Fundraising for KMRT

As part of my UTS-100M effort, I'll be raising some funds for Kinder Mountain Rescue Team. Please see my page here: https://www.justgiving.com/page/sam-uts-100m

I don't normally go in for fundraising when it is just me having my usual fun in the hills, but this race is somewhat of a big one, so perhaps warrants such a thing. Through my regular visits to big hills recently, and often in very challenging conditions, I've become acutely aware of how important mountain rescue teams are. I also completed an outdoor first aid course earlier this year, which further heightened my awareness of the risks of being out in the hills. I do my best to be prepared when I'm out there, but it can very easily go wrong, and I'm so glad to know these teams are there if it does.

Counting down the days

16 days to go until UTS-100M, and the nerves are building. The sun finally appeared last weekend of course, now that I've completed my recces in Snowdonia, mostly in horrendous conditions. On Sunday, I took the opportunity for one final local hill run in the Peak District, which slightly boosted my confidence for race day until I realised that my groin pain has returned. As I've been pondering whether I will be able to finish this impossibly hard race at all, let alone within the 48-hour limit, the race organiser's appointed app has predicted my finish time "goal" as 46:49 - I read that as "you might scrape it if you are lucky".

Let's revisit the facts, in an attempt to calm my nerves. It is my third 100-mile race; the hardest, no doubt, but there has been a progression here. I learned a lot, training for the Scotland last summer;  I worked up to and completed my first 24-hour and overnight run. The Scotland 100 event presented brutal heat, and some serious lessons were learned about hydration, not to mention the many logistical challenges of such a big run. 13 Valleys in the autumn presented significantly more technical terrain and greater elevation, and race day brought some hugely challenging storm conditions; I learned lessons about caring for feet, and on reflection, how knowing the route and being efficient with stops can save you hours. My training continued consistently through winter, with a couple more races thrown in. Post-Christmas, I put in a solid first 6+ weeks of the year, racking up 50-mile weeks, plenty of elevation and slotting in some big runs including a marathon distance in the hills. I segued in to a recce phase, getting out to Snowdonia every few weeks to learn the course and practice the terrain, whilst still keeping a solid routine during the weeks. The groin injury struck at an inopportune time at what should have been the peak of my training, but such hard-won endurance ability will not be lost in a few weeks of rest and lesser effort. Maybe I'm not at my quickest, but I have gained a lot more experience, and unlike those previous races, I have learned the vast majority of this course to the extent where I could talk you through the whole thing without a map in front of me.

Have I convinced myself yet? Of course not. But I will be at the start line, with a plan and a great deal of determination. 

UTS-100M: the final recce, take #2

After last month's failed effort in bad weather (see previous post), I'd been watching the weather forecast for signs of better weather in Snowdonia, but they weren't coming. Snow, rain, ice, high winds, sub-zero temperatures and every combination of them - not just unpleasant weather for tackling the peaks, but also dangerous. Meanwhile, I've been nursing a groin injury and had to pause training, watching those critical weeks, that should comprise my peak training, ticking away. With my groin still feeling stiff and an unsettled forecast, I determined that, with four weeks until the event, it was the last chance. Even with the need for healing time, I wasn't happy to arrive at the start line without having visited the tricky parts of the course that I will be covering at night; I have also realised that avoiding navigational mistakes will gain me far more time than any last minute training, and this could be critical for staying within the cutoffs.

The Plan

The last minute plan was taking shape: of the 60-miles intended last time, tackle the latter 30 miles on the Saturday; start at Capel Curig and, with a minor extension, finish near Pen-y-Pass, on the bus route to get back to the car. On the Sunday, either hike the 10-ish miles between Tal-y-Braich and Capel Curig, or possibly face my demons, start at Llyn Ogwen and tackle the gnarly peaks of Carnedd Dafydd, Carnedd Llewelyn and Pen Yr Helgi Du again too.

Planned Saturday route: 30 miles

Planned Sunday route: 18 miles

Saturday

I wasn't feeling fresh for the start; whilst supposedly resting from running, I hadn't been getting adequate sleep on any given night; my body really wasn't feeling ready for running. But I relied on the previous training and set out with a fairly heavy pack, armed with plenty of cold weather gear. I didn't get far up the steady climb from the north side of Moel Siabod before the headwind became fierce, accompanied by moderate rain. I soon met another runner who told me he'd abandoned near the summit because he could barely move forward. I took his comments seriously, but decided to proceed until I felt it unsafe to continue.

Progress was really slow and tough. I eventually reached the trig point; there was a slight trough in the wind, but when I climbed up to the trig marker I could barely stand. The rain was coming in hard. I figured it was worth assessing the descent off to the east, but I was struggling to find it; there was a steep gully that looked dangerous, and I struggled to believe that could be the route. I searched around the rocks and tried to tally it with the GPS plot on my watch. It was an awkward bit of clambering down, given the wet rocks, gusty winds, and my injured groin. I was feeling less confident because of these factors, recent falls, the dangerously bad conditions of the last recce and the risk of being injured in such conditions. Thankfully, the wind eased as I scrambled down, and the incline started to ease. The rain was still coming down, and the ground was sodden from weeks of on/off rain.

After the technical drop from Moel Siabod, it was a long, tedious descent to Dolwyddelan, following forest fire trails. It had taken me nearly 3 hours to cover just 10km, which confirmed the impact of both the terrain and the weather, but I was moving well now. After a refuel, I crossed the village and picked up a steady trail back into the hills. A lamb appeared at my feet and let me stroke it, which was a nice distraction from the miserable weather that had now set in. The pace was slow as the trail turned boggier, and emerging onto the flatter top section of Y Ro Wen put me in the firing line of the now very strong winds. I was enduring rain firing straight in my face, and questioning my life choices.

