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*The Northern Traverse – a 300km ultra following Wainwright’s coast to coast route from St Bees to Robin Hood’s Bay. The event has a strong adventurous ethos and culture of self-sufficiency.  

As I stood on the start-line in St Bees I wasn’t sure what the next 4-5 days would hold, but I was immensely grateful to be there – but this isn’t where the story begins. Roll back a few years. 

Lakes in a Day (LIAD) 

Dave and I entered  it in 2021 and it pleased both of us as the route is a logical progression through the Lakes from North to South, through Ambleside (Home turf) – initially designed by James Thurlow of open-tracking; and at this time still run by him. It gave me a taste for longer events with mountainous terrain and a degree of self-sufficiency, but the security of being tracked and regular support points. This still lives on in memory as a favourite event. 

Ourea 

Dave had volunteered with Ourea events to support on Dragon’s Back and Cape Wrath Ultra. He had used some of his race credits and encouraged me to join him on Great Lakeland 3 Days (GL3D) in 2022, an event that facilitated runners to ‘build their own adventure’, I liked the ethos and it was an event that was women friendly and was trying to mitigate its carbon footprint. Loose alliances were made and some long-distance running friendships endured.  

As a female runner there is a constant balance to be struck, between personal safety and acceptable risk. Personally, like many women I would rather choose ‘the bear’ and in my day-to-day running this is one of the reasons I prefer trails to roads – no fox has ever cat-called, and trail runners look out for each other. 

After GL3D  I felt confident enough in my navigation and mountain skills to take the next step and entered the Lakes Traverse, which crosses the lakes from West to East, this happened to be in ‘Storm Kathleen’ and the song that kept looping through my head was ‘Joleen’ by Dolly Parton. Some lessons were learnt – don’t take a membrane running jacket to a named storm… despite it being rated to 20,000HH it had developed micro holes that the rain pretty much poured through, I arrived at Patterdale and promptly put on every layer I had, by the time I reached Shap I had properly reached the limit of my endurance – no way would I have made it across the rest of the country.  

Dave then had his Cape Wrath Ultra adventure – which appealed, but the dates don’t work for me and then the iconic Dragon’s Back Race – which I don’t have the speed to complete. The Northern Traverse seemed a more achievable challenge, started in home turf of the Lakes and crossed through to Yorkshire, past where I went to school and did most of my D of E expeditions. 

Northern Traverse – Getting to the start Line 

Having helped at a GL3D event I had some race credits towards the entry, so on Friday 15th of August I went all in and entered the Northern Traverse. Parkrun on 16th August and something went ‘ping’ in my calf, and I could only walk the last km. Training delayed! Was it race over before it began? Over the next two weeks I did some gentle heel raises and booked gait analysis and physio with the wonderful duo of Katie and Sophie, and after taking their advice was able to progress with increasing my distance.  

I won’t bore you with a full breakdown of training, but most weekends were then taken up with back to back long runs/hikes, until I realised that working in Bristol gave me the ideal opportunity to do a day’s work then after a relatively early finish a mere 24 mile trot home to finish around midnight, long run the next day and a Sunday off! Wish I’d thought to do this much earlier in the training plan! 

As training was going well, half term gave me the opportunity to recce some parts of the route, touch base with a school friend Jo in Richmond, who said she’d come and cheer me on my way as I passed through, along with Charlotte – another friend who lives in York and set up my ‘midlife crisis support group’. Everything is holding up, I do 26+ miles regularly and feel able to go on… everything is going to plan. I’d promised to be tail runner for Imber Ultra at the start of March – the last long run before tapering starts. 

 I ‘confess’ to my up-coming adventure at work, confident I will be on the start-line and we start the fund-raising process, flyers with QR codes printed to support the associated charity… tracking details, still no Ourea updates, but time yet. After an unpromising start with my injury it looks like the gods are smiling on me.  

Not on Friday 13th, as it happens – but Thursday 12th March chatting to my final two students of the week and a message pings through from Dave at 5:07pm ‘Ourea events ceased trading’…initially complete shock. Whilst keeping my best poker face by 5:20pm another text from Dave – ‘We’ve got some accommodation we can hang a plan around…’  

By end of play on Friday Dave had a tracker booked, we’d accommodation through to Richmond and a loose plan. Frank Wainwright who’d I ‘inspired’ ?! to join was feeling a little despondent so I said let’s meet Sunday – I’ll share my plans and you’re welcome to join in. Over the next few days the ‘Community Traverse’ popped up on my feed and Frank joined in with the Centurian Running stripped back “Sea to Sea” race, but for me a cut-off time of 100 hours that felt taut, especially if you had to carry all your kit.  

Phoenix from the ashes – ‘Community Traverse’ is born. 

The wonderful Kitty-Leigh and David Keane gave up their own races and started building a support network; Kieran was another runner who was managing events in the background and planned on toeing the start line. Each hour another hurdle was overcome – trackers…  ‘We’ve got sponsorship for that from SunGod sunglasses’; ‘we have a bag drop system in play’; ‘accommodation’…Shap, Kirkby Stephen, Richmond… The maddest most positive WhatsApp group and a community is born. Yes, it is really going to happen. Donate what you can. We’ll see you at the start line. I can’t emphasise the amount of logistics required to move people and kit 300km across the country, with up to 100km between the front and back markers. An event that would normally be months in the planning, seemed to be coming together in days.  

Final week at work, not sure how it’s all going to play out, Dave has joined the supporter’s group and final logistics, food bought, bag packed and legs that feel ready for the challenge. A drive to mum’s in Ambleside ready for an early start to St Bees and finally meet the people who have had a similar emotional rollercoaster to me over the last ten days. 

St Bees – The Start 

A brisk wind is blowing along the coast at St Bees and we enter the hotel lobby, and finally get to meet the team and James Thurlow – who would have been doing the tracking for Ourea, as we’re there early – a bit of chat – I hadn’t realise that the Northern Traverse was another one of James’ excellent conceptions. The 6am starters are well clear. I go to the beach to choose small pebble; it will be my companion to Robin Hoods Bay. Normal nervous loo relay, right collect your trackers… 20 minutes to start… David Keanne – some inspirational words… and we’re off.  

The start is familiar, apart from the fact we have a shorter route due to a cliff fall at St Bees. The weather is pretty perfect, and we all start to spread out along the course. Chasing me, following  a later 9am start, will be Frank Wainwright and the other Centurian comeptitors – I know I’ll see him along the course at some point and fully expect him to catch-up before I start the climb up Black Sail. Dave’s advice eat/drink every 20 minutes (I often do a long run on little more than 500ml of water and a couple of cereal bars). My target for today is Patterdale and a 30 minute drive from there back home for a couple of hours sleep before getting to Kirkby Stephen the next day. Dave has said he’ll see me at Ennerdale Bridge with the dogs. 

There is a chap in an orange top just ahead who passes a turning – I holler him back; Eric from Canada, we’ll be on/off companions for the rest of the event. The route briefly shares a track with Whitehaven parkrun – where I intersect with Dave and Myrtle. All good. Already I am feeling more comfortable. Not long after I see Dave I stop for a quick pic, wishing Frank (Wainwright) had caught me at this point for a photo op. 

Just before Ennerdale, around Cleator Moor area, Sabrina Verjee, the first Centurian runner passes me on her way to setting a new female C2C record after knee reconstruction last year.  

‘Alright?’  

 ‘Yes thanks – enjoy!’ 

She moves past effortlessly, seeming to float past. Another group of guys are on her heels. This is the joy of ultras – you can be on the same journey as a world class athlete, but there is a lack of ego, we are all out experiencing the same conditions and challenges.  

Dave hands me a tea and bacon butty at Ennerdale Bridge and says he’ll come along the side of Ennerdale with me – it is a lovely part of the trail. I struggle to eat much of the (salty) bacon butty, but the tea is perfect. I decide to take a more scenic approach to Ennerdale and meet up with Dave along the side of the water. This is a stunning part of the course. 

Still quite a lot of runners are visible through this part and we split company; I continue along to Black Sail Youth Hostel. No drama this time around; unlike the Lakes Traverse in 2024, the wind is behind and not so fearsome. More route markers make the navigation easy. Over the top and down into the Slate Mine at Honister, where Frank catches me up and my brother is waiting for me with more tea and a sandwich. I sit for a few minutes and then continue. 

I head off down the hill to the first official checkpoint at Rosthwaite, where Frank catches me again and we both enter the aid station. Eric is already there and has pretty much stripped off. I grab a hot chocolate to mix with the Complan**, a piece of flapjack and move on.  

** Complan is a dietary supplement, specifically designed to provide easily digested balanced nourishment and many other benefits; it’s a cheaper, more readily available alternative / adjunct to gels, drink powders etc on long adventures. 

