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The Spine Race 2025: Adventures Of Dot Number 254

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The Spine Race is not just another endurance event; it is a gruelling challenge that tests the limits of human capability, resolve, mental strength and determination.

Taking place annually in the UK, this Winter ultramarathon spans 268 miles along the Pennine Way, one of the country’s most iconic and demanding walking trails.

Here in this article is my whole personal experience, with thoughts, of taking part in this epic event in January 2025 after recovering from surgery for a Chiari Malformation that was in October 2023.

What is the Spine Race?

The Spine Race is known for its extreme conditions and is held during the cold winter months. Participants must navigate through a rugged terrain filled with unpredictable weather, steep ascents, and descents, alongside the mental fortitude required to endure a non-stop race over many days.

It is an iconic race that attracts not only seasoned ultramarathon runners but also adventurers looking to push their physical limits.

Brief History of the Event

First organized in 2012, the Spine Race quickly gained a reputation for being one of the toughest ultramarathons in the world.

The event was inspired by the Pennine Way, which has long been a popular route for hikers and outdoor enthusiasts. Over the years, the race has seen a growing number of participants from diverse backgrounds, each bringing their unique stories and motivations for taking on this formidable challenge.

Why is it Considered Tough?

Several factors contribute to the Spine Race’s notoriety for toughness. The course is not only long but also features varied terrains, including rocky paths, boggy fields, and steep hills.

There is limited support on route and athletes must carry an extensive kit list that allows them to look after themselves for the many hours between the checkpoints, which can be up to 63 miles apart in points.

Additionally, participants must contend with harsh winter weather, where snow, rain, and freezing temperatures can turn a straightforward challenge into a fight for survival. The race is held in January which means that athletes are in the dark for up to 14 hours at a time.

The race must be completed in a maximum of seven days, with cut offs in place at each aid station, which adds an element of time pressure, making it even more daunting.

The Route

The Pennine Way stretches from Edale in Derbyshire to Kirk Yetholm in the Scottish Borders, traversing some of the most beautiful yet challenging landscapes in the UK. The route includes moors, dales, and mountains, providing participants with breathtaking views alongside rigorous physical demands and problem solving.

The Spine Race follows this iconic pathway, emphasizing the endurance and navigation skills required to complete the journey.

My Spine Race Experience

I’m not going to lie, I found the build up to this race pretty stressful. The sheer magnitude of the damn thing, the distance, where to sleep, getting the mandatory kit sorted, how to charge my devices, navigation, planning food and on top of that the complete unknown of what is the UK weather in January.

I was really lucky that many previous Spiners had offered the loan of kit, and having been invited along on a girls recce weekend in early Nov I’d managed to pick the brains of previous racers with regards to some of the questions that were festering in my head.

Most of the girls heard “but what about….?” for some of our recce weekend, but I was also conscious that part of being a rookie competitor in the Spine is to find/work this stuff out for yourself, so was careful not to annoy them.

Prep had been filled with many adventures and, as with all big events, the training took me on some fantastic days out that I will have happy memories of forever.

Before I knew it, race week was here, along with a mega drop in temperatures and a hefty dump of snow across the Pennines. Proper Winter Spine conditions.

I arrived in Edale race morning having dot watched the challenger South and Spine sprint athletes that had started the previous day. They had really battled through the fresh, deep snow across the tops which, for us, made navigation easy as the only choice you had was the follow the footprints. One step either side of the forged path and you found yourself up to your thigh in a drift, which got very tiring very quickly. I have no idea how those front runners in the earlier races coped.

On the start line I was stood next to Martin Morrison and we chatted about the nerves and excitement of what was to come. Little did I know I’d see Martin again throughout the race. Very often.

Anyway, we were off.

Jacobs ladder comes approximately 3 miles in. We climbed up out of the mist to the most spectacular clear blue skies and a cloud inversion in the valley.

Slipping ever so slightly backwards with each forward step the sensible thing here would have been to put the micro spikes on, but I didn’t.

All this section I’ve run many many times. I’d probably even brag I could do it with my eyes closed…what I can’t brag about is that I can do it in snow!!

Which was the right bloody path?!?

I’d not put the route on my watch for this first section because I was so sure I didn’t need it, but crossing Bleaklow with footprints going off in all sorts of directions and everything white and unidentifiable, I realised I wasn’t as confident in my local knowledge as I’d thought.

Yikes.

I got to the descent off the edges towards Mill Hill and there was what looked like a toboggan track down where the steps usually are.

Brilliant.

I sat down, as previous racers also must have done, and slid down on my backside, laughing my head off. As I reached the bottom and stood up I heard a “nicely done lass” in the distance and looked back up the climb to see a walker stood at the top giving me a thumbs up and chuckling away to himself.

Chuffed with myself I set off towards Snake Pass along the ‘slabs’.

Hang on. I know the path doesn’t go this way. I had to follow the footprints though.

I look to my left and see a stake that I know is usually right next to the footpath, but it was way way left.

