Safety and the "Mandatory Kit"

Always plenty of threads on Facebook. Runner X asks whether this bit of lightweight kit will pass the inspection, Runner Y says don't be daft, take something heavier or you'll die, so the debate begins, you'll have seen it. Most races of any length these days have a mandatory kit list, some of which makes sense, some which doesn't, so I thought it might be interesting to tease out what is going on here and how we might approach the subject with a bit of objectivity. My views as always, I don't expect everyone to agree, but it's one of those subjects which as well as being good for a bit of pub discussion, covers areas where some sensible choices could give you a much better race experience, and might just keep you alive.

If you continue reading you'll have to indulge me for a bit while I ramble over a couple of climbing anecdotes  -  I know they come up far too frequently in what's supposed to be a running blog but it was how I spent my formative years and I think the two pastimes are not really so far apart in many ways.

In my second or third Alpine season, four of us went out to climb the South Ridge of the Aiguille Noire de Peuterey, a classic, not too difficult but very long and committing rock climb on the south side of Mont Blanc. The normal starting place is an unguarded but comfortable and well-equipped hut 2 or 3 hours walk up from the Peuterey valley road. From here, our guidebook gave 12-16 hours for the ascent and 4-6 hours for the descent by the East Ridge back to the hut. Those sort of times suggested a bivvy was likely, so we took the gear and decided to bivvy anyway. We left the valley around lunchtime, ignored the hut, bivvied about a third of the way up the South Ridge and again about half-way down the descent of the East Ridge, getting back to the valley about 48 hours after leaving it. On our second ("summit") day, we were passed by two Swiss climbers. They had stayed at the hut, were travelling light and fast (I guess they had just a waterproof, spare sweater and lunch in their sacks), and would make it back to the hut for a second comfortable night's sleep. They too spent a total of 48 hours away from the valley but their experience was completely different from ours. Who had the most fun? Who was the safest? Discuss.

A few years later, I went with a friend to another climb in the same area, the Gugliermina Pillar on the Aiguille Blanche, a more difficult and rather more remote climb, approached from the Monzino Hut over the Col de l'Innominata and the very tortuous Freney Glacier, a 4 hour trip landing you on some ledges (the Schneider Ledges) at the foot of the face. Our English guidebook recommended a bivvy at this point and said that "a confident party can leave their bivouac gear here and return to it in a day".  But we had been talking to a French guide who said the trip was now considered possible from the Monzino, back in a long day without a bivouac. So that's what we attempted, but we ran out of steam and daylight on the Col de l'Innominata on the return trip, resulting in a pretty chilly bivvy at over 10,000ft  with just a sweater and a polybag. But we survived OK.

I had numerous other experiences along these lines as we gradually worked out how to conduct ourselves effectively and safely around the mountains, but the conclusions I eventually came to were pretty simple:

- if you take enough gear to survive, then you will survive, though it may not be comfortable

- if you take enough gear to bivvy comfortably, then it will slow you down and you will probably bivvy, even if by travelling lighter you could have got back in the day

- lighter is faster, and faster is safer - you are exposed for less time to all the objective dangers inherent in mountains (rock and ice fall, weather changes, etc), and are less likely to yield to dehydration, energy deficit and poor decision making which are often the results of being out too long.

But how is this relevant to running ultra events and the "mandatory kit list"? Well, stay with me and hopefully it will become clearer as we go.

To start with, what's the big deal with keeping everything as light as you possibly can? Well, if you don't believe it's important, try a little experiment. Find a nice bit of trail that you run regularly, something like 5 miles with maybe 1000ft of height gain would be good. Run it carrying nothing, then again carrying 2kg, then again with 4kg (and possibly even 6kg, judging by the packs I see some runners carrying!) You'll find difference in effort required is fairly dramatic. And you're going to see that difference over many hours. It's the difference between dancing over boulders or trudging between them. The difference between an uphill feeling like a welcome rest from running or an obstacle to be overcome. And it works like this for everyone, whether you're at the front of the field or the back. Take some weight out and you will be faster everywhere; that's less time for something to go wrong. If you really want to enjoy your races with a good safety margin, carrying the minimum you actually need is important. 

While we're on the subject of keeping weight down, have a think about food. Many races nowadays have well-stocked, or maybe even just adequately stocked, checkpoints. For quite a few years I carried a lot of my own food but even a few energy bars, gels, or whatever you think powers you along can add up to serious weight. I've now come to the conclusion that if someone's happy to take it round the course for me, why should I bother with the extra weight? Just get a bit less picky about what you eat, it's all calories.

The key to weight is that it's cumulative. You can convince yourself that each bit of extra kit or food doesn't weigh much, because probably it doesn't. But add all those little bits together and it becomes significant. Conversely, take little bits of weight out wherever you can and that adds up too  - Kaizen for ultra runners. Weigh your pack before each race, you'll know when you're getting it right.

Anyway, on to the mandatory kit.

There are two lists of kit that you have to consider when packing your bag for an ultra, (a) the kit that the Race Director says you have to take, and (b) the kit that you believe is appropriate for the task in hand, based on your experience and judgement. These lists will not necessarily be the same. During the race you have two responsibilities, (a) to carry the mandatory kit (if not you break the rules of the event), and (b) to make sure that you stay safe. Again, these are not necessarily the same thing.

I'm always surprised when I hear someone say that such-and-such bit of kit is with them on all their events; I prefer to consider each event in its own right, using a sort of mental checklist:

- what is the terrain like?

- how long do I expect to be out?

- what is the weather going to be like? (forecasts are pretty accurate for at least a couple of days)

- how close together are the checkpoints?

- are the checkpoints indoors or outdoors?

- what can I expect at checkpoints ? (no point in carrying food and drink if someone is going to supply water and jelly babies every two hours or so)

- what degree of navigation is required? (and how well do I already know the course)

- how remote is the course? (from roads, towns, etc)

- how big is the field (proximity of other runners, etc)

- if I am forced to slow down, what will my strategy be?

- if I am forced to stop, what will my strategy be?

Asking these questions helps me to decide exactly what kit I would take if there were no restrictions. Clearly what's good for one race may be completely inappropriate for another. For a 30 mile trip on a nice day with frequent and well-stocked checkpoints, I may be happy to carry nothing (though of course the rules may dictate otherwise). For a lengthy trip across the mountains with no support I may want to carry items that are well in excess of the mandatory list. 

Now let me be clear that I would never argue with any Race Director about his particular list - it's his right to make it a condition of his race and I will always make sure that I have everything stipulated. I won't need any clarification on the items that I agree with and see a real reason for, but I will go as lightweight as possible ("skimp" if you like) on the items which my personal strategy says that I will never use. So let's have a look at the sort of things that appear on many mandatory lists, and why they might be there, and if they are in fact useful.

Waterproofs seem to figure pretty well everywhere these days so lets start here.

Waterproof Jacket. I wrote a complete post on this a while ago if you're interested (My Waterproof Jacket Leaks). But basically, you wear a waterproof not to keep you dry (you'll be wet anyway from sweat) but to keep you warm, because water transmits heat from your body much more efficiently than air. I've never understood the logic behind taped seams  -  the fraction of a percent a non-taped seam might let in seems irrelevant alongside the water you're generating internally. Likewise a hood; if you have a waterproof hat that covers your ears I'm not sure what it's for. I have one  jacket with a hood for races that require it, and several without for all other occasions. But what is key is having the proofing in good condition, you need the outer layer shedding droplets fast rather than wetting out, that's the way to stay warm. So I'm a bit cynical that paying a lot more for "quality" is worthwhile, it more than likely goes into styling and gizmos. I have an OMM smock, not because I think it's any more waterproof but because I like the stretchy non-rustling material. But in general there is no reason not to go as light as you can get, so long as it doesn't shred on every tree you brush past The only exception I would make to this is for an event where long periods of pretty nasty weather are likely, ie races where you are going to wear a jacket for long periods  -  such as the UTMB/TDG with a bad forecast, or the Spine Race. In these conditions I would go with a lined mountain jacket - even a thin mesh lining has a significant impact on the heat transfer so is a much warmer system. I know I've gone on a bit about this but having a jacket that you have confidence in is for me one of the most important factors in staying warm and safe.