The bogs went on for a long time and I was soaked through, and starting to get cold. Eventually, I reached the edge of a quarry, which I knew meant I was approaching Blaneau Ffestiniog. I realised that given my slow pace, doing the full 30 miles would take much longer than I'd intended and I'd likely miss the last bus, leaving myself with extra miles to cover, potentially in the dark; I was also going to struggle to get warm again. Once I found shelter in the town, I consulted Google for travel options, and decided to abandon. That left me with a 2 hour train-bus combo, but with some shopping time in Betws-y-Coed. As I sat on the train, I saw blue skies and sunshine appearing; the people enjoying a lovely afternoon out in the town must have wondered why I was walking around in a big jacket and wooly hat, shivering away. I later found myself sat drinking a beer, looking up at the sun shining on the summit of Moel Siabod and feeling a bit frustrated with the weather menu.

Ascending Moel Siabod, looking over Capel Curig

Moel Siabod summit

Below Moel Siabod

A new friend

Disused quarry at Blaneau Ffestiniog

Moel Siabod later that day

Sunday

I formed a new plan for Sunday: ditch the earlier part of the route from Tal-y-Braich to Capel Curig, which should be straightforward on race day; instead, drive back to Blaneau Ffestiniog and follow the route until the summit of Moel Meirch, where I would get eyes on the descent down to Llyn Gwynant. This would let me tackle the challenging peaks of Moelwyn Mawr and Cnicht, the first of which I'll likely be doing in the dark on race day. I could then head back and shortcut the route back to the quarry to descend to Llyn Cwmorthin. I would hike it, partly to lessen risk of damage to my groin, and partly because I wanted a day with dry feet, and my new hiking boots would provide that.

It was a dry but cold day, with hints of sunshine, but the wind kept something in reserve for the high points. The quarry section was long, and whilst interesting for taking photos, made for dull walking. Tracking above Llyn Stwlan reservoir gave the first navigational challenge, as the path kind of disappeared; it was useful to have the chance to figure out the right way to do it. Moelwn Mawr was a fun and tricky ascent with scrambling required; dropping off the other side was a different sort of challenge - one for the knees and grip as it was straight down the grassy slopes. After Croesor, I did a purposeful ascent of Cnicht, which was steep and rocky but straightforward until the last scramble, where the wind came to greet me. I got a bit bored doing the long grassy section to Moel Meirch, especially as I had to return the same way, but I was pleased to get a view from the summit and visually join up with the next section of the race, even though I wouldn't follow it all the way for this recce.

Revised Sunday hiking route

Llyn Cwmorthin

Cwmorthin quarry

Approaching the summit of Moelwyn Mawr

View from Moelwyn Mawr summit

Review

Mission success: my body held up well, I made a few mistakes with navigation that I now won't make on race day, I learned where the gnarly bits are for the night sections and I got to put my kit to the test in bad conditions again. I feel like my fitness has dropped off a bit, but it is hard to tell when starting tired. My confidence for race day is lower than it might have been, due to missed training, but higher now I feel my body is repairing and I know the majority of the course, including all the hardest bits. It still feels like the challenge of a lifetime - it doesn't seem possible to string together all the huge climbs and descents, the huge distance, and run, hike and scramble for what is likely to be nearly 48 hours. As ever, I'll give it my best shot. Some sunshine on race day wouldn't hurt either.

UTS recce #3 - mission fail

Darkness was closing in as we cautiously and fearfully picked our way across yet another rocky peak; we didn't know how many more stood between us and the descent to a lower, safer elevation. The rain was relentlessly heavy and had infused every layer of clothing I wore, and I was getting quite seriously cold. Strong gusts of wind blew across the tops; we tried to steer clear of exposed edges, preferring the face with the winds incoming. Despite the chill working its way to my core and a growing desperation to get off the tops, I had made a necessary pause to put on my head torch in the fading light. I folded my poles and attached them to my waist band as I needed free hands to clamber down the slippery rocks. I was fearful of the risks involved with tackling such awkward scrambling, on wet rocks and in the dark, but there was no alternative, easy way off this sequence of jagged summits. In other circumstances, turning around might have made sense, but we had covered some huge peaks in around three hours since the last road; heading back into the hills just wasn't an option. As we made the difficult decision to pick along the side of Pen hr Helgi Du, rather than over its intimidatingly sharp, rocky top, my growing fear of serious injury or hypothermia engulfed the strong determination I had been carrying to finish this third and final recce of the UTS route; we were less than 20 miles into this 55-mile route, but we had to abort.

100 day countdown to UTS

The year started gently; after racing on New Year's eve, I took a day off. This guaranteed I couldn't be obsessive about running every day of the year - exactly the sort of thing I latch on to, but this year it wouldn't help; I need to be more considered with my training and rest. Just one day later, 2nd Jan, and it was time to get started; four months to go, with tapering time to be deducted, and a lot of work to do to first shed the Christmas pounds, recover the fitness level of last autumn's peak, and then start pushing the level up yet further.

Last year was the peak of my running achievements to date, most notably completing my first two 100-mile+ runs. Perhaps these will remain my biggest achievements, but I had to raise the bar for 2024; I haven't yet had a DNF result, so I clearly haven't pushed it too far. The choices were go longer, go faster or go tougher. I felt I wanted to master the century distance, but also wanted to go a bit tougher, so I entered the UTS-100M in May. This is a "savage"(by their description) route around Snowdonia, featuring somewhere around 10,000M/35,000ft of ascent and some very difficult terrain. Perfect, and also an intimidating prospect.

