In Jan of 2018 Steph and Mike, Yorkshire Dales Guides Directors embarked upon an act of pure insanity, the 190km Spine MRT Challenger race. It is refereed to as ‘Britain’s most brutal’, as it takes place on the most depressing weekend of the year – mid Jan, and it traverses the Pennine Way from Edale in the Peak District to Hardraw in the North of the Yorkshire Dales in the most brutal of weather conditions. Steph, did it in aid of her local mountain and cave rescue team, for whom she is an underground controller and the mental health charity Mind Yourself. Astonishingly not only did they finish in 6th place overall, Steph was the only woman to finish and took 5 and half hours off the existing women’s record. 41 hours and 52 minutes later, this is Steph’s blog which she wrote in Jan 2018…….
Context is everything
It’s mid-January 2017, allegedly the most depressing weekend of the year and I’m sat in the Penyghent Café. It’s 2am and I’m dressed in my red Mountain and Cave Rescue jacket volunteering for the Spine race because I’m compelled to distract and console the poor eejits partaking in this extraordinarily grim act of self-harm. I watch with grimace one poor carcass after another hobble, some near collapse into the Café, near a hundred miles into their hobby, and think as a fell runner myself, -my god I would never ever choose to do that to myself. It looked horrific, the distance(over 108, often more like 118 mile), the season (winter on the Pennines, so always grim, & mostly in darkness), the terrain (churned up to f…. godforsaken bogs), not to mention the big heavy bags (10+kg for us mere mortals not able to buy space gear). I felt utter relief as I watched them suffer, never before had I so appreciated dry, blisterless feet and an absence of chaffing in my ass.
Over the following months I really enjoyed training for the far more sensible and pleasurable Fellsman, 60 tough but crackin miles across caving country, it went well and despite my mediocre time with tonsillitis I was miraculously 8th woman. So what’s next, asked a friend? For crying out loud people, be cautious asking yourself these dangerous questions, lord knows where they might lead you! “You should do the MRT Challenger”, “why in the love of god would I want to do that”, I proclaim with arrogant laugher. No seriously, you’d be perfect for it. You’re an expedition caver, your well used to grim, multi-day, sleep deprived “holidays” carrying ridiculously heavy and unergonomical weights. Your made for it. I changed the subject, but it was too late, the seed had been sewn and after a few glasses of wine later that week I told the ridiculous suggestion to my partner Mike. He astonishingly agreed, then laughing reassured me that it was something he’d never want to do, “I’ll support you” he said, …..bloody male feminists, you know this equality larky isn’t all it’s cracked up to be ;-) I mean look what trouble it can get you into. Long story short, some day in Sept of 2017 we both received an acceptance letter for an act of pure insanity – the Spine MRT Challenger.
Doubt & Action
As I type this (in Jan 2018) my new all-time fav song is playing, First aid kits’– Silver Lining, I belt out the line, ‘be it for reason, be it for love, I won’t take the easy road’ something resonances with my soul. Even the thought of the Challenger did not feel like an easy road, more like a road not possibly travelled. But I was never going to pick the easy road, nothing interesting ever springs from there but to say I was terrified before this race would be an understatement. I’m sure if I went to a doctor and described my symptoms I’d have been offered any combination of psychoactive/tranquiliser drugs I wanted. I felt so extraordinarily out of my depth, the longest race id ever done was 63 miles, in Spring, only half the distance louring over me and with a comparatively light backpack. I hated Sharon ferociously for suggesting it to me, what was I thinking? “But you must have known somehow inside that you could do it, otherwise you wouldn’t have signed up” replies Mike to my terror filled eyes. I take it on board but continue fettling my gear, thinking through every single detail of the race and my kit through the eyes of an utter perfectionist.
Not unlike a committing deep caving trip or cave dive, there was much to consider for this race, it was in winter after all where the weather could be ferocious and unforgiving to the ill prepared. A little over sight or detail forgotten could have had inconvenient consequences. I mean what if I didn’t attach the Velcro right to my homemade front bottle holder, it would bug me for not 20 or 30 miles but 118 miles. On a more serious note, in biteingly cold weather a wet glove, seriously cold hands, or the wrong sock choice could cost you your race. I can be tough and endure fierce pain but not my own self-induced inefficiency. Everything had to be just perfect and though anxiety provoking before it deffo paid off. Preparation was everything! I chanted mantras like ‘nothing lasts forever, not even death’, with a magnifying glass I massaged and soothed every niggle. I made lists and spreadsheets and got gear and advice from so many amazing friends, I cheered my bag up with colour ful laces and embroidery and even put reflective strips on Mike and I’s bag in case the wind, rain and fog made it impossible to talk and see each other but nothing gave me ease.
