Montane Spine Race 2022 - report of a unique adventure
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| Spoiler alert: me touching a famous wall |
Also to all the followers and supporters, it was impossible to read all your messages along the way or even afterwards, but your support and enthusiasm are invaluable. Thank you very much! Not to forget my family who always allow me to indulge in this kind of madness, and do what is in their power to support me in it. I love you!
Erik, Erik and Hans, thanks for lending me material I didn't (yet) have myself!
Fré, thanks for helping with this translation (didn't change the pancakes though)!
And of course, a big thank you to @montanebenelux and @vedettesport for the excellent clothing and shoes!
The run-up - get tested
As we all know, the world has been turning just a little bit different for almost 2 years now. With - if travel is at all allowed - all kinds of restrictions, tests before and after arrival, etc. This makes just getting there and being allowed to start quite an undertaking. Even the stress of the dreaded kit check gets pushed a little into the background by this. Because of these covid-obligations, I travel together with Fanny a bit earlier. As a positive side-effect, this allows us to put the finishing touches to our preparations together (studying maps, making lists, choosing the last materials/clothing,...). Long story short, all three of us (we meet Peter the day before the start) arrive at the start of our adventure, tested negative and as ready as can be.
With the necessary respect and awe for the journey we are about to undertake. For although all three of us have several long adventures under our belts, it remains an undertaking that cannot be taken lightly (more on that later). And the weather conditions in this part of the world, this time of year, promise to be harsher than I have ever experienced. The typical British weather is one of the main reasons I wanted to run this race in the first place. Secretly, despite my lack of experience in these specific conditions, I also think I can get a good result (more on that later too).
The race - a short description
Over 400km through the harsh British winter countryside, along the route of the Pennine Way, a 'footpath' that takes us from Edale in central England, to Kirk Yetholm in southern Scotland. The expression 'footpath' is a gross euphemism, as much of the terrain consists of endless stretches of moorland where there is no path worthy of the name. Wet feet from start to finish guaranteed. There are 5 supply posts with access to your drop bag, hot food and sleeping facilities. There are also several unofficial supply points, which you cannot count on for certain, and where often only water (hot or cold, and therefore also tea, coffee or your own freeze-dried meal) is available. Some of these places have a more or less permanent character and are of an incomparable charm without equal (Tann hill Inn, Greg's hut, Horneystead farm!). A romanticisation? Undoubtedly. But when you find yourself in one of these places after hours of dredging, misery and hardship, they are oases of rest and relaxation.
The start
That morning, my über-sympathetic British host (who plays snooker and whose highest break is a lot higher than mine) took me to the start in his ramshackle car. This is how it went: engine starts (whew!), engine falls out again, engine roars for ages at a new start attempt, sweat breaks out, 'don't worry, it will start', I don't care, sweat all over, damn it, engine finally starts, sigh of relief and we are off.
The first day goes as I am used to in retrospect: in the beginning very well, for a while I run close to the later winner Eoin Keith, and other renowned runners, but on the more technical sections most runners around me are a bit faster. Less experienced on this terrain, I don't want to risk a stupid fall on the snowy rocks in the descent of Kinder Scout. Then comes a dip and a very long period that it is not going super, with ups and downs but especially not super. This is also often the case, I realise later.
Acceptance
Then, somewhere towards the end of the first night - the first CP, Hebden Bridge, with as all through the race, super volunteers, good food, in short everything you need on a CP of such an undertaking, has been passed for quite some time - the moment of acceptance arrives. I have experienced this before, it is always during one of those typical phases of philosophical contemplation ('what are you actually doing here',...) that it strikes me: at a certain moment there is a kind of surrender, mentally and physically, to what this is. An acceptance of the circumstances, the pace, the terrain, everything you are doing, and it is ok. From that moment on, I feel good, I feel in my element, I can keep going, especially the downs are less deep and I can fully enjoy the ups. And sometimes, often, with periods of time, I can progress faster than I had previously thought possible. It's magical, it's hard to put into words, and I think you have to experience it to really feel what it is. Of course, that's true for most things in life.