Two century runs in a year seemed like the right number, given the scale of training, planning, recce'ing, tapering, resting and cost. I really enjoyed the 13 Valleys in the Lakes last year, and with it taking place at the end of September, the spacing works well with the UTS. Repeating an event brings benefits - confidence, and the opportunity to make many improvements to strategy, pacing, equipment, etc. I also hope that some more moderate conditions might give me the opportunity to fare better.

This combination still didn't feel like enough of a challenge, though it probably should have. I spent the most of the winter so far obsessing over the Arc of Attrition 100, a brutal winter race around the tip of Cornwall. I didn't get a place for 2024. However, I discovered that completion of a summer event by the same organiser would guarantee a place on the Arc 2025. So in August, conveniently between my big two, I will attempt The Plague - a 100km coastal out-and-back starting just west of St Austell. This is still a significant undertaking, but given the focal events of the year, it feels like one I should be trained and ready for by simply maintaining the training level after UTS.

I started the countdown to UTS a few weeks ago, to focus my training efforts and acknowledge the scale of progress I must make. I need to once again be 100-mile ready, but stronger for the severe hills, whilst still being able to maintain enough pace to meet the cutoffs. I feel I was ready for such a challenge when I did 13 Valleys - itself a hugely challenging event - but that event took a lot longer than expected, for a variety of reasons. The UTS adds around another 10,000ft of elevation, but the cutoffs are only a little more generous. The doubts creep in easily; how much do I need to raise my game to even meet the cutoffs? Is it possible?

I honestly don't know what can be achieved by May, especially given work, family and the business of life, but my training plan is this: minimum 50-miles and 8000ft a week, lots of difficult terrain, and don't get injured. This means not too much speed, squeezing in the rest days, but otherwise time on feet and heading for the awkward and steep climbs whenever possible. I don't feel the need to plan lots of big distance runs, though some recces of the route will provide a good opportunity to revisit the logistics of long runs.

Today marks 100 days until the UTS-100M. It remains intimidating, but four weeks into the training plan, with a marathon and a few big hill runs already done, my confidence is growing. Note to self: don't get injured.

13 Valleys 2023: The Kit

This is a really nerdy post about running kit. I've been asked various questions by runners and non-runners, so I thought it interesting to go into some detail about it.

A significant part of completing an ultra run is taking the right kit. The longer the run, the more critical the choices are. Event organisers will specify what they think you need to safely complete the event, and beyond that you use your own judgement.

I try to stick with what I've trained and practiced with - I don't want surprises on the day. I broke this rule on my first century - I ordered a new backpack at the last minute, the Ultimate Direction Fastpack 20. Although a great pack, this caused me significant issues with chafing on my lower back as I hadn't learned the correct adjustment. This was exacerbated by the plasters I put on the sores mid-race; I had an allergic reaction to the adhesive in the dressings, and have scars to show for it.

For 13 Valleys, I tried not to overpack, and stuck mostly with kit I know well. It still seems like a phenomenal amount of stuff, and it seems surprising that the full pack, waist belt and poles weighed in at around 7.3kg.

Pulling it all together the night before

Mandatory Kit

• Running pack: Salomon AdvSkin 12 running vest
• Waterproof jacket: Montane Spine
• Full leg cover: Decathlon, the cheapest running tights they had (£14)
• Taped waterproof trousers: Bonatti Waterproof running pants
• Insulated layer: Forclaz Mountain Trekking Down Jacket MT100
• Warm layer (ie: fleece): Montane Via Dragon pull-on running top
• Warm hat or 2 buffs: Montane Logo Beanie, Altura merino snood
• Gloves: OMM Fusion running gloves
• Water (1 litre min.): 2x Salomon Speed 500ml soft flask, 2x Ronhill 500ml soft flask
• Food (at least 800 kcal): 2x OTE Anytime Bar (Cocoa Nibs), 4x SIS gels
• Cup (needs to be able to stand): Decathlon Trail Running Folding Cup 150ml
• Bowl (for use at feed stations which can take hot food): Sea To Summit X-Bowl
• Spork (for use at feed stations): added to list after I'd packed, so I didn't take
• Phone with sufficient battery: iPhone 12 + Bonai 5800mAh power bank
• Head LAMP (One main headlamp with spare battery + 1 additional spare headlamp: Petzl Iko Core + core battery + 3x AAA batteries + cheap Amazon USB headtorch
• Survival bag: Alpkit Hunka waterproof bivi bag
• Small first Aid kit: Lifeventure DriStore waterproof bag, 4x plasters, medical tape, roll of gauze, steri strips, 2x antiseptic wipes
• ID (passeport or ID card): driving licence
• £20 cash: a crisp note
• Map (supplied): stored in Lifeventure DriStore bag
• Route notes (supplied)
• Running shoes suitable for rough terrain: Topo Athletic Mountain Racer 2

Recommended Additional Items

• Sun Cream: small tube of factor 50, didn't need it
• Sunglasses: cheapo option, didn't need them
• Windproof jacket: no
• Running Poles: Harrier Helvellyn PRO Carbon Z-Poles
• GPS Watch: Garmin Enduro 2

Cold Weather Kit (Mandatory if instructed)

Cold weather measures were mandated shortly before the race start

• EDZ Merino Wool 200g Base Layer Zip Neck Top
• Icebreaker Half-Zip Merino 175gsm Bodyfit long-sleeved top

Hot Weather Kit (Mandatory if instructed)

• Additional 1 litre water: I carried 2 litres total from every checkpoint, so met this requirement even though weather wasn't hot

Me with Salomon AdvSkin 12, Rob with UD Fastpack 20

Additional Kit 

I chose to take various additional stuff; some in my pack, and some in my drop bag, which was accessible at the 75-mile checkpoint.

