Great night training.

That’s how one of Kerry’s most inspiring ultra runners described the more than fourteen hours spent waiting at the emergency department. After watching countless episodes of The Chase, I felt I was slowly losing my mind and was also starting to question my aversion to painkillers. ‘Do you always walk like that?’ a doctor asked as I limped through the hospital, too stubborn to keep letting myself be wheeled around. Laughing hurt but it was all I could do. Great night training. Maybe Joe was right.

Since I had to take a few weeks off running after my Northern Traverse adventure in April, I’d decided to do some cycling while the body was healing. Naturally I overdid it right from the start and I cycled until it felt like there wasn’t much left between my sitting bones and the saddle. I was enjoying it though, soon turning into one of those people who says things like ‘nice day for a spin’ and who shows up everywhere with a bike in tow. That’s why I also brought the bike to the Waterville Trailrunning Festival in May. I couldn’t run, but I could cycle to my marshalling spots. Win-win. Until a driver didn’t care to stop at a junction and knocked me off my bike. A quick spin turned into a much longer spin to the hospital. And some great night training.

There didn’t seem to be any major injuries apart from skin, bruises and a few broken bones in my face – it was pointed out to me that I don’t really need my face anyway. I was able to start moving again pretty quickly although everything felt a bit exhausting and the body was achy. At least there was no way to overdo it as I had to factor in recovery time after simple walks. In early summer there may have been a few ‘easy’ runs with Brian B that didn’t exactly fill me with confidence either. Being able to walk all the way up my local hill again was a nice milestone, as was my first easy run that actually felt easy. After a decent training block during summer, I knew a 100 miler would still be doable. I’d got an entry for the 13 Valleys Ultra at the beginning of the year but only made the decision to actually go for it a week or two before the race. That’s how I ended up in Keswick at the end of September.

I’ve always liked the Lake District and 13 Valleys seemed like a fun event with a course that had a few sections that I was already familiar with. 180 km, 7000 m of elevation gain – in my head it was like the Kerry Way but with a bit more climbing. The Brits had put an Irish flag next to my name, which meant I could say I was doing the ‘Turteen Valleys’ with an odd sense of pride.

Race day came and it was a 6 pm start, so after an extensive kit check I had the entire afternoon to relax. I then found myself rushing to the start because I’d been relaxing a bit too much. The fast walk and frantic packing made for a good warm up and there was no time for nerves. The music played long enough for me to almost get sentimental, but thankfully the race started before I could get too carried away.

The first bit was on nice trail, runnable, and we were treated to a stunning sunset over the hills of the Lakes. Climbing up to the first checkpoint at Honister I was feeling good. I’d been chatting away with Sarah and a few others and I just needed to make sure I’d grab some food at the aid station now. With only one drop bag at the 120 km mark in Grasmere, I’d be relying on the aid stations more than usual. I opted for a Voom bar which I’d come to regret soon after. It was like running with a pair of bricks in my stomach. You live and you learn.

Wasdale was the next checkpoint. I thought I knew this section but I don’t think I actually did. This would keep happening. I was getting annoyed because I kept losing the trail, taking slight wrong turns and getting lost in the bog over and over, wasting time trying to find the route again. This would also keep happening. An unmarked course will always make things more interesting.

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful apart from that. I wasn’t feeling particularly strong, but there wasn’t much I could do about it besides just keeping moving. I ticked off Eskdale where I picked up some Freddos. Sarah was well ahead of me at this point and I was very happy to hear that. I met a guy called Adam further up the trail, who somehow recognised me from the Northern Traverse. He seemed to know where he was going which meant I could relax a bit in terms of navigation. It turned out the dodgiest part was behind us for now anyway. I was still glad to not be staring at my GPS every ten seconds.

George Lucas (no, not that one) joined us at Coniston where I went with crisps and coke, and the three of us made good progress to Wray Castle without getting too lost. The crisps and coke gave me a boost but I definitely wasn’t eating as much as I usually would. I couldn’t use too much of my own food though or I’d run out before Grasmere. The jam sandwiches at Wray Castle went down ok, unfortunately I wasn’t brave enough to try the chili. We were treated to a beautiful sunrise as we reached the checkpoint at Sticklebarn and I told myself things would get better from here. I’d be able to see where I was going, it was only 30 km to my drop bag in Grasmere and one of the guys that I’d been talking to had said that the terrain would get easier in the second half. At Sticklebarn I grabbed a different type of Voom bar, it was like eating a bar of soap but at least these weren’t as heavy on the stomach.