It’s a steep climb out of Rosthwaite, and on my way up I fall into step with a guy who is back-packing the Coast to Coast (C2C) over 7 days and is planning to wild camp at Greenup Edge. He is a keen paraglider and takes part in festivals that happen in Borrowdale. I stop to admire the sunset behind us. He asks why I do ultras, and I reply that I enjoy the training and recceing as much the events – it gets me to explore new places. He then admits to a similar reason for ‘doing the Wainwrights’, it gets him to fells he probably wouldn’t go to otherwise, and we both like the solitude and lack of phone signal. It’s starting to get dark, but there is an almost full moon and he peels off. I follow the gpx, but curse myself as there is now a slabbed footway, which I eschew for a boggy trod.  

Headtorch on and back on track and down into Grasmere to have a romantic dinner date with Dave. Pasta forced down by 8pm and another 10k over to Patterdale before bed.  Eric leaves just ahead of me, but I pass him on the uphill and an easy trot down the side of Grisedale Tarn and beck, with my brother coming up the track to accompany me into Patterdale. Another volunteer coming up the hill checks we’re ok and asks if I have knowledge of Eric – I say I’ve spotted his headtorch and he’s inbound. A quick check-in with the support crew – I’ve already okayed with race-HQ that I’ll be leaving the course here for a bed for a few hours in Ambleside, and the only request is to let them know when I plan on re-joining via WhatsApp.  Day 1 done. No dramas.  

A drive home, more food (Complan and banana) forced down on the drive home. Watch/Phone/Headtorch onto charge. Sort feet. Bed. Sleep for a couple of hours. Alarm. Up. Breakfast (Complan/Oat Gruel Mix) Retrieve bag. Fill bottles. Get electrical stuff. Make sure drop bag is ready to go. Legs stiff but working, drive to Patterdale. Text to say I’m back on course.  

Dave and dogs join me out of Patterdale, no Kidsty this time, bad weather route has been invoked. Askham Fell and I have a less than positive history.  It’s fine over and along Boredale Beck – beautiful even; then the rain and wind start. Ah familiar territory. Three pairs of gloves on, the wind and rain are both lazy – going through rather than round you. The upside is at least this time it’s daylight.  At Bampton I stop in the phonebox made famous in the film Withnail and I to get some food down and put on another layer. 10 minutes and I’m off. Along a road for a bit… a car draws behind me; it’s Dave and mum with offer of tea and dry gloves. I am really pleased to see them, a definite lift after the incessant rain. I reflect that I am lucky that my Mum is here to cheer me on. 

I continue to Shap, navigation made easier by daylight and posts showing the route through the mire. It took me many hours to navigate this section on the Lakes Traverse – so easy this time.  

Into the checkpoint at Shap around 1:30pm; lovely volunteers waiting to dry gloves on radiators – Eric just rising from his sleep and another couple of people taking the opportunity to sleep out the storm. Brother, Mum and Dave and dogs all there to see me. I felt a whole heap better than two years ago.  Next target Kirkby Stephen before midnight. This would be the furthest I’d been in an event. I’d recced most of this next section recently over half term and knew the target was realistic.  

The sheep, once you cross the motorway, change from the Lake’s Herdwicks to the Dale’s Swaledales. This is a relatively flat section and as the bad weather route was still in play more road than I enjoy. Past the quarry with ‘ Deep Active Sludge’ signs, and into Orton. Dave was waiting with the best millionaire’s shortbread and … a cup of tea. Our next RV was Ravenstonedale for romantic re-hydrated meal – with a side of Complan. The shepherds were busy, peak lambing season and cold, wet , windy weather meant they had a lot of work to do to keep the new and rapidly arriving lambs from perishing overnight. Dave had bought ME a pair of waterproof gauntlets with an entire duvet inside – I decided now was time for those bad boys.  

As dusk fell, curfews of Curlews, and their haunting calls, were my companions; they are a bird in significant decline and it was great to know they were here in good numbers at least. They are the sound of spring nights in moorland areas and I first got to experience them during the ‘Fellsman’ event the year before. I found my way across the moor without difficulty, however in the dark there was an abandoned house that looked like a witch had been painted on the side, so I was inspired to move past quickly… rational brain convincing me it was just mould in a weird shape. I have enough of an imagination to terrify myself – fortunately it’s the wrong time of year for the screaming of foxes, which is eerily like a baby’s scream.  

A delightful, cobbled bridge with a beck running along one side of it before cascading into the river below was followed by an ascent and then meander into Kirkby Stephen across field margins where I resorted to following the walls round the field edges. I kept hearing the curlews, and turning round mistakenly thinking someone was calling my name. I visit the Community Traverse checkpoint and get directions to the night’s hostel accommodation. 

Dave in the interim had managed to drop the room key when shuffling dogs, bags etc into our room, but fortunately found them and was there to guide me into the room.  

Watch/Phone/Headtorch on to charge. Sort feet. A few bits of rubbing on the tops of my toes, not helped by my error of swapping to synthetic inner socks today and water going over the tops of my outer waterproof socks. Decide to rinse my feet off, and Dave suggests why not a shower – great idea. I grab some soap and turn on the shower, suddenly I’m on my arse and blood is pouring from my big toe. F**k. Is it this that will stop me continuing?  

‘You alright?’  

‘Think so’ 

Try again, it’s like a fecking ice-rink! Is this what happens when your proprioception goes. I’m hanging onto the shower for dear life and quickly finish and slide into bed. I add sudocrem to rubs and scratches and figure I’ll see what my toe looks like in the morning. 

Bed. Sleep for several hours. Alarm. Up. Breakfast (Complan/Oat Gruel Mix) Retrieve bag. Dave patches the cut, wool sock inner sock selection. Fill bottles. Get electrical stuff. Make sure drop bag is ready to go. Downstairs to put shoes back on. Stare at the sign opposite the stair I’m sat on: ‘Our showers can be very slippy – take a mat!’ No s**t. I start laughing. 

Today is the day I’m most looking forward to, I pass the half-way mark and will catch-up with school friends – in one way I’m walking home. Swaledale is beautiful, I pass Marrick (That was our house at school) and Richmond was where I lived for ten years. We walk out together with dogs and through Kirkby Stephen and out over Frank’s Bridge (no sign of him though; he’s now far ahead of me).  As the weather has improved, I decide to take the high-level route up over Nine Standards Rigg. I’m not quite going to make sunrise at its summit, but a glorious sunrise nonetheless after yesterday’s unremitting rain. I share a picture of it on the Community Traverse WhatsApp group, and a load more pop up. It’s great to feel that you are not alone.  

A WhatsApp from David Keane (Community Traverse Race Director) pings – ‘Sue be aware there is nobody else on Nine Standard Rigg. Everyone has dropped down onto the road’  

I reply with ‘Ok, Recce done in Snow and Ice in Feb and have microspikes – it’s glorious and super benign…’ 

‘Spot on Sue enjoy your day’ is his positive reply. I am grateful and reassured that there is someone actively “watching my back” remotely 24/7. 

The route over Nine Standards is indeed less icy than in February (Pics for comparison).

I make good progress along the now slabbed route all the way to the ‘Yorkshire Shepherdesses’ house at Ravenseat and into the outskirts of Keld, where at almost the same point I met Dave on my recce, there he is with my brother and sister-in-law who have come to join me for part of my adventure, with Coco their dog. We pause for some food at the half-way point marker and obligatory picture. Dave said that the Community Traverse’s Richmond checkpoint was short of volunteers, so he and Rich would come along for a bit, then drive the cars to meet Lorraine and I around Surrender Bridge, then Dave would head off to do a stint in the checkpoint. 

We passed Eric (again) on the route along to Gunnerside and continued to put the world to rights. Walking even briskly,  with someone, allows you to have full conversations ; and Lorraine and I (and later Rich and I) were able to have conversations that would have ended up being curtailed, or may not have had the opportunity to start, in our normal gatherings. If I had been in the Ourea event that I had signed up for meetings would have been limited to road crossings and outside checkpoints.  Before we knew it, we were at Surrender Bridge – with a cup of soup waiting (not sure what rocket fuel it contained, but it was just what thed octor ordered). A further surprise was that Rich was being handed the baton (me) and would carry me (figuratively) all the way to Reeth! The miles flew past and another cup of tea in Reeth saw me safely on my way into Richmond.  

There used to be a challenge for 6th formers at my school to walk from Reeth to Richmond, which back in the day felt like an epic achievement but today was but a fairly short step saw me past Marrick priory and up the nuns steps (ignoring the gpx) and down into Marske, much sooner than anticipated ready for an 8pm finish in Richmond.  Dave was coming up the hill and opened with ‘I have a suggestion…’  

‘OK’  

‘How about getting food in Richmond, then continuing on further for a bit?’ 