Just keep following the footprints.

This was the theme over all the first section.

It was literally a case of stepping where others had stepped, whether it was right or not, lifting your knees high enough to step into the previous runners foot holes.

I still hadn’t put the micro spikes on either. Nice one.

I passed through the mountain rescue stops, having a brew and some biscuits at each and also chatting with some people I knew that were volunteering at these points, and made my way to checkpoint one at Hebden Bridge (CP1).

In what I’m sure was a HUGE stress for the race organisers they had been unable to access the scout centre, which is the usual checkpoint 1 for the race, so they had moved this to where the sprint race finishes instead.

A long old road descent into the town centre, knowing at some point I’d have to come back up here, and I reached CP1.

You absolutely would not have known the stress that must have been caused before we arrived there. The volunteers here were on it.

Poles and shoes taken off and labelled and in I went in for 2 bowls of Pasta, adding an extra layer, charging my devices and collecting my next lot of food parcels.

I looked up from my drop bag faffing to see Martin sat across from me. Oh Hi again.

Moving the checkpoint to here meant that the next section to Hawes was now around 63 miles, and it was going to be dark and cold.

Knowing what I know now about how long the next section took, I would have opted to have a few hours sleep at Hebden Bridge, but as I was expecting to get Hawes around 10 pm ish Monday night I thought I’d push through. I packed away my drop bag, had my kit checked and set off into the night.

This next section was tedious. Really bloody tedious. I fell more times than I care to remember.

Each time I hit the deck I laid there for a few seconds “ouch, shit, what hurts most, ok, nothing race ending, carry on”.

Repeat.

The section over the moors between Hebden Bridge and Thornton in Craven were so so energy zapping and slow moving, but at least I WAS still moving.

Do you know what would have helped…micro spikes. Did I put them on yet? No.

I stopped in the barn at Top Withens to have a snack. It was so cold now that I was wearing 3 pairs of gloves, one was a mitten, so I was conscious I had to make sure I stopped and ate instead of pushing on just because I couldn’t be arsed with the faff of removing my gloves.

‘Be bothered’ were the words of Damian Hall ringing in my ears.

Bothered to eat, not bothered to put the spikes on.

More high knees, more stepping into holes, more avoiding sneaky ice patches.

Coming down into Thornton in Craven the sun was starting to come up and there was the most spectacular clear sunrise of pinks and purples over the snowy fields.

Something about the sun coming up gives you a bit of a boost and it had been a long, cold night alone looking at my head torch circle.

I reached the tuck shop at Thornton in Craven and it was light again by now. When I’d been here on the challenger South it had been 2am so I knew the first section had been really slow going.

The lady who owns the tuck shop was just restocking it and she laughed as she told me her husband had found a Spiner asleep in their barn earlier that morning.

‘Sounds comfy’ I thought.

Along the river, through Gargrave, and then I was struggling to stay awake coming into Malham. I asked a safety team member if there was anywhere I could sleep in Malham village and she told me Jason (another competitor) had headed for the gift shop, so that’s where I went.

Walking into the gift shop the poor lad behind the counter must have wondered what the heck was going on, I asked him if I could get my head down for half an hour, he obliged and I headed to the gift shop windowsill which was carpeted.

Curled up in a ball in the window of a gift shop hadn’t originally been on my race plan funnily enough, but I was still so far away from Hawes and thought 10 mins here might see me through.

I’ve no idea what anyone walking past must have thought, but I had my buff pulled over my eyes so was oblivious to onlookers.

Just as I managed to nod off another competitor that was sat near me opened a bag of crisps…

*crunch crunch crunch* *rustle*

FFS.

I laid there a while longer.

*rustle*

*crunch crunch crunch*

How big was this damn bag.

*crunch crunch crunch*

Sod this.

I got up and looked over at Jason who opened one eye “your mates a noisy eater isn’t he” he said to me sarcastically. It seems he was equally pee’d off.

I thanked the lad behind the counter and headed for Malham Cove and the monitoring station at Malham Tarn, being careful to stay left over the cove to avoid the icy limestone holes near the edge.

Cup of tea drunk, instant mash potato packet (cheese flavour) consumed, I set off for Fountains Fell in quite high spirits that wasn’t going to last!!

Snaking up the ascent of Fountains Fell I knew, once again, that this wasn’t the way the path went, but I had no choice but to follow the footprints or risk being up to my arse in a drift again.

My hip flexor on my right side was just starting to let me know it wasn’t best pleased with all the high knee action to step into the foot holes BUT i did finally put the micro spikes on climbing up here.

Only a day late.

Reaching the summit of Fountains Fell it came dark again so I put my headtorch on for the second time, only this time the fog had also come in, along with the rain and, because those two weren’t fun enough, the wind smashed you in the face as you reached the summit.

The ascent had been quite sheltered, the descent however was really testing my patience.

This was slow going.

Falling every 3rd or 4th step I resumed my self assessment of “am I ok to continue” after each fall. I was. The snow drifts at least made for a soft landing.

