Wicca Cliff and Mussel Point

I had conferred with Claire, and it was clear that St Ives was still a way off, which was a demoralising discovery. Claire found somewhere beyond Zennor to park up, and hiked over to the coast path to give encouragement. It was a small boost, but I felt broken, the dehydration really bringing my mood down. I was trying to drink, and managing some, but not enough for the long time on this section and I was once again battling to stay in the race.

I set off moving again, on a very technical downhill section. The leaders of the 25km event appeared behind, moving at a ferocious pace. I had to move aside, and marvelled at the way they leapt over the rocks at high speed. The stream of people kept coming, but as the pace became slower and the path became wider, I had to move aside less and could let them find their own way around me.

As Porthmeor Beach came in to view, the first beach of St Ives, I saw people surfing. Where the sea had been intimidating and chaotic along the rocky coastline, here it had eased a little and the waves coming in were clean and big. The sun was shining, and it felt like late May. My spirits lifted a little; what a time to be running this coastline.

Porthmeor Beach, St Ives

Leg 8: St Ives - Godrevy

Saturday 1206hrs, 78 miles

I arrived at the checkpoint feeling quite sick and dehydrated. The expression on my face was easily interpreted by the checkpoint volunteers, and they did everything they could to help. It took a while, but I managed to get various bits of food down, along with a tea and a coffee. I really needed to recover the fuelling situation. Probably the biggest win was a large bowl of rice pudding, putting calories, carbs and fluids back in, along with helpful sugar-boost.

I set out along the streets of the town, now in shorts and sporting sunglasses. Minutes later, I realised that I'd made a mistake by not using the toilet. We were into a busy section of the race, and I was mixed in with many runners from other race distances, so there wouldn't be any easy opportunities to sneak behind a hedge with my trowel. The town toilets were closed for the low season, much to my frustration. I spotted some more near Porthminster Beach, just before heading back up on to the coast path, and they were open. Catastrophe averted.

Porthminster Beach, St Ives

As we passed Carbis Bay, the fake summer showing continued; the sun was shining, and people were everywhere with surfboards. They weren't in winter kit, but I doubt the sea was anything other than freezing. Hayle looked magnificent, and I started thinking about holidays.

My right knee was pretty uncomfortable, a familiar and old injury that occasionally caused me problems, usually if I revert to heel-striking. I stopped for a discrete wee behind a hedge, and then was stuck; swelling in the joint made it hugely painful to walk, let alone run. I lay on a wall for a few minutes, hoping that elevating it would relieve the issue, as it sometimes does. It barely worked, but I hobbled forward.

We turned inland, through the town, heading up the estuary to a point where we could cross. I put on a brave face as we passed some Arc Angels, but immediately started looking for somewhere to lie down again. I spotted a bench and reclined. An Arc Angel came over and asked me if I was ok; she was a bit concerned, but I was familiar with my issue. After a few minutes, I carried on an alternating run-walk, amongst the slower of the runners on the 25k event. At least I was keeping up with them.

It was a 17km section to Godrevy, and far flatter than anything prior. Nevertheless, my knee resented the hard, flat surfaces. That was soon remedied as we entered the sand dunes. They looked lovely in the sunshine, and certainly eased the problem with my knee, but the effort level went up and I was going slow. I ploughed on, up and down, knowing that somewhere, right at the end of this very long beach, was the next checkpoint. Claire would be there to support and, importantly, it was the penultimate checkpoint.

Hayle estuary - pretty, but the tarmac running was torturous

Surf at Hayle Beach

Dunes along the Towans

Leg 9: Godrevy - Porthreath

Saturday 1534hrs, 89 miles

Arriving at Lula Crab Shack, Godrevy

Resting legs in the sunshine at Godrevy (but cold air)

The Lula Crab Shack was visible beyond the last few dunes, and tantalisingly close, yet it took ages to follow the meandering path around to a stream crossing and up the drive. A fellow 100-mile runner caught me and gave me a fist-bump; that act was a boost, reminding me that we had broken the back of this run, and sooner or later we'd be at the finish, collecting a medal.

There was nothing that appealed in the aid station. I headed outside and stretched out on a picnic bench, enjoying the sunshine. There was work to do; I needed to eat. It took a while, and I really wanted hot food rather than the available finger-food. Another runner dashed out of the cafe and vomited over the fence. Even at this late stage, his race was significantly at risk; he would need to take a lot of time to recover. I wasn't doing so bad after all.

Weather starting to turn after Godrevy CP

Hell's Mouth

I'd have liked this to be the last leg, but at least the last two combined were less than a half marathon, around 12 miles. I could cope with that, I just needed to keep plodding. I didn't relish the finish that would now be in darkness, and I knew that the sub-30 hour finish (for a gold medal) I'd hoped for was now impossible, but finishing at all would be a great achievement.