‘Ok then’ 

‘One more thing; I’ve hit a pothole and punctured a tyre on the car’ 

The inherently selfish nature of the event saw me take the proffered provisions and continue onwards, leaving Dave to juggle dogs and a roadside wheel change. By the time I reached Richmond the Old Girls’ network had roared into action, and Dave had some additional support and was rolling on four inflated wheels again. I waved at school as I passed, and took a photo.  

A comment from one old school friend liked that ‘the glove on a post seemed to flicking the ‘v’ at school’ – I’d like to say it was deliberate!  I got to the next amazing checkpoint to see two school friends; one a local Richmond girl (Jo) who I have known for a mere 46 years, and the other (Chalrlie) I first met nearly 50 years ago as a seven-year-old… I may have reverted to my childhood self – sorry if we woke anyone coming into the checkpoint with our chatter! Waiting for me was a foil covered dish, which I unwrapped…. 

Salmon Lasagne with a side of asparagus, feta and walnuts… 

I hadn’t realised until this point that that was precisely what I needed.  

More tea and out the door, as I was walking through the square to the river a lady called across ‘You doing the Northern Traverse?’ 

”Yes’ 

‘Keep on going!’ 

I love Richmond. 

After navigating myself to a bit of a dead end (We didn’t venture that side of the river from school unless escorted) I passed multiple ‘Stay on the footpath, troops exercising’ signs but successfully navigated Catterick without incident and finished the day in Bolton on Swale. We drove back and I returned to Charlie and Jo: 

‘How was it round Catterick?’ 

‘Yup, at least I wasn’t murdered and there weren’t any troops on exercise’ 

Now is probably the time to admit I was raised by nuns, so not much scares me. But it is still a consideration that male athletes seldom have to make when heading out on a run, ‘What route will I take?’, ‘Are there any dodgy areas I should avoid?’ ‘Have I done this route multiple times?’ ‘Is my endpoint visible on Strava.’ ‘ Where’s a ‘safe place if I need to escape?’  Guys have these conversations with your female friends – you may be surprised what precautions we all take just to leave on a run, especially in the winter.  

Watch/Phone/Headtorch onto charge. Sort feet. Bed. Sleep for several hours. Alarm. Up. Breakfast (Complan/Oat Gruel Mix) Retrieve bag. Fill bottles. Get electrical stuff. Make sure drop bag is ready to go. Getting ready to leave and Charlie and Jo are up to wave me off – both have work later.  

‘Killing me softly….with his love’ 

‘F’ing hell Jo is that your alarm, you’re a psychopath…’ 

‘I like it, gets me up in the morning.’ 

Drive to Bolton-on-Swlae, last night’s finish point. Text to say I’m back on course. Dave has the tyre to sort in Richmond, so Charlotte will sort me out at Danby Wiske, but I’m quicker than expected so she reroutes to Oaktree hill and sees me with a choice of pasties, an iced coffee (not tea!!!) and a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch, a reminder of our school days. The sun is out and sunburn starts to look a possibility in the ‘Vale’. After a brief stop and catch-up, I’m on my way again and a text from Dave confirms he’s managed to sort a new tyre, and wrangle dogs, and will see me at the A19 crossing.  

The A19 crossing sees Dave and the girls approaching and it’s great to feel like a lot of progress has been made, as we get closer to the services the Community Traverse team come to beckon us into the services.  A stop there and onwards. Crossing the A19 feels like the most hazardous part of the journey. The marshals give me the nod  to cross and I discover I have another pace! Four lane dual carriageways will do that for you.  Dave caught me up through Arncliffe Wood and then peeled off to catch me up later. I come across ‘the group of four’ who had started the adventure together and planned on finishing it together just topping up at an ‘aid van’ before heading up towards Lordstones. We continue along for a bit together and they pull past.

 I look up and I see signs of burning heather on the valley across from me and have the dilemma of calling the fire-brigade; surely recent weather makes an outbreak unlikely? I remembered the images of an out-of-control fire which had devastated the moors near Whitby a year earlier. After continuing along up towards the viewpoint I decide a phone call was better sooner rather than later.  

‘999 – which service?’ 

‘Fire’ 

‘Ok putting you through’ 

‘Where is the fire?’  

‘Um well I’m on the coast-to-coast path, heading East towards Lordstones and it’s South of me, a couple of valleys away. It might be a controlled burn?’ 

‘They normally notify us and there haven’t been any notifications, We’ll send a crew to investigate.’ 

I continue my journey that is now punctuated by sirens ahead of me, the smoke is still billowing, but the flames are less visible. I stop at the top and my phone rings. 

‘Its ..fre sv’ 

I give a slightly more coherent description of the fire direction using the cairn to give a bearing from and the fact that there is a mast visible in the distance.  

As I come down to the road at Lordstones there are a couple of firemen in high-viz and just beyond them Dave and the dogs. I start to run towards them – Dave thinks I’m really pleased to see him (I am) but more intent on explaining to the firemen what I saw and show them the video I’d taken. I obviously start by apologising and they say they’d much rather be alerted sooner rather than later; they’ve sent someone off on a quad bike to investigate, Excitement over, food imbibed I continue onwards.  

On the way up to Wainstones I see a beautiful Barn Owl swooping with something in its claws, a reminder of why I love these events. As I reach the top a chap stops and asks if I’m doing the Northern Traverse; he’s out supporting his wife who is tackling it. We chat for a while and just before I move on again the Barn Owl swoops past again and I point it out – two of us have seen it, so it’s not a mirage.  

Dave is waiting with supper before a relatively long stretch along a cinder track all the way to the Lion Inn. We travel up together to a trig point, where Dasve returns to the car, and I continue past the group of four, who didn’t fancy the trig point detour. Now it is a march in the dusk, there are curlews and grouse, and I eventually put on my headtorch, but as the moon is so bright it almost feels unneeded.  

I am aware of a headtorch approaching from behind and assume ‘the group of four’ are catching up, but it is Helen, whose husband I had pointed the barn owl to. She is super quick, but I can keep up and we are chatting about our supportive ‘other-halves’ and get onto loving OS maps.  

‘What are those lights?’ 

‘Oh shit, we’ve missed our turning to the Lion Inn’ 

The irony that we passed it as we were extolling the virtues of OS maps was not lost on us.  

A broken phone call with David almost saw us miss each other, but a quick catch-up and I continue along a bit further than planned to a non-descript road junction ready for the final day, with around 40km left. I start to believe it is possible. 

A drive to the shepherds hut accommodation, more food (Complan and banana) forced down on drive. Watch/Phone/Headtorch onto charge. Sort feet. Bed. Sleep for a few hours. Alarm. Up. Breakfast (Complan/Oat Gruel Mix) Retrieve bag. Fill bottles. Get electrical stuff. Make sure drop bag is ready to go. Legs stiff but working, Drive to start point .Text to say I’m back on course. 

Easy navigation to Glaisdale and pass two runners asleep on the verge, I step round them, one wakes and smiles and I smile back and continue. A couple of exchanged texts with a friend Lizzy over the course and she confirms she got married in the church at Egton Bridge and I promise to wave as I go past. Her parents live in Grosmont and she warns me about the hill.  

I get to the final checkpoint before Robin Hood’s Bay and Eric is just about to leave, having started his day with a pint of beer – I decline the offer of beer and we both head off together – I ignore the gpx route across the bridge and elect for the stepping stones option and Eric gamely follows me across. I hope the beer doesn’t affect his balance. I expect not.  

It’s relatively quick along the track and up the hill, a chap is out on a run and asks if I’m doing the Northern Traverse. 

‘Yes’ 

‘You’ve only got about 12-14 miles left and one climb and a bit of a bump, I had sleet this time last year and stopped off at home for a bacon butty. Crack on’ 

Dave and the girls accompany me up and over the hill and then return to meet me at Falling Foss, a delightful deciduous valley that will be full of bluebells in a few weeks, but not today. I sit down by the car and take stock, the packet of monster munch from the day before is calling my name.  

Up and onto the moor. This is sobering. Fylingdales moors was devastated by fire last year and it looks post-apocalyptic. Any lingering doubt about calling the fire-brigade is dispelled.  

A message pings through to Frank Wainwright, now long finished, ‘How are you feeling today?’ 

Frank ‘My right foot is huge and blistered. Brain is slow. But appetite has returned’ 

Me ‘No change as far as the brain then?’ 