In Pack

• OMM snack pouch - attached to straps of pack
• 8x Compeed patches (for blisters)
• Mizuno t-shirt (swapped to this around 40 miles)
• EDZ merino running socks (swapped to these around 40 miles)
• Midge net (for outdoor sleeping)
• Pack of Aldi roasted salted cashews
• 8x various Tailwind sachets, caffeinated & non-caffeinated
• Buff (for cleaning feet)
• Trenchfoot cream (foot lubricant/barrier cream)
• Vaseline (for feet)
• Spare contact lenses
• Avon Skin So Soft (for use as bug repellant)
• Blister pack of imodium
• Blister pack of ibuprofen
• Blister pack of paracetamol
• Lifeventure Ultralight 5L dry bag
• Lifeventure Ultralight 2L dry bag
• Silva Ranger Compass
• Garmin charge lead
• iPhone charge lead
• Toilet emergency kit (bags, tissues, wipes)

In Drop Bag

Drop bag at 75-mile checkpoint gave opportunity to swap, replace or use items at the checkpoint

Swap

• EDZ 135gsm merino t-shirt
• EDZ 200gsm merino t-shirt
• Salomon 7-inch shorts
• Bridgedale Trail Run Lightweight T2 Merino Sport 3/4 Crew socks
• EDZ merino running socks
• Runderwear long running boxers
• Salomon cap
• Buff
• Bonai 5800mAh power bank

Replace

• Pack of Aldi roasted salted cashews
• 8x various Tailwind sachets, caffeinated & non-caffeinated
• Toilet emergency kit (bags, tissues, wipes)
• 3x AAA batteries
• Glasses (in event of contact lens issues)

For use at checkpoint

• Mountain Equipment Helium 250 sleeping bag
• Micro USB charge lead (for Iko Core batteries)
• Pack of wet wipes
• Contact lens solution

Clothes

What I wore from the startline

• EDZ 135gsm merino t-shirt
• Montane Slipstream 7-inch trail running shorts
• Runderwear long running boxers
• Bridgedale Trail Run Lightweight T2 Merino Sport 3/4 Crew socks
• Topo Athletic Mountain Racer 2
• Salomon cap
• Salomon AdvSkin belt - for snacks, phone, poles

Comments on the kit choices

Shoe choice stands out as critical; I used my second pair of Topo Athletic Mountain Racer 2. They are a low-drop (5mm) shoe, which aids good form - I strive to mid-strike now, which has helped me get to big miles without knee issues. They also have a wide toebox, and their grip is brilliant on both rocky and muddy stuff, and competent in the wet. They are also surprisingly comfortable on tarmac compared to previous shoes I've used. A known issue I have with these is blistering on sides of my heels over longer runs, but lacing them well largely mitigates this. They lack a rock plate, so some care is required with foot placement - something I've very much adjusted to. On the flip side, they flex nicely around bigger rocks, which aids grip.

Topo Athletic Mountain Racer 2

Salomon AdvSkin 12 vest running pack is a brilliant piece of kit - a very well-considered design. The front pouches allow 2x 500ml flasks and, unlike competitors, they are deep enough for the flasks to fully sit in; this is very important to me - having flasks flopping over for hours on end is extremely irritating, which was unfortunately the case with my Ultimate Direction pack. The stretchy pouch that stretches around the lower back brings a major benefit: another 2x 500ml flasks will fit, which avoids the need for a bladder pack; the net result is shorter stops where you only fill the empties, and don't have to remove your pack. It is also easier to measure your fluid intake with individual flasks. The stretchiness of the pack means it actually fits a lot more than the 12L. I complemented it with the Salomon AdvSkin belt; I've had the slimline model of this for a while, and knew it to be good for phone, snacks and attaching poles. The larger one can also fit a jacket or other clothing item if needed.

I broke my own rule by buying some Runderwear boxers last minute. I had previously been using twinskin shorts (i.e. built in underwear) but realised I'd need to swap between shorts and longs during the run. This was a great move as they are supremely comfortable and stretchy, and avoided some chafing I've previously suffered.

As ever, I used mostly merino T-shirts and tops. Apart from being far less smelly than synthetic fabrics, it also avoids sore nipples, is comfy in a range of temperatures and remains comfy and warm when it gets soggy. EDZ kit is really good value - I use their T-shirts, tops and socks. I also used some premium-priced Bridgedale merino socks, though I'm unconvinced they serve me any better than the EDZ ones.

The Alpkit Hunka bivi was a new addition that I had tested during the finale recce; I slept in it on wet grass on a hill. It is heavier and bulkier than a pure emergency bivi (I do own one of these too), but useful for planned sleeping in the wild, especially in the wet. It is also safer in the event of an accident in bad weather and, as I discovered during 13V, handy for warming up at a checkpoint when you are soaking wet.

The Lifeventure Dry Bags were a great purchase, but next time I'll get a couple more small (2L) ones. It is tricky cramming stuff in your bag, so smaller can help with that. They can be compressed, because you can roll the air out of them and seal them. Dry bags are a must because you may find you need to unpack your bag onto wet ground or access stuff in the rain. Keeping emergency clothes dry is very important; I reached a point during the event where all my clothes were wet and I was really cold. Next time I'll make sure I have spares that do not get used unless it is an emergency.

