Spine Race Part 3 - to the end.

The waiting game

The weather forecasts were for 100+ mph winds across the summits.  I like to think that if I'd read that weather forecast for myself that I would have independently decided to stay put and sit out the storm in warmth and comfort.  I was happy to have the decision taken out my hands, though.

So, I hung my socks up to dry.  I ate, slept, drank tea, ate doughnuts, chatted to racers and organisers, flirted hopelessly with Jacqui and, all in all, the time disappeared very pleasantly.  I caught up with Phil for the first time since we set off.  We had chance to reset our strategies. We were going to be setting off early on Thursday which gave 36-38 hours to reach the finish and be in time for a pub meal, maybe even finish in daylight.  That was my aim now.  The break had given a complete confidence that I would finish.  It was only 80 miles after all and I had three days.  I would go as hard as I could tomorrow, get a couple of hours sleep and push for the finish. Oh, such overconfidence again.  When would I ever learn.

We were told to be ready to go for 6.30 but it was likely to be a 7 am start.  That implied a 6.15 am start to me but the companions in my dormitory thought that 5.15 am was when they needed to start clattering around. Even I couldn't sleep through it.

Off Again

In my mind this was a short day; under 40 miles.  So, I felt I would be able to keep a reasonably high pace, particularly as I was fed and rested.  It was a mass start and I was happy to follow the head torches in front for the first few miles so as not to have to think about map-reading.  But what with my stupid competitiveness and few of the advance party wandering off track, I found myself at the head of a bunch and feeling like I was doing all the hard work.  Only Johnnie Watson seemed to have his map out and be sharing the load.  Maybe everyone else knew where they were going and they would shout us back if we went off.  Maybe I should just lighten up and enjoy the day and stop worrying about other people.

On this stretch I started to get stomach ache that would stay with me for the next two days.  It was a persistent, bloated feeling of discomfort that put me off eating.  I would go through a cycle of eating a small amount, being knotted with stomach cramps, trying to unsuccessfully bring up trapped wind, before feeling hungry again and repeating the process.  The stomach cramps only went away when they were replaced by hunger pangs.  This section along the Tyne valley was quite attractive but I didn't appreciate it.  The group started to break up just before the intermediate checkpoint at Greenhead. They were serving fresh coffee and I stayed to enjoy a couple of cups while I faffed with my socks.

Leaving on my own I was resigned and almost looking forward to a section on my own when I ran into Richard Lendon and Simon Beasley who were just leaving the village cafe.  We fell in together for a few miles until they started to stretch out in the section along Hadrian's Wall.  This is a high and exposed section and once again the winds started to batter us.  The freshness of the morning now seemed a long way away and I was back in plod mode.  I could see Richard and Simon ahead, just a few hundred metres but the idea of catching them seemed absurd.  The dragon's back hills along here that form the natural barrier that the Wall follows, are spectacular but I struggled to appreciate them.

It was a long and wearying section along the wall being bullied by the wind and dusk was falling when I turned north towards Bellingham.  I could see Richard and Simon down the hill and off-route. The path took a diagonal route across a field and they had mistakenly followed the wall.  The extra yards they had taken in were almost enough to help me catch them up and with the advantage of following, as they had a few more navigation decisions to make, meant that I caught up with them and Johnnie Watson as darkness fell.

The next 4 hours to Bellingham were the most miserable of the week.  My feet were still sore.  My stomach was stopping me eating almost anything and I was surviving on Shot Bloks (basically glorified fruit gums).  The rain was lashing down again now.  We were walking through managed forestry and the underfoot conditions varied from swamp to marsh with all the varieties of mud in between.  Feet became soaked and started to feel cold.  I had enough in my legs to stay with my new buddies but I was sat in and following.  So much for my grumpiness of earlier that others were following me, I was more than happy to switch off and internalise my efforts into just keeping going for a few more hours and let others do the navigating.