Frank ‘Get to Robin Hoods Bay’ 

Dave ‘Don’t worry Frank she can still multi-task after 175 miles’ 

Frank ‘Tiredness improves her wit’ 

Dave ‘I can’t multi-task so I am very much focused on this:’ Picture of beer 

There then followed a game of on-line beer snap and chat as I continued as instructed. 

Just before I reached the road a lady said ‘Sue?’  

I replied ‘Yes?’ 

‘It’s Eric’s wife – I’ve heard so much about you! I’m just going out to meet him.’ 

Round the corner and Kieran, the third instigator-enabler of the Community Traverse, and who had completed his own crossing the day before, and his wife Sarah, are with their van. They pass on congratulations; they wanted to see everyone but can’t wait at the finish as they have their kids to collect. I thank them for their amazing work and light touch enabling that has allowed this phoenix of an event to arise gracefully.  

It’s easy route finding and once I hit the coast, I take stock of the past few days and reflect on the journey, both emotional and physical. Eight months ago I signed up for an event that would have challenged me in different ways. Two weeks ago it was cancelled. Dave immediately stepped up to provide the best support and allowed me to keep progressing without incident, all whilst juggling 2 dogs, route-finding and managing incidents without missing a step. While I’ll never know, I think this journey ended up more enjoyable as a consequence; I was able to have company, the positivity and inclusivity of the Community Traverse permeated through, we were gently supported but given the space and agency to adapt the support to interlock with plans we had already made.  

I continue along the final undulations along to Robin Hood Bay and trot through the village. I start on the steps down, but quickly move onto the road, the number of people ambling around seems insane after the relative solitude of the past few days. The road through is interminable and all I can contemplate is coming back up the hill at the end. Finally, a cheer as I round the corner (as I’m typing this ‘There she goes is on the radio, and Kitty-Leigh chose this as the Instagram reel music for my finishing highlights – synchronicity!) a small, perfectly formed crowd of well-wishers and I reach the end!  

Hugs from Vicki, Frank, Dave, Kitty and Sarah. 

I remember the stone I chose in St Bees and I plan to try skimming it. I get everybody to make sure they’re videoing me – I’ll only get one attempt… 

It fails. Ah well, given the way things have played out, it really isn’t a disaster. 

We all adjourn to the pub basement for a well-earned cup of tea and a pint. Some exchanging of stories and I wander out to see Eric complete, my on/off companion for the whole event. 

What an outstanding few days. I have donated to next year’s event, but plan on being there as a supporter next time around. I can highly recommend. People who know me know I am not a naturally talented athlete in terms of speed; but I have huge amounts of dogged determination and a belief that in the words of some guy from my uni ‘Things can only get better…’ (although on Sunday that was wetter). Hopefully my adventure can inspire someone else to believe and achieve.  

I have currently raised £1960 as well. I work with (mostly) 8-18 year old students and every day with them is a joy. They all have some form of neurodiversity (dyslexia, dyspraxia, ASC) and are my daily inspiration, and reason for positivity. Hiuge thanks to everyone who has donated and supported my endeavour. 

If I ever look at what is going on in the world and feel despair, I look at the young people I work with and feel positive about the future. I hope they will be inspired by my journey, as I am by theirs.  

To Summarise: 

Essentially a long picnic, with all the weather, amazing scenery and the opportunity to catch-up with friends, and make new ones. The selflessness of Kitty-Leigh and David Keane to give up their races, and the coming together with Kieran, has turned this into a unique event that has shown that ‘community’ still exists. 

Finally, my own hero – Dave, who made my adventure not only possible, but probable.  Without him there is every possibility that I may not have finished, let alone had the enjoyment that every moment of this event provided.  His belief in my ability to manage independently is empowering and he was and is always there to support me.  

Love you XXX 

P.S. The Community Traverse WhatsApp is still alive and well, and we get to have our own post-race support group.  

Footnote: 

Feet and things: Apart from the cut on my big toe, my feet are undamaged. Below is Dave’s foot care regime, which I largely followed too: 

• Daily moisturising – I use O’Keeffe’s to keep my feet soft and supple; there are many, many alternatives. The goal is smooth, resilient skin, not dry, cracked, calloused. I haven’t used pedicures or pumice stones, but others do – either way, look after your peg-ends like you’re preparing for a foot modelling career. 
   

• Barrier cream before runs – applied to reduce the impact of friction and moisture. I use Musher’s Secret (See below for details on ingredients etc.)—originally bought for protecting our dogs’ paw pads out in the hills. Occasionally I bark after application, but honestly, it’s been very effective on my pads too. Trenchfoot cream is a popular alternative if you don’t have a dog and Mushers Secret in the house. It’s specifically formulated in the South West for running humans, and has a vegan version too. 
   

• Nail care – Keep them neat, well trimmed, and healthy. 
   

• Socks and shoes – Crucial. I use: 
   

• A thin merino wool liner 
   

• A thicker waterproof outer (Dexshell, in my case—but many good options exist) 
   

• This combo typically requires my daps to be half a size bigger; and for multi-day efforts, a full size up to allow for swelling. 
   

• Shoe fit is key: close-fitting but not tight. It’s a balance between avoiding pressure points and limiting foot movement inside the shoe—especially when descending or traversing rough terrain. Finding your ideal lacing tension and fit will take trial and error, and vary depending on terrain, weather, route length etc. 
   

• Gaiters – Help keep debris out, protect socks, and improve comfort. 
   

• Post-run care on multi-day events – At the end of each day, I strip off socks, moisturise again, and slip on dry, oversized Dexshells and a pair of gardening clogs. Overnight I sleep barefoot. And so far, without fail, my feet have been ready to go again the next morning; unlike the rest of my body! 

The result? No blisters, maceration, or lost nails for the past two years since adopting this routine. However, I’ve spent a fair bit on moisturiser and socks… 

Footnote to the footnote: 
Musher’s Secret is made from 100% pure, natural, food-grade waxes—white and yellow beeswax, carnauba, and candelilla—blended with vegetable oils and vitamin E. It’s non-toxic, non-GMO, gluten-free, and creates a breathable barrier that protects against snow, salt, hot pavement, and rough terrain. 

The Dragon’s Back Race: Six days, 380km, 17,400m of ascent. A rugged North-South traverse of Wales from Conwy to Cardiff.

Day 1 – Enter the Dragon

Stat’s (distance  | ascent) from start to: 

• Support point (Ogwen Valley) – 29km | 1800m
• Water point (Pen-y-Pass) – 37km | 2800m
• Finish (Nant Gwynant) – 50km | 4100m

Conwy Castle 5:30am. Darkness, damp air, apprehension, and excitement swirl around the 2025 Dragon’s Back adventurers gathered within the castle’s ancient keep. The clock creeps toward six. Above, shouts of encouragement drift down from supporting sentinels on the battlements. With a burst of dragon-red flame and curling smoke, the runners are released into Conwy’s rain-slicked streets; ahead an adventure along the wild spine of Cymru to its capital and another castle.

Narrow paths lead toward the first of many summits: Conwy’s mountain, cradled between the sea to the north and Eryri’s mighty mass to the south. To the east, a red sunrise bleeds across the sky—heralding the morning, and offering its ancient warning to the silhouetted flock of runners…

Over the Carneddau, time already chasing at their heels, the runners, me included, stream through streams—wind and rain rising sharply with elevation, vision and views limited by hood and cloud. Foel Grach’s shelter offers respite for some, while others press on into the maelstrom. I break from the flock, traversing below my namesake summit, Dafydd—seeking advantage, but gaining none, save a brief reprieve from the elements. On, on over Pen yr Ole Wen, its steep, rocky, streaming flank testing patience and quads in descent. Streams boil in spate, demanding respect and care to cross; Ourea’s hill team show the safest way and I’m grateful. At last, Ogwen Valley bottom: a moment of relief and respite; roadside supporters, including Sue and Willow, and the support point offer succour for the climb ahead.

Well-made steps aid the ascent to Tryfan’s rocky ramparts, and spirits lift as the cloud begins to break. Poles away—hands on rock for the final scramble to the summit’s guardian stones, Adam and Eve. Pause. Take in the view. Enjoy the moment. Then: care in descent, focus sharpening to weave the best line through a tangle of boulders—unlocking the route to easier ground. Tiptoe up a loose gully, Bristly Ridge brooding & belligerent above. Over the Glyderau’s heavy rock architecture, with views sweeping down to Bethesda’s sunlit valley and Anglesey—a classical pastoral counterpoint. Nail a clean line down from Glyder Fawr to Pen-y-Pass, where Sue, Willow, and water point await.     