More cliff tops, more stunning scenery. The sunshine finally gave way, and shortly after we got a brief drenching. I wasn't bothered. 

Leg 10: Porthreath - Porthtowan

Saturday 1805hrs, 96 miles

The final checkpoint is always easier. There was around 5 miles remaining, so no need for all bottles to be filled. I needed to eat and drink a little, but it was far less critical now. Claire joined me at the aid station, and kept giving encouragement. I was hurting and still dehydrated, but I could finish this on my hands and knees if necessary, I wouldn't be stopped now.

With headtorches on, we were headed up to higher paths once again. Once up there this was flat and easy. I picked up my pace, despite the pain, and pushed on to get it done. Frustratingly, my head torch battery died. I stopped and made the change, but as before, stopping gave my knee the chance to swell, and I was back into problems. I lay on the grass briefly to give it a chance, but then accepted my fate - this was going to hurt. I started running, and wincing in pain. I hoped that warming the joint would ease things, as well as the paracetamol from the previous checkpoint kicking in.

Fresh mud and slippery paths

With a fresh smattering of rain, the mud paths hard turned to slippery slime, and we were skating around, trying to stay upright. I attempted to skip around muddy puddles, but it really didn't matter. After an hour or so of relatively easy paths, lights came into view, and I knew Porthtowan was near. We had quite a long, stony descent down, and then on the road down to the village. Volunteers directed us along the road for longer than I expected or wanted. I was waiting for the final installment; I knew the finish venue was on a hill.

Finish: Porthtowan

Saturday 1944hrs, 101 miles (102.8 miles tracked)

I'd traded places a few times during the last leg with some familiar faces on the 100-mile event. I thought they'd have dropped me by now, given my struggles, but I was still near them. We were directed off the road, and we soon hit a seriously steep hillside and some tall wooden steps. We might have expected our quads to be dead at this point, but the knowledge that the finish was above us released a new gear. We were racing up a path that would be leg-burning to hike, and we weren't backing off.

Given the enthusiasm of those in front, I didn't expect to catch them, but it was great fun, and I certainly didn't want to lose any further places. I kept pushing, and my legs felt strong. The hill was done and we were zig-zagging around the park to get to the finish line. A runner in front, on a shorter distance, dropped his cup shortly before the finish. With no prospect of gaining a place, I paused to pick it up, then made my dash to the finish. I stopped, and my knee instantly seized. I hobbled to collect my medal.

Knees no longer working

Conclusion

As I finished, I already knew the DNF rate on this year's event was high, and there were over a hundred still out there behind me, some of whom wouldn't make it. Ultimately, only half of the field would make it, despite the modest weather conditions. It was a very challenging course. The interviewer had asked me if it was as challenging as the UTS, and in the moment I couldn't really say conclusively. It didn't take long for my brain to start whirring afterwards though. No, not as hard as the UTS. It had taken me a full 13 hours less, which indicates quite what a huge physical challenge the UTS presents. Did it feel as hard? Quite possibly, mostly due to my repeated failures with hydration and fuelling.

I feel frustrated that I succumbed to such fuelling issues, given my experience in this area. The last minute decision to work with the Naak drink was a mistake, and I could have changed my approach during the race. Ultimately, it cost me the gold buckle. Nevertheless, it is still a monumentally hard race, and as I read people's tales of their experience, I feel proud to have pushed through and finished it despite the challenges. On top of ticking off this notoriously difficult event, it marks the fifth 100-mile race I have started, and the fifth I have finished. Of those five, four are amongst the most difficult 100-mile races the UK has to offer, and all have had DNF rates exceeding 50% on the years I have competed. I feel those statistics justify me taking a minute to feel proud.

Related links

• Event homepage (includes elevation profile)
• Race highlights video on YouTube
• Race highlight images on Instagram

2024: Year in review

 The numbers

Running

• 203 runs
• 2637.4km
• 365hrs 30mins
• 89,108m ascent

Walking

• 367 walks (inc daily dog walks)
• 1238.5km
• 303hrs 48mins
• 34,819m ascent

The races

• Completed UTS-100M for the first time
• Completed RAT The Plague (100km) for the first time
• Whaley Waltz
• Marple Beer Run
• Completed 13 Valleys (100M) for the second time - PB
• Media City 10km - 10k PB
• Bowstones Fell Race

Thoughts

I've completed fewer runs this year - I was deliberately avoiding the every day running trap, instead ensuring more rest and more effective training. I was still not incorporating enough fast/hard days (sleep has not been good enough, in general), but I have been quite focused on hill strength. It is the most elevation I've completed in a year, despite being lower mileage than the previous two; this reflects my focus in the lead up to the UTS. I feel the hill training was productive, as it enabled me to successfully complete the incredibly tough UTS. I'm repeating that race again next year, but am incorporating strength training in my routine, which should help manage the brutal climbs better. Also, I've been progressively doing more hiking, including more difficult climbs on short dog walks.