Waterproof Trousers. I've never worn these against rain, only against wind, so I personally would be happy with windproof. But almost every RD stipulates waterproof/taped so I go with a cheap as chips version as light and compact as possible  -  I'm currently using Peter Storm which I think were about £15. If I ever get around to justifying the cost I would probably go with OMM for the stretch and quietness; I'm sure one pair would last me the rest of my running career.

Now for the ancilliaries that you may need for various types of race, due to the time of year, duration, weather uncertainties and so on.

Hats. To keep you warm or to keep the sun off. Apart from the UTMB which specifies both because extremes of temperature there are the norm, there doesn't seem to be a lot of logic in what is included as mandatory and why, so I  go with what suits me and it normally passes OK. If I take a warm hat I prefer a waterproof fleece-lined cap style with ear flaps that you can turn up and a peak that clips back when you're wearing a torch. No heavier than a beanie and much more versatile.

Gloves. Again, I think only the UTMB specifies waterproof, but unless its just for the early morning of a low-level summer affair, I think if it's worth taking gloves then it's crazy unless they (or at least your complete hand covering system) is waterproof. I have on several occasions had to open rucksacks for runners whose fingers were too numb to operate because their gloves had got soaked. Once you get to that stage, if you're a distance away from civilisation then things can get nasty quite quickly.

Torch. I would only take one torch on an event where I knew its use was going to be limited to a couple of hours or so. Beyond that, it's a no-brainer for me, always take two.  Torches fail or run out of battery in the dark. Even if it's not raining or blowing a gale, that's not the time to be fiddling around fitting new batteries, or worse trying to see what's gone wrong. Get your second torch out, click it on and you're back in action. Conversely, I see people with huge torches projecting lighthouse-like beams; the weight of a single one of these is far heavier than the two I carry. Unless you're a top-end performer wanting to cover really technical ground fast, I say go with the light you need, not with the brightest available.

Well, so far all of this is stuff you will probably use a lot, and probably not too controversial. But now we come to the two areas where a badly thought-out mandatory list can make life hard for you. These are firstly hydration and secondly stuff you may need if something goes wrong.

I really don't get why so many races specify a minimum quantity of liquid to be carried. This figure can take no account of the facts that different runners have different fluid requirements, these requirements vary with conditions, and water is often readily available on the course at frequent intervals, either at checkpoints or naturally occurring in streams, etc. Water is really heavy; you can work hard to pare off 50g here and there from the weight you have to carry then you have an arbitrary kilo (or more!) added for no good reason. Some events take a more sensible view. The Round Rotherham race is 50 miles but has no fluid specification, and  with checkpoints no more than 10 miles apart on a flattish course I have never carried a water bottle. Similarly the Lakeland 50/100 events; frequent checkpoints and water available almost everywhere in the Lakes anyway means you don't need more than a single 500ml bottle unless conditions are extremely hot. What would be much more useful would be for organisers on other events to flag up where water is available and let runners make their own decisions on how much to carry - as it is I suspect many people will fill up for the kit check then pare down to a level they think is sensible once out on the course.

As a little aside here, I'm amazed at the number of runners who carry conventional sport "water bottles". A typical brand will weigh in at around 60-70g for a 500ml bottle, whereas the weight of a typical PET soft drink bottle (Oasis, Powerade, etc) is 25g and will last perfectly well for the duration of a 2 or 3 day race.

Now let's get to the kit that causes the most debate - stuff that you hope you won't have to use but you carry in case something goes wrong. 

I don't understand the First Aid Kit thing. These are often specified in some detail  - the  trouble is that the details are different from race to race. Some ask for blister treatment - I don't get blisters. Some ask for wound dressings, some for various bits of bandage and so on. I'm not sure that they've thought through what all this is going to be used for. I'm happy with a few paracetamol and a metre or so of adhesive elastic tape (yes, this is one that I think the UTMB guys have definitely got right) This bit of kit will do sprains, cuts, grazes and plenty else beside. You don't need a knife or a pair of scissors to cut it, a Stanley blade wrapped in a bit of insulating tape weighs almost nothing. 

But minor trauma that can be fixed with your first aid kit is not your main or most likely problem. The thing most likely to spoil your day is simply that you get cold.

How does this happen?

The probable starting point is that you slow down more than you intended. You might have sustained a minor injury, sore muscles or blisters may be slowing movement, you may have food or digestion problems, or you may simply be too tired to go any faster. You may even slow down because you're carrying too much stuff! Whatever the cause, you slow down. You stop generating as much heat as you were when you were going faster so you start to get cold. This is not a race-threatening situation...... yet. You need to put more clothes on. If it's not raining, you put your waterproof jacket on and that retrieves the situation, you can carry on to the next checkpoint and re-appraise your strategy at that point. But if it's already raining and you get cold, what then? What are you carrying thanks to the mandatory list that might help. A space blanket? Well, you could wrap it around you for a bit of extra warmth to the CP (it has been done) but then it's probably game over. An emergency bivvy bag? Ditto, but you're not going to stop, the situation doesn't feel that serious, you'll wrap it around you and carry on. A spare base layer? Well, once you're in the rain and cold, the presence of mind and determination it takes to take everything you have on off, before putting on another layer in the pouring rain, should not be underestimated. The chances are you won't bother, you'll struggle on possibly hypothermic until hopefully you reach the next bit of civilisation and then stop.

If you can foresee a situation in a particular event where what you see as your normal running kit won't keep you warm when walking, then you need something you can put on quickly and easily and that gives you some real insulation, and in which you can continue your race. A light fleece or a primaloft smock will do this  -  and neither of these is likely to weigh more than 300g, less than a third of the compulsory litre of water someone wants me to carry. On a race of any real length in anything other than a perfect weather forecast, I wouldn't go without one or the other, I think it has more value than many of the "mandatory" items you have to carry. It's interesting to see that just this week Jon Steele has added a Blizzard Survival Jacket to his mandatory list for the sometimes wintry Hardmoors 55 as an alternative to the bivvy bag. I don't have one but I think it's a sound move. When we were young and inexperienced we took sleeping bags to bivvy in the Alps; with more experience we progressed to bivvying in duvet jackets with our feet in our rucksacks  -  a bit more uncomfortable at night but you can't climb in a sleeping bag.

From the above you can see that my personal attitude towards dealing with and ultimately surviving an unplanned situation is to keep moving towards safety for as long as you possibly can. Get lower, get to more shelter, get to the next checkpoint, but keep moving. This is improving the situation you're in. Unless you absolutely have to, stopping before you've reached a place where you can regroup and warm up is bad news, things are unlikely to improve if you do. So I believe your safety kit should be geared to support this strategy.

OK, very occasionally you may be faced with a situation when you genuinely can't move - though short of breaking a leg I can't think what it would be (I'm assuming that action in more serious incidents such as a heart attack is likely to be out of your hands). This is the situation that your emergency bivvy bag is for (space blankets are for the finish of city marathons in my opinion and have no place in an ultra-runner's bag). I can't really argue with that, and at 100g for the most modern ones it seems a light enough insurance policy. The stuff you brought for keeping warm while moving will still work inside it and your backpack will give you a bit of ground insulation. But it probably won't be much fun.

To wrap up, my philosophy for kit can be easily distilled into three rules:

1. Don't argue with the mandatory list
2. Really work at going as light as you can
3. Emergency kit should keep you mobile, not make you stop.