No Crib Goch today: too windy, too wet—not safe, and a sensible decision by the event team to re-route. Up the Pyg Track then: easy, sheltered, but seemingly endless as it winds toward Cymru’s highest point. Recollecting my sun-blessed recce of the hidden and forbidden rocky, knife edge ridge above creates a fleeting, fictitious feeling of dry warmth. Wind and cloud return at Bwlch Glas, hastening progress to the summit of Yr Wyddfa. No crowds, no views today—just a quick tap of the trig, a glance at the inviting café, and on to Lliwedd. Lose height quickly; regain it slowly.

The day is almost done, but there’s work still: focus, movement, and concentration over unfamiliar but runnable ground to the final checkpoint, Gallt y Wenallt—a fine, lofty perch above the night’s welcoming camp, 500 metres below. One final challenge: steep, slippy grass requiring balance, grip, and close attention. But safely down & done before darkness, with no faff—the day’s goal achieved.

Ease into camp on an easy track, with Sue and Willow distracting from weariness and the quiet worry of Day 2. Camplife: eat; download and digest Dragon Mail’s virtual energy; sort kit ready to go again at 6am; too little sleep before the tent reluctantly rustles into life just after 4.

Day 2 – Dancing with the Dragon

Stat’s (distance | ascent) from start to: 

• Water point (Maentwrog) – 19km | 1200m
• Support point (Cwm Bychan) – 37km | 2600m
• Finish (Dolgellau) 60km | 3200m

Everything done for a purpose, no distraction—just the simple focus on relentless forward progress to Cardiff. In the dark: pack the transit bag for reunion at day’s end; tea; breakfast; kit check. Two hours gone in a blur of headtorch light. 6 a.m.—time to go again, tea and waffle in hand: second breakfast.

An easy roll-out—flat tarmac for a few kilometres, legs loosening, spirits lifted by morning greetings from Sue and urgent barks from Willow. The sky begins to open—weather’s better, dawn breaking, body willing. But comfort is short-lived. Soon enough, it’s poles out as we all lean into the first of the day’s many steep ascents.

Ahead, cloud-wrapped Cnicht: a dark knight in morning. No words now—just breath and effort. The real work has begun.

I fall in step with Caz the Hat—a Dragon’s Back legend and one of the loveliest people you could hope to meet—and his equally wonderful daughter, Carolyn. They’re aiming to become the first father-daughter team to complete the journey from Conwy to Cardiff. But they carry more than just ambition. They carry the memory of a friend who longed to make the same pilgrimage… but never got the chance. It’s a quiet reminder: we are lucky—privileged—to be moving freely through this landscape, when so many elsewhere—in Palestine, Ukraine, Sudan, Pas-de-Calais—face unimaginable hardship, fear, and constraint.

Caz expertly traces a clean line off Cnicht and across to Moelwyn Mawr. The going is hard but satisfying—easier than on the recce. Second summit done, we begin the long, rough descent through a landscape scarred by human hand: hydroelectric schemes, slate mines, railway tracks. But there’s nature too—twisted oak woods, tumbling waterfalls, the white flash of a dipper’s breast, and the mew of buzzards overhead. All is good. We spread out on the easier ground and I lose touch with Caz and Carolyn. Run your own race at your own pace Dave.

A brief dwell at the welcome water point—refuel, chat, reset. But no shilly-shallying—there’s a job to do. The weather holds, spirits lift as Sue and Willow appear again with welcome cheer, and a stretch of runnable miles leads across the valley floor to the crux of the day: the Rhinogs and their roughest bounds.

The lead runners pass by—mutual nods, shared encouragement. We’re all in this together, bound by respect and a simple, common endeavour: get to Cardiff.

Then: decision time. An untested, distance-saving line proffered by Caz back in Conwy—or the safety of the known, rehearsed way. No contest. Over the stile, off the trail, into the unknown.

Confidence is quickly rewarded—Caz’s silhouette appears on the skyline, showing the way. But soon, high stone walls bar the way and sow seeds of doubt. Some increasingly desperate scouting—and a little creativity—finds a way through without breaking the countryside code. Relief. I rejoin the race line, having definitely gained. This time, risk pays off. Relax. Trust in Caz.

Soon, another Caz-induced choice. No hesitation now—I split from the train of runners, traversing ragged Rhinog slopes. Heather, rock, and ankle-twisting tussocks test belief and balance. But again, a distinctive, tall figure appears on the ridge ahead—a mobile be-hatted beacon showing the way. The route rejoins the main trail with clear time and effort saved. Thanks Caz.

A sporty but well-beaten descent from the trig on Moel Ysgyfarnogod follows—rough but familiar.

Then—a jarring intrusion. Human faeces and tissue, right on the narrow path into idyllic Cwm Bychan. Maybe a Dragon, maybe not. Either way, it breaks the spell. A moment of ugliness in a place that deserves better. I want to believe we’re all better than this—but not everyone shows the same respect for the land we’re lucky to cross. The same goes for litter. Some carry more out than they brought in. Others don’t bother.

The calm friendliness of the support point helps restore balance—but midges discourage lingering. Noodles and Complan (separately!) are slurped down, bottles refilled, and it’s back to the trail. The Roman Steps offer a gentle re-entry into the Rhinogs’ wild embrace, but a crossing wall soon signals steeper, rougher ground ahead.

Concentration and steady effort bring the rocky summit slopes into reach—and then, a surprise: Sue and Willow waiting on the summit of Rhinog Fawr. Their presence, and the sweeping, champion views, lift the spirits sky-high. What a day.

Another tricky descent leads to the “collector’s” climb up Rhinog Fach. It was a brute on the recce—and today, it delivers again. No bilberries to distract me this time. The Rhinogs keep dishing it out: punishing down, steep up. But this is the final summit of the day. From here, the trail finally eases. The view west over Llyn Hywel and out to the shining coast is a banquet for the eyes. Marvellous.

After a long stretch of solo running, I am grateful to be reunited with Caz and Carolyn leading a weary group along a path of lesser resistance—skirting a rocky ridge and shaving off a few metres of ascent. That’s it. The last descent. The Rhinogs drop into the rearview.

Just eight kilometres of forest track and tarmac lie between us and camp. After such a long day, the “run the runnable” mantra is hard to honour, but I find the reserves to follow it—across the elegant wooden toll bridge over the beautiful Mawddach estuary, and where Sue and Willow bid me a cheery, heartfelt goodnight.

The few flat final miles are covered in a tired walk/run grind, distraction in the consumption of leftover food: a dark chocolate Tunnock’s wafer and cheese & onion Hula Hoops—Dragon ambrosia.

I cross the line as darkness falls, the race clock ticking past 8 p.m.—relief and deep satisfaction flooding in.

There’s talk of wet and windy weather ahead, and a reminder to pack additional cold-weather kit. But nothing diminishes the glow of a long, brilliant day spent moving efficiently and with purpose through beautiful, brutal terrain; not even my deep fatigue.

Camp life resumes: eat; Dragon Mail delight; sort kit; prepare to go again at 6 a.m. Another night of too-little food and sleep, before the tent gently groans to life just after four.

Day 3 – The Dragon Within

Stat’s (distance | ascent) from start to: 

• Water Point (Abergynolwyn) – 25km | 1200m 
• Support point (Machynlleth) – 40km | 1800m 
• Finish (Ceredigion) – 66km | 2900m

A different day, but the same early-morning, torch-lit routine. On the start line for the opening hour—and away…

A warm hug and whispered encouragement from Sue as the route passes out of our common overnight campsite, into the quiet stillness of still-sleeping Dolgellau. It’s not raining—yet. Gratefulness for small mercies.

The town is left behind and the climbing begins—up, up towards the hulking mass of Cadair Idris, Eryri’s southern sentinel. There’s a bit of low-key chit-chat as the Dragon’s pack sorts itself into an order defined by our relative ability, energy and drive.

The forecast weather arrives bang on cue—as we hit the crest of Cadair’s broad back. Perfect timing. No views this morning to lift the soul—just a form of sensory deprivation: the body numbed, visibility reduced to a hood-framed patch of sodden turf, the only sound the drum, drum, drumming of rain and wind on Gore-Tex.

It’s no worse than Day 1 over the Carneddau—but accumulated fatigue makes it feel heavier. The only comfort? A small tumbler of Coke handed to me by two supporting angels—proof, at least, that my sense of taste is still working.

Cadair Idris’s rocky summit is slow to arrive. The encouragement of a few hardy supporters bounces off my Gore-Tex shell, lost to the wind and rain. The more technical descent demands sharper focus—enough to momentarily silence the internal grumbling. I should be celebrating: there’s no higher summit between here and Cardiff. Instead, I’m bog-bimbling through the clag, passed by faster runners who ghost by in the mist.