Had I bitten off more than I could chew and was I going to fail excruciatingly publicly. I mean I was supposed to be using this as a fundraiser but I couldn’t bring myself to ask people to give money to something I had no idea if I could do. If it was just bloody minded determination required I knew I had plenty of that, but maybe this distance was beyond the mind, but don’t women get this imposer syndrome incorrectly all the time. How could I campaign for women in sport to believe in themselves and not believe in myself? I just had to go and see and in the sung words of Gemma Hayes “I had to run for miles to see what I was made of”. Despite barely sleeping the night before I was hungry to go, to immerse myself in that curiosity, so much so that I felt emancipated from the doubt when finally I got my feet onto those Pennine slabs. I was metaphorically at the bottom of a very deep cave, the only way to live was to make it out! There were no other options now.
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The journey not the destination
Mike smiled at me as I said “aren’t we so lucky to get to share this with the person we love”. I’m all fuzzy with gratitude but it’s quickly replaced with doubt as everyone jogs past us heading for Jacobs ladder. “Stay disciplined Steph” I say out loud to my stiff cold legs. I had no business getting swept up with them athletes besides I’d made a pact with the auld legs that if I took care of them, and I promised solemnly I would after the race, that they were to take care of me today, oh and tomorrow too and err probably Monday as well. I’m laughing even typing this now, it’s insane! Shit what sort of mind game needed conjuring now to neutralise that smack of reality. Labour, I thought, women have seriously been in labour, in severe, all encompassing, exhausting, sleep deprived pain for longer than this race and then had to……. and after that, no, not recovery or medals, they take care of a baby and not get a full nights sleep again for another few years. If women are designed to do that, they can bloody well jog and walk for a few days and nights in the hills. Mike nods in agreement, if a little paler for my description but spurred on we start to overtake a few panting folk before cringing in front of the cheery folk of Summit Fever Media.
Once we warmed up, we alternated brisk walking and gentle jogging and before we knew it we were into the bog ridden hell that is Bleaklow and Black Hell, sorry I mean Hill. Bleak, black and low provoke apt imagery for this hell hole but I was armed psychologically and physically for this section. We knew what was coming and it was god awful, last time we barely seen the Pennine way for the raging waters and had to alternate between wading deep heather and thigh high torrents. Today though all was calm and that was the beginning of what was to be 80 odd glorious miles, miles of awe and immense elation. Awe at the comparative ease with which we burned through the miles unrecognisable to the utter nail biting, exhausting conditions we’d trained in. Awe at the fact I was enjoying myself, that it wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined, that my back or neck or arch hadn’t started playing up yet, that we we’re so god damn lucky, …..that we we’re well and truly alive. I was on fire…. with relief, and with a smile on my face, a pep in my step and a few reminders from Mike to steady on, we continued onwards and upwards. Honestly, I really am an advocate for invoking in yourself terror through preparing yourself for the worst possible scenario’s cause when it’s not near as bad as you were expecting, it gives you euphoria. I was belting out Alisha Keys, this girl is on FIRE…. and then to add even more endorphins to the power house we met some mountain rescue friends at the M62 junction who told me that we were nowhere near the back and that I was first MRT lady.
I couldn’t believe it, I was just chuffed to be still thriving at the back. All of a sudden, my whole world changed, what was possible and what I was in that moment. I don’t know what felt better, my elation, Mikes happiness for me or the fact that the people around had so much faith. I had never been in this position before in my life but thought I’d better savour it as it was early days and night was soon to come. Everybody talked about how hard the night(s) would be and time would soon tell if our experience spending days at a time, sleep deprived in the darkness of caves would pay off. It did, but it was different and it felt a lot harder than the equivalent miles and night spent on the Fellsman. What was remarkable was that the craic and banter were utterly different. Once night one fell, the equally awesome folk of the Challenger weren’t as light hearted and jovial, even I the eternal night time singer and running entertainer extraordinaire fell sometimes quietly into the fear. Even though the miles thus far (45 odd) were technically speaking easier than the Fellsman, there lay the weight of two sleepless nights, 118 miles and looming blizzards on the shoulders of those who dared slip into the night. One should have fun, but maybe not too much fun for fun takes energy and maybe we’ll need it for the day-s ahead.