The second bite at the 13 Valleys was quite revealing - despite a chaotic training period, abruptly halted by breaking my toe, it went really well, and I took several hours off my time. I felt stronger doing it, which I attribute to sustained endurance practice in more difficult terrain and hills. It is the first 100-mile race I've done that wasn't a step up in difficulty from the previous, and so was a good measure of progress. My race management has also improved a lot, with more effective fuelling, including diagnosing fuelling-related issues before they become acute.

Starting on strength training has revealed where some of my challenges lie - mechanical discomfort in long races is in part due to lacking strength in my hips and core. I'm starting to make improvements by training on more difficult terrain, including hiking and some scrambling, but focus effort in circuit training is also really helping.

Next Up: 2025 goals

• Arc of Attrition (100 miles) in January - first attempt
• UTS-100M in May - second attempt
• UTMB in August, if I succeed in the lottery
• ...otherwise, another 100-miler, possibly 13 Valleys again

I have been considering other challenges, including a Bob Graham round, but I love the 100-mile, single stage challenge; I feel that the endurance battle, including the fuelling challenges and sleep deprivation, is something that I enjoy and do quite well at. I might throw in some other shorter races, but completing two 100-mile races and a 100km race this year has proved a pretty challenging schedule; completing three 100-milers in 2025 is going to demand quite a lot of my body and training.

13 Valleys 2024

• Distance: 118.4 miles (tracked)
• Elevation: 22,677 feet (tracked)
• Elapsed Time: 39:17:04 (official)
• Estimated calories: 17,045
• Position: 21st
• Total finishers (within 46.5-hour cutoff): 40, of 113 starters (64.6% DNF)

Round #2

This was to be my second attempt at the 13 Valleys Ultra, a 114-mile trail marathon, starting in Keswick, that heads over the fells to visit all 13 valleys of the Lake District via an established route. It is a challenging route that includes varied and difficult terrain and a substantial amount of elevation. I enjoyed the challenge of my first attempt, and hoped to improve my result this time with better race management. Last year, this was my second 100-mile distance race and the hardest; this year, it was to be my fourth, following the harder Ultra Trail Snowdonia earlier in the year. I nevertheless approached this with caution, knowing it to be a very long and challenging route.

Pre-race

Race day was set to be a long one before I'd even embarked upon the run. The starting venue was the lakeside park at Derwent Water in Keswick. The start time was Friday 6pm. Working backwards from that in my plan, I wanted some time to have a quick nap and do final prep, so I'd need to register and kit check after lunch. Before heading to Keswick, I needed to stop by Coniston to book in at a campsite for my support crew, in order that they would have a barrier card for their late arrival. With total driving time looking to be around 3.5 hours, I'd need an early start.

Even with all my kit ready in advance, I was still slow getting away. My head was buzzing with all the planning and logistics. Sleep had thankfully been decent, but I still didn't feel replenished; it had become clear that my late recce weekend two weeks prior was too much, too close to the event, and I hadn't properly recovered. I dismissed any concerns about being recovered, recalling the sleep-deprived state in which I began the UTS (my hardest race to date); no fixing it now, only training and resolve would get me round.

Arriving at Coniston in beautiful weather

The weather defied the forecast, and I arrived at Coniston in beautiful sunshine, which lifted my spirits. A pit stop at Ambleside for a Cornish pasty, pastel de nata and an espresso lifted them further. Arriving in Keswick, a fellow runner saved me the extortionate parking price by giving me the remainder of his paid time, and I got through kit check and registration swiftly. I drove out to Borrowdale to drop the car at the YHA until my arrival after the race on Sunday, and then caught a bus back to Keswick. The event logistics for me and my supporters were complicated; the plan had been weeks in the making.

Everything was going to plan, but I still found myself fretting over kit decisions; I made about four swaps of items between my race pack and drop bag (which would be available at Grasmere checkpoint around, 73 miles in). At the last minute, I decided to swap from shorts to leggings as the temperature was cool and we would soon be heading into night. This left me with just a few minutes to get amongst the runners at the start line, making it all a bit more stressful. 

Amongst the other runners, I chatted to my friend Rob, who was also repeating the event from last year. We conferred on strategies and had slightly different approaches in mind. I wanted to make an early push, so I wriggled my way up the pack. I knew early track position wouldn't matter on a race of this scale, given we'd be finishing with huge time gaps across the field and that many runners wouldn't finish at all. Still, I wanted to put in some strong early sections.

The race

Leg 1: Keswick - Honister

Friday 1800hrs, 0 miles

Start line at Derwent Water lakeside

The weather had become a little less convincing as the afternoon had rolled on; it was slightly chilly, and rain looked possible. As we headed through the Derwent Water lakeside park, I picked forward a little further as I wanted to be with people of same pace on the early narrow paths, where we'd be in single-file.