Compeed is brilliant stuff, and can save your run from blistered feet, but you will need a way to get your feet dry. Also, take the time to hold the patch in place and warm it up so that it bonds. Trenchfoot cream is a new addition; I've previously just used Vaseline between my toes, which is very effective at avoiding blisters. Trenchfoot cream purports to avoid maceration from wet feet; it did a reasonable job here, but it seemed less adequate at the anti-chafing. This could be because I need to use it more liberally, but it comes in very small tubes, so I ran out. I think I'll stick with Vaseline, but have Trenchfoot on hand for poor weather.

The Montane Spine jacket is brilliant - too much for a summer run, but for the other three seasons it is a fabulous choice; hugely waterproof and windproof, yet somehow airy and a good hood. Nevertheless, the conditions were bad enough that water was finding the gaps around my neck. I'm not sure much can be done when the weather gets that bad.

I've got on fine with the Harrier Helvellyn PRO Carbon Z-Poles. You have to pick your size, as they are of fixed length. Although they are my first set of poles, I bought according to the recommended sizing and they have been fine. They have been a great addition for big runs; I don't tend to put them away much, I use them the majority of the time, and otherwise carry them in one hand, fully-extended, or fold them up and carry one in each hand. Occasionally, for a big technical descent or long tarmac section, I'll attach them to my waist belt. The Salomon pack has attachments for them, but they didn't seem to sit securely so I preferred mounting them on the waist belt. I'm considering a quiver, but I don't know how easy they are to use.

The Garmin Enduro 2 was an extravagant purchase. Knowing I intended to take on multi-day races, I researched battery life of the various options, and it became clear that this was the only real choice that would avoid mid-race charging. It has proved to be far more useful than I imagined. It is great for the expected applications - navigation, tracking, post-race stats. The extra value comes from feedback around you condition, training results and sleep, and the hints it gives to progress in your training. I also love the MIP display, which is visible in bright sunlight, and at night can be illuminated with a headtorch rather than wasting battery on a backlight. I had to do a little configuration pre-race to ensure battery usage was reduced (turned off backlight and disabled push notifications), but it comfortably managed the 43 hours.

The Forclaz Mountain Trekking Down Jacket MT100 is somewhat of a Decathlon bargain at £55, if you need to meet a mandatory kit requirement for an insulated layer. It will pack tiny, but is genuinely useful in combination with a waterproof jacket. Likewise, the cheapest, lightest Decathlon tights (£14) proved perfect - hugely stretchy, thin enough to avoid overheating but thick enough to defend against bracken and other irritating plants on the trail. I don't suppose they will last, but I'd usually use thicker ones through winter training.

I grabbed the Montane Via Dragon pull-on running top at a reduced price, and it is an excellent piece of kit. It is fleece-backed but also really lightweight, nicely stretchy and long-bodied and sleeved. Definitely a good choice for regular or emergency kit in your pack. The OMM Fusion running gloves were also nice, but in heavy rain I'd have been served better by a different choice. I need to consider some waterproof gloves (sometimes these will be mandated on kit lists), although cycling experience has led me away from the futility of trying to find waterproof gloves. My previous gloves were thin but fleece-lined Ale ones that somehow kept me warm in all conditions (even though my hands would get damp).

The Petzl Iko Core is a great headtorch - very light and lasts extremely well with their rechargeable battery. I got through the two 12-hour nights easily with two of the Core batteries, and an extra set of AAAs. Durability-wise, I have had one break the connection in the twisty headband, which had to be replaced under warranty. A cheap Amazon rechargeable headtorch served as a backup, but next time I'll want the backup to have replaceable batteries too - this is a critical safety item.

Regarding the fuel, I rely on Tailwind, mixed according to their instructions, and drinking 500ml per hour in moderate conditions. This is sufficient without additional food. I add in savouries (cashews, crisps, pretzels) to make it palatable over the time. They had Voom drink at the checkpoints (the electrolyte and energy versions); I tried these a couple of times, but they were horribly sweet. I carried OTE bars with no intention of eating them - like most sports food, they are too sweet for me. I carried SIS gels which are, mercifully, not too sweet; I use them in the event of a fuelling failure, as they quickly recover me from a bad state. I think I used one on 13 Valleys.

What will I change for next time?

Not much. I'll keep at least a couple of warm layers as emergency-only, in a separate dry bag, even if it bulks my pack out. I had a separate collapsible bowl and cup, but others were carrying a smaller collapsible bowl/cup that would work for everything - hot and cold drinks, pasta, porridge, etc. I also need a spork. 

I'll add some Topo gaiters - their shoes have specific attachments for them. Gaiters prevent stones jumping in your shoes. They also keep the worst of the mud out; you won't stay dry, but it is still quite a benefit. I've previously used Salomon gaiters, but they only work if the shoe has a gap in the tread or step between forefoot and heel. I'm considering trying waterproof socks, but they weren't something I wanted to introduce last minute in case they caused worse blistering.

A really simple, practical improvement would be to add something grippy to my LifeVenture DriStore bags. When I used them in the outer pockets of the pack, e.g. where a bladder would sit, they would gradually rise up and pop out of the pack, because they are smooth. Perhaps some gaffa tape would do it.