So as I said at the start, my views, I don't expect everyone to agree but I have reasoned them through to myself over the years to my own satisfaction. I haven't gone into the more esoteric items on the mandatory lists of races like the Spine, which present different challenges. I have my views here too but they're probably of less general interest than what I've covered above.

As a well-known runner and race organiser is often heard to say "Let's have fun and stay safe out there!"

Motivation and the Spine Race - a Cautionary Tale

If you read my last post on these pages you'll know that I pulled out of this year's Spine race at Checkpoint 1, that is almost as soon as it started. I said that my head wasn't in the right place for the trip. I got quite a few sympathetic comments from runners who know me so I was prepared to forget about the Spine and move on.

But I have a wise Scottish friend, a far better runner than me, who follows my progress, stays in touch, and keeps me honest when necessary. His message to me after my withdrawal from the event was a bit more challenging:

"I hope you'll do a full length blog post on the Spine, Andy, when the dust has settled a bit. I've been thinking about you / your Spine race quite a lot. Basically the event seems to come up with what I would expect. Much darkness. Varying degrees of dire weather. Sleep deprivation. Wet feet. Cold. Discomfort. Erratic food / eating times. And much else besides. So I would have expected you too to have anticipated all these things in advance. And to have been prepared for them both physically and "in the head". It doesn't seem to be as cold / challenging weather as last year. But otherwise it is coming up with what all is on the tin (this was before the weather turned cold and snowy later in the race) So I'm surprised, given your form on other big events, that you mentally switched off relatively early in the proceedings. I'm not saying it was wrong to pull out in the circumstances, just that I was surprised."

He's right of course; I shouldn't be allowed to get away without a better explanation of what went wrong. It will probably be good for me and there's even an outside chance it may prevent someone else making the same mistakes as me. So here goes, but be warned, it may be at least a two gin and tonic read.

The Race Entry

For several years, the Spine was a race that I said I would never attempt. Too cold, too dark, and seemingly with very few redeeming features. I read about Gary Morrison and co battling through the snow on the inaugural running and my main thought was "why?". It seemed a bit of a fringe event, remote from the mainstream ultra scene. What changed everything of course was the live tracking. Each January we became glued to the progress of the racers as they made their way across the map on our screens. Facebook played its part with the immediacy of its updates and photos, and the race became much more real to those of us watching. We knew what the weather was like, the state of the competitors, the activities of all the support and safety teams. For most runners who have done a few longish ultras, it must be quite an easy step from getting this involved to feeling "I'd like to be a part of that", and not much further to "I ought to have a go at it".

I had good enough qualifications for the race. Since taking up running about ten years ago I had completed 55 ultras varying from 30 to 200 miles in length. Before that I had spent many years as an Alpinist in Europe and other areas, lots of multi day trips in snowy mountains with my fair share of bad weather, cold bivouacs and finding my way over dangerous ground in the dark. Years of Scottish winter climbing meant I was familiar with the wind, powder, wet snow and chilling aspects of the UK winter climate. I knew I could deal with sleep deprivation, both from my climbing trips and the 6-day, 200 mile Tor des Geants race in Italy, during which I'd got by on a total of about 13 hours. I knew how to navigate.

So I had the "I want to have a go at this" and the "I can do this" boxes ticked. I also felt that although I'm hoping to play this game for a good while yet, at 67 I probably shouldn't procrastinate for too many years on this one. I got my entry form in and was accepted.

Preparation.

I decided that preparation for the race dropped into a number of categories:

1. Drawing on the experience of others

2. Making sure you understand the course

3. Devising your race strategy

4. Getting and testing all the kit you need.

5. Getting fit enough

I read all the blogs I could find and was lucky enough to spend a bit of time with several Spine finishers. On the Dragons Back race I spent almost a day with Mark Rawlinson and quite a bit of time with Steve Hayes and Jonathan Zeffert. I ran the final day of the Ring of Fire with Steve Jefferson, and I also talked to John Vernon who I've known for quite some time. All had a slightly different take on the race; the information I got from them was all valuable but it was clear that there were lots of different strategies - all these guys had found one that worked for them and I needed to find my own.

Before entering the race I had never set foot on the Pennine Way, so I decided to reccie most of the route beforehand. Cheating some would say, rather like looking at the picture on the box when you're doing a jigsaw puzzle, but some of us need all the help we can get. It's good to know the nature what's coming up and when, and of course it makes navigation incomparably easier if you've covered the ground before. Joe Faulkner's "Pennine 39" race in July covered the section from Middleton to Alston on a grey and occasionally misty but nevertheless summer day, but I didn't get around to starting on the rest until late October. I had a fairly fine day for the 30 miles from Malham to Hawes, but all my other days on the course were in some degree of rain and very wet underfoot. I didn't do the 10 miles along Hadrian's Wall from Greenhead as I assumed it would be straightforward and I never got around to the final 27 miles over the Cheviots because our flood difficulties in Keswick soaked up the time and energy. I did the rest.

So overall I had covered around 230 miles of the 270 total involved. I did almost all the distance in daylight because I see no point in reccies in the dark - you could be anywhere and you learn almost nothing that will help you in the event. I ended up with a lot of good memories - I enjoyed all my days out in spite of the conditions I encountered - and a set of maps extensively annotated with a waterproof pen detailing all the key navigational points. My impressions of the Pennine Way after these trips were a bit mixed. The first 70 miles are a bit unprepossessing; dull moors across the Dark Peak, hemmed in by towns and road crossings and punctuated by strings of reservoirs up to the Bronte country, followed by fairly unrelenting agricultural slop as far as Malham. Better country follows over Fountains Fell and Pen-y-Ghent, then a high featureless jeep track for almost 15 miles to Hawes. North of here the country gets much wilder. I was impressed with the unheralded Great Shunner Fell (higher than the much better known Pen-y-Ghent), the charm of Upper Swaledale, and the wide lonely moors north of Tan Hill. Middleton to Alston is probably the pick of the route, with the waterfalls of the Upper Tees, the remarkable High Cup and the traverse of Cross Fell and its neighbours. Further north, the farmland and low moors seem more open and attractive than those further south. I would have liked to do the Cheviots, I must go back there sometime  Aside from the layout of the countryside, the overriding impression of the track throughout is that it is just so wet underfoot, sometimes just muddy but often up to knee-deep. We had a particularly wet Autumn, but I can't imagine that it's much different most years.(Note: towards the end of 2016 I did go to the Cheviots for the inaugural running of the Wooler Trail Marathon. It confirmed all that I was expecting, a stunning area but awful ground underfoot. I haven't been back)

With this knowledge of the course I was able to decide how I planned to tackle the event. The only place you can guarantee a warm, dry sleep is at the checkpoints. The distance between checkpoints is around 40 miles, except for the stretch between CP1 and CP2 which is 60 miles. Some people plan to sleep between checkpoints, either by taking a tent or by bivvying in accessible shelters - barns, bird hides, public toilets, and so on. Most legs also have pubs and cafes at some point where you can get a hot meal - if they are open when you pass them. I decided that from my reccies I could safely aim for an average 2,5 miles an hour outside of checkpoints which would allow for a reasonable stop at each one. I decided also that I have had enough uncomfortable bivvies over the years so I would plan to sleep only at checkpoints and not stop in between unless I was falling asleep, even on the 60 mile stage. This meant that I would have to stop and sleep at CP1 at Hebden Bridge. This is only 45 miles from the start, but with a 10am start it would still be pretty late when I got there and I would have no problem getting a couple of hours or so. After that I planned to gradually build up at least a 10-12 hour cushion over the time required to finish in the overall cutoff, because looking at previous splits it seemed that almost everyone slows down in the later stages of the race.