I was running on my own again, but it wasn’t long until the front runners of the shorter 7 Valleys race started to pass me. At first it was cool to watch them all bound up the trail while I was very much committed to my ultra shuffle. After a while it got less fun though to see all these fresh people with their clean calves run past. Until Alex showed up next to me. He was running in sandals and we had a nice chat – he came across as one of those runners who doesn’t take himself too seriously, something that seems to be getting rarer out there. He was climbing faster than me so I let him go after a while and I entered my own little world.

I don’t remember reaching the top of the climb, the descent into Rosthwaite or the checkpoint itself. It was the last checkpoint before Grasmere so I presume I just wanted to keep going. There’s one big hill in between Rosthwaite and Grasmere, one that I know pretty well, so I needed to get that over with in order to finally get to my drop bag. During the Northern Traverse I’d been enjoying that ascent but this time it seemed much harder. I tried music, food, happy thoughts and angry thoughts. Nothing changed. I wasn’t sleepy, hungry or sore, it was just tough going. The climb came to an end eventually and after what felt like hours of descending I made my way into Grasmere. It had started to rain and I was getting soaked, but I knew I’d see my drop bag soon and I was going to change into something dry anyway.

When I arrived at the checkpoint, there was a bit of confusion about the drop bags. It probably only lasted about 30 seconds, but since I was wet, out of food and in need of my bigger power bank there was a slight panic. Thankfully the drop bag emerged so I could charge the watch. I’d tried charging it on the go as well but that wasn’t ideal with the rain. I changed into dry layers and loaded as much food as possible into my pack. I didn’t bother changing socks or shoes because I wasn’t too excited about touching them and I knew I wouldn’t be stopping long enough to let the feet dry properly anyway. They’d get wet and dirty again soon so it all seemed like a pointless exercise. By the time I’d finished my tea and lasagne the watch had charged to 60% which seemed more than enough for the remaining 65 km. I decided to leave both power banks in my drop bag. More space for food.

It was only a short, relatively flat section to the next checkpoint in Ambleside, but it was long enough for me to start to unravel. I was getting frustrated with what was apparently going to be my ultra pace for this race. It wasn’t even about the numbers and I wasn’t really thinking about finish times, it just felt like I was barely making any progress. At Ambleside I grabbed a couple more soap bars and a girl gave me some salted peanuts (heaven). I then quickly left the checkpoint and just kept going because that was the only way for me to get out of this low; it would be nice to feel like I was actually getting closer to the finish line.

Somewhere outside of Ambleside I met a mountain biker who stopped to hold a gate open for me. I was half annoyed because it meant I had to speed up in order to not keep him waiting too long, but as I got closer his face looked very familiar. It was Paul Tierney, Cork legend living in the Lakes, out on his local trails. Our short chat lifted my spirits, I was happy to meet someone I knew and it helped to hear that he thought this was actually a pretty tough course. He took a photo for the people at home and as we said goodbye he told me there was a grassy climb up ahead. That sounded lovely.

The sun was now setting and although I appreciated the views, I wasn’t exactly enjoying them – if that makes sense. The climb up to High Street went on and on and on, it was cold and windy up there so I used that as motivation to keep pushing on. I teamed up with a guy who I thought I’d met before, but the accent barrier if such a thing exists was getting a bit exhausting so I just kept talking to myself like I’d been doing for most of the day. The river crossing at Hayeswater was fine, I hear there’s supposed to be a bridge there that got washed away recently but they could easily just leave it as is. The shoes got a good wash there and the cold water made my feet feel great for five seconds. That’s how you know the trench foot has well and truly set in. It was pretty much dark by the time I crossed the river, but I knew the checkpoint was close enough so I couldn’t be bothered to stop and take my head torch out. As it turned out, it was another 2 km or so and by the time I reached the checkpoint it was dark-dark. I gave the volunteer who was standing outside a good fright because he didn’t see me coming. All part of the fun.

At Hayeswater they gave me a quick race update and although I wasn’t too interested in my position, I was surprised to hear how many people had already pulled out. My approach (1. keep moving and 2. keep eating soap bars) seemed to be working and I couldn’t even remember why I’d been feeling so low in Ambleside. This checkpoint had pretzels which somehow made me euphoric, so I loaded up on those and headed out again. With head torch this time.