13 Valleys 2023

• Distance: 120.28 miles
• Elevation: 22,293 feet
• Elapsed Time: 43:16:23
• Estimated calories: 16,401
• Total finishers (within 45-hour cutoff): 26, of 78 starters

This was the big one. I was determined to break the century this year, along with my friend Rob, and13 Valleys was the choice - a new event on the scale of the popular Lakeland 100. With an entry requirement of successful completion of a previous 100-mile run*, we took the challenge seriously, and decided to do a lesser 100 first - the GB Ultras Scotland, which I've previously posted about, itself a pretty epic challenge. With that successfully completed back in June, and strong training in the interim, I arrived at the day with a good degree of confidence in both my physical training and experience. At the same time, it was clear that 13 Valleys was another big step up - significantly more elevation and, as I discovered during the recces, very challenging terrain.

Rob and I

Start line at Lakeside, Keswick

The day arrived, and I was feeling nervous. In addition to daily training, getting ready for the race had taken weeks of buying kit, planning logistics, doing recces and setting up electronic devices. The preparation still seemed inadequate, and my head was spinning as I went through registration and the mandatory kit checks. Despite an early arrival, the afternoon quickly disappeared and we made our way to the start line. The only thing left was to execute the plan - run the route, keep fuelled, look after feet and don't get lost.

The start time was 6pm Friday. Conditions were predicted to be reasonable for the first 24 hours - mild temperature, damp under foot but no rain and fairly still. Saturday evening, it was to change - heavy rain all night, moderate winds and single figure temps. The event organisers issued a last minute mandate for cold weather kit; in addition to the already extensive mandatory kit requirements, more layers were prescribed. No problem, I already had all this packed.

Rob and I were once again starting together, but in our anxious labouring over strategies to get round this beast of a run, we had decided we needed to run our own races. As it turned out, we wanted to do something similar so we ended up running more than half the race together.

Under Cat Bells, Derwent Water

Borrowdale

Support crew

As the compere at the start line told the crowds of the fantastic views we could expect, we put on our headtorches and braced ourselves for being plunged quickly into the darkness. We enjoyed the remaining light as we headed down the side of Derwent Water, tracking upwards as we passed under Cat Bells. At this point, we were in a long stream of runners but we knew that it wouldn't be long before the space around us would grow. Darkness fell as we passed through the woods at Borrowdale and we were soon making our way up towards Honister YHA, by the slate mine at the top of the pass. My kids greeted us, out of the darkness, with an encouraging chant. Whatever weariness burdened me at the start had disappeared; I was now locked in to the task.

We carried on, above the slate mine, but the route had been simplified since our recce of this section; we followed the tramway along the top of the hill, and then hit the first very technical, rocky descent. The adjacent waterfall that was spectacular in the daylight of the recce was loud but concealed by the dark, and the brooding hills around Haystacks could barely be seen. I knew we'd shortly enter more remote territory, but only after a brush with the road to Buttermere. Once again passing my mobile support crew, we got cheered on, but they wouldn't be taking the long route around to Wasdale for the next checkpoint; we'd see them again in the morning.

We left Buttermere lake via a significant climb over Scarth Gap Pass, heading for a remote youth hostel, Black Sail YHA, that can only be reached on foot. It is a beautiful spot, with wide rocky rivers reminiscent of the Rocky Mountains. Another friendly crew provided refuelling and we carried on into the night, following Black Sail Pass down to Wasdale Head, where the next checkpoint was. Everything was going well and I felt confident, but at 18 miles in we'd barely scratched the surface of this route.

Near Black Sail YHA

Wasdale Head

Lots of wet and boggy trails up high

The inevitable weariness of the night began to set in. We tracked over Eskdale Moor, and got our first reality check with the conditions; this section was boggy, and we couldn't avoid wet feet. We fumbled around, losing the path and having to negotiate clumped grassland. The terrain made us slow, and my legs started feeling stiff. Getting down to Boot took ages, but then we passed a familiar section at Dalegarth. No jumping in the river on this night, though I knew we were close to a very fun spot for bridge jumping. We spent a while weaving around Eskdale and eventually arrived at the checkpoint.

We knew the next section would be quite remote, and we'd be spending a long night out to get to Coniston. It was hilly and technical going under Harter Fell, and after Dunnerdale, but it was the long climb to Brown Pike where we got a taste of the big stuff. It was getting very hard, and I was getting weary and stiff and thinking of a sleep at Coniston. Being familiar with the area, I thought we were close to the checkpoint. I was wrong, and it took an age descending stony trails before it was in sight. The boating club was a good CP with hot soup and potatoes. We took the opportunity to sort our feet out and change socks. My feet were faring well. Claire had sneaked out of her campsite early, with the kids still sleeping in the van, and gave us some encouragement. She disappeared off for more sleep, while we ran on again.

Coniston Boating club

Last chance for sleep

We wanted to sleep before daylight. The opportunities were thin around the edge of Coniston. I toyed with hopping a fence and sleeping on an upturned boat. The ground was wet everywhere. Eventually a patch of reasonably dry, soft ground presented itself near the path, under some trees. It was probably the edge of somebody's garden. We pulled out our waterproof bivi bags and set a timer for 20 minutes. I didn't sleep, but it let my legs recharge and removed some weight from my eyelids.

After a short climb, we enjoyed some high misty views over Coniston. I expected the terrain to flatten out after this point, and was looking forward to an easy section to Wray Castle. It wasn't flat, and through a woodland section, industrial logging vehicles had decimated the wet tracks leaving it horrendously wet and a mire of thick clay. We did our best, skipping and sliding around in it. I was knackered and needed caffeine. We passed through the high street of a sleepy Hawkshead village, and I stupidly declined a stop at the Coop for a cold latte. When we found the flat shore of Windermere, it was a hard plod to get to Wray. Upon arrival, I appreciated the morsels of croissant with jam, and scoffed a load. I really wanted a sausage and egg McMuffin and a hash brown, and such thoughts occupied my mind for quite some time.