A sliver of concentration as I work to spot an alternate line—short-lived shelter, easier underfoot, and a few metres of ascent saved. Back on the main route, just in time to see a runner in my periphery lurch forward and face-plant into the mire. Thankfully, they bounce up and carry on. The Dragon is demanding a lot of us this morning.

The foul weather chases us down off the mountain and into the valley. With no hint of irony, a runner mentions a farm ahead has an outside tap, “if I’m thirsty.” Thirsty? When I’m wetter than an otter’s pocket? It makes me laugh, at least.

Tarmac now across the valley bottom. I summon enough will to “run the runnable” and quicken my arrival at Abergynolwyn, where the water point and a café await. But first: a riverside bridleway I had enjoyed on the recce—today, merely endured.

At the checkpoint, I down a Complan and keep moving. The rain still falls, and the queue for the café is longer than my patience. I press on.

Then, a lift in spirits—a freshly graded path climbs through a beautiful wooded valley, tracing the line of swollen, noisy waterfalls. Senses stir. The sky lightens. Is the low passing?

We leave the wood and valley bottom behind, onto long, comfortably inclined forestry zigzags. Ourea’s course ops ring out encouragement with a massive cowbell, making sure no one’s cutting corners.

The rain hardens as the altitude rises. With no other stimulus, doubt creeps in.

And for the first time, I feel it: The pull to stop. To quit.

I argue back:

• The weather’s easing.
  
• I’m uninjured.
  
• No blisters.
  
• Still ahead of the cut-offs.
  
• Still progressing relentlessly forward.

“Just get to Machynlleth, Mackie,” I tell myself. Eat. Drink. Be merrier. March on toward Cardiff.

But a counter-voice bites back repeatedly: Why do you want to get to Cardiff? Why, why, why, why? 

Gone are the broadleaf woods and the tumbling cascades. Now: the ragged remnants of industrial clear-felling—a Smaug-seared landscape made real.

And in that desolate setting, the questioning voice returns: How much do I really want this?

I’ve moved efficiently, effectively, over Eryri’s rocky spine for two and a half long, demanding, deeply satisfying days.

And that—that feels like enough.

No drama. No despair.

Just clarity.

My will to complete the Dragon’s Back is not strong enough.

Decision made.

However, I still need to get over Tarren y Gesail. The wind and rain return in abundance; the cloud-shroud summit is dismal, like my mood. A steep grassy descent leads into forestry. Even as a young child, I disliked forest tracks; they were so BOOOOOORING!. On family walks, I’d  insist on taking any side path that looked more interesting. I haven’t changed in the subsequent half century. The next few kilometres do nothing to test my resolve to stop.

As I reach the outskirts of Machynlleth and the Afon Dyfi, Sue—and of course Willow—are there to greet me. Her unwavering support has been a bright thread running through this shorter than hoped for journey, and our life together. I settle onto the old bridge’s balustrade and share my decision. She listens with care, gently tests my intent, and counters it. After all, the weather has eased, I’m within reach of the support point with around two hours to spare before cut-off—and from there, just 25 kilometres to camp.

So I walk into town and, at the first chance, forage a hot Cornish pasty—dribblingly tasty and swiftly devoured. I should have bought two. In the busy main street, I am overwhelmed by the bustle of ordinary folk doing ordinary things. A track leads out of town to the support point, tucked into a rustic orchard. But this time, it’s me in the chair, being urged to continue rather than the one urging others on.

Andy, like Sue, probes my decision and champions continuation; it’s a persuasive pitch from someone who I know offers wise counsel. I sit and reflect amidst the support point bustle; time passes. Then Caz and Carolyn arrive—brisk, purposeful, glowing with intent. Their passion to reach Cardiff and for the event burns fierce and clear—a wonder to witness. They, and all those still chasing that Cardiff dream, have my utmost admiration. I silently will them on and wish them godspeed.

But I hold firm to the choice made earlier, forged in fatigue and the felled forest. My journey ends here. I rise and walk back the way I came.

The Dragon’s Back, for me, is done. And I’m content with that.

Thanks & Gratitude

None of this would have been possible without the phenomenal team at Ourea Events. Their professionalism, dedication, and attention to detail creats the structure and safety net that allows so many of us to journey across big, beautiful landscapes. Huge thanks too to their ever-cheerful event volunteers—out on wild ridgelines, at support and water points, in midgy valleys, and behind the scenes—whose encouragement, kindness, and enthusiasm in challenging conditions, and in all things, makes Ourea events what they are.

To friends and family who tracked dots, sent messages, and offered remote morale boosts—thank you. To club mates, running friends and fellow Dragons who offered advice, belief, and inspiration—thank you too. To the spirit of the Dragon’s Back Race personified, Caz, gratefulness for sowing the seed over five years ago during post-Preseli Beast  shenanigans in The Globe, and subsequent friendship, inspiration and tip-top tips on tactical trods in the Rhinogs. 

And above all, to Sue—steadfast in all weathers, relentless in support, and always there at the right time in the right place with the right words, and Willow in tow. With all my heartfelt thanks, and deepest, enduring love.

A Footnote on Foot Care

Over the past few years, I’ve spent a lot of time tramping and running long distances over hilly, rough ground in all weathers. In that time, and while volunteering at events where folk are doing similar, I’ve learned that blisters, bruised toenails, and general foot carnage are more than just occupational hazards—they can be painful companions at best, and race-ending liabilities at worst.

Keen to avoid these pitfalls, I started paying close attention to foot care—not just my own, but that of others too. While volunteering at events like the Winter Spine, Cape Wrath Ultra, and the Dragon’s Back Race , I observed what the uninjured runners were doing differently. The answer, like most things in ultra-running, boiled down to two things: preparation and consistency.

My footcare regime:

• Daily moisturising – I use O’Keeffe’s to keep my feet soft and supple; there are many, many alternatives. The goal is smooth, resilient skin, not dry, cracked, calloused. I haven’t used pedicures or pumice stones, but others do – either way, look after your peg-ends like you’re preparing for a foot modelling career.
  
• Barrier cream before runs – applied to reduce the impact of friction and moisture. I use Musher’s Secret (See below for details on ingredients etc.)—originally bought for protecting our dogs’ paw pads out in the hills. Occasionally I bark after application, but honestly, it’s been very effective on my pads too. Trenchfoot cream is a popular alternative if you don’t have a dog and Mushers Secret in the house. It’s specifically formulated in the South West for running humans, and has a vegan version too.
  
• Nail care – Keep them neat, well trimmed, and healthy.
  
  • Socks and shoes – Crucial. I use:
    
    • A thin merino wool liner
      
    • A thicker waterproof outer (Dexshell, in my case—but many good options exist)
      
    • This combo typically requires my daps to be half a size bigger; and for multi-day efforts, a full size up to allow for swelling.
      
    • Shoe fit is key: close-fitting but not tight. It’s a balance between avoiding pressure points and limiting foot movement inside the shoe—especially when descending or traversing rough terrain. Finding your ideal lacing tension and fit will take trial and error, and vary depending on terrain, weather, route length etc.
      
  • Gaiters – Help keep debris out, protect socks, and improve comfort.
    
    • Post-run care on multi-day events – At the end of each day, I strip off socks, moisturise again, and slip on dry, oversized Dexshells and a pair of gardening clogs. Overnight I sleep barefoot. And so far, without fail, my feet have been ready to go again the next morning; unlike the rest of my body!

The result? No blisters, maceration, or lost nails for the past two years since adopting this routine. However, I’ve spent a fair bit on moisturiser and socks…

---

Footnote to the footnote:
Musher’s Secret is made from 100% pure, natural, food-grade waxes—white and yellow beeswax, carnauba, and candelilla—blended with vegetable oils and vitamin E. It’s non-toxic, non-GMO, gluten-free, and creates a breathable barrier that protects against snow, salt, hot pavement, and rough terrain.

Images from my journey:

My marathon day

The day started in a leisurely way. My start time was not until 11:21 so after a surprisingly good night sleep I ate a vat of porridge followed by a banana. I was really done with carb loading at that point! I made myself a bagel with peanut butter to have an hour before I was due to start.

My wife Jan then drove me towards the start line dropped me about a mile from the start. I had a leisurely walk which was typically up a hill! Lots of runners with their kit bags heading towards the common were doing the same as me.

The start area was full, but well organised with signs directing people to the correct areas. I found my lorry to drop off my kit bag. It was hot and there was no shade, I grabbed a bottle of water and sat down to eat my bagel and tried to relax.

When my wave was called to the muster point, I joined with the rest of the runners and we walked to the start, then we were off.