We are progressing steadily
Things generally go well for a long time. Some highlights: Lothersdale (a cosy little tent where I pick up a few 'half corpses' - encouraging as always - and after a bacon sandwich move on quickly, I feel good after all); Malham Tarn (half an hour's rest, coffee and a (own) freeze-dried meal); Pen-y-ghent (magnificent view beforehand, monstrous climb); Tann Hill Inn (a B&B and pub between two immense stretches of moorland, but during the night I pass it, it is only a wood-fired oasis of peace with two couches for a nap and a coffee; When you come in there is a runner sleeping, when you leave another one has taken his place, it is quiet and cosy); Caldron Snout (even at night an impressive waterfall, a perilous climb leads me right past it, in the dark it is impossible to determine what the ideal route is); one of the (according to photos) most beautiful views (High Cup Nick) I miss because it is dark; is there a pattern? Nights of 16h don't leave much daylight; the Post Box Pantry in Dufton (two burgers, beer and a nap in the windowsill); the 'Angel' in Slaggyford (coffee, home-baked cake and a handkerchief for a nasty nosebleed); I'm sure I'm forgetting a few. Two other highlights - Greg's Hut and Horneystead Farm - I'll explain later.
Delicious burger in Dufton,
swiftly followed by a second one
As I read this, it strikes me that it is the stopovers in particular that have stayed with me. Food for thought, perhaps? Hm?
Time bonus - assisting to locating racer
Some have noticed that I got 18 minutes time bonus because of 'assisting to locating racer' and were curious why. Not that it was a big deal, but it went like this:
At the end of (High and West) Cam Road we had to take a path that led us into a stretch of moorland not far from CP2 (Hawes). At night in poor visibility, on an uneven slope, it was, as often happens, searching for the path that had to be there somewhere. At that spot I met a runner, who - so it seems - is searching for the right path just like me. He looks as properly dressed as I am, looks at his GPS like I do, and doesn't look like he's in any trouble. We exchange a few words of the 'it must be here somewhere' kind, I cross up, plod on and find the path. I look back, no longer see a headlight, call out several times, but as far as I know he might as well have been right in front of me. So I walk on.
A while later, I meet someone else who addresses me: 'Did you see Daniel? His tracker must have fallen off and he must be here somewhere.’ I explain where I just met someone, no idea if it was Daniel. He tells me to keep going, they will find him.
Then I start thinking: what if the runner I met was Daniel, that he was in trouble without me noticing, and that I am the last one who has seen him - alive? Shouldn't I go back to that place and see if I can find him? After a while, I decide that I don't want to be the one who last saw Daniel alive, and that I should see if I can help. So I walk back towards the place where I saw him. Before I get there, I meet the person again who told me about the search. He is on the phone with the safety team, I explain again where I met the person who is probably Daniel, and suggest we go back to that place together. They ask for my number and tell me that it will be all right and that I should just keep walking.
Half an hour later, I am at the CP, and suddenly a friendly volunteer comes and tells me that I get 18 minutes time bonus for helping to search. My reaction: 'that's very kind, but where's Daniel? Is he ok?' And luckily he was found by then, and safe and well in the same CP. All's well that ends well.
Foot problem - incorrect assessment
I mentioned at the beginning that you should not take such trips lightly. This includes recognizing which pains you can ignore and which you need to take a closer look at and tackle them before they become a problem. Running with pain is part of these undertakings, so it is your experience and focus that determines which pains deserve your attention. In principle, I am good at this. Or so I thought. So maybe a bit overconfident too. Anyway, somewhere around halfway I dropped the ball. For a long time, I had had an ache where my left leg goes over into the foot, in the front about where you tie your shoelace. Presumably the tendon in that area was pinched a bit. I don't tie my shoes very tight, but because of the thick waterproof sock and liner, it was probably a bit too tight nevertheless. The pain became worse and worse, which, incomprehensibly, I continued to ignore. Until, on CP4 (Alston), I took off my socks and, together with the medic who had just come to see how things were going, discovered that my foot was completely swollen. And painful, but of course I already knew that.
As a result, I had to limit myself to walking the next stage, and for a while I even thought I would have to give up. Taking it easy for a while (relatively), the occasional paracetamol, suffering and pushing on did get me through. And Horneystead Farm!
Sleep - 4 to 5 hours in total
In two official checkpoints (Middleton and Alston) I laid in a real bed for about 1.5 hours each time. Of which I slept for a good hour each time. Both times I wanted to sleep 2 to 3 hours, but woke up earlier. The rest of my 4 to 5 hours sleep comes from naps of 15 to 30 minutes in the stopovers: Tann hill Inn, Dufton, Greg's Hut, Horneystead Farm and a few times 5 minutes against Hadrian's Wall, that should be about it.