Nevertheless, we got to Hebden Hey tired but in high spirits and to our surprise under no doubts that we weren’t stopping to sleep. We’d agonised over what to do here in the weeks before, how would we know, we’d never run this distance before, what if we couldn’t sleep, what if we didn’t and regretted it later? The answer in the moment was clear, throw some extra kit in the bag and get on with it. I had something to defend and for the first time in my life I raced and out of nowhere came a competitive streak and we left a really lovely lad who couldn’t keep up with us, behind. Something I felt really conflicted about. Now I wanted to win but just as importantly I wanted all of us ladies to finish. That was something I felt so incredibly passionate about. I really wanted the record, a psychological barrier, to be smashed and I wanted for once more than one woman to finish this race. For crying out loud women were more than capable of this but with such stark statistics how were we going to entice more participation and belief! Where were they all I ranted at Mike, if I (little miss only ran 27miles max this past 6 months) can make it this far. I know he said, “I agree they need to believe in themselves and us boys need to babysit so they can get out there and train, guiltlessly”.
Time and miles passed. I fell quiet. Mike feel quiet, probably relieved I’d finally shut up and the night deepened upon us. We keep our pace but it was getting harder and harder fighting the bodies desperation to stop and sleep. Mike having only slept an hour the night before and not inebriated by first-place fantasies sunk well and truly into the longest hardest wall he’d ever experienced. Knowing that my turn was to come I reassured and cheered him as much I as I knew he’d do for me, maybe in an hour or two, maybe tomorrow night. We pushed on over high Whithins, down past Pondon where Cave Rescue had an incredibly appreciated voluntary overnight post and over into what I call Bleakedy Bleakbog, what felt like the 2nd longest slog of the whole event. Morning could not come soon enough and our successes thus far felt of little consolation. It was strange it seemed to be finding the first night so bloody hard, we’d done this loads of times before but it’s amazing the way of the mind and winter. I kept convincing us out loud, we’ll feel so much better for the light, it’s just our bodies last ditched attempt at protecting us from our insanity. Thankfully were right, once the light crept in alongside the sleepy pub in Lothersdale, so did a new lease of life and practically a brand new race to start.
The next section is a blurr but the closer we made it to home, the more people we met cheering us on and the more it felt like the end was nigh. As a pain in the back of my leg started to moan the steps of Malham cove we’re miraculously a welcome reprieve from the mostly flat faster going miles behind us. I ached for a mountain I honestly did. I couldn’t wait for the familiar feel of Fountains Fell and Penyghent. Big hills are my forte, my enjoyment and the relative flatness of the moors and slabs behind were nothing on the beauties that lay ahead but first Malham monitoring point. My leg was really starting to play up by then and I decided to stop and tend to it and a little hot spot on my heel. The exile medics were amazing and so friendly but during the 30 minutes waiting for my feet to be done, in the open, unheated room in an out house, my body temperature insidiously plummeted. I set off pale as a sheet, shaky and seriously inhibited by hypothermia and the cognitive impairment of sleep deprivation.
Despite all the layers I put on me, the food in my gob, I couldn’t warm up and looking into the dark, blustery hills ahead I can honestly say I felt scared. But as my mantra says, nothing lasts forever, not even death and comforted by the reciting of some John O’Donohue poetry and a familiar face I was up and over Fountains Fell before I knew it, only to be boosted by an entourage of CRO Rescue vehicles and colleagues hurling tongue and cheek across the road. Phew, I felt better but my leg was starting to seriously cramp on me. I was feeling really wired and woozy but still very strong all considering on the ascent up PyG but little did I know what was ahead – the searing, agonising pain of my cavers knees playing up on the decent! It was so hard and it was harder not to berate myself for breaking my awesome steady pace thus far but my leg just wouldn’t play ball, it cramped again and again no matter what I ate or drank or snorted (I’m joking) and to make matters worse I seemed to develop some sort of UTI which meant I had to take my arse out in the pissings of rain again and again and again! “Gosh you women have it hard” says Mike with an outlaid arm for me to cling to.