Mist falling away from Coniston

Decimated forest tracks

Wray Castle

I was surprised to hear that we were only 1.5 hours ahead of the cutoff for the checkpoint, and we'd just been sat having a leisurely refuel. I like to have time in-hand, and this was a hurry-up for me. I had a change in attitude, and when we passed my support crew along the path at Elter Water, I was a bit impatient in grabbing a latte and rushing off. No time for messing now, I wanted some hours back.

This was to be the longest secluded stretch. After Stickle Barn, we were heading through the Langdales at mid-morning,  and although brushing some level of civilisation at Rosthwaite, we wouldn't see my support crew until looping all the way back to Grasmere in the evening.

I love the Langdales, and my guess is that most hikers would pick it as a great place to visit. I knew the hills but not the path, but it was clear this was going to be a hard one, heading up Rossett Gill near Bowfell. It didn't disappoint, we were into the tough stuff. My legs felt strong, and I was using my poles to efficiently bound up the steep rocks. The clouds started coming in, and although we were already 60 miles in and had wrestled with some weariness, I think this is where the challenges really began.

Approaching Rossett Gill

Pausing to sort shoes

Weather started to turn up high

Fiercely rocky trails made hard work of every section. Crossing water took extra effort. Slippery ascents and descents required care, and much work from our quads and ankles. We hit technical challenge after technical challenge, each section taking its toll. I don't recall the sequence, but at some point we hit the Rosthwaite CP, and set out for more of the same. 

Some time later we hit another brutal ascent up to Grasmere Common, passing near Calf Crag. As we climbed, the route plot suggested we cross the waterfall, but that quickly resulted in no path. We scrambled up mud and grass. I saw a building and a campervan outside it, which was a surprise. I figured we'd make sense of where we were when we arrived at them. Except we didn't. It didn't exist. Rocks were starting to looks like other objects or people, as my tired brain struggled to process what I saw. The route plot made no sense as there were no paths and the footing was awkward. With limited visibility, we tried to pick something slightly off the course that resembled a path, in the hope it would converge with where we needed to go.

The rainfall was heavy up high, it was windy, and the visibility was poor. The whole thing seemed quite risky. We were surprised to find some event tents up high. We called out, and the marshalls who were sheltering in the tents appeared and asked if we were ok - we were, and we cracked on, although I did feel this was getting really quite dangerous - one fall and we'd be really struggling to stay warm, and would be difficult to locate.

Things got a bit wild. We couldn't stick with any path, because they all seemed to disappear to nothingness. Darkness fell, and we found ourselves on wet grassy peat moor, where fiercely flowing water blocked our progress. Rather than do yet more meandering we jumped the stream and battled across the rough moor until we found some sort of track to follow. I was reassured at the sight of other headtorches behind, but also concerned that they appeared to be following us in this navigational catastrophe. More technical descending followed and it was hard going.

We arrived at Grasmere in heavy rain, feeling battered, and over four hours after the rough estimate in my plan. I was diligently sorting my kit and feet, and wondering if I could even afford the time for a nap. Rob disappeared for a sleep without me noticing, and apparently wanted to be woken after an hour. I decided I could only afford 25 mins to be sure to stay within cutoffs, and figured I'd either be gone or waving goodbye when he woke up.

It was another sleepless attempt for me, and would be my last, but once again it recharged my legs. I was kitted up again and and about to leave when Rob appeared, looking awful. He was feeling grim, and had decided to pull out. We later found out that the 75 miles he'd covered, over 28 hours, he had done whilst having Covid. Quite the feat, it would make him very ill over subsequent days. I felt disappointed for him; this had been our big target and the culmination of a great deal of planning and training.

On my own now, I had the second and last easy section tracking along the flat to Ambleside. The weather was horrendous, the rain was firing down. With the dire forecast lasting all night, the race director had issued a revised route avoiding High Street - a really high, exposed section to the east of Kirkstone Pass. We were required to stop at the Lakeside CP at Ambleside to get a new map and download the new GPX file, which would take us to the west of Kirkstone. With the surprisingly technically challenging route and the awful weather, it was no surprise that people had been dropping out or missing cutoffs, and I was aware that there were only two runners left behind me. I had disappeared off from them at Grasmere. A group of three were ahead by maybe 10 minutes. I realised that the marshalls might insist I head out of Ambleside with others, but my efforts to catch the group had failed. I persuaded the marshalls that I would catch the others ahead rather than wait for the two behind. Whilst quite far back in the field, I knew I had plenty of battling left in me.

I realised that the CP at Hartshop would be followed by the next high point near Hellvellyn, forgetting that there was another checkpoint in between. I highly doubted that I'd be able to pull the same trick at the next stop; they'd want me to head out with other runners so I knew I needed to catch the group ahead. I had ages, but it felt important. I didn't think those behind me were likely to make it round the course in time. I put in a really fast section as I climbed out of Ambleside; I was pushing a level of effort entirely inappropriate for this point in such a long run - it confirmed I'd been taking this easier than I needed. I caught them really quickly, and then passed them and pushed on. I wanted to be comfortably back in the race. The path was horrific, and the amount of water flowing down it increased until it was about a foot deep. I was left picking along the grassy bank at the side.