It seemed to take HOURS to get down off Fountains Fell, I kept hoping that another head torch would catch up with me, or that I’d be able to see one in front, but there was nothing.

I was alone.

I was getting cold because I was moving so slow, it was dark, I couldn’t see in any direction due to the fog and I was still ages away from Hawes and the next checkpoint.

Hello complete sense of humour failure.

Finally I hit the road section that takes you along to Pen Y Ghent. I managed to jog some of this section to try and generate some body heat again. It was such a strange feeling going along here, I’d not seen anyone for hours since I left Malham tarn and could see nothing in any direction apart from a small dot of light at the farm in the distance.

I put my hand on the tracker on my shoulder. I knew people knew where I was.

We had been diverted from summiting Pen Y Ghent due to the weather conditions and after the experience on Fountains Fell I was MORE than happy to take the earlier turn off and the steep descent into Horton-in-Ribblesdale.

I’m getting there. Closer to Hawes.

This descent was even slower than the previous one.

Stepping down limestone craggy bits. Avoiding ice sheets on the steps. Sliding down areas of compact snow.

It began to rain again. Hard.

I finally hit the road into Horton, once again, a place I’ve been many many times before and set off the wrong way along the road.

What the?!

What am i doing? Think Mel.

I went back the way I’d come, then turned round again. Hang on this doesn’t seem right. Back again.

Which was the right way? Why can’t I work this out?

Just as I was heading the wrong way down the road once again another competitor came into view. I asked him which was the correct way and he said to follow him, which I did. Aimlessly.

On reaching Horton in Ribblesdale I’d got myself into a real pickle. I was cold. So cold I was physically shaking by this point.

I was wet. I was tired. I was sulking.

I was also HOURS behind where I expected I’d be by now.

I shuffled to the safety team and luckily for me a fantastic guy called Ian (Stark) was on shift.

“Ian, I’m not sure what I need but I’m really in a mess”.

He took me into the public toilets, the only shelter in the village at this time of night.

I had visions of a lovely hand dryer to be able to dry my clothes and a nice dry bench or something to grab a nap on.

The reality was a wet, cold concrete floor, a faint smell of piss, and a multi hand wash/dry thing that was broken.

My whole body was shaking from the cold. I knew I needed to warm up, and fast.

My gloves were absolutely soaked through.

I started trying to take my wet jacket and over trousers off but my fingers weren’t working. Ian saw me struggling and said “can I do what I need to do to help you?”

I nodded and in what seemed like seconds he had whipped my waterproofs off, got my emergency layers out of my backpack and put them on me, blown my sleeping mat up and manhandled me (with care) into my bivvy, and then my sleeping bag.

He didn’t bat an eyelid.

What I really wanted was to get in their vehicle with the heating on and get myself warm again. Instant DQ for that. Ian said “i’ll just call HQ and tell them what’s happening”

Shit.

I hope they don’t think i’m dropping out. “IAN, I’m not dropping out”

“I know” he said.

“Please don’t tell them I’m dropping out”

“I’m not”

“I’ll be ok once I’ve stopped for a bit”

“I know, Mel” he replied.

You have to inform race HQ of any stop over 30 mins so Ian was just doing what I was unable to do, but I was panicking that he was going to tell them I couldn’t continue.

My iphone screen wasn’t having any of it and I was unable to input my passcode to text them myself as my fingers weren’t working.

Poor Ian having to deal with that mess.

Even though I was currently in this state there wasn’t one moment where I thought about ending my race. My eyes, and mind, were still firmly on reaching Kirk Yetholm. Somehow.

2 hours later I peeped out of the hole in my sleeping bag to see the lovely Bev in the toilets removing her wet stuff.

“Are you ok?” She asked. I told her I’d arrived in a mess into Horton and had been trying to warm up.

She asked if I wanted to tackle the Cam High Road together and she waited whilst I packed my kit away, put every layer on that I had and we set off together into the night, collecting Martin on the way through the village.

My warm gloves were still soaked through but Ian advised me that if I put my wet gloves back on, then my dry waterproof mittens over the top, that my body heat would warm the wet gloves and keep my hands warm. He was right.

As one final goodbye on leaving the toilets I turned to Ian, with my 3 pairs of gloves on, and said “I’m really sorry but could you just pull my pants up for me”.

He grabbed them by the waistband and yanked them upwards. That was better. Thanks, Ian.

And, sorry.

The Cam High Road was even worse than Fountains Fell. Deep deep drifts.

The snow starting to melt in places. Wind in your face. Sections of sheet ice.

I was really grateful for the company of Bev, Martin and further along, Fredrick who didn’t speak any English but was fantastic at navigating and waving us to follow him.

Minimal chat. Maximum marching. Tap. Tap. Tap with the poles. Heads down. Crack on.

I can see why most people in the Spine race had their race ended on the section between Malham Tarn and Hawes. It was, in parts, really dangerous and I do think that the racers should have been grouped in Horton before tackling the Cam High Road. I can’t imagine how people navigated and got through that section alone.