Getting my kit together was relatively straightforward as I had most of what was required from my previous activities. The mandatory list is quite comprehensive; as well as the normal bad weather clothing you have to carry at least a sleeping bag, bivvy bag, mat, stove, and two days food. Rucksack weight among the starters seemed to vary from around 6kg to 11kg - mine at the start was 8kg, I guess about typical.

There were only two items of kit that I devoted much time to thinking about. One was which jacket to take. It's very unlikely that you will take your jacket off during the event so you really need one which will not only keep out the weather but really allow any sweat to evaporate during dryer periods. After a lot of deliberation I bought a Paramo; I did all my November/December reccies in it and it performed really well in some pretty nasty weather so I was pleased with the choice. I would also put my bombproof TNF mountain jacket in the drop bag in case we got continuous torrential rain - a bit sweatier but longer to wet out. (Note: in recent years in has not been allowable to go with Paramo alone over any part of the course, a taped-seam hardshell now has to be taken. But I'm still using the Paramo I bought in 2015, it has repaid its purchase price many times over for me, a wonderful bit of kit). The other item I thought a lot about was socks. I had used Sealskinz (or the rather better DexShell equivalents) with some success in wet conditions in the past but I doubted their ability to work day after day for 18 hours plus. Eventually they leak from continuous water pressure (just as waterproof/breathable overtrousers will eventually leak if you sit in a stream in them), but they do at least seem to retain warmth. Some people advised going with Drymax, or Merino, or other combinations. I experimented with all sorts on my reccies. Continuous immersion in ankle to shin deep bog for 8 hours or so around Bellingham one day with the temperature just on freezing while wearing non-waterproof socks convinced me that waterproof was the only way to go.

A final potential kit item had me thinking for an hour or two. I had read in one of Spine finisher Ian Bowles' blogs a comment along the lines of "We haven't had a year of significant snow yet" with the implication that one would come eventually. I thought of the tedious hours I had spent wading through deep snow in Scotland, and how life had been made so much easier in this stuff by snowshoes. A gang of us had bought cheap pairs for an expedition to Kyrgyzstan nearly fifteen years ago. I searched the loft but the conclusion was that I must have thrown them out, and a quick search on the net showed that you wouldn't get much change out of £100 for a pair these days. I post-rationalised that the chance of use wasn't worth the cost, in any case in the UK the wind tends to scour powder from ridges and only leave it in valleys and depressions, and my drop bag was heavy enough already. Had I got to the Cheviots in the deep snow conditions they had this year this would have come back to me as rather questionable logic!

Getting fit enough for the Spine is no big deal if you are aiming for a 7 day completion. At this pace it is basically a long walk with odd bits of jogging on the downhills, and sometimes on the flats (for example across the miles of artificially laid flagstones across some of the moors) thrown in to use different muscles at times. I was covering about 30 miles on most of the reccie days, at a faster speed than needed for the event, without feeling in any way stressed, so I was fit enough.

I've been through this fairly long preamble mainly to remind myself that I was taking this event seriously and had prepared as well as I felt I could. By the end of December I was good to go.

The Race

I'm going to record my participation in the race in some detail, even though it lasted less than 24 hours. This is mainly for my benefit; I want to be able to look back over it in future and remember how it was, rather than remembering just the upsides which is how our unconscious selective memory tends to work. If you're bored by this but still interested in the motivation issue, then there's a fair bit you can skip now - go to the last section.

I had booked a hotel in Castleton for the Friday night before the start to avoid the high adrenalin scene I expected would be happening in and around Edale. Edale is only about an hour and a half from Chester so I drove over with Jan just after lunch. We checked in at Castleton then I left her in the hotel while I went over to Edale for the registration procedures, which were all pretty relaxed and went quickly. I was soon back for a good meal and an earlyish night. I didn't sleep particularly well but I often don't before big events, brain too active I suppose.

Jan dropped me in the Edale car park just after 9am on the Saturday and headed off for home. No going back now. I dropped my drop bag, had a cup of coffee and chatted briefly to one or two people in the field that I knew; Greg Crowley who I had met in the summer while walking the Dales Way with Jan; Javed Bhatti who I had run a few miles of the White Rose Ultra with late last year; Mark Dalton who I knew from the Hardmoors races. I also ran into Mark Rawlinson who was not running but had come over for the start and said he would probably do a bit of the first day's course just for fun. Before long we were gathered behind the starting arch in, appropriately, a field churned to mud by the Spine Challenger start three hours earlier. It was raining.

I felt none of the nervous excitement that I normally do on the start line of an adventurous race, and it seemed almost an anticlimax as the countdown was done and we were off, the runners at the front running, the majority of us walking steadily out of the field.

I walked up the road towards the traditional start of the Pennine Way with Mark Dalton, chatting about what we had been up to recently and plans for the year ahead. As we neared the start of the track I told him to push on as I expected him to be going a lot faster than me, so he jogged off. We were a fairly continuous crocodile over the gentle first mile or so then the field started to spread out as we hit the first climb (in fact one of the very few real climbs on the Pennine Way - it gains a lot of height over its length but usually on very gentle ascents). The ground on the Kinder plateau was a lot drier than it had been on my reccie, crossing the Downfall was an easy step rather than a wade and the couple of miles of slabs leading to the Snake road were mostly above water level. I chatted to one or two other runners across here as I passed and was passed but none for long. The bouldery and peaty ground here requires concentration so I almost didn't notice that the early rain was passing and the clouds lifting to give us some visibility. For January, it was turning into quite a nice day.

There were marshals at the Snake road which allowed an easy water top-up, then I headed up Bleaklow. Not far up the track a voice hailed me from behind. It was Mark Rawlinson and I spent an enjoyable half hour or so chatting with him as we walked steadily on. Mark wished me well and turned back for the day when we reached the pile of ironmongery on Bleaklow Head. I took a quick bearing because this is a place where you can easily set off in the wrong direction, then loped off downwards. 

Apart from short sections of slabs, the first 25 miles of the route is typical gritstone and peat moorland terrain; any path developed by passage of feet quickly becomes a mixture of rocks and boulders with peat in between, and in winter, unless the weather is exceptionally dry, the peat will be in the form of mud. It's difficult to get much of a rhythm going on this sort of ground, almost every pace has to be judged individually and when you land in the peat a certain amount of sliding is likely. It's generally quite hard work. Life gets easier after the A635 is crossed at Wessenden, with good firm tracks and slabs at times, but the bouldery moorland keeps reappearing in two or three mile sections, notably on Castleshaw Moor, Blackstone Edge, and again before Stoodley Pike.

I overtook a couple of runners on the way down from Bleaklow to Torside, where there was another marshal and another water top-up opportunity. From there it is a steady pull up again to the moor above Laddow rocks. The track along the top of Laddow is a winding singletrack, rocky and slippery so I was hoping to get along it before dark. I just about made it, switching the torch on at the descent to the flattish area by the top end of Crowden Brook. It's difficult to avoid a fairly continuous shin-deep squelch here as the route crosses the stream several times, but it wasn't a lot worse in the dark than in my day-time reccie. A gentle climb on occasional slabs up to Black Hill follows. I could see the lights of one or two runners ahead and behind but they soon disappeared as we moved into an area of quite thick mist. The track was easy enough to follow here though. The knowledge from the reccies was very helpful; I'm normally fairly competent at remembering routes, and I only needed to take a quick look at map or GPS about three times all the way from the start to CP1. I was slightly concerned descending Black Hill because on my reccie the crossing of the stream at Dean Clough had been quite exciting even in daylight, but this evening the water was a good foot lower so no problem at all. There was another marshal at the A635, which was great. I had topped up with water from a fast stream on Laddow and put a chlorine tablet in it, but it was pretty brown and I was glad to swap it for a much cleaner-looking bottleful. I was carrying two half litre bottles on my front pack and needed to refill them fairly often as I tend to drink a half litre every couple of hours. I had another half litre in my backpack but I was saving that for cooking supper.