The light was fading as we headed out of Borrowdale, and it was dark as we closed in on Honister Pass. I headed up the track to the slate quarry, expecting to be excitedly greeted by my kids and wife, as they were due to have arrived a little earlier.

Heading towards dusk under Cat Bells

Leg 2: Honistor - Wasdale Head

Friday 1952hrs, 9.64 miles

The tables of drinks and snacks were lined up outside the cafe at the quarry. As I approached, I looked around for my support crew, but they were nowhere to be seen. My strategy was to be efficient and effective with checkpoints; this stop required only a quick refill and a snack, so I wasted no time. I set off up the hill in to the darkness. I couldn't worry about what had delayed my supporters - probably sheep blocking the road or something. Claire had a document with all the timings and locations listed, she'd figure it out.

As I ascended the steep slate track, another runner turned round and called out that we'd gone wrong. I'd made exactly the same mistake as last year, and missed the even steeper track off to the left; I hadn't been looking at the route plot on my watch as I was busy getting my poles out. No matter, it was a minor detour.

After a trudge along the slate-covered top at Dubs Quarry came a steep and jagged technical descent beside Warnscale Beck. Runners less versed in such terrain were moving cautiously down the climb, but I was on fresh legs and confident, so I kept a good pace. The roar of the waterfall and the brooding outline of Hay Stacks can be intimidating in the dark, but for me this is part of the fun. We eventually hit the flat of the valley before a brief intersection with the road at Gatesgarth; this was the second planned meeting point with my supporters, though not a checkpoint, and the last before morning.

I cruised over to the car park, expecting to see the van parked up, but again they were nowhere to be seen. At this moment I realised I hadn't followed the plan; as a contingency in case I missed them, I was meant to hand the campsite barrier pass to the marshalls at the previous checkpoint, but I'd forgotten. We had no protocol for this scenario, nor phone signal. I had a minor panic, and stopped where I was, not knowing what to do.

Seconds later, headlights appeared, it was my support crew. Problem averted. My race number had torn and was hanging off, so I grabbed some insulation tape and a knife from the van, and sorted the situation out. A few minutes lost, and back underway. I'd see them in Coniston some time early in the morning after they'd slept.

The first big ascent followed, Scarth Gap Pass, leaving Buttermere behind (not that we could see it) and cutting between High Crag and Hay Stacks. In the next valley, we passed Black Sail Hut, but this year there was no feed station there. I visualised the beauty of the wide stream, reminiscent of the Canadian Rockies, but could see little in the darkness. We began the climb up Black Sail Pass, which was predictably damp but not enough for soaking feet this time.

I kept momentum as I summited and descended the pass, and picked up the valley at the west foot of Kirk Fell along to the checkpoint.

Leg 3: Wasdale Head - Eskdale

Friday 2232hrs, 17.93 miles

The freshness had now gone from my legs. I commented to a marshall that I felt like I'd already done 80 miles. Experience told me not to worry, the way you feel during a run can vary a lot, and is highly affected by state of fuelling. All the runners around me were being purposeful in filling bottles and eating snacks, eager to crack on; I followed suit and tried to be efficient with my stop. I realised that the new shoes I'd worn for the first time today were a little stiff at the back and had been rubbing my achilles tendon, so I took the time to put a blister patch on my left side.

I followed the valley down to Wast Water, and after crossing the valley at the head of it, I knew I'd be entering some more big hills, but a less familiar combination. Even though I'd rehearsed the route on the map, in my already tired state I forgot that Eskdale came next, and was thinking I was on the hills leading to Coniston.

Eskdale Fell was not as boggy as last year, and progress was good. My optimistic timings for this year had me arriving at Dalegarth Station (a different checkpoint location from last year) at around 30 mins earlier; I actually arrived a full 1.5 hours earlier.

Leg 4: Eskdale - Coniston

Saturday 0004hrs, 23.74 miles

This was the first chance for hot food, and I observed that I hadn't been fuelling as well as I might; I accepted the offer of soup and grabbed whatever other savouries I could, as well as a coffee. I didn't rush at this stop, recognising that I wasn't in the best shape; I needed to rehydrate and get some calories in. Fortunately, there were no injuries to tend to or kit to organise, so it was still a fairly swift stop.

The checkpoint had required a little detour from the route, so as I followed it back, I passed a bunch of runners I'd previously been close to. I realised I'd been pulling out a gap, and now had more than a pitstop in hand - fairly meaningless for final standings, but a good reference that my progress was good.

Passing the first marathon distance gave mixed feelings; it indicated a substantial distance covered, but knowing that more than three further marathons remained was intimidating. Having prior experience makes such a difference in these scenarios as you know that whilst it will be tough, it is not as simple as becoming progressively more tired, weaker and in more pain; night time is difficult but morning is easier; good fuelling will pull you back to happier place and make you stronger.