Two special highlights
As I said, of all the unofficial stops, I really must highlight two:
Greg's Hut
All alone in the middle of the night, with only a few metres of visibility all around, I make my way across the highest point of the Spine, Cross Fell. I had hoped to do this during the day, but failed miserably. I was nearly blown away by storm gusts like I have never experienced before. Following the route is limited to making sure I am more or less on the line on my watch or GPS. Glad to see the occasional footprint of my predecessors in a remaining pack of snow to confirm that I am in the right place. I am also glad that I have chosen the right clothes for this bad weather.
A few kilometres beyond the summit, a light appears and I am at Greg's Hut. I only know what it looks like outside from pictures. It is a simple stone building where you can take shelter, but where, purely for the Spine, they drag up coal for the stove and something simple to eat. I imagine that only during the Spine you can experience what I am experiencing here.
I enter a first room, a few chairs, stone walls. I am kindly asked to leave my backpack there and take my mug and spork with me.
The second room is small but cosily heated by a stove, there are a few chairs and there is a kind of platform where some sleeping bags lie. Elaine Bisson, who will end up 8th overall and second woman, is resting here when I enter. She doesn't look very fresh, but the same undoubtedly applies to me. When I ran with her earlier, I already noticed that she is someone who keeps going steadily, I had no doubt that she would continue to do so. Not long after my arrival at Greg's hut, she is gone.
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| The infamous chili noodles - delicious! - please don't zoom in, it's bad enough as it is |
Leaving Greg's Hut
Horneystead Farm
My lifesaver! Preceded by the most miserable, dredging part of the whole route, for me at least. First, a terribly long diversion along Hadrians Wall, of which I could hardly see anything due to the night time hour (again). Then, an equally endless section along a non-existent path - a section that extensively and mercilessly illustrated the popular Legends fallacy 'if it's on the map it's a path' - through a bizarre combination of peat and agricultural land. Moreover, the gpx here is a hastily drawn line from point a to b, which doesn't even coincide with the path theoretically present according to the map. Later, Adam tells me that he, Matt and Emil have also been cursing this stretch. A small reassurance that I was not the only one. This is probably where I suffered most from lack of sleep, partly because running on the runnable parts here was impossible due to my foot injury. Think: after the moors, where the nature of the terrain more or less keeps you awake, you stumble onto a muddy agricultural road, riddled with deep tractor tracks, which runs straight on for a hopelessly long time. By now you know how long a few centimetres on the map will take in reality at your current pace, and that is far too long. Later on, Pipke tells me that she and Bart took turns staying awake that night because they knew how difficult I was having it, and in case I needed a word of encouragement over the phone. Love you both!
So, because you can't walk, you try to keep your sleep-deprived stumble as straight as possible. This goes well indefinitely. Until all of a sudden, you notice that you are sleepily stumbling into the verge. The pain in your foot at the corrective movement does not help at all. Wishing the sleep out of your head, you pull yourself from the verge and stumble on. This pattern repeats itself. And again. And again...
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| Horneystead Farm - best soup ever! Wish I took some pictures myself |
And then, finally, I reach Horneystead Farm. An unofficial supply point that I have heard about and read about. A piece of stable with some old chairs with cushions, supplies in the form of biscuits and bars, and a sign with a handwritten text about a voluntary contribution, take what you need, leave for others what you can spare. A place permanently available for hikers. The woman who receives me (Helen I think?) appears to be an avid hiker herself. And especially for the Spine she has, without a doubt, the most delicious and nutritious soup I have ever eaten. That soup, and the half hour of sleep on the sofa there, saved me. I was so refreshed afterwards that I did not need to sleep at the last CP (Bellingham).
One thing I regret: when I went on I did not find Helen (?) anywhere, so I could not thank her and say goodbye. I asked Leif Abrahamsen, who arrived some time after me, to pass on the message, but in the end he left not long after me, and never saw her again. So, Helen (?), if you ever read this: 1000 x thanks, hopefully I can come back and tell you myself one day.
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| A beautiful morning - after leaving Horneystead Farm |
The weather
Of course I cannot compare with other years. But one of the reasons I wanted to run this race in the winter was the harsh weather. Inspired by the images of runners literally being blown off the mountain, deep snow (this I was already quite used to due to the LT500), and all kinds of precipitation. And the question of whether I was prepared for this in terms of clothing and attitude.
Nevertheless, I have the impression that it was a 'good year'. Or a bad one, depending on how you look at it. The challenger participants, who left a day earlier than us, did have some heavy weather, with many quitters as a result. The worst of it was already over when we left. I joked along the way that someone had accidentally turned on the summer spine at the start. And there were indeed long periods of almost windless weather. That said, on several occasions I have found myself in weather conditions I had never experienced before: freezing gale force winds that blow the rainfall horizontally into you, and once I was actually almost blown away (Cross Fell). Even on the first day, at Kinder Scout I think, I wondered whether I should wear my goggles or ice spikes. And on the Cheviots, the weather was at first sunny, but sometime during the night it turned to strong winds, icy rain and extremely limited visibility. Your world is reduced to a few metres around you. So yes, there were passages where I’ve doubted on whether to wear goggles or ice spikes, but decided not to (although I later heard from others that they did use their ice spikes).