But by now it was raining heavily and a nippy westerly wind had sprung up, so I wanted to push on from the exposed road crossing without delay. The next section was much easier, good tracks across to Standedge apart from a muddy but short down and up to cross a valley at one point. Standedge is another fairly bleak road crossing, but the marshals there had set up a tent, and invited me in for a cup of tea - brilliant! With the rain hammering down on the canvas I took the opportunity to put on an extra layer; up until then I had just had a vest under my Paramo jacket, but the wind and rain had just started cooling me down. With a thin fleece as well I carried on feeling much more toasty.

After another couple of wet, muddy moor crossings I was approaching the bridge over the M62. My torch seemed to be fading quite rapidly after only 4 or 5 hours which was a bit concerning. I later remembered that the batteries in this torch were not new, but I needed to do something about it now. There were several vehicles in the little car park by the radio mast, and a Mountain Rescue guy in one of them kindly shone me a light while I dug out my other torch. I asked him if he had any water; he hadn't but he offered me a Mars Bar which I gratefully accepted. I carried on over the motorway then onto the mud and boulders of Blackstone Edge.

I had been grazing on snackfood fairly regularly since the start - I later worked out that I took in around 3000 calories between Edale and CP1 - but when it's cold, wet and dark there is a big psychological boost in stopping for a hot meal. Before the race I had thought quite a bit about how to manage this on day one. Once past CP1, opportunities become much better, in the form of pubs and cafes but also sheltered places to cook - barns, bothies, bus shelters, toilets and so on. But from the start in Edale there is no shelter at all, unless you go quite a long way off route, until you reach the White House pub on the A58 which is about 35 miles in. In early years when the race started at 8am, most competitors could get to the pub in time for a meal but nowadays with the 10am start it's beyond the comfortable reach of many, me included.(Note: in recent years the White House has not allowed Spine racers inside their premises, removing a real focal point from Day 1 for most runners). I had decided that if the weather was bad I would get to the pub at around 10pm, go in and have a coffee and a warm then find somewhere sheltered in the lee of the buildings to make up a meal. I had plenty of freeze-dried meals that you just have to pour hot water on then wait a few minutes before eating. But when I arrived at the car park next to the pub the Mountain Rescue guys were there in force and immediately offered hot drinks. I gratefully accepted, then asked if I could have some hot water to make up a meal. They invited me inside their ambulance and I spent a wonderful fifteen minutes drinking tea and eating curry in the warm and dry. They were checking people through the road crossing and I asked how much longer they expected to be out there. I was surprised to learn that they were still waiting for at least twenty more runners after me.

I stepped out of the van to find that although the wind was still chilly, the rain had pretty well stopped. I pushed on along a very easy track beside a string of reservoirs. The easy going was short-lived though as I was soon into the boulders and mud again for the mile or two up to Stoodley Pike monument. I caught up two or three other runners here and we all huddled in the shelter of the tower for a bit to eat and drink. The descent from Stoodley Pike was very tedious. Unavoidably muddy ground on a significant downhill slope meant a lot of sliding around and slow going. Over half way down the slop gave way to a better track which led down to the river and road crossing in Calderdale. 

I remembered the climb up the other side as being steep in places - a lot of it was on a good cobbled track but it also had its share of slippery mud. I got a bit ahead of the group near the top; I knew there was a right turn into a field coming up but I didn't concentrate hard enough and missed it, which cost me an extra couple of hundred yards to get back on track. The route here goes up and over a hill on grassy fields. These again were very slippery, more of a barely controlled slide down the other side. We had caught up another group of runners and everyone was having a hard time on the descent. At least I remembered the slight jag to the left just before the final road and avoided all the tangling with cottage gardens that I had done on my reccie. Once on the road, the Spine diverts from the Pennine way for a mile down to CP1 at Hebden Hey. As we jogged down the road we were passed by runners leaving the checkpoint who were back on their way up, though some of these were Spine Challenger runners who had started earlier from Edale. The final few hundred yards down to the CP were down a very slippery mud and rock path. I doubt if I managed better than one mile and hour down here. The only consolation was that the lights behind weren't going any faster.

I eventually reached CP1 seventeen hours and twenty-five minutes after leaving Edale. At the start of the day I thought I might manage 16 hours but I'm sure the additional time was down to the slow going through the mud. I had heard tales of CP1 being a crowded and chaotic place, but when I got there it was working just fine.

There was an outside tap where I could wash the majority of the mud off my trousers and shoes, and a porch where you could leave your dirtier stuff. The first person I saw as I unpacked my drop bag was Greg, just getting ready to leave after two and a half hours sleep and looking strong. I had a shower and cleaned my feet. They were fine. The socks had obviously started leaking at some point but my feet were never cold and I had no blisters or hot spots. I then had a big bowl of chilli and several cups of tea then went up to a bunkroom for some sleep.

Without setting an alarm, I woke up after a couple of hours or so feeling OK. I went downstairs and had some porridge, It was still dark but looking outside I could see that it had snowed while I was asleep. I started packing my rucksack ready for the next stage, but halfway through this exercise a thought came powerfully into my head. I was doing this event and I was doing OK, but I just wasn't enjoying it. I wasn't excited about it in any way. And I was going to go on not enjoying it for another six days.

Hang on, I thought, don't make any quick decisions you'll regret. I hung around unsure. I went back to bed for a while, mulling it over. I don't drop out of races unless I simply can't, or unless someone says I can't, go any further. I couldn't put my finger on what the problem was. I wasn't bothered by the cold, or the dark, or the snow and rain. I was just overwhelmed by the sheer tediousness of it all. 

After a couple of hours I felt no differently. By now it was 8.30am and I had to be out by 10.00 if I was continuing. I handed in my tracker and went home.

Understanding what happened.

As I write this it's now 10 days since I left the race at Checkpoint 1 and I think I've had long enough to gather and marshal my thoughts on what happened.

Since I started participating in ultras I've completed 55 and pulled out of 7. Early failures were mainly due to an inability to get my eating and drinking right, but with experience I now know how to manage this. In the last three or four years I have only had to stop in events where for one reason or another I wasn't going fast enough to beat the cutoffs. Yet in the Spine, a race that I believed (and still believe) that I was quite capable of completing, I simply gave up when I was in good shape and had plenty of time in hand.

I think I have to resort to two little anecdotes to explain what happened.

Fairly late on in the Tor des Geants in 2012, I think on day 5, when the field was getting really strung out, I was running with a French guy who I had kept company with for the past 12 hours or so. At around midnight we came upon a small mountain refuge and went in for a warm by the fire and some soup. My companion said he would stay and get an hour's sleep, but I was still well awake and thought I would push on for another couple of hours. Be careful if you go on alone, said the guardienne. The path is very exposed for the next few kilometers and a fall could be fatal. I went out into the night, and once I had gone maybe fifteen minutes the lights of the refuge faded away behind. There was no moon but a million stars overhead. It was a chilly night, well below freezing and with a chill wind. For the two or three hours it took to reach the next refuge, another little one still high in the mountains, I saw no other runners' lights, either ahead or behind. And yet as I wound my way carefully along the narrow path clinging to the side of the mountains, I felt that there was no place in the world I would rather have been.

When I was new to ultras, my first longish one was the West Highland Way. At 95 miles it was at least 40 miles further than I had gone before. When it came to the race there was something definitely wrong. I never found out exactly what it was but I was really struggling from 20 miles onwards. I felt exhausted and nauseous was unable to eat and drink more than sips and nibbles. But I really wanted to finish my first "proper" ultra so I toughed it out for another 24 hours or so, hating every step but getting to the finish eventually.