Anyway, I made it to Hawes (CP2). Yeyyyy.

3:33am on Tuesday morning.

So much for ‘around 9pm Monday evening’.

I ate, saw the medics about my blood shot eyes (wear your goggles folks) and went to bed for a few hours.

90 mins after getting into bed, I was awake again. I actually felt great after sleeping, although I use the term ‘sleeping’ lightly as me and Bev shared a dorm with someone who had a case of the Spine Cough so a broken 90 mins was all we managed.

Still, it was better than nowt.

Breakfast was 2 bowls of cold rice pudding with jam, I packed my stuff, said Hi to some friends that were volunteering there (I can’t repeat here what I said to Kirsty about the Cam High Road) and set off with Bev (who also had bloodshot eyes) for the ascent of Great Shunner Fell.

It was a dry, clear day and the snow had melted overnight! What a change.

Ace.

Here is where my race experience picked up massively.

I felt like we’d paid our dues to the Pennine Way over the first 2 days and now that we were through that and it realised we weren’t going to be beaten, it was time to start being able to ‘enjoy’ it.

Me and Bev had a great time the start of day 3, the sun was shining and even though it was a breezy drag up Great Shunner Fell we were in good spirits. The snow had vanished overnight which I was relieved about as I’m not sure myself or my right hip flexor could have done another day stepping my way through drifts and I was heading for a section of the course me and my friend Tim had previously recce’d.

Here we were joined by Will and the 3 of us had such a laugh for a few hours. Those guys were fantastic company and we all got along so well.

Coming off Great Shunner I fell face first into a bog and when I looked in front of me there was an unopened Mars bar wedged in the mud by my head.

What a great start to the day!!!

I fished it out, opened it, ate it, and thanked whichever previous Spiner had dropped it in the previous few days.

Approaching Keld I started to feel good, Will and Bev were heading to the tea room there for a brew but I was focused on getting to Tan Hill so pottered off across the moor on my own to reach the pub for an expensive cup of (not Yorkshire) tea and some lukewarm soup.

The section after Tan Hill has some of the worst bogs on the whole of the Pennine Way. So much so that there are signs nailed to posts to tell you which side of the stakes to stay on to prevent you being swallowed by them never to be seen again.

I was lucky to hit this section in the light, just, so navigating the runner eating slop holes was a bit easier than it could have been.

It was either the shock of paying £3 for a tea OR the fact it had 3 sugars in it, but somehow I’d got a second wind on this section and I seemed to move quicker than I had for a while.

I was actually RUNNING!!

The fantastic Clove Lodge honesty shop appeared in the night and after a very exciting meeting with Mr Tiddles the cat who I’d missed on my previous 2 visits here it was off up the Teesdale valley past Low and High Force waterfalls, which sounded AMAZING in the dark now all the snow melt was heading down the valley, and over to Langdon Beck (CP3).

Langdon beck checkpoint was WARM. Really warm.

Immediately through the door and the layers were coming off.

I smashed 2 massive jacket potatoes with cheese, put my stuff on charge and went to ask for a bed for a few hours. “Room 2, bunk 2” i was told.

Great. I’m knackered.

I get into my allocated room and see there’s one bloke on the other bunk, I faff about with my sleeping bag trying to be as quiet as possible, climb into bed, close my eyes and…*cough cough cough*

Ohhh mannn not again.

*cough cough cough*

I had another Spine cough victim in the room and he was in full hack.

Bearing in mind I’d had 90 mins sleep at Hawes and maybe 10 mins in the gift shop window since the race start on Sunday at 8am (we were now into the early hours of Weds morning) I’d been desperate to be able to get some sleep here and I’d gone up to the room setting my alarm for 4 hours time (wishful thinking)!

I laid there for a bit staring into the dark and listening to Mr Cough in the other bed.

‘He’ll stop soon’ I thought. He didn’t.

After about 25 mins I got up, gathered my sleeping bag and things and left the room. I started to head back down the stairs when a lovely volunteer who had sent me up only 25 mins earlier intercepted me halfway down.

“Are you ok?” She asked.

I shook my head pathetically and told her about my roomie.

I think she took pity on my giant eye bags and sad face and they moved me to another room.

JACKPOT!!

It was empty.

I got back into my sleeping bag and was asleep before my head hit the squeaky, sweaty, plastic mattress.

Oh my gosh. What a sleep. It was only 90 mins once again but I felt like I’d been reborn when I woke up, although when I looked in the mirror I looked like i’d been punched in both eyes.

Into the bathroom, I filled the sink with cold water, held my breath and submerged my face. What a feeling.

That woke me up a bit.

Teeth brushed. Fresh clothes on. 2 bowls of cold rice pudding and jam.

Packed my bag. Chatted.

Chatted some more.

Chatted even more (there’s a surprise)

The checkpoint manager gave a not so subtle hint that I probably should get moving and stop nattering. Ooops.

Kit check.