Conclusion, it was pretty rough at times, but no doubt it could be a lot worse. Or better!
The last day - The Cheviots
So, after the oh so invigorating passage at Horneystead Farm, I felt so good that I appeared to need no sleep at the last CP in Bellingham. Based on my experience in LT500, I thought beforehand that I might need the longest block of sleep here. But it was day, I was awake, and I thought I'd better make the most of the hours of daylight left. I hoped that later I would not regret my decision. That turned out not to be the case, the last day went super.
But first an anecdote about 'leaving the cp and getting the wrong waterproof trousers and shoes'. Leif, who had arrived at the CP with me, was in such a hurry to get out of there that he had put on my waterproof trousers and put my shoes away in his drop bag. A small gap in the hitherto flawless system of labelling shoes and other equipment. So I come out of the CP sometime after Leif - well fed and cared for (6 potatoes with butter and a bean stew, yum!) - and am handed a pair of rain trousers and a pair of shoes. ‘Not mine', I say. Confusion everywhere, luckily a volunteer has seen Leif putting away shoes and they turn out to be mine. The rain trousers do not belong to anyone present, so the only possible conclusion is that they are Leif's and that he is wearing mine. So I spent the whole Cheviot trying to catch up with him to change trousers, but only succeeded after the finish. Heart-warming: during the confusion about the rain trousers, volunteer John Daniels gets his own trousers out of his car and says that I can use them. He will get them back afterwards. Had I already mentioned how fantastic these volunteers are?
After that little commotion, John takes me by car to the starting point of the last stage, over 40 km over the famous Cheviots. This 'taxi ride' is necessary because the organisation did not get permission to include the section of the Pennine Way affected by storm Arwen in the race, and no diversions that we could run proved possible.
After a kilometre on the tarmac track leading up to the Cheviots, I notice what I had feared when the medic suggested that I wrap my little toes (the only place I had blisters, uncomfortable but not too bad): the bandage made those toes thicker and so they pressed extra against the side of the shoe. Something I wanted to avoid with already swollen feet. Mind you, the final decision for wrapping the toes was mine, so not blaming the medic. The only solution: 10 minutes by the side of the road to unpack each foot, remove bandages and pack them again. After that, I was finally ready to go again.
Did I mention that I felt great on the last day? Partly due to the adrenaline, partly due to paracetamol, partly due to a (with moments) alternative running technique (the good foot forward and the bad foot behind in a sort of hopscotch), I turned out to be able to run excellently on the long stretches of 'slabs', even the uphill ones. Another freeze-dried meal at Hut 1 proved sufficient to keep the energy level up to the finish. There were 4 more runners around me in that stage: Leif, Matt Neale, Adam Firth and Emil Söderlund. All of them great guys whose paths had crossed mine before, and with whom it was a pleasure to meet again after the race. But apparently all five of us were still in the mood to race that day. A bit bizarre after such a long trip with ups and downs, but it was fun. At the start there was only Leif ahead of me, I did gain a bit on him, but I didn't see him again before the finish. Matt, Adam and Emil left after me, so they caught up with me and at first even left me behind. Of course, they're all very good, sturdy runners (or, as we say in Belgium, they're not pancakes!). I went well myself, but so did they. Matt was really fast, I only saw him again at the finish. At hut 2 it turned out that everyone before me had kept going without stopping, so I did the same. Given my own pace, I was a little surprised that it took so long before I saw anyone ahead of me. Not pancakes indeed! In the end, I only saw Adam and Emil before the finish, and then only on the tarmac part in the last few kms. There was a sprint to be made here: the last kilometres, also before the tarmac, went steadily downhill, I ran as much as my foot would allow, and that went pretty smoothly by ultra standards. I saw lights in front of me for a long time, so I knew I was overtaking someone. When they noticed me, they put on a tighter run themselves. But I felt I was faster, so as soon as I caught up with them, I stepped up a notch, just to make the most of the discouraging effect, and said something like 'wow, you were fast today' (which I really meant), and ran away from them as 'smoothly' as possible. A sympathetic applause was my share.