On the Spine I never felt the elation of just being there that I did on the Tor des Geants, nor the drive to get to the finish that I had in that first West Highland Way. 

As ultra runners we engage in activities that sometimes involve a bit of discomfort, but we do this because we get a lot of pleasure out of them. We often get pleasure in situations that some people might find difficult to understand. We put up with periods that are no fun, either because (a) we believe that they won't last too long, or (b) because we have an overall achievement goal that makes it worthwhile. The balance that we see as personally right for us between pleasure and achievement may vary from event to event, or it may change during our career in the activity in question. 

So I'm pretty clear now what went wrong with my Spine race. If I'm totally honest, the reason that I entered is that I thought it would be a good adventure, a winter trip up the Pennine Way with a team of people helping you to stay safe and a warm place to sleep every 40 miles or so. I never thought about the finish, I just assumed it would come along to round off the week. I'm not sure why I found the only day's participation that I managed so tedious; maybe having spent nearly 100 hours on the Pennine Way in the previous two months had taken the edge off the adventure, maybe not. But when it became clear to me that it was just going to be a chore all the way then I was never going to finish. That wasn't my main reason for going and I simply didn't want it enough.

Would I go again? Well, I'm wary enough never to say never, but I think it's unlikely. Not next year for sure, too soon after the bad experience. But I do find a score to be settled a powerful motivator. Perhaps the Spine Challenger Race (the first 100 miles of the PW) would be logical for next year, but it's not the best part of the route, the Pennine Way doesn't really get attractive until Malham; a winter trip along a route like the West Highland Way is maybe more appealing. So I guess at the moment I would say that while the Spine is a great concept and a well-organised event, and I certainly respect and admire anyone who can see it through to the end, it's probably not for me.

If anyone is reading this who has not done the event but is perhaps contemplating an entry, my main (and only) piece of advice would be that you need to be very clear about why you are entering, what you want to get out of it, and what you are prepared to put up with if it doesn't work out quite the way you planned.  I'll just leave you with a couple of quotes that probably sum up what is required for a successful completion.

"The Spine Race is not about speed but about managing resources, pain and boredom" (Mark Rawlinson, finisher 2015)

"I have never wanted anything more" (Anna Buckingham, finisher 2016)


Postscript 1 (31 January 2016)

Yesterday I ran as sweeper on one of the "official" Lakeland 100 reccies, a job that I've done a few times over the past year or so. It was a night outing from Ambleside to Coniston. Two or three miles from the end, just after the steep little uphill out of Tilberthwaite, four of us who were together took a short breather and switched off our lights to enjoy the darkness for a few minutes. It was an uplifting experience, one that I never got on the Spine. But it must be there somewhere so I put in an application for next year's Challenger  -  all I need to do now is learn to love those muddy brown moors. If I get a place, I will get to the finish.

Postscipt 2 (4 February 2022)

For reasons I can't remember, I never started the 2017 Spine Challenger.  I did get around to it in 2019, and again stopped at CP1. I had some sort of illness but I'm sure with more motivation that wouldn't have been a problem. I am a bit older, and you would have thought wiser, nowadays. I enjoy winter outings such as the Tour de Helvellyn and have completed numerous trips in pretty poor conditions on events such as the Hardmoors 55 and Lakes in a Day. I have now notched up 40 more ultras including four more 200 mile events over the years since my Spine failure. When the Cheviot Goat was first annouced it sounded initially attractive, but I managed to reason eventually that it really wasn't my thing, so sensibly I have never entered.

And yet last weekend I found myself on the inaugural running of the Lady Anne's Way, a 100 mile trip in February through the northern dales. Rolled over from 2021 due to Covid, it wasn't really part of my gameplan for 2022 but I thought I would go along anyway as it seemed like a good weekend out. I planned to complete the event with minimum stress so that it wouldn't compromise future plans. At around 7pm on the first night, just 13 hours into the race, I was making my way through a series of muddy fields with stone step stiles, almost invisible at night until you are within 10 yards of them, and no track on the ground between. A situation that is mentally and physically demanding, frustrating yet really dull, all at the same time. I just don't want to be doing this for another thirteen hours until it gets light, I was thinking. So again, while in easily good enough shape to finish the event and with no time pressures, I simply stopped with less than half the course done. Almost a week later, I don't feel any need to go back and settle the score, I'm happy with the decision I made.

I think I have finally come to terms with the fact that for me, travelling in darkness is occasionally very rewarding, but that these occasions are very few and far between. The majority of time spent travelling in the dark I just find tedious and dull, so much so that if it is likely to occupy the major proportion of the time spent on an event, then I really should steer clear. Eight or even ten hour nights can be got through with the reward of a longer period of daylight to come, but I fear that is about the limit for me. I don't do events to prove I can, life is too short (well, mine is at this stage anyway) to spend hours doing stuff I don't enjoy. I'm hoping to get back to a Spine event in summer before I finally have to give up this game, but when the winter series comes around I'm happy to admire the skill and determination of the participants from armchair comfort. But no participation for me. It's not my game.

Spineless

I just got home from the Spine Race after dropping out just a few miles from the start.

I had thought about the race all last year. I got as much information as I could, read all the blogs, tested all my kit and reccied 80% of the course, often in pretty testing conditions. I enjoyed all this and was looking forward to the race.

On the day of the start, I didn't have the same anticipation of an adventure about to start that I usually do with a big event. The weather was benign by Spine standards; a bit of rain to start then two or three hours of dry, later a couple of hours with heavy rain showers and a chill but not excessive wind. The ground underfoot was quite testing, lots of boggy ground and mud which made uncertain sliding a constant threat and going downhill over pasture land tricky enough, but again, the regulars get this every year and I knew what I was getting into.

Once we got started I progressed well enough. I kept a pace that I was comfortable with, ate and drank plenty, and stayed warm and dry. I didn't make any navigational errors and eventually wound up at the first checkpoint at Hebden Bridge, 45 miles from the start, in seventeen and a half hours  -  a couple of hours slower than I would have guessed probably due to slow careful progress on the muddy downhills but certainly good enough to be comfortable for the exit cutoff of 24 hours. I checked in, had a shower and cleaned up my feet, no blisters or other significant damage, tea and a big bowl of chilli then slept for a couple of hours or so.

Half way through repacking my bag for the next leg, a sudden realisation hit me hard. I was doing this and I was doing ok but I just wasn't enjoying it.  I was going to go on not enjoying it for the next six days and I didn't want the end result badly enough for that. My head simply wasn't in the right place.

So I stopped. I won't go again.

Just before the M62 crossing

Review of 2015

Well all my good intentions of managing at least two posts a month for the year went out of the window in December. A couple of excuses, possibly even reasons, but things sort of got in the way both physically and mentally.

I had intended to complete my running year with the Dorset Coast trail marathon in early December but three weeks earlier I tweaked a calf muscle; on top of previous experience in this area and having already had a pretty full year I decided to play safe. I carried on walking but avoided running for three weeks and so missed out on Dorset, making a total score of one DNS, one DNF and eleven completions over my thirteen (maybe that was the problem) planned events for the year. I don't write about DNS's or DNF's nowadays unless there's something worthwhile to learn from them, so this one just contributed a bit of a hole in the plan.

Then later in the month storm Desmond got to our holiday home in Keswick and left it a bit wet. It's neither our main residence nor our business, so our slight misfortune in no way compares with those who lost either or both, but it still brought its share of disruption and distraction to normal life. We're hoping to be back in action there by around the start of March.

So, back to the year just gone. 