I thumbed my expanding feet into my trainers and I was off for High Cup Nick with a wave from the volunteers as I went.

I was going to be hitting High Cup Nick in the daylight. I was chuffed to bits. I climbed well and was ever so excited to see the great view.

Oh. Clag. Great.

Not a thing to be seen from the top but that was ok as I was about to hit the descent into the village.

Onwards to Dufton through some very dicey river crossings, having lovely chat with a bloke walking up. (Who I then saw later had left a message on my tracker)!!

I arrived in Dufton and headed for the monitoring point. I felt for these guys here as almost every runner was poking their head in to show they’d arrived then heading straight for the cafe.

I was the only one in the cafe when I got there.

I text HQ to tell them I’d be stopping for over 30 mins and ordered breakfast of eggs and beans on toast, a coffee and a can of coke all whilst watching the dots on the big screen they had in the corner.

The cafe owners are mega Spine fans and the bloke in there was excitedly showing me where everyone was. It was so cute.

It was unfathomable to me where Kim and Lucy were. I was in awe. How had they moved so quickly over those first 2 days to get to where they were?! (Maybe they had worn their micro spikes!!!!)

I had him check where the girls were (all moving and doing fantastic) paid up and set off for Cross Fell.

I’m not sure if it was the breakfast or the thought of the climb to come but as I started the ascent of Cross Fell I suddenly became really REALLY tired. I knew trying to continue up there in that state would make for VERY slow going as it’s about 8 miles to the summit.

I texted HQ one again, laid down in the grass at the side of the trail, and had a 10 minute nap.

Bonus.

I’m not sure what happened after this.

In theory it was the best day ever. The sun was shining, I was heading up Cross Fell in the light which would make for easy navigation, I was doing an event I’d be wanting to do for YEARS. Nothing was aching. I’d eaten. I wasn’t injured. I was well over half way into the race.

I started crying. I don’t even know why.

I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t sad. I was just moving, and crying, then laughing at myself for crying, then crying some more.

I could see for miles and miles. The weather was perfect. I had snacks.

But I was still crying.

I cried all the way to the summit, leaving Hannah Rickman a voice note in the process to tell her that I was crying, but that I wasn’t upset.

The good thing with having friends like that to receive your voice notes is they know. They just get it.

They’ve been there.

The Spine is an unpredictable emotional rollercoaster and I was currently riding in the front carriage round a loop the loop.

She messaged ahead to tell a mutual friend Danielle that I was having a flap and to be ready as Dani was going to be in Greggs Hut when I got there.

I reached the summit of Cross Fell at 4pm just as the sun was going down. There was an amazing sunset, no wind and I’d reached the highest point.

Still blubbering like a baby I started the easy descent off the top (I could spot the cairn a mile off) and headed for John Bamber, Danielle and the noodles in Greg’s Hut.

Noodles consumed, tea drunk, a squeeze from Danielle and she shoved me out into the dark for the long, featureless descent to Garrigil telling me she’d watch my dot all the way down.

What a girl.

I’d literally JUST stopped crying as I hit the road into Garrigil village when a safety team came over to ask if I was ok.

Well, that set me off again. “I am ok but I’m crying and I don’t know why” I said.

They ushered me into Annies house, a fabulous lady who has her door open in Garrigil throughout the Spine for racers to call in and get a rest or a coffee. I hadn’t known about Annies in all the blogs I’d read so it was really unexpected but fantastic to see her.

She made me white toast with loads of butter and a cup of tea which I gratefully ate between my sobs.

What a bloody state I must have looked.

One thing that needs to be commended about the Spine is that this is all completely normal for the volunteers and safety team folk.

They know the difference between a pathetic, overtired, sobbing emotional wreck and someone that genuinely needs assistance.

And I was the former. They talk to you, don’t pander to you, then send you on your way with a gentle nudge.

You think that what you need is someone to give you a long old hug, tell you that you did well, but that it’s actually ok if you want to stop.

But that’s exactly what you don’t need in my case. You need someone to listen to your whinging, tell you you’re fine, then get you to crack on.

Which I did.

After leaving Annies I followed another Spiner along the diversion to Alston (CP4).

Stile after stile after stile along this section soon brought the niggling hip flexor back to the front of my mind. Not now you little blighter.

I had arrived at the Lasagne. I’d been waiting for this moment since leaving Edale.

In, shoes off, clothes hung up, poles labelled, my drop bag appeared in front of me. The team at Alston were on it. No messing.

This was now 10:45pm on the Weds night. I was still plenty ahead of the cut offs even though I’d moved and cried so slowly since leaving Langdon Beck.

1st portion of lasagne consumed. Inhaled so quickly I’m surprised I didn’t choke.

Next portion arrived soon after, vacuumed up like a hoover.

3rd portion, easy stuff this.

4th portion, gone.

Then the carb coma hit and it was time to ask for a dorm.

I got my sleeping bag out, traipsed up the stairs to my allocated room and…BINGO…another empty space.