The start of the marathon was busy! I started off too quickly, weaving and dodging to get in front of the person in front of me, only to have to do the same again and again. But I felt good at that point and settled into my stride (or plod!). The crowds were great, lots of noise and the cheering was really uplifting.

The first 5 miles came and went, and I soaked up the atmosphere and the various costumes. I saw 2 guys running as a 3 legged race, a rhino, Christmas tree to mention a few. At mile 5 all was going to plan, I slowed to take on a gel, squeezed it too hard and covered myself in a sticky mess!!! I continued around the Cutty Sark and headed on. At the main tourist locations, the crowds were particularly large, noisy and supportive, every step of the 26.2miles someone was cheering you on. What a great turnout from London to support several thousand lunatics running in the sun.

Talking of the sun, it was hot out there, most of my training had been done in the damp and cold winter months and this was another level. There were water stations every 3 miles and showers set up that were great to run through and cool down a bit.

At mile 9 I saw my family cheering me on with banners and I waved to them as I ran past. On towards Tower bridge (just under half way) where the crowds were large again and I slowed down to take a few pictures before continuing on. Around docklands I started to feel the heat and things started to get a bit harder.

We had a plan that Jan would send me messages that I could read on my watch as I was running so I knew where and when they would pop up. We had a rough plan of them seeing me around Mile 18. Like all great plans it didn’t quite work out, the sun was so bright, I struggled to read the messages on my watch and after scanning the crowds and feeling multiple buzzes on my watch I got my phone out to read that There was a change of plan due to navigating transport and crowds , they would see me just after the mile 20 marker instead.

Just after Mile 20 I saw them it was a boost because at this point it was getting harder and harder to keep going. A quick stop, chat and selfie before carrying on. I found myself walking more than I was running and simply concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other. I knew I needed to take on fuel but really feel like anything. I ate a few pretzels (I was really done with sweet sticky jells!) and although all advise says don’t try anything new, I was tempted by a cup of Lucozade being handed out. It tasted amazing!

Those last 6 miles are a bit of a blur, I had to dig deep to keep going. I saw the 5:30 pacer pull ahead of me and then the 5:45 and I knew there was nothing I could do about it. At that point it was not about a time just getting to the end. As the houses of parliament came into view, I knew I was almost there, and I was going to get over the finish line. Down the mall my head was down, and I was walking when a guy came up behind me, said come on mate and encouraged me to run (slowly!!) towards the finish line. I ran over the finish line with his help and thanked a complete stranger for his support.

After that I collected my medal, took another selfie, collected my kit bag and headed off to Charing Cross. That was a slow walk! At the train station, to my dismay, they were queuing around the block. Thankfully I realised that was for the underground and I was off to London bridge using the overground. I found my train and got on, only to have to stand in a really packed, hot and stuffy train. I got one stop where more people got on, but before the train left the station, I started to feel unwell and had to push my way off before I fainted. I sat on the floor, took some deep breaths and got some fresh air as it passed. I then noticed two guys on a bench next to me and talking to them, they had done the exact same thing!

All three of us were feeling better as the next train pulled in so we got on and I met up with my family in London Bridge and headed back to my daughters flat. I wasn’t really hungry but I ate half of my dinner before being driven home. Once home I sat on the sofa, legs aching and poured a large glass of red wine, before heading off to bed at the end of a fantastic, memorable day.

Everyone from the crowds, the organisers, volunteers, other marathon runners and my supportive family made the day an experience I will never forget.

The ballot for next year closes Friday, I would recommend anyone sign up for it from walkers at 7+hours to super fit 2:30 runners.

Thanks again CRC for the opportunity.

I don’t really know where to start but hindsight is a wonderful thing; weeks ago, I was hoping for a PB and thought I could achieve it; following a disastrous Chippenham half marathon, my confidence plummeted and all thoughts of a PB went out of the window.  I got so stressed during the days immediately prior to the race that I thought I might just finish inside of 3.45.  Even on the Saturday morning at parkrun, I was struggling and heavy breathing at 8mm – slower than perceived goal marathon place.  However, constantly eating from the Wednesday to the Sunday and a good rest Saturday afternoon obviously did the trick and I was feeling much brighter on Sunday morning.  By then, there’s really no turning back – it’s do or die!

Marathon Morning

Stuart and I were awake from 3.30am and up at 4am; plenty of time to get ourselves organised though we’d already set our kit out the night before and got the after-race bag ready.  An easy 2M walk to the start and I left Stuart at the orange start to make my way to the blue start.  I got chatting to a lady from Berkhamsted who was equally nervous and we chatted all things running, marathons etc.  A long loo queue was stressful but we did manage to sneak into our Corral by 7.20am and at 7.30am the first elite runners started (the wheelchair athletes had started slightly earlier).  Our Corral moved forward and I started running at 7.52am.  I have always previously just decided to run at 8mm as I was always so scared of blowing up towards the end – far too cautious for my own good.  So, for once in my life, I decided to be brave, and run to feel instead of running to pace.  I knew the first few miles were going to be tricky getting the pace right as I’d been warned GPS does not pick up due to the tall buildings so not to try to rely on the watch.  Easier said than done and my watch told me my third mile was 6.57 which was faster than I wanted so I did slow.  Thereafter, I only looked at my watch at the end of each mile and was pleased generally to see around the 7.36 pace.  I did occasionally wonder about dropping off at the end, but decided I’d deal with that if/when it came.  During the race a few things kept me going and not get distracted/slow down; Gel every 5M, plus one at the start; may change this for Boston to every 5M until 15, then 18 and 23 to finish.  Timing mats every 5K for friends to be able to track me; Gatorade and water stations very frequently – I alternated between the two each time, occasionally taking both at the same time on the go, but being careful here as potential to slip.  Sticking to the blue line and concentrating to not bump into slower runners ahead.  It was funny because towards the end I passed a 3.25 pacer, a 3.20 pacer, a 3.15 pacer who was walking and a 3.40 pacer!  There were a few small bridges to go over (they were really small) but a lot of them have metal bases so the organisers put carpet down but not the full width.  On a couple of the bridges, the blue line wasn’t on the carpet so a real dilemma as to whether to stay on the blue line or move to the carpet – I stuck to the blue line and took extra care!  (for those who are not aware, the blue line is there to follow where possible as that’s the “official racing line” – deviate from that and you’ll definitely run more than 26.2)!!

At mile 17, the crowds thinned and we had a bit of quiet – the noise is good but the break was much needed and relished.  But by 18M, the crowds were back.  One of my London friends had messaged me the day before to say he would be in the crowd and looking out for me, amongst other friends.  I didn’t believe for a moment I’d see/hear him, but would you believe it I did – twice!!  That was a real boost; about mile 3 and about mile 21.  

I went through halfway in 1.42 (a little quicker than normal, but not massively).  For me, the maths tends to start at mile 20.  With 10K to go, what time is it now, how long will it realistically take to finish, how are the legs, is there still enough room to avoid weaving too much (to stay on the blue line and how many people are walking on the blue line); I remember glancing at my watch and seeing 2.33 and trying to work out how much longer I’d be on my feet.  If I could stick to under 8mm then that be about 48 minutes, so would see me come in around 3.21.  I had hope!  At mile 23 I thought about another gel but my body wasn’t quite ready but I could feel myself slowing down but not being able to do anything about it.  It was just a case of pushing forward as best as I could, looking forwards and keeping an eye out for the next mile marker and the next…  I needed energy so by 23.5 I took my last gel and tried to keep an even pace.  This is the only part of the course where it doubles back on itself so on one part you’re seeing the runners in front of you, and then on the switch-back you could see those behind you.  I tried so hard not to fall behind and to be fair, I was still passing people but just could not achieve 7.35/40.  

Next, an odd thing happened that I’d never seen before in any marathon, let alone an Abbott World Series one; I knew I was still on mile 24 but I saw a sign that said 400m to go.  I know I’m not making it up because Stuart saw it also.  I thought it a bit odd but convinced myself my watch was right and the marker was simply in the wrong place – bit of a rookie error by the organisers.  I felt really sorry for a woman who was being paced by a male who saw the sign and shouted, “come on, only 400m to go and sprinted off”.  Of course I was dreaming; it was 400m to the marker that then proclaimed “1 mile from here”!  So I knew that was it, gritted my teeth and just wanted to finish.  I wasn’t in any pain, I wasn’t sore but I wanted to finish before I slowed down any further.  Progress, I saw the 800m marker, turned the corner, saw the 400m marker and my heart sank; there was a climb!  Not a massive climb but at that stage of the race, it might have well as been Mount Everest!  Move the arms I said to myself, the legs will follow.  Slight downhill for the last 200m and that was it, I was over the line.  Not the 3.21 I thought I might possibly get (who am I kidding?); not the 3.23 I’ve always believed I could achieve, but still extraordinarily happy with 3.24.14, a shiny new PB at the age of 53, 8 years after my last PB at London of 3.25.03.