The hastily deployed replacement route had a severely nasty surprise up its sleeve. On reflection, I struggle to believe this was a safer option, from an accident and rescue point of view, than the high but otherwise accessible High Street. It was a long, banked rock field that had turned into one massive stream; I believe this to be Scandale Pass tracking down to Caiston Glen. It was so technically hard to negotiate, that I found myself clambering around, even sliding down rocks on my bum. I fell at one point, luckily avoiding an arm break. The route neared the river to the side, which was a raging torrent because of the rainfall and punctuated with waterfalls. I was fearful of being anyway near it as I didn't want to plunge to my death. There was no obvious route through the rock field so I relied on following a vague line on my watch screen that didn't correlate to anything path-like. This would be a tough section to manage within a short run. I was 90 miles through a 114-mile run, in the middle of my second night of no sleep and in the pouring rain. It was brutal, in my opinion the hardest part of the whole run.

When I finally hit the flat, I was a wreck. It was still pouring with rain. My torch went flat and on to backup mode i.e. not bright enough to be of much use. I didn't want to stop to fix it as I was feeling really weary and drained, and my sense of humour had departed. I limped on with a pitifully dim spread of light in front. I saw water, and got confused, thinking it was Ullswater and I'd messed up; I couldn't bring myself to even investigate what my actual location was. As I dithered around, the other group caught up with me. They were a bit wrecked too. They reassured me that this was Brothers Water and I was still on track. We went in search of the replacement checkpoint at Hartsop. It took ages to reach and was frustratingly high up above the village. The out-and-back diversion to get there brought more discouragement at a low point in my race.

I was knackered and frozen. Having eaten and drank a little, I kitted up, but was shivering violently. I got my bivi out and wrapped myself up. I was aware that the next checkpoint at Glenridding preceded a massive climb. It was still raining, I was freezing, and all my clothes were sopping wet including the couple of spare layers I had. My thoughts started circling around what a dangerous position this was, and I thought my only option was to pull out. I would be passing my support crew before Glenridding, so I figured I'd jog on, bounce my thoughts off Claire, try to warm up and then make a decision at the CP.

I warmed a little on the long plod to Glenridding. My right ankle informed me that it wasn't happy with the amount of technical running and a constant pain set in. It took a while to climb up the valley to the checkpoint, and I was unsure exactly where it was. Friendly helpers in the building tried to offer me assistance sorting my bottles and my feet, but I was struggling to communicate. My foot care was inadequate as I ran out of lubricant; this would cause me major issues later. I threw some painkillers down to help my ankle, but couldn't really manage food, coffee or soup. I decided to stay in the same mode as before, relying on a steady intake of Tailwind drink with crisps and nuts to make it palatable. 

Whilst warming myself up I realised dawn was coming close, and that meant the temps would rise, even if the rain persisted. As dawn broke, I set out with just a t-shirt under my jacket; I wasn't warm yet, but it didn't take long in the fierce ascent for me to heat up. I now had no doubt - I was going to finish this.

Helvellyn YHA, above Glenridding

Sticks Pass, near Helvellyn

It was a familiar trek over to Thirlmere as this was part of a section I had recce'd; I'd only had the chance to explore a couple of sections of the course, but the knowledge did help. The climb up was fairly tough, followed by a meandering path along Sticks Pass. When I got to the slippery descent, my legs were really feeling it, and my feet were getting sore. My ankle still hurt. I skirted some minor hills and then along the flat fields towards Threlkeld, the final checkpoint. The two sleepless nights of running were now taking their toll, my ankle was hurting more and several blisters were making themselves known. I had passed 100 miles. I could only manage a walk as the blisters wouldn't cope with running. After a beautiful woodland section by the river, which was wasted on me at this point, I crossed the main road and headed up to the village. The kids greeted me at Threlkeld, but their enthusiasm couldn't convince me that this last stint would be any easier. I elected not to touch my feet at the checkpoint, which I knew would cost me. I set out with some resolve, but really hurting because of both my right ankle and the blisters on my left foot. I knew I had 11km and some significant climbing left, and the challenge felt enormous.

Supporters helping me to Threlkeld CP

I walked a lot, but eventually decided to attempt a run. My blisters hurt too much, so I backed off. After several attempts, I started sustaining a jog, curling my left toes to avoid the worst blisters. Keeping going was better, and was bringing the end sooner. Nevertheless, it took ages. My blisters started burning so much that I was running through the puddles and streams to cool them down. It was a big horseshoe loop below Lonscale Fell, and eventually the descent had to come. I was right to fear it, it was torturous on my feet, but I knew I was closing on the finish.

As I tracked down the woods near Latrigg, the locals started asking if I was doing the 13 Valleys, and calling "well done!". After crossing the dual carriageway, the route brought me in to Keswick town, at which point signs and the gestures of the locals took me on a circuitous parade of the town. It was brilliant - clearly people knew what was happening, and I was getting encouragement from every direction. A local group headed by the mayor were having some outdoor meeting, and stopped to clap me. As I arrived at the park for the finish line, I was greeting by an applauding crowd. The final section had been easy, I had stopped thinking about my injuries and I still had energy reserves to hold a good running pace. My daughter ran through the finish line with me, and the compere immediately summoned me to a mic. She asked me several questions for the benefit of the crowds; I attempted to answer coherently, but was very aware that I'd just run 120 miles and not slept for two nights.

I had run on those blisters all around the town and through the finish, but I didn't really notice them again until I stopped. My feet were destroyed, my ankle was sore and my left shin was paying a price for running with curled toes, but I didn't really care. Only 26 finished out of 78 starters, and I was one of them.

* entry requirement for successful prior completion of a 100-mile run was later dropped by the organisers, replaced with a self-declaration of readiness. I'm not sure of the reasoning, but I'd be interested to know if anyone without prior 100-mile experience actually finished!