I once again set my alarm for 4 hours and woke up after 90 mins to find Martin snoring away in the other bunk.

Weirdly at every single aid station I was waking automatically after 90 mins. I’d read a lot about sleep cycles pre race and 90 mins was the magic number so I always felt ‘ok’ after that amount, but i’m sure it’s not sustainable long term.

2 bowls of cold rice pudding and jam (it’s become a theme) another shove of the feet into my shoes and it was off towards Bellingham and a part of the route I was really looking forward to, Hadrians Wall!

The next section I’d done with the girls on our recce weekend so I was fairly comfortable with the navigation. It was beginning to get light and I reached a road crossing that had 2 plastic boxes with a note attached saying “for Spiners” on it.

I sat on the wall, opened the box and got out 2 packs of mini party rings, my favourites!

Just as I was opening the first packet a car pulled up and it was the lovely gentleman who had come to restock the boxes. He does this off his own back every year.

He calls in the morning before work, then again on his way home to restock the snacks out of his own pocket whilst the race is on. It was lovely to chat to him and he gave me a coffee out of a flask he had in his car.

What a thoughtful chap and for him to spend his week, and money, refilling the boxes is such a kind thing to do.

I didn’t catch his name, but thank you.

He asked for my name, said he’d look out for my dot, and I was off towards Greenhead where the Pennine Way joins Hadrians Wall.

As I neared Hadrians Wall I spotted a runner bounding towards me across the golf course. ‘Imagine having fresh legs’ I thought to myself as I watched him skipping along effortlessly.

It wasn’t until he was about a metre in front of me that I realised it was Ian. My toilet hero from Horton.

He’d been moved to be based in Greenhead and had seen my dot approaching so come out to say Hi. I was over the moon to see him.

He said a quick ‘Hi’, told me I was doing great, made me well up, then bounced off into the distance. What a great surprise.

At Walltown (yes, that’s it’s name) where The Wall starts there was a small visitors centre open. I nipped in there to have a cup of tea and eat the packet of ready made pasta i’d been carrying in my front pouch for the last 3 days. The girl manning the visitors centre had a laptop open and was watching the dots, she came over and started to show me some of the messages on my open tracking.

Bloody hell!!! This was the first time I’d seen them. Way to set me off crying again.

It was overwhelming to see. I read so many of them from people all over the world.

Some from friends, family, other Spiners, people from work and so many from people I didn’t know but that were following the dot and willing me on.

Wow. Right. Let’s get on with this.

I asked if I could nap there, went into a store cupboard to lay on a bench for 30 mins (and did manage to fall asleep for part of it) then came out the store room to see Martin asleep by the fire, and headed off to tackle the wall.

What. A. Day.

The sun was shining.

It felt warm.

I was running too. Actually running along the wall at almost 200 miles into the race. I felt great.

People were out walking along the wall and gave words of encouragement, the Spine media team caught up with me for an interview and I actually look like I’m enjoying myself, which I was along here. So much.

It would have been an entirely different interview had they caught me 24 hours earlier and not sure they’d have shown that one.

The wall passed quickly and easily and I was so happy to have got that section done in the daylight.

Every section of this event that I’d been dreading doing in the dark I’d hit in the daylight so far. I was timing this (unintentionally) to perfection.

I was eating well and taking snacks from my front pouch every hour from my little pre packed food parcels I’d made up pre race.

I hadn’t had the shits. I hadn’t been sick. It was going great.

This remains my favourite part of the whole event. I had great pre race memories from here from doing the recce with the girls back in Nov and now race day the conditions were great and I was feeling good.

Definitely a highlight of the week.

Then…

Then the bogs returned with a vengeance.

Each step across the moor was a step with the left foot then dragging my right leg out the bog behind me.

Step. Drag. Step. Drag.

I was so happy to reach Horneystead Farm and was even happier to see Helen was there.

What a woman. She gave me a mug of amazing soup, 2 white tea cakes with butter and chatted to me about how she’d waited up and been really excited to see Kim through the farm.

A throughly nice human and completely immersed in the Spine Race for the week with no personal gain on her part. She wouldn’t take a donation from me but I will be back at some point to sneak some money in to her pot when she’s not there.

I left Horneystead Farm feeling content, although the next section was slow going and I was really nervous about the checkpoint at Bellingham as had heard some terrible stories of it.

I arrived into Bellingham (CP5) and was over the moon to see that Tim Palfreman was on shift. Tim had lent me his GPS device for the race and also taken me on a recce from Tan Hill to Langdon Beck earlier in the year. It was great to see him.

He got me sorted with a tea, 2 bowls of sausage casserole and mash and I headed off to try and get some sleep.

Was it noisy, yes.

Was it cold, yes.

Was the floor hard, yes.

Did I manage to sleep, surprisingly, yes.

Another 90 mins exactly, with no alarm.

Skills.

I’d slept in all my clothes and double bagged the sleeping bag as it was so cold, but I’d bloody well managed it.

