One of the things that surprised me the most after last year’s Northern Traverse, was the number of people who said they’d read my race report and then decided they wanted to do this race also. I guess we all love a good horror story. Another thing that surprised me in hindsight, was how much had gone wrong. Somehow I hadn’t really realised it at the time because you just deal with things as they come – and with a race this length, you’ve pretty much forgotten all about day one by the time you reach that finish line anyway.

But when I added it all up, it was quite a lot. The trains not running, the shitty rental car, the stressful day before the race, the storm, the near hypothermia, the passing out, the injury. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to do the Northern Traverse again and maybe have one or two of those things go well. I rarely go back to the same race twice, but this was different. Despite all the disasters, I had actually enjoyed the overall atmosphere of the event as well as the route itself (or the bits I could remember), and I just wanted to have a better experience out there. Moreover Ourea is one of the best race organisers I’ve come across so far and their event team has some very cool people. I couldn’t not go back.

Training went well even though most of my training buddies magically disappeared over winter. By the time spring rolled around I felt like I’d finished most of Spotify and had had all the internal conversations one can possibly think of. I was as ready as I’d ever be. My kit would be mostly the same as last year so there was no need to stress about that, I’d even upgraded to the bigger Inov8 20L pack instead of my trusty Salomon 12L so this would make things much easier and more comfortable. Well, more comfortable now that I’d identified all the spots that could do with some extra tape. My lower back was raw after one particularly rainy and sweaty long run but that’s how you learn.

The trip to St Bees was smooth and my B&B was fantastic. It had the most comfortable recliner couch and I contemplated just staying there for a few more days. Kit check was fine and I managed to not make any stupid jokes, I bumped into Olivia who I’d met before and is now working for Ourea and I had a few more chats before returning to my lovely couch. My drop bag was well below the weight limit and packing my kit was done in no time. I was starting to worry I might be too relaxed, I’d even already picked my pebble. Thankfully I had my usual sleepless night so I still arrived at the start line tired and wondering if my legs would be able to run at all. Just as it should be.

The race started and we all waved Damian goodbye as he disappeared over the hill. It would be a lonely couple of days for him and he would make us all look very slow on the tracker page. The cliff paths and the fields were incredibly dry underfoot which meant you could run without worrying about… anything, really. It was some change from last year, when we were constantly sliding and just trying to stay upright. I ran some of the first section with Adam, who knew me from 13 Valleys. I immediately admitted to him that I didn’t recognise him at all, to which he replied I’d already warned him about that when we spent several hours running together last September in the middle of the night. ‘We had a conversation about how you have a hard time remembering faces and how people tend to get offended.’ Perfect. And now I actually did remember him and the things we’d chatted about.

It was nice to hear his stories and this was a good way to ease into it (conversational pace and all that). I came into Ennerdale on my own and a bit quicker than last year, but it wasn’t anything too crazy. The terrain was just much more manageable this time around. I felt comfortable for all of the Lakes, enjoying the good weather and eating and drinking lots. After a while I teamed up with Dean who was running in shorts with rubber ducks printed on them. Since I’ve somehow managed to keep getting duck-themed nicknames all throughout my youth and even now in my 30s in Ireland (all for completely unrelated reasons), this had to be a good sign. Time flew as we leapfrogged our way into Patterdale.

It was nice to see my drop bag here. I changed my socks which already had holes in them (it might be time to abandon Injinji), drank a lot of flat coke and ate some salt with chips. It was still warm so I left the checkpoint in t-shirt and shorts but carrying plenty of layers for later on. Dean had left just ahead of me and I took it very easy going up Kidsty Pike. It’s a long enough climb and my stomach was full. Last year we didn’t get to do this climb because of the storm, so I’d recced it last February with the amazing Rebecca Hormann. She’d agreed to spend a weekend driving, running and eating around the Lakes and the Dales with me and I relived some of our conversations as I set foot on the same trails again.

It was cold and windy up on Kidsty Pike but I was moving well and the sunset was breathtaking. I stopped to take a photo, it didn’t do it justice but it would have to do. I messed up my descent because I remembered going wrong here during my recce, so now I just made a different mistake while trying to avoid the obvious one. It was fine, everything was fine really. The rest of the navigation coming into Shap was flawless because I correctly remembered all my previous errors there. Contrary to last year I didn’t need much in Shap so I just had some food, put on some more layers and headed out again. Dean was now a small bit behind me but he soon caught up and we ran together for a while as we made our way to the series of stiles from hell. Rebecca and I got chased by an overly friendly black horse on this section so I kept looking over my shoulder, but the creature was nowhere to be seen now. I came into Kirkby Stephen happy enough and looking forward to some tea.

The entrance to the checkpoint was a bit hard to find but eventually I got my tea and collected my headphones from my drop bag as planned. Last year it was getting bright as I came into Kirkby Stephen, this time it was still dark as I left the checkpoint and started making my way up Nine Standards. It’s a gradual and fairly manageable climb, a bit tedious especially in the dark. I was entering the coldest hours of the night/early morning now and I kept telling myself how nice it was going to be to see the sunrise over Nine Standards. That would be some sight. As I got higher though, the wind picked up and it got foggy. It had been cold all night with freezing temperatures, but it was the wind chill here that did it for me. This was my third time ever up on Nine Standards and just like the other two times I felt I needed to get off that hill asap. The awful thing about Nine Standards is the descent doesn’t start right away. First you have to cross a few kilometres of bog on what seems like an endless plateau. I was running straight into the wind and couldn’t even hear the music that was supposed to give me a boost. I was hoping they’d made some progress with the slabs that would make this section much more runnable, but they were all still stacked up which made navigation a bit easier but not the running part.

What kept me going was the thought of being down in the valley on the other side and enjoying the sunshine again, just like the last day. The valley came, the sun came, the enjoyment didn’t. David Hanna, another familiar face from 13 Valleys, made me jump when he came up behind me. Once I realised who it was, I appreciated the company. It helped me get out of my own head also. We picked up Dean along the way, still in rubber duck shorts, and Rory which made for quite a nice quartet even though they all dropped me before Reeth. It was another sunny day and the temperature was well above 10°C now, but I could feel my body was still fighting to stay warm. There are some long downhills coming into Reeth which I’d planned on enjoying this time, as last year this is where the injury started and I couldn’t really move my feet anymore. Although I was doing much better now, I still felt very slow and it seemed like I was battling my own body. At Dales Bike Centre in Reeth I sat down for a bit, did a lot of complaining, got a hug from Allie and decided to just head to Richmond to get myself sorted there. I was shivering and my feet weren’t great either. The same thing had happened during the Beara Way when the ground was dry, I think they actually do better when it’s wet and soft.

Reeth to Richmond was a slog. I was still moving though and only the front runner of the Dales Traverse passed me just before Richmond. At the checkpoint the volunteer tried to be helpful but I was fairly indecisive at this point. I took off my shoes and put powder on them hoping they’d dry out and feel better for it. It was the layering situation that wrecked my head though. It was warm out, but I wasn’t. If I layered up now, would I just confuse my body even more? And what more could I wear tonight when it’d start freezing again? I’d be carrying all my cold weather kit but you can only wear so many layers all at once. It seemed ridiculous to be running in a jacket in the baking sun anyway, so I opted for leggings and t-shirt. Dean left, informing me that David and Rory were asleep in the tent. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep so I sat for a bit longer, ate, swapped the Roclites for the Trailflys and got going again.

The section after Richmond is great if you still have the legs to run and that had been one of my goals for this year: to make the most of all the runnable sections later on in the race, because this is where I lost so much time and so much of my will to live in 2024. This time my legs were fine