Overall

In terms of statistics I'm struggling a bit to find anything meaningful. I've carried on recording all my outings but I'm spending more time hillwalking and less running these days and it's sometimes difficult to distinguish which is which. Clearly a trip round the local roads at even 9 minute miles is a genuine run, and putting your boots on for a hike up Scafell Pike with no intention of breaking into a jog is a walk. But how about when you go out for 20 miles and run the flats and downs but walk the ups? Or when you walk the flats and ups but run the downs? Probably, none of this matters, but in lumping all the statistics into one pot for last year I think I'm missing something and I need to think of a better system for 2016. Anyway, putting everything together, during 2015 I covered a few miles short of 2500 miles with a total ascent of 340,000ft  - enough to get me out of the house regularly whichever way you look at it.

Events 

I completed the following events during the year:

Anglesey Coast Ultra (33m) 7:36:27

South Devon Coast Ultra (35m) 6:53:14

Belvoir Challenge (26m) 4:37:12

Hardmoors 55 (55m) 12:11:45

Highland Fling (53m) 10:53:15

Keswick Festival Ultra (32m) 6:58:07

Pennine 39 (37m) 8:33:00

Ring of Fire (135m) 36:12:05

Hardmoors 60 (62m) 15:09:30

Lakes in A Day (50m) 15:38:32

White Rose Ultra (30m) 5:47:00

I took the first three events pretty slowly as I was still conscious of the injury problems from 2014. Of the others, the ones that I was pleased with were the Festival Ultra (only 32 miles but a fairly rugged course) and the Ring of Fire, where I finished fairly well up in what is regarded generally as a fairly tough event.

On all the others I had the impression that I was an hour or so off the pace that I would have expected a couple of years or earlier.  Whether this is still coming back slowly from 2014, pacing my races so that they feel more comfortable (I finished all of them in relatively good shape, keeping hydrated and fuelled throughout), or just the effect of increasing age, I'm not sure. 2016 should help to complete the picture.

My big disappointment was a DNF in the Dragon's Back (200m) which was my main target for the year. I simply wasn't fit enough to complete each day comfortably in a time to beat the cut-offs. More of this a bit further on. A DNS in the Dorset Coast trail marathon (27m) was a judgement call; with a fairly minor injury I could have gone but it might have compromised the run-up to 2016 so I wasn't too bothered about missing it.

Injuries and Recovery

Ever since the long-term calf injury back in 2014 I had been very nervous about pushing the pace too hard. Consequently during the first half of 2015 I did almost no speed training and very little running at even a steady pace. I did a lot of long slow runs and had become a long slow runner. My problem was that a bit of speed, or even pushing a steep ascent at a jog or fast walk, seemed to give some calf discomfort. So although I did a lot of miles (and enjoyed them) I didn't push hard enough to get any real training other than "time on the feet". I think this was the principal reason for poor my Dragon's Back performance.

The Dragon's Back, in spite of being a failure, at least helped to change this situation. I came back after well over a hundred miles and around 35,000ft of ascent over rocks, boulders, grass and bog with no muscle pains at all. I finally came to the conclusion that the recurring calf pain was in my head. Since then I've started to make progress, but after effectively just short of two years taking it easy I was starting from a low base. I still get the odd problem if I push too hard - only on Christmas Eve I came back with a slight glute pull after 6 miles at just under 8 minute mile pace, but I think I'm starting to get there, and as I said earlier 2016 will hopefully confirm this.

So overall, a pretty sound if unspectacular year. I'm looking forward to 2016!

How do you like the Hills?

I was looking at some Spine Race statistics the other way and was quite surprised to see that over its length it accummulates some 37,000ft of ascent. Now the Pennine Way is in many respects quite a challenging trail regardless of the weather conditions (lots of wet ground, path indistinct in places, often a long way between contacts with civilisation, etc) but I think you'd have to stretch a point quite a distance to describe it as hilly. But it's a long way, so if you imagine some sort of measure of ascent per mile it probably wouldn't score very highly. This thought got me interested, so I worked out a "rate of climb" for a number of events that I have an interest in, to see how they compare.

To get the rate of climb, I have divided the total ascent by half the distance of the race (on the basis that most races have a similar amount of ascent and descent), expressed as a percentage. So if the race has a 5% rate of climb, you will on average be going up a 1 in 20 hill for half the distance, and down a 1 in 20 for the other half. The races I've chosen are a purely personal selection, comprising many that I've done or attempted, and some I might have a go at one day.

Now as I've said before, how difficult an event is to finish depends on a lot more than just its length and steepness  -   ground underfoot, difficulty of navigation, likely weather conditions and particularly the time constraints imposed by the organiser all play a part. But if you want to compare the simple physical characteristics of the undertaking, then I think the table below can give some pointers.

Race                          Length (miles)    Total Climb (ft)     Rate of climb (%)

The Spine                       268                          37000                       5
Tor des Geants               206                           78700                     14 
PTL                                187                           91800                     19
Dragon's Back                 182                           51400                     11
Ring of Fire                    135                           12000                      3
Hardmoors 110               110                           16700                      6
UTMB                             105                           31500                     11
Lakeland 100                  105                           22500                      8
Spine Challenger             105                           16400                      6
West Highland Way           95                           13300                      5
TDS                                  74                           23800                     12
UT Lakes 110k                  69                           10800                       6
Bob Graham Round           66                           27000                     15
CCC                                 63                            20000                     12
Hardmoors 60                   62                           10300                       6
10 Peaks Brecons              56                           15700                      11
Hardmoors 55                   53                             6400                       5
Highland Fling                   53                            5900                       4
Lakes in a Day                   50                          13000                      10
Lakes 3x3000                    50                           13000                      10
Lakeland 50                      50                            9700                        7
10 Peaks Lakes                  46                          16400                       13
Grand Tour of Skiddaw      44                             7700                       7
White Rose Ultra (30)        30                             4700                       6

I'm sure there will be one or two distances or heights that people may not agree with, but I've tried to get the figures from the best available sources (since last year the UTMB list has required a GPS trace, so I'm assuming these are pretty good for those events represented there - it's clear that before that a number of races claimed rather inflated figures for total ascent), but anyway they are accurate enough for some sort of comparison.

What's interesting is that with some knowledge of how the races above actually pan out on the ground, you can see that there are some clear break points where the game changes for the average runner. Events with up to around a 5% rate of climb are runnable pretty well all the way (if you're fit enough for the distance of course!) Events like the Highland Fling, the West Highland Way and the Ring of Fire are running races. Forget about The Spine because of the conditions - the Pennine Way in summer with a light rucksack is runnable ground.

Once you get into the 5-10% range you're into the races where most people will walk a lot of the uphills, but there will be quite a lot of runnable ground in between. This covers the Lakeland 50/100 events and the Harder bits of the Hardmoors.

Above 10% and you're into seriously steep territory - most will walk all the ups and shamble the downhills, and only the talented will average better than 3 miles an hour.

And just out of interest, the Barclay Marathons? To add to the tree roots, briars and mudslides, a mere 21% rate of climb.

KIcking the Habit

I'm sure we all have a number of circular runs that we do regularly.  Mine are different lengths, different surroundings, different difficulties; some just right for a quick blast, others for a tempo, an endurance run, or just a gentle contemplative meander. We do them because we can just go and run, no need to think where to go or to concentrate too hard on finding the way, easy.

But if you're like me, and I'll take a bet that many are, then you will do each of these circuits the same way round every time you go. Maybe you don't even think about it. The first time you did a particular run you did it clockwise; then every time since. This started to concern me, I don't know why, what does it matter after all, so I tried doing some of my runs the other way round. I didn't enjoy it. I couldn't put my finger on why exactly, but it didn't feel................comfortable. Maybe a psychologist would be able to tell me why but I don't think it would help. I went back to doing all my runs the right way round.