Back into the noisy hall, more rice pudding and jam for breakfast and off (alone again) into the night towards Byrness.

That was the last major checkpoint ticked off until the finish.

I was getting there. Was I actually going to do it?!?

Gosh. This next section. What a ride.

Bogs. Really really deep bogs.

My right shin was burning with pain.

Every step where my right foot got stuck in a bog was becoming agony to drag it out behind me.

I’d never ever had pain here before.

Step. Drag. Step. Drag.

Completely in the dark, focusing on my headtorch circle, getting ever closer to the finish.

Oooo slabs *runs a bit* BOG.

It seemed to go on forever.

My headtorch battery flickered just as I hit the road crossing. I got the spare battery out of my pouch and changed it using the light of my mobile phone.

Was this one new one even charged? I didn’t think so.

Had I forgot to swap it out at the last checkpoint? How long had this one got left?

What if it’s only 10 mins from now?

I couldn’t remember swapping out the dead battery at Bellingham.

Oh shit. I didn’t change it for a new one.

I looked behind me hoping to see another headtorch coming over the moor in the distance… nothing. I still had about 8 miles to Byrness but even then, I wouldn’t be allowed to continue without another battery over the cheviots.

I’d have to use my phone torch. What a mess. I started to cry again.

How could I have messed this up.

I sat at the side of the road for a bit feeling sorry for myself and sobbing, then realised there was no point sulking here until someone came along as it could be hours, so stood up and set off across the next part of the moor. I’d just have to make it to the fire track through the woods then if my battery went at least it was easy going. I looked up and the night was perfectly clear with a bright moon. I’d get down the fire track under that light if I needed to.

(Turns out, I had swapped out the dead battery for a new one and the one I put in lasted me all night and then again the next night as I got to the finish).

I hit the fire track and my gosh it was a slog.

It should be easy going here as it weaves mostly downhill on a good surface but it was long, hard underfoot so my shin was screaming with each step, and I was falling asleep whilst walking. I’d be marching at one side of the track then blinked (ie. fell asleep) and would wake up the other side of the road.

I looked at my app. Not far to Byrness. I’ll sleep in the church there.

More weaving. More falling asleep. I tried to put my music on and sing loudly to keep myself awake and it kind of worked for a bit.

(I am a terrible singer so full apologies to anyone that heard this)

I even slapped myself round the face a couple of times.

I’m also sure the burning pain in my shin was helping to keep me awake.

All of a sudden some BIG logging waggons started to come past me. It was early hours of the morning and they must have been starting work.

I’ve no idea what those drivers must have thought seeing me zombie walking down the side of the road at this silly hour in the morning, singing to myself. It was pretty scary as they were moving at speed and I was very aware that I was unable to move fast enough to jump out of the way, but it was keeping me on my toes.

Almost at Byrness there was a couple of arrows in the wood showing a diversion, but then they disappeared. I walked on for a few mins before my Garmin beeped to say I was off track. There were no more arrows. Do I go back? Carry on?

I wasn’t sure.

I called HQ and told them I was lost in the forest. The lady that answered could see my tracker and told me to carry on the way I was going and she would tell them at Byrness I was on my way. I carried on following the path I was on until a headtorch came into view in the distance. They’d come out from the checkpoint to find me weaving around on the path.

I wasn’t much conversation and waffled something about skulls, bones and saber tooth tigers being in the forest.

I really really wanted to go straight to the church for a sleep but had to go to the monitoring checkpoint first. I felt so spaced out here that I was worried they might not think I was fit to continue, when I knew all I needed to do was have a nap.

They fed me mince and taties and I explained to the medic there about my painful shin that wasn’t allowing me to run anymore.

She sorted me out with some codeine and advised me on taking paracetamol as well. She also said that by the time I got to Hut 1 I should be ready for some more codeine so to ask once I got there. Noted.

I think.

Then I was guided to the church where a previous spiner had left some cushions on the floor near the altar.

Ideal.

I laid down, covered myself up and, even though it was absolutely freezing I got 10 mins nap before a noise woke me.

I opened one eye to see the church caretaker sweeping the isle towards me. (I’ve since found out this wasn’t the caretaker but I’m not sure who he was).

Noooooo. Please no. I just need another 15 mins!

He saw my eyes open “HIYA” he boomed. Oh man. I’m so so tired.

“We’ve had plenty of you lot through here over the last few days”.

Be nice.

“Oh, have you. Has everyone been ok so far?” I ask, not really interested but feeling really bad about it.

He starts to tell me stories of some people he’s seen and I get up and go to make a coffee with the kettle that had been kindly left at the back of the church.

If sleep isn’t going to get me through this last section then caffeine, codeine and adrenaline is!

I sorted my pack out. Spoke to Martin who had been sleeping by one of the pews and set out over the cheviots.

THE CHEVIOTS.

The final leg. I was almost there.

I say almost but this last section is (miles and ascent) long so not to be sniffed at in it’s own right, never mind 240 miles into an event.