I got chatting to another runner as I worked around Harter Fell, High Tongue and then tackled the long ascent up to Walna Scar. This was his first 100-mile race, and first overnight run; I mused that whilst he was doing well now, there were huge new challenges ahead. I gave him the advice that when you think it is falling apart and you can't continue, you probably just need to eat and drink, and with hours in hand to cutoffs, you can always take a long stop to recover. I hope he succeeded, it seemed a big step up.

As we began the long descent to Coniston, I became aware of a developing niggle in my knee; this was not welcome news. I recalled how last year I had estimated a 5am arrival at the Boathouse, and Claire had eagerly driven over to the checkpoint with sleeping children at 4:30am, only for me to take a very long time descending and arrive at 6am. This time, I found myself entering Coniston village at 4am, knowing Claire's alarm wouldn't go off until 4:30 for her to check my tracker. I tried ringing, but no reply. I would be gone before she even woke.

Leg 5: Coniston - Wray Castle

Saturday 0406hrs, 36.78 miles

Last year, I was feeling quite broken by this point, and had a long pitstop to refuel and manage feet. Dawn was about to arrive and I had been desperate for a sleep. This year, it was a brief and routine stop; I shovelled some rice pudding down, filled my bottles, and set out purposefully again. Claire messaged, and I said I'd meet her at the next planned rendezvous at Elterwater, after Wray Castle and post-breakfast.

I was wondering where I might grab a short sleep. Last year, I'd found a patch under some fir trees, but this time round some light rain had been falling and the ground was wet everywhere. I thought I'd delay until later.

As I made my way over to Hawkshead, my knee started giving a clearer message - it was very unhappy, and rapidly getting painful to the point where I couldn't run. As the pain increased, I'd been distracted from eating and drinking for a while. My mood was plummeting, but I hadn't quite realised. I'd been running with a small group as the sun rose, but had to slow and they disappeared off. Acknowledging the remaining distance, I concluded that I couldn't run 70 miles in this state, and with the prospect of a new best time evaporating, I wouldn't have the will either. I formed a plan - I'd pull out at the next checkpoint, get Claire to pick me up, and enjoy the remainder of the weekend supporting my friend Rob and the other runners, and sitting in cafes enjoying the views. But before that, I'd try a quick sleep to see if it helped a bit. I dragged myself off the trail, under some trees, set a 15-minute timer on my phone and reclined on my pack.

It wasn't much of a sleep, if any at all. I got up feeling very grumpy and frustrated, and continued planning my retirement from the race. As I made my way along the trail, it dawned on me that my knee wasn't actually hurting much, I was just grumpy and negative. The voice of experience returned and told me the obvious: I hadn't been fuelling. I set about shovelling food and drink in, as well as a couple of ibuprofen tablets.

Sure enough, as I reached the shores of Windermere, my mood was starting to recover, and I was running ok. I took some pics of a beautiful sunrise, and set about getting to the breakfast checkpoint.

Windermere shore at dawn, just below Wray Castle

Leg 6: Wray Castle - Stickle Barn

Saturday 0710hrs, 46.10 miles

The friendly volunteers at Wray Castle brought me food and drinks and filled my bottles. I had coffee and as much food as I could stomach. I took the opportunity for a sock change and re-lube, in an attempt to fend off the blistering I suffered last year. I remained weary as I set out, but was managing to run.

Periodically, the knee pain came and went. I concluded that it was eased by rest, so I just needed to take adequate breaks at the checkpoints and whenever required.

Heading towards Skelwith Fold

I reached Skelwith Fold, and was suddenly on familiar territory; I'd been here two weeks prior to recce the middle section of the race route. I tracked along the waterfalls and the shore of Elter Water, and as I picked up the straight path to Elterwater village, I saw a familiar dog. I called her to me, and got an excited greeting. The kids joined me for some running and I briefly chatted with Claire. I continued on, as she'd be meeting me shortly at the Stickle Barn checkpoint.

Elter Water, looking into the Langdale fells

Greeted by a familiar face near Elterwater village

Leg 7: Stickle Barn - Rosthwaite

Saturday 0909hrs, 53.59 miles

I found myself frustrated at the lack of savoury options at the checkpoint; I avoid sweet foods on long runs as they get tiresome. I only ate some crisps, and continued relying upon the Tailwind I'd brought with me. That wouldn't solve it, as I'd only brought half of what I'd need, expecting to be able to eat more at the stops.

Rob's partner appeared and said he'd had a fall and injured his knee on a rock. He was still going, but not in a good state.

Great Langdale

Dungeon Ghyll, near Stickle Barn checkpoint

Dungeon Ghyll

I headed out along the Langdale valley, knee still unhappy, but also suffering for lack of fuel. It was hard work, even along the flat. The terrain was beautiful as I headed under Langdale Fell, but today I didn't appreciate it much. As I started up Rossett Gill, I found myself frustrated by the number of hiking groups and their incompetence at making space for me to pass. A friendly group offered some encouragement, and asked if I'd like a home-made protein ball; I accepted, knowing I really needed such a thing. It quickly made a difference as the climb got tough.