The section to Glenridding wasn’t very technical and there were no big hills so I felt I was running pretty well, until four 7 Valley runners passed me. They were casually jogging and chatting away while I thought I was pushing the pace. I knew they were in a different race, they’d been in bed last night while I was wandering through the bog, but I still would’ve liked to be able to tag along. The people outside the pub in Glenridding gave me some strange looks when I gave them a cheerful ‘howya’ (I probably should’ve gone with an ‘aight’). I thought I knew where the checkpoint was but I was wrong, so it was a bit more distance and climbing before I arrived at the actual spot. When I got inside they had a fire going and everybody seemed to be having a good time. I saw Alex there who was now wearing shoes and I also met the four who’d passed me earlier. At this point I was definitely not feeling great. Somehow the pizza made me very emotional (pizza will do that to you sometimes) and I wasn’t really looking forward to the climb ahead. The volunteers asked me what I needed and one offered me a hug. After the hug I told them I just needed to get back out there. And so I did, while grabbing a few more slices of pizza.

The climb was fine, I couldn’t see anyone up ahead which was perfect because that meant there was no way of knowing how much longer it was going to go on for. One step at a time would get me to the top eventually. I could live with that. ‘The four’ caught up with me and we did the rest of the climb together. They dropped me on the pass before the descent which was the most horrible one I’d seen so far. Somehow I did close in on two of the four as I very ungracefully stumbled down the hill while trying not to use the trail, as it was nearly impossible to get any grip on that.

The rest of the race was… full of surprises. Some guy came up behind me shouting ‘bonjour baguette’, realised I wasn’t who he thought I was and disappeared into the dark. Then Alex and his friend showed up, who confirmed that there was a French guy just up ahead so I wasn’t imagining things. We got lost in a field where I may have used some words which will not be repeated here. When we were finally on a trail again, I decided I needed this race to be over. Threlkeld, the last checkpoint before the finish line wasn’t too far away now and I thought I might as well just run there. No more hiking or ultra shuffling. I was soon punished for my optimism because the course sent us through some very muddy fields which then turned into an ocean of cow shit, but after that I kept running – or so I thought. You wouldn’t be able to see it in my splits, but I guess that’s why we do this type of races. Just so we can ignore the numbers and blame the terrain. And the cows.

I knew that Alex and ‘the four’ were behind me now so I was moving better than I had been before. I barely stopped at the last checkpoint in Threlkeld, it was 14.5 km to the finish so there was no point hanging around. It was one more hill after Threlkeld and after that it’d be a long descent into Keswick. I was determined to run most of it. Again, it seems like none of that determination materialised into any type of speed, but the fact that I believed I was moving well made all the difference.

In my mind the hill after Threlkeld was similar in size to my local hill so I just told myself I’d be doing one Strickeen. Strickeen seemed to have got a bit taller though and it had grown a few false summits too. This time I could see several lights all the way up, it looked like they were way too high for the hill that I’d seen in the elevation profile but I just made peace with the fact that I was going to have to go up there. I was feeling surprisingly awake for this hour of the night. Must’ve been that involuntary bit of night training.

The route took some turns that felt completely illogical but I just went along with it, until I finally reached the last descent. As I made my way down, there was a girl standing in the middle of the trail trying to change the battery in her headtorch. I stopped to help but we couldn’t get the new battery to work, so we put the old one back that was still giving her some light. It was a couple of minutes later when I realised I was carrying the same type of batteries so I could’ve given her one of mine. If I was a better person I would’ve waited or turned around. I did think it but I didn’t do it. Soon my watch told me I only had 2% battery left and just before I reached town my head torch flashed three times to let me know it was about to die as well. I switched it off to save it for the parts where I’d still really need it and then realised I couldn’t see the map on my watch without the light. It would’ve been easy enough to swap out the batteries but I decided to just wing it. All part of the fun.

I reached town, nearly got lost on the 2 km stretch that I actually knew, switched the head torch on again, saw my watch now had 1% left and finished feeling good and without anything actually dying. It was pretty quiet at the finish line at 4 am but I received my trophy for second place, sat down for a bit while still feeling remarkably clear-headed, got reunited with my drop bag and chatted with some of the 7 Valleys finishers. One couple offered me a lift to my B&B which made my life much easier that night (thanks again if you happen to be reading this).

It wasn’t a perfect race, the terrain definitely made it a bit more challenging than a Kerry Way+ and a few recces would’ve saved me some wandering around. I was still happy enough though afterwards – especially in the first couple of days, before the post ultra blues set in. I’d been pretty steady apart from the two big lows in Ambleside and Glenridding, I’d been surprisingly fine running through nearly two nights and had managed ok food-wise. A high DNF rate will also make you feel that much better about finishing a race like this.

Some bike crash aches were still there but I already knew that from training runs, so I wouldn’t have expected a 180 km race to magically make them disappear. I wish that doctor had been in Keswick though to see me walk to the pub the next day. Sure, I always walk like that.