Another spectacular day though. I was getting ALL the views that I hadn’t got when we had done the recce in November in the mist.

The codeine had kicked in.

The caffeine had kicked in.

The adrenaline had kicked in.

I was running again.

How had I gone from a slurring, weaving neanderthal talking about seeing saber tooth tigers in the forest…to a wide awake runner?!

The human body is weird, but I was loving it.

Hut 1 seemed to appear pretty quickly and I walked in to see Oli there. He wasn’t even supposed to be on shift anymore but he’d waited there for me to come through. Spine family.

They had some boards on the wall with the time and dates that each runner had been through and it was fantastic seeing all the names up there.

Tea, some homemade cake, more codeine and I was off again.

Hut 2 bound.

It got dark again as I started the ascent up towards The Cheviot, even though we don’t summit it during the Spine Race and the first part of the climb I was starting to flag again.

The codeine and caffeine were wearing off and, even though I knew I was not that far from Hut 2, it still felt so far away as you can see it to your left across the valley.

I got to the start of the descent down towards the Hut and the pain in my shin was back with a vengeance making it hard work stepping downwards.

I fell a couple of times sliding down the mix of bog and snow that was left up there.

On the 3rd time of falling I stood up and shouted “FUCK OFFFFFFFF” at the top of my voice over the Cheviots.

I turned round to see a headtorch behind me. MARTIN!!

He was laughing at my scream into the abyss and we made our way slowly down the descent to Hut 2 together. Me falling a couple more times for good measure which kept Martin highly amused.

Martin had previously volunteered at Hut 2 and one of his pals was there again this year.

It was great to see his mate come out to meet him and they were having a lovely catch up and hug and it was all of the emotions.

We knew now that we were doing it.

It was within reach.

Into the hut, more codeine which kicked in almost instantly, a cup of tea, a listen to the Vengaboys that the team there had uploaded ready for when we arrived and then Martin had the great idea of ordering us burgers at the pub!!

He phoned the Border Hotel from Hut 2 and ordered two border burgers for when we finished. The guy was a genius.

We said goodbye to the hut team and set off for The Schill and the home stretch.

We were marching along and talking about going over the finish line.

How would it feel? Who would be there?

About 1.5 miles from the finish I said to Martin that I was going to run the last bit. He was happy to march it in, but truth be told I just wanted it over with.

The pain in my shin was niggling away and in my head the quicker I got there, the quicker it would stop.

I said goodbye, set off running down the field and BAM, I tripped over a rock and skidded, arms outstretched, along the grass!

What a wally. 267 miles and I’ve fallen face first in the last bit.

I knew I’d hurt something this time and I looked down to see that I’d also ripped the OMM front pouch I was wearing right across the front.

Fuck.

Ok. What hurts now? My ribs and my left shoulder. A lot.

I look behind and see Martins headtorch coming down the hill. I wonder if he’s seen me fall?!

I get to my feet and walk about 10 meters just checking that I can actually keep moving, then set off jogging again.

Oh my gawdddd my ribs.

I jog a few paces, then have to walk, then jog a few paces again before having to walk once again.

I’m so close now. I hit the road section that runs into Kirk Yetholm.

The actual final hill arrives. Tap tap tap with the poles.

I’m looking into the distance as I summit the road, eagerly searching for the lights of the finish tent but it’s not in view yet.

Almost there.

I round the corner and see the archway on the grass. There it was, the finish line.

The pain in my ribs and shin disappear and I jog down onto the green and through the archways of the finish.

I’d done it.

I’d finished the Winter Spine race.

All 268 miles of the Pennine Way.

I’d also spent the last 2 or 3 hours thinking what I’d do when I cross the finish line and pictured myself bursting into tears and punching the air.

What I actually did was some weird little jump thing which left me with a great finish photo in the end.

Not sure where that came from.

I could see bugger all after crossing the line because of the lights from the cameras flashing away.

I knew I had to head for the wall though.

I walked forward, put my hands on the wall and ‘almost’ kissed the bricks. It was a great feeling.

My parents were there having waited around the finish line for hours and it was amazing to see them so proud of me.

I’m sure my Mum had a few stressful nights watching my dot moving up towards Scotland on it’s own, but they know it’s what I love to do.

The medal was put around my neck and that was it.

My journey was over.

I waited outside for Martin to come in and, for me, his finish was more emotional than my own. His lovely family were also there to greet him.

What a journey we’d been on.

We went inside just as our Border burgers came out from the kitchen. Perfect timing.

The lovely Lynsey removed my socks and brought me a bowl of warm water for my feet. I then looked down to see that my ankles had trebled in size.

Beautiful!

Not one blister though.

My tracker was cut off and the adventure of dot 254 was complete.

I was over the moon with reaching Kirk Yetholm after what had been a wild ride of emotions.

I also said “never again” and yet at 12:00pm on Thursday I found myself pulling over at the side of the road to press the entry button as soon as the 2026 race went live…and was successful in gaining a place.

Another year, another adventure.

Hopefully with some new learnings.