So, my comment about hindsight in the opening paragraph; I knew to expect the GPS not to kick in for a few miles however, I still looked at it and thought I was running too fast when I saw a 6.57 3^rd mile and so slowed down.  That was an error.  If I’d have just had a bit more faith in those opening miles, even up to the 10K mark, I may have got a 3.23. something.  But I didn’t, and who knows anyway.  But I have faith I will run like this again. Boston is my next stop and whilst I know there are hills well into the race (mile 17, ½ long, mile 19, short but steep and repeats, into mile 20 Heartbreak Hill is a steep, half-mile trek uphill at a 3.3 percent incline).  So nice to know at least!!  Some people say the hills are not that bad and a couple of people I know have their PB set there.  So who knows…

For those of you interested in stats:

3rd GB lady in my age category (the other two finishing in 3.23);

34^th lady overall in my age category

55^th GB lady overall in all age categories

1791 lady to finish

9581 finisher from over 52,150 runners.

Good

Finishing where you started meant it was easy to collect your bag as it was where you’d left it with the volunteers.

Clear guidance about where you needed to start.

Plenty of Gatorade/water stations and lots of volunteers to hand out the water.

5K mats to relay your race information to followers.

Enough room to run without being hemmed in (unlike the other big city marathons where there are too many runners).

Barriers to keep spectators off the course (unlike NY where spectators were so close they were stood on the blue line).

Plenty of spectators in general (one quiet spot around 17M which was bliss).

Biofreeze near the end where you could “run in/be spayed/run out” – I didn’t need it but great for those who did.

Free medal engraving at the finish village.

Nike giving away flip flops (though we were in the medal engraving queue so long, they’d run out).

Ice bags at the end.

A few goodies at the end (though I wasn’t aware of all of them).

Could do better

Cups of water and Gatorade offered before going into the Corral but limited to each runner.

Did not see the mile markers in the early stages – were they there?

Blue line was too close to the aid stations and they were slippy underfoot, understandably.

London offer stats about how many runners you’ve passed and how many have passed you during the race – it would be great if Chicago did this too.

Bad

No bottled water at the start.

Not enough portaloos at the start.

Anyone could get into our corral as there were no officials checking bibs.

During the race, some people had pacing bibs on the rear of their shirt so you assumed they were pacers – but they weren’t; that was the time they were aiming for and they were just runners.

“Steaming to the Coast” is a Devon based trail marathon. Becky, John and Helen ran this inaugural event in April.

We generally run together, quite slowly, and always take the opportunity to look at stuff as we trot by. The marathon gave us plenty of opportunities to do that.

The race starts in Minehead, with the first leg being a steam train ride to Bishop’s Lydeard. From there to the sound of a steam whistle, we set off back towards Minehead. A bit of farmland first, then up onto the Quantocks. Undulating moorland with spectacular views for a while, including a view of the finish (very far away) and then back down to fairly level farmland and coastal trails, and the sea front in Minehead.

All in all, a great day out. Not a cloud in the sky, friendly marshals and other runners, and great variety of terrain and scenery.

Spoiler alert: We all completed the race 🙂

Feel free to continue reading for a more expanded version 🙂

Training for the race had gone quite well, but had been interrupted by holidays and other things, so our last four weeks was not ideal. Still, it was certain to be an adventure that we could enjoy … let’s see what the day brings.

· Potatoes the night before – whilst sitting chatting Helen realised that she’d left them at home, having promised Becky she would provide them. (salty potatoes are a must for any long run!)

· Surprisingly spacious Air BnB Lodge, surprisingly good night’s sleep

· Early start but the clear sky and sun made up for this.

· Slow train – but with toilet, and stuff yourself full of food so you don’t have to carry it and lots of countryside to distract your pre-race nerves.

· Waiting around at Bishop’s Lydeard Station and a few more toilet stops.

· Finally, we have a briefing – something about following flags, public rights of way, can’t hear but can’t process either, just want to get going

· The train in the station lets off steam and toots and we start, cheered out of the station by all the 11km and 11 mile runners who will then be getting back on the train to get to their (closer) starting points. The atmosphere at the start was different to other races, the unique start and beautiful weather must have had something to do with it.

We had previously run once on the Quantocks, which we did recognise as we sailed past; otherwise, this was all new territory for us. Now we understand why people get excited about trail races which they haven’t reccied – once we’d got up the (never ending) hill it was one pleasant sight after another: mown grassy paths through heather, magnificent views, firstly of Hinkley Point C (still under construction) and soon after that of our ultimate destination, just past the white roofs of Butlins in Minehead.

Ponies on the path, lots of gorgeous yellow gorse, the sun continues to shine with a warm breeze.

Coming down off the Quantocks, zig-zag path steep through the woods, keep an eye out for the little red flags, knees coping well with the downhill.

Beep beep – Becky’s watch reminding us every 20 minutes that we should eat or drink, using this method was new to us but it seemed to work.

Being directed down a path towards the sea and realising that we’ve reached the beach much quicker than expected. There was a cut-off of 15:30 as the tide would be too high for us to cross the beach, but we’d make it with plenty of time to spare so had the pleasure of attempting to run – mainly walk – across slippy rocks and sandy pools and up steep steps (lots of them) at the other end.

Marshals at the aid stations delighted to see us, reluctant to answer the question from a fellow runner of “how many people have gone through?” – We are fully aware that there are – and will continue to be – around a dozen of the 130 or so starters behind us. We could see the bright orange marshal t-shirts from afar.

Getting hotter, John’s head getting redder. Marshal stopped Helen just in time when she went to pour water on his head; age-old problem of clear electrolyte drink, which would have been a very sticky mistake. Becky on the other hand poured the sticky water over her hands!

Leap frogging another group on the coastal section (metaphorically, not literally – that would have been very hard work at this stage).

Watchet – public toilets at last! An opportunity to have yet more food, shuffle the pack around, admire the picturesque fishing town whilst the tourists cheer us past.

Beaches! After the springy beach with the tide out, we then had what felt like a VERY long pebble beach and then just before we reached the seafront with tired legs we were met with deep dry sand that you sank into.

Medal & T-shirt. There was an option at registration to not have a medal, we went for this option but at the end decided we would like one as a memento and they were unique like the race and you could take the lanyard off it to use it as a coaster. One of the local running clubs made their own t-shirts which everyone was admiring so much so that the Dan and Jan organisers decided to add this on after the event.

Success?

· Not overtraining (motivational phone call from ultrarunning daughter who comforted us by saying “undertraining is better than overtraining” – J and H had spent 2 of the previous 4 weeks in the searing heat of Central America, doing lots of walking and snorkelling but zero running!) Becky had no excuse not to continue training during those 4 weeks unless the weather can be used.

· Planning – regular intake of food and drink, including this time for the first time some savoury stuff (Becky wondered why her savoury bag couldn’t be found at a feed station….turns out it was on the sofa in the Air B&B)

· Preparation – having attended Nick’s strength presentation we have been faithfully doing the “top five” weight-lifting exercises he strongly recommended (we managed to walk back to the van….slowly but not broken, thanks to the strength work)

· Confidence – we’ve run a marathon and 50 km before, albeit with some aches and pains afterwards, but our heads knew that we could do it (Becky spoke to herself a couple of times to say that this race was different to our Ultra and she wasn’t broken before the start and the weather was ideal…..so she could and would finish it!)

· Sticking together, walking when necessary, running when possible. Definitely walking up the hills. Becky reminding us that our legs are MUCH longer than hers and when we are power walking she can’t keep up!

· Regular massages during training. Deep tissue, performed by a passionate Lithuanian; avoid any political chat as she will press even harder as she gets animated about the topic!

Why trail marathon and not London marathon?

· The views, the countryside

· Less stress on the legs – you have to change your step constantly, so knees don’t mind so much

· Less pressure on yourself, enjoy the views and feed stations

· You can walk some of it without anyone really noticing

· Toilet stops – otherwise known as hedges or finding public toilets

· You can take as long as you like

· Training is much more fun. Embrace the mud, the hills, the gorgeous grassy downhills and views.

· Channel Events would love to hear from you if you’d like to get involved in marshalling at their runs or indeed cycling events. Dan always picks fantastic locations and looks after his marshals and runners very well.

Bishop’s Lydeard to Minehead via the Quantocks, Williton, Watchet, Washford, Dunster Bay

Total distance: 42.34 km

Total height gain: 666 m

Number of D of E groups passed: at least 5

Number of Scouts cheering as they walk the other way: at least 40