We made it, what felt like years later to the PyG Café, having picked up what felt like 100’s of friends along the way. I was home, in the bosom of what I moved over the waters for. The heart of caving country, my bed was minutes away if I wanted but it never crossed my mind. I was heartened to the cheers as I hobbled into the same Café I sat cheering people on this time last year. I have tears in my eyes typing this. I never in a million years thought I would make it that far, to be one of those nutcases, hobbling in those doors, a 100 miles in…. the finish within sniffing distance. It means more than words could express. We scoffed the most divine stew ever, believed a most suspiciously optimistic forecast and left another place we swore we’d rest and sleep. We were nearly there, how wrong and naïve and lazy of me to think that!
The Crux
What a near fatal mistake. I, Steph the psychologist not the athlete, got sloppy with my mind and it led me into a despair that momentarily masked all that I’d already achieved and all that lay before me. All I had to do now was get back and I was the winner but I let myself feel it before I’d really earned it and my impatience during the last 10 miles caused me much avoidable misery. OK I’ll not be toooo hard on myself. I will acknowledge that the last 10 miles, the ones on top of the 108 printed on the t-shirt were super, super tough, the stuff the Spine is really made of. We were going 35 hours already with only 40 minutes in total sat down, and……. we were arm in arm been blown over in a truly epic blizzard. Here’s where I let it slip though, I was continually cramping real bad and I was afraid of the consequences of getting immobilised on the unprotected Cam High road and I said to myself Steph, you’ll be back soon and I weakened into that. I should have dug deeper, lent into the pain and determination, got exhilarated by the extremeness of it instead I let myself feel the extent of my tiredness, my pain, my desperation and even let myself moan. I got so miserable I almost lost it but thankfully amongst it all there was a moment, a sort of emancipating moment of surrender. There I was in the height of the buffeting snow laden winds, contemplating pissing myself instead of exposing my already freezing, snow saturated arse AGAIN to the winds. But in my dithering I became desperate and in a flash of shame I screamed at Mike who can’t hear me for the wind, “help me”, furiously, like why he can’t read my mind, “pull my feckin knickers down, quick, before I piss myself”, my hands are in mitts and I’m so shattered by self-pity and exhaustion, the trio of knickers, leggings and waterproofs are just too complicated 😊 Knickers down, cowering over, the wind knocks me into the river of slushy mud, I crack my knee and my leg cramps. It was like an out of body experience and so ridiculous that it somewhat rescued me by invoking my sense of humour as much as it annihilated it. As shit as it was right then, it was gonna be corker when told in the warmth of the pub.
And so, we eventually made it, but in a way I didn’t cause the person who set off wasn’t the one who walked over the finish line.
This one cracked open to a whole new, radical interpretation of what’s Possible
My why
So that I can wholeheartedly rant that if I can do it, you bloody well can! But I could not have done this without all the support, belief and encouragement I got from so many incredible friends. Women need to receive those 3 things as much as the boys do because we know scientifically it really makes a significant difference to performance. Thank you so frickin much to those who’ve changed my life.
I did this in aid of two charities, the Cave Rescue Organisation for which I am an underground controller and the mental health charity, Mind Yourself, because we should!
Feet firmly back on the floor
A caving friend asked me, so is it the hardest thing you’ve ever done, how does it compare to your expedition caving? Well, there were glimpses at the end when it felt immense but it’s hard to compare the two. I’m no-where near as experienced a fellrunner as an expedition caver, but what is for sure, it was as almost hard as some of some of the more challenging caving trips I’ve done or the time I had to self-rescue from deep in Pozu del Xitu with a few broken bones. The difference is, after the climax of the ‘race’ aka when you exit the cave, you re-emerge into solitude, 1,800m up a harsh, pathless mountainside where you’ve to continue to survive and then prep yourself a few days later for another epic, totally uncelebrated detackling of the cave. That’s the difference and that’s what humbles me.