And not much later, I was there, ready to touch the famous wall of the Border Hotel and enjoy the completion of this magisterial adventure. With half a litre of Stella. Because why else would one run so far as to drink the beer they brew just around the corner from your own home? Anyway, it has rarely tasted so good!
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| Cheers! |
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| I think this will be my profile picture for a while |
The competition event.
I already said that I secretly thought I would get a good result. Finishing was the main goal, but if possible in a good place. In the end, I finished 11th. That last day at the Cheviots I gave everything to finish in the top 10. It was great that I was able to give everything, but the top 10 was just not there. Is that important? Of course it is not. This experience will never be taken from me!
But secretly - and now that I am writing it here not so secretly - I think that I could finish much higher. With the experience I have gained now, with some better attention to my own physical integrity (don't break anything), a bit more efficient at the CP's, a bit lighter material, repeat what was good (physical preparation, sleep tactics), I think a time well under 100 hours should be possible. Depending on the weather of course, but that will be the same for everyone. Of course, it is not a cheap undertaking - no reproach, just an observation - but maybe I can come back one of the next years to see if there really is more in it. Finally, is 50 not the new 40? Then, in that case, I am only 37. So very young by ultra standards!
After the Race - the first days
A special thank you must go to Fanny. She had successfully completed the Spine Challenger North in her own inimitable way (7th overall and 3rd female), and was fresh awake at my finish. Boy, was I glad that a place had already been arranged in the B&B so I didn't have to worry about that. No idea how that would have turned out in the condition I was in. (And sorry that you had to wait so long for me when I fell asleep in the bath offered by the organisation after the arrival).
The next day we also see Peter finish his full Spine with verve, congratulations! I have the distinct impression that he too was very happy with a place in the B&B 😊
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| Thanks for being there and wel done Peter and Fanny! |
After the race - recovery and future
By the time I finish this report, it will be the Sunday after the race, about 10 days after my own arrival. Apart from the injured foot, I'm super happy with the recovery: a few days of swollen feet, lots of sweating at night, catching up on sleep and eating a lot. These are normal and recognizable phenomena for ultra runners. Nowadays, I only have problems with very long distances like this one. I went to the physiotherapist with the injured foot. In the meantime, I have already cycled several times and done a short run. As it concerns a tendon, it seems to be the kind of injury I have some experience with: my Achilles tendons have almost healed by now, even though I did not exactly sit still during the period that I was suffering from them. Active recovery, then. The foot feels a little better every day.
And I am happy about that, because in March and May, I have other adventures planned that I am looking forward to with enthusiasm and awe. But on that later,... right, more!
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My equipment
It has to be said, the clothes and shoes I wore did their job with verve. And since these were largely made available by Vedette Sport (Altra!) and Montane Benelux, I am very grateful for that.
Shoes - 3 pairs Altra Olympus 4 - top!
Start-CP1: my run-in Olympus, size 47. A little too well broken in, I had to admit on the way, to my shame. Given the technical terrain, the new pair I had with me would have been a better choice. No other complaints.
CP1-CP3: the better choice, a new pair of Olympus, size 47. No complaints! Except maybe this: check in time how hard you've tied them, you idiot! Even when you think they're tied loose.
CP3-Finish: new Olympus size 48. Great! Only next time maybe I'll take an even bigger size. Those feet get really huge in the long run.
Clothing
Trousers: as basis a montane running tight, with on top of that:
- Start-CP2: OMM kamleika - good enough for the conditions
- CP2-CP5: Montane Ajax - warmer and more wind resistant so better for the conditions
- CP5-Finish: rain trousers of undetermined origin, too big, owned by Leif
Base layer: Montane Primino Hybrid Alpine Hoodie - worn from start to finish, jacket open or off and instantly dry at the CP
As a sort of second base layer: alternating between Montane Allez Micro Fleece Pull-On and Dart thermo zip neck
Rain jacket: Montane Ajax - top! Shelter from everything they throw at you.
Mid layer if needed: CP5-finish and a few other times when needed: Fireball lite hoodie
Backpack system
Start-CP2: Montane Dragon 20l + Montane trailblazer 3l waistpack
I thought I needed the waistpack to carry all the mandatory kit. Positive point: a lot of equipment easily accessible and therefore quickly at hand if needed. Minus point: without waistpack it is more comfortable to run.
CP2-Finish: Montane Dragon 20l
On CP2, I tested whether I could fit everything in the rucksack. This was the case and it went very well. I did not even have stiff shoulders anymore, right until the end.
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| Picture taken by Jamie Rutherford photopraphy - thanks! |
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