One circuit that I've taken to doing regularly is the circuit of Derwentwater because as a part-time Keswick resident, it's on the doorstep for me. It's just over nine miles on a path that is easy enough under foot to let your mind wander if you wish, and more or less flat with only around 300 feet of climb over the whole length. A mixture of woodland tracks, grassy fields, shingle beaches, with maybe a half-mile of tarmac on the link through the outskirts of Keswick. Often popular during the daytime, the time to get it mostly to yourself is in the hour or two before dark regardless of the time of year. Then, as well as the normal squirrels and sheep, you may meet voles underfoot and owls overhead, as well as surprised-looking champagne-quaffing occupants of the Lodore Hotel's hot tub as you pop out of the woods a few feet from them. I occasionally have a good bash and get round at under eight minute miling pace (a good gate-opening technique pays dividends here), but somehow it's rather too good for that, much more rewarding to take a bit longer, float along and absorb the surroundings.

Right from my first acquaintance, I always went anti-clockwise. I'm not sure why; maybe because you start across very easy ground, the field path and the shaky bridge to Portinscale, a bit of road then smooth going through the woods past Mr MacGregor's garden, Hawse End and down the lakeside. Across to the river and half the miles are already in the bag at a nice pace, you don't need to start thinking about options governed by how high the lake water level is until you turn for home. I was happy doing it this way until I raved about it to Dave Troman, a proper Keswick local. No, no, he said, go clockwise, it's better.

Well, I wasn't sure but you have to listen to the experts, so I tried. Dave was right, I was going the wrong way. I still can't put my finger on why, but I have rarely been the other way since. It's nothing earth-shattering, just a whole raft of little things that work out better. Here's an example. After crossing the bridge over the Derwent at the southern end of the lake, you follow a few hundred yards of boardwalk then some open pasture before diving into ancient woodland. You emerge past a house with a teddy bear in the garage window (he's always there, he gets cards at Christmas), then down through a gate to a path just above the water with a scree bank above. If you get yourself to this point on a sunny evening in late August, then as you round the little headland just ahead you will be treated to one of the finest views in the Lake District, which means, of course, in the world.

White Rose Ultra

Back in the Spring when I was planning my year I was looking for something a bit shorter for November and on paper it looked as though the White Rose Ultra would fit the bill nicely.  30 miles and around 4000ft of ascent in the South Pennines, a bit like the Haworth Hobble I assumed. The application went in but I didn't bother to find out any more about it until a couple of weeks before the event. On looking at the course in a bit more detail I saw that it looked like about 50% road; not too inspiring, but I read one or two blogs from competitors of previous years and they sounded generally enthusiastic, so I went along anyway.

The event base at Golcar is not much more than an hour's drive from home for me so I travelled over on the morning of the race. Fog on the Manchester side of the Pennines gave way to completely clear skies in the East; it was clear we were in for a beautiful day. The satnav delivered me (and most of the other competitiors it seemed) to a road about a hundred yards as the crow flies from the venue but with no obvious connection to it. Eventually some-one found the way in and we made our way along a little path (which turned out to be the "finishing straight" of the run) to the old mill building which was the base of operations. There I met John Kynaston and Debbie Consani, neither of whom I knew was running today; also Mark Dalton who had turned up to support a friend on the 100 course. Three events are run simultaneously around the same course  -  the 30 mile covers one lap starting at 8am, the 60 mile starts at the same time but goes on to a second lap, while the 100 had already started at midnight and would continue on to 3 and a bit laps.

Registration was low key but quick and efficient and it seemed like a good number of us were under way on the dot at 8am. I later found out that there were 50 or so starting the 60 mile event and nearly 200 in the 30 miler. For the first few miles the field was quite packed with a bit of queueing at gates and stiles, but I wasn't in any hurry, having no particular ambitions other than to have a nice day out and get round in good shape. To start with the course wound through field tracks and country lanes, pleasant but not particularly memorable. The weather was fine and sunny and I spent the first 10 miles mainly chatting to John Kynaston. He was running conservatively as he had two laps to complete; this suited me fine and the miles rolled by. 

There were well-stocked feed stations at regular five-mile intervals, but as I'd brought a 500ml water bottle I didn't bother to stop at the first two. At the ten mile point John stopped to top up and I ran on through so I was on my own for a mile or two. The field had now thinned out and it was getting a bit hillier and up onto the moors. Although the course was fully marked, you had to concentrate at junctions to spot the arrows, and at the times when you could see no-one to front or back it was encouraging that the organisers had painted a discreet white double arrow on many posts to reassure you that you were still on track. John caught me again just before the 15 mile feed station  -  half way for me and feeling pretty easy.

The next was a slightly longer stage, 6 miles to the next feed station. Near the start of it we hit a long downhill to the village of Marsden, and just before the bottom we caught up with Javed Bhatti who was also doing the 60 mile event. I'd met Javed at the Pennine 39 run back in July; he has already completed the Spine Race and is entered again for next January so I was interested in his views on one or two aspects of the race. Coincidentally, our course today was just joining a section of the Pennine Way up to Wessenden Head, but definitely one of the easier parts as it follows a really good track. Javed said it was about 25 miles from Edale (start of the Spine) to here, so it would definitely be dark when we got here in January. Today however it was light and the views were probably as good as it gets.

Approaching Wessenden Head with John Kynaston

John was running to try and keep a constant heart rate and as we carried on up the very gradual incline towards Wessenden this meant a walk-run combination so we eventually pulled away from Javed. The feed station was at the top of the climb. I was getting very hot as I still had a thermal vest under my teeshirt, so I stopped to take it off while John carried on. I thought I would probably catch him again soon, but the couple of hundred yards he had gained at the stop remained pretty constant for four miles to the next feed station. I could have speeded up with a bit of effort but I guess we both thought we were running at the right pace for comfort, and that just happened to be exactly the same speed for each of us.

This four miles involved a long steady downhill for well over a mile down a road. There were no signs and I could see no-one ahead of John. I had put the course into my GPS and fired it up as we ran down the road just to check, but I needn't have worried. We were soon at the turn-off to another moorland track, and from there the turnings, and consequently the signs, became more frequent. The tracks continued more or less level to the feed station. Here the course made a sharp right turn so John looked over and gave me a wave. There then followed a bit of bouldery track which I maybe a bit happier on so I eventually caught up with John again. As we were now less than five miles from the end of his first lap, he was mentally preparing to set out again on the second. We reached some slightly slippery downhill single track and I pulled away a bit but this wasn't really intentional, again I just think it was ground that I'm more familiar with as I spend so much of my time running in the Lakes. The ground underfoot was generally very easy on this event  -  the blogs from last year had talked about significant boggy sections but there were none today, just an inch or two of mud in places; a result of the really dry Autumn we've had I suppose.

We went down a hill over a canal, passed some old industrial buildings and this was the one point on the course where the signs had disappeared, possibly removed by local pranksters. I had caught another runner who was equally unsure of the way so I paused to get the GPS out again just to make sure we were still on course. John caught up and we carried on to the end of the lap, a mile or so of mostly uphill walking. John was looking strong and I wished him well on his continuation, but this was the end of the shift for me.

I finished in a time of 5:47 for 37th place out of 169 finishers. I'm happy with that, it wasn't too stressful an experience, generally a grand day out. Would I do it again? Probably not, too much road and jeep track for me really, I prefer ground where you have to watch where you're putting your feet; but on the day, the weather brought the views out to their best so I wouldn't have missed it on this occasion.

John struggled a bit on his second lap, maybe as a result of the hot weather on the first, but still finished his two laps in 13:21 to get 12th place out of 42 finishers. Debbie, in spite of being knocked down by a car (and thought to be a hospital case by those around at the time apparently), shrugged it off to finish first lady in 11:05, in 5th place overall and breaking the ladies' course record. Well, it makes a change from falling in the canal I suppose.