Occasionally, I would get out my GPS and try and show willing.  I don't know how much help I was. Johnnie was excellent through this time in staying close to the map which gives a much wider perspective than the GPS screen particularly when the paths were re-routed through the forest swamps.  The last road miles were agony on the bruised feet.  I squelched into the checkpoint just before 9 pm, another 14 hour day, to be told that we couldn't eat in our wet clothes, couldn't go into the hall, couldn't go in the drying room, arghh.  We basically had to strip off on the spot and get changed before we could eat.  I very nearly had a complete hissy fit.  I was very hungry and needed to sit and eat.  I just held it together long enough to get changed and get to the dining room.

I uploaded a slightly downbeat Facebook post as I settled into my sleeping bag and was truly gratified to see the stream of encouraging posts come back to me.  The previous few hours had been a low point but I was through it and there was just one more day to go.

My place in the sun

Sun on the Cheviots

Short of four hours sleep later I stirred.  I rose quietly and tiptoed past Phil as he slept at my feet. I plugged in my phone for half an hour of juice before I set off. I was at my most useless in getting my kit together. I couldn't remember where my head torch was or find the gloves I'd taken off the night before. I had loads of dry clothes left but couldn't decide what to wear. Before I could get going Phil came past me on his way to breakfast. This was the impetus I needed to get moving and I left the checkpoint at about 3.30 am, leaving my phone plugged in behind me.

Blue skies on the Cheviots as a last day treat

I left at the same time as Ian Bowles and it was quickly clear that we were moving at a similar pace and so we fell in together through the dark hours until dawn. There were some blank areas of moorland to cross and the extra eyes on the map helped keep the navigation errors to a minimum.

This last leg was 36 miles. If I could maintain 3 miles an hour I could finish in daylight. This was the aim I set off with. Sore feet and perpetual stomach cramps were not making it easy going though. 

As dawn broke we caught up with Joao Colaco wearing high viz waterproof trousers that gave him the look of a fireman in search of a cat up a tree. The fire road in Redesdale Forest would normally have been regarded as runnable but the surface was too hard to contemplate beating my feet on, even if the legs had been willing. The sun was shining and the light through the woods was lovely. Ian and I caught up with Rob and Kerry and we passed a couple of miles in chatter.

Pleasant walking eventually brought us to Byrness and the last intermediate checkpoint before the end.  Here the B&B owner heroically treated us to leek and potato soup followed by sausage and mash.  A crowd of nearly a dozen spiners was squashed in but we were all fed in quick time. Despite feeling bloated, I stuffed down what I could knowing that it was easier to eat whilst seated than it would be whilst I was on the move. It didn't occur to me that it was odd to be eating sausage and mash at 10.30 in the morning. 

Out of Byrness it was a stiff climb up onto the Cheviots.  Not having walked any of the route for the last two days had been tough.  Lack of familiarity had made it harder work and demanded higher concentration. This remained the case for the rest of the day and would cost me time later but, for now, being out on the high ridges of the Cheviots for the first time was a glorious cold, sharp, sunny, winter's day treat. 

The ground was bone hard and ice was forming on the slabs. I decided to make use of my Yaktrax (other brands of lightweight ice grips are available). Putting on the rubbery contraptions took me 5 minutes but the extra grip meant that I soon caught up with and overtook the posse in front.
Once again I was feeling good. The sun was high, the path was clear, the going was fast and my pace felt strong and felt like I could keep it up all day. Home straight. Glory miles.

But careless mapwork cost me all this. Cutting a corner, I took the wrong path down the street rather than along Windy Gyle. On such a clear day, you don't need to check bearings! As long as you read the land right and the path is clear. A kilometre after I went off route the path started to descend unexpectedly. Getting out the compass, I realised my mistake. The detour cost me probably 20-30 minutes but more than that was slap to my morale. The zip went out of my pace. Instead of striding out and trying to stay ahead of my buddies, I fell into a plod. I wasn't going to finish in daylight. It was time to steady down, make no more mistakes and finish. Just finish.