The ascent to Rossett Pike up Rossett Gill

Looking back along the Langdale valley from Rossett Gill

Weather closing in at Sprinkling Tarn, after Rossett Pike

Above Taylorgill Force, looking down to Borrowdale

Hikers were looking a little lost as the path evaporated, the route requiring a bit of scrambling up by the waterfall until something path-like reappeared; knowing the route better now, I pushed on up to the pike, and continued immediately to descend to Angle Tarn and up again to Tongue Head. Rain had set in, so I had my jacket on and hood up. My mood still wasn't great, but I was making progress and catching up with other runners.

I relished the challenge of the technical descent to Sty Head, the jagged rock field down to Taylorgill Force and the rocky descent beyond. It wasn't the first time I'd done it in the rain and I seemed more confident on my feet than other runners around me. I was still moving well as I entered the familiar youth hostel grounds at Rosthwaite but I had no recollection of the checkpoint venue from the previous year.

Leg 8: Rosthwaite - Grasmere

Saturday 1301hrs, 64.66 miles

Things were going well. Last year, I'd arrived here at 1631. My estimate for today was 1400 but despite my knee issues, I'd arrived at 1301. I was on for a really good race time. I made no assumptions, there was still a long way to go, and the second night presents the biggest challenges.

I made good efforts at fuelling at the checkpoint. One of the volunteers recognised me from the previous year, and I finally started recovering some memories of this point in the race (my tired brain hadn't seemed to keep a good record). As I set out, the rain had started coming down again so I put my jacket back on and hood up.

I was managing the occasional knee pain. I finally twigged that I'd reverted to heel-striking when doing my slow patter, something I'd trained myself out of. The solution was simple; go back to mid-strike running, and the knee pain fades. I had a plan, I could get round.

The section from Stonethwaite up to Greenup Edge was where things got a bit wild last year. I'd been reduced to a plod on the difficult ascent up Greenup Gill, had struggled to track the route up the waterfall and ended up climbing up a steep grass bank in the rain and fading light. Hallucinations had begun, my tired brain failing to interpret what it saw.

I was faring much better today. I passed several other runners, ones who had been ahead of me until this point, as they walked the flats and I was committed to holding a slow jog. As it got steep, I kept a confident pace. I knew exactly what was to come, so I kept it gentle on the steepest bits, but was not stopping at any point.

Looking back from Lining Crag at the ascent, with Greenup Edge to the right. Last year, navigational error in bad weather had found us clambering up the grass to the right

The strange lumps of Greenup Edge, from Lining Crag

This high section and the descent to Grasmere Common were where the horrific rainfall last year, in the darkness, really presented a challenge. This year, the rain was intermittent and light, and it was a long way from dusk, so I was picking along the route with a steady but constant jog. When we hit a section that traverses a bog, with no clear path, other runners were getting confused by the plotted route and meandering around. I knew what to do, but still got caught out by the awkward footing and slipped on a rock, putting some big grazes on my little finger, blood pouring everywhere. I cursed the pointless detour through the rutted grassland, but kept pushing. I led the way for some other runners as we skipped over the stream and tracked back towards a more sensible path. My feet were now soaked through.

I knew I was closing on Grasmere because of the houses, and then I joined the road down to the village. Glancing at the time, I knew it was going well, and I was over 3 hours ahead of last year.

Leg 9: Grasmere - Ambleside

Saturday 1718hrs, 72.88 miles

The tiredness was starting to hit, and this checkpoint was my chance for a sleep, as well as getting access to my drop bag. Having found my support crew, I set about eating, drinking, changing my clothes and doing some foot maintenance. Kit had to be swapped between my bag and my pack, including torch batteries, spare socks, Tailwind powder for my drinks and snacks. It was a lot to think about, and took some time. I ate some lasagne and rice pudding.

Unlike last year, there was no room for sleeping, instead there were a few small tents in the car park. As with last year, it became apparent that nobody was taking the opportunity to sleep - they hadn't even set up the sleeping mats. Claire asked the marshal if I could sleep in our van instead, which seemed a reasonable request given the situation. I grabbed a comfortable 15 minutes.

When I got up, I was surprised that other runners who I thought might have set off again were still at the checkpoint. Clearly, most people were in need of a bigger rest and time to sort equipment out. I wanted to get back on it; it would be a great boost to have passed through Ambleside in daylight too.

I was feeling pretty weary as I tracked along Grasmere and Rydal Water. I remembered them being a ponderous walk/jog in heavy rain last year, and encouraged myself to keep a better pace. I passed my support crew at Pelter Bridge but continued straight on towards Rothay Park.

Grasmere, with Loughrigg in view to the right

Grasmere, looking back towards the village

Leg 10: Ambleside - Hayeswater

Saturday 1824hrs, 77.54 miles

It had been quite a short leg from Grasmere, and having eaten hot food there, I didn't really feel the need to take on much at Ambleside. This would prove to be a mistake. I was also struggling with the lack of savoury choices, grabbing some crisps and a Babybel, but nothing of substance. I paused for a few minutes on a bench to rest my knee and drink a cup of tea, and then set off.

Darkness fell as I left Ambleside and worked my way round to Troutbeck. I passed my support crew near the Kirkstone Pass road, then headed across the valley to join the trail up to High Street.

Windermere from above Waterside

I was now feeling weary, and this trail became quite boring. It was fairly dull in daylight, but in the dark I was wishing for the arrival of the climb. When I got to it, I quickly realised I was very tired and I hadn't been fuelling. The High Street approach to Thornthwaite Crag, via Park Fell, is a fiercely steep and long grassy climb. It was wet and slippery, the grass becoming churned up into mud. I had seen slowly moving headtorches for miles as I approached it, and now on the hill we were all ending up closer together as people staggered around. I passed a group on a shorter race event, who seemed a little out of their depth; I probably looked it too, but as ever I kept pushing onwards. I was getting grumpy and frustrated at the length of the climb.

Eventually, I arrived at the familiar monument at Thornthwaite Crag. Here my familiarity with the route ended, as my previous recce left the course a different way. I followed the route on my watch over the indistinct High Street summit and onwards to The Knott. I couldn't identify either, and the contours of the hill were not as I expected; I was a bit confused about the direction and repeated ascent, expecting soon to be descending to Hayeswater, but it never seemed to come. I didn't have the benefit of a view of the water below, so was just following a line on my screen.

Thornthwaite Crag, after a challenging ascent

The descent eventually began, and I quickly became frustrated. The ground was now really wet, and the path was very rutted and muddy, rocky in parts. As it got steeper, I was having to take a lot of care not to slip, but also having to really pick my feet up and skip around; my body was feeling very stiff and tired, so this wasn't welcome at all. The path got even more steep and awkward, turning into grassy clumps. My feet were beginning to blister from the constant shoe movements on the uneven ground. My sense of humour departed; I really wanted to get to the checkpoint.

I was aware that a bridge had been washed away in recent storms, so people had been devising alternative routes, prior to the event, to get across the river. I couldn't see an appropriate path anywhere, so decided to take my chances and head for the original bridge location, which still involved skipping across a field of clumped grass. The river was quite wide and intimidatingly noisy, but after a very quick assessment I determined that it wasn't particularly dangerous and I could skip across some rocks. Seconds later I was ploughing on, at least feeling glad I hadn't wasted more time. The last awkward track to the checkpoint was the final straw, and I arrived feeling annoyed and vowing I would never take on this event again.

Leg 11: Hayeswater - Glenridding

Saturday 2320hrs, 90.01 miles

A marshall asked how it was going, and I gave a monosyllabic response, reflecting my disgruntlement. I set about remedying my fuelling mistakes as best I could. I was feeling pretty weary, and felt like I'd gone backwards with my timings. On reflection, I was actually still an hour ahead of my estimate, and nearly 5 hours ahead of last year - it might have helped me to know this. I should have invested more time in refuelling.

When I left the checkpoint, I was not in a good state. I was struggling to persuade myself to jog, doing a lot of walking down the long road to the village. I knew an uninspiring section lay ahead. Eventually arriving at Hartsop village, I picked up the trail to Patterdale, where my family were camping. It took far longer than I'd predicted, and was not as flat as I believed. When I eventually found the van, Claire was surprised that I was later than my prediction; this also led me to believe things weren't going too well. I stopped for a 5 minute sleep in the van, to try and give me a boost.

As with last year, the plod from Glenridding village to the checkpoint up the hill was painfully long and demoralising; at least I wasn't cold this time. I arrived in the room with the roaring fire feeling a bit rough, but certainly nothing like last year. I was trying to refuel, but struggling. Soup and rice pudding proved the best options. 

Leg 12: Glenridding - Threlkeld

Sunday 0213hrs, 95.91 miles

No waiting for dawn this time, I set out into the night. The zigzag path up to Sticks Pass was steep and hard going, but I knew it wasn't far to the quarry. I reassured another runner that once we'd got this over with, it was just the slate path along the top followed by a tricky descent to Thirlmere. I hope he made his own assessment as I was quite wrong, despite having run this route twice before.

After we'd tracked over the old quarry, the actual pass involves repeated zigzagging in and out of the brooks flowing down into Sticks Gill, each followed by a steep climb. As I took on the first, I grabbed my poles out, as with all the steep climbs in the run. One wouldn't assemble, and I realised the lock button had broken. Poles back in bag, my tired legs would be doing this unaided. I cursed myself for forgetting such a significant series of climbs; it wasn't really a problem, but the length of the sequence became another thing to demoralise me.

The descent to Thirlmere was as unpleasant as I remembered. Wearing new trainers helped as at least I didn't fall on the slippery mud, but such steep descents that lack rocks for grip are the hardest on the knees and especially toes as you are pointing feet downwards, relying on your laces to prevent your toes hitting the ends of your shoes. I'd used a lacing technique to hold my heels back in my shoes, but it still wasn't effective against the steepness of this slope. I hoped my toenails would survive yet another battering (my right big one having not recovered from being half killed off in a previous ultra, and further blackened when I broke my toe on a rock a month ago). When I finally got off the muddy slope I breathed a sigh of relief, and my knees rejoiced.

Next up was the plod along the relative flats until Threlkeld. There was some snaking up and down around farms until we hit the floodplain. Wet feet were inevitable. I was feeling rough, but not as weary as last year; I wasn't quite staggering along, but I was slowing.

The route markers indicated that we should traverse what was basically a swamp. I tried my best to skip along the clumps of grass, but it wasn't possible all the way, and I got completely caked in mud up to my shins. As I appeared at a road, Claire arrived just in front of me, so I stopped for a hello and a can of coffee. My mood wasn't good. I was very keen to get this over with now, and knew I was on a decent time.

Leg 13: Threlkeld - Keswick

Sunday 0622hrs, 104.83 miles

At the checkpoint, I was torn between desperation to get to the finish, and acknowledging that there was still a not insignificant number of miles to go; fuelling was required if an extended period of suffering was to be avoided. I recalled my mistake last year in not tending to my bisters, and utterly destroying my feet in those final miles. I determined that my feet were not bad enough to warrant attention; some blistering, but not awful. I'd previously slapped a few Compeed patches on, which hadn't fully held, but seemed to be doing enough to manage.

I took on some fluids and snacks, but didn't carry as much for this final section.

Dawn under Blencathra

I had been dreading the horseshoe that heads north under Blease Fell, and south under Lonscale Fell; with blistered feet last year, it had taken an eternity, made more unpleasant by being able to see the exit point miles before actually reaching it. I pushed myself to hold a jog, and was surprised how quickly I reached the north-most point. The return was a more interesting rocky trail, providing some distraction. As I neared the end of the horshoe, I realised there were still 5 miles to go, more than I expected. I had to tell myself that was fine, just relax and hold a steady jog.

Finish: Keswick

Sunday 0917hrs, 113.44 miles

The descent around Latrigg and down to Keswick was a different experience this year; it was still early morning, and a grey day, so only a few dog walkers were around. The town was quiet, so there were not many people to cheer us to the finish. I was very glad when my kids joined me for the final stretch to the finish. The optimism of the early parts of the race had entirely gone from my brain, and from Troutbeck onwards I hadn't been in a great frame of mind. I just wanted to get to the finish; it had felt like a mammoth endurance effort.

Finish line

The final section had been a slog, and I'd lost some more time, falling a bit behind my estimated finish time of 0900hrs, but I'd taken a full four hours off last year's time. It was a successful mission and despite the knee troubles, three quarters of the race had gone really well. As ever, fuelling struggles accounted for the latter challenges, which seems so obvious when analysing the race, but not so much at the time. At my next race, I'll be making better use of mood as a gauge for whether I'm fuelling well. If it is going wrong, spending an extra 10 minutes at a checkpoint to fix it would be a good investment. In any case, at the next race I won't take any chances, and will be carrying my own cheese sandwiches and sausage rolls.

As I trawled through the events of the race to write this post, looking at my checkpoint timings and finishing positions, I became aware that only 40 of the 113 starters of the 180km event finished, a 65% DNF rate. Given the moderate conditions, this seems very high. This year, the final cutoff had been extended by 1.5 hours, and the interim checkpoint cutoffs adjusted from the inaugural event. Last year, the High Street section was dropped in favour of a bad weather alternative, a change made during the race as the weather was extreme, including some flooding. However, only one person who made it beyond Ambleside this year retired, so this tough part of the route wasn't the reason. Most of the retirees abandoned at Grasmere or Ambleside, over the 24-hour mark and facing the prospect of another night. Recalling my own first attempt, that is where severe tiredness really starts to hit. I wonder if the lack of experience requirements on the entry criteria is a factor; runners may have been surprised by the difficulty level or unprepared for the impact of sleep deprivation. I also wonder why people don't take the opportunity for short sleeps; the benefit is clear to me - after a 15-minute nap, I find that, within an hour or two, I pass the runners I was previously alongside. In any case, I once again found this a very tough event. To any first-time 100-mile runner, I'd recommend starting with something flatter and less technical; this isn't because of the leap in fitness (I'm not sure you need a huge fitness improvement to go from 50 to 100 miles), but rather to get accustomed to managing yourself through sleep deprivation and learning to fuel well for that duration. It is always about the fuelling.

With support crew