Fatigue was making the feet hurt more and I had nearly eaten all the food that I could contemplate putting in my mouth. The wind was gathering too and the cold was starting to penetrate. I was wearing pretty much everything I was carrying.
I had on a thermal base layer, a stretch fleece, a windproof and my waterproof shell. Even with all this, I was struggling to keep enough of a pace to stay warm.
As dusk fell, I descended down from The Cheviot, the high point of the mountain range, to the second mountain refuge hut. I had a pair of dry socks in my bag and decided it was time to use them. I stopped in the hut where Spine volunteers were making a party atmosphere. I took 10 minutes off my feet, ate well and put on some fresh socks feeling that the extra spring would protect my feet and help me on the downhill to the finish.
One last push to the top of the Schil and I had 5 miles of downhill left. One of my Yaktrax was now in shreds but I was able to get a jog going and enjoy the benefits of gravity. Moving nicely, I saw a couple of head torch beams coming towards me. I was delighted to realise that it was Ian Haigh and Amanda Porter who come up to meet me and Phil and drive us back to Southwell.
I was less delighted that they shone their 200 lumen torches in my face and blinded me. I courteously let them know that they should be more considerate with how they use their lamps. I was expecting some company down to the finish but Ian and Amanda said that they were going on to the hut to wait for Phil, "who isn't far behind". I didn't need any encouragement but the thought that Phil might be catching me pushed me on again.
More downhill on good ground, softening as I descended below the frost line, helped me cover the ground quickly and soon I was down in valley on the road leading to Kirk Yetholm. I took off my Yaktrax and almost immediately stepped on to a finger of black ice and ended up on my back. In the six and a half days prior to this I had stumbled, been blown off balance, skidded on the mud, slipped on the ice, slid on the wet duck-boards and skied on the wet grass but I had only fallen over twice. The first time was within 1 mile of the start and the second within 1 mile of the finish.
The tarmac took all the wind from my sails. I got a good march going and started to think of the finish and the welcome and the pub and the beer and the food.

One more cruel and brutal hill on the road into town surprised me but soon I was walking down the village green towards where I thought the pub must be. I could see no lights or banners to guide me. There was a small crowd so I headed towards them. They gave me a polite ripple of applause which I tried to acknowledge while still looking faintly embarrassed.
Prompted by an onlooker, I touched the pub wall and turned to go inside. As I did Nici Griffin came out slightly flustered and insisted I go through my finish ritual again so that she could then present me with my medal. Actually, I just wanted my beer. Ok, I wanted my medal too. There are no pictures of my finish but I did do it, I promise.
I opened the door of the pub to a rapturous round of applause from racers, volunteers and general pub goers. I don't expect to ever again receive a welcome like that when I enter a pub.The photo above captures how I felt at that moment.

Amazingly, I was reunited with my phone and so could capture a moment of two of the evening before "exhaustion" set in.  I caught up with fellow racers, some of whom I'd not seen since the start, and volunteers. The atmosphere as more and more finishers came into the pub was lovely, like a big extended family welcoming home sons and daughters at Christmas

My hurry to make sure that I finished ahead of Phil was somewhat misplaced and Ian and Amanda had a little wait for him at Hut 2. The pub had kicked out and I was wondering how long I was prepared to wait in the freezing evening when Phil, Amanda and Ian strolled down the hill.
In something of an anti-climax, Phil touched the pub wall and was given his medal. They had run out of finisher's t-shirts in any size other than XL and there was no finisher's half pint of beer to greet him.
We headed for Ian's camper van and he drove us to the village hall. I stayed up and ate and drank for as long as I could, wanting to savour the moment but soon was too tired to carry on and crawled into my sleeping bag.
I understand that the hall was very noisy that night and in particular one person was making a lot of drunken noise right next to me. Once again I proved that if nothing else that I could outsleep anyone.

Afterthoughts

For the last two days of the race, I could not imagine doing this race again. In fact I was slightly bemused by the people who had come back 2, 3 and 4 times. Now, a few weeks later, I know that come January 2016 I will feel a great sense of missing-out, if I am not on the start line. The Spine Race is a great adventure. The organisers, racers and volunteers form a community that is unique to this type of event. To have the opportunity to test myself in this way is a great privilege. The excitement of the unknown that faced me on the start line was thrilling. That excitement will not be the same for me, in future Spine Races and for that reason I may look to other adventures, if any at all. 

For now, the curiosity about how far I can push myself and just what I can achieve, has dissipated. It's a good time to enjoy steady bike rides, tea-shops and cake; short walks in the country and a pint or two; and bimbly climbs on roadside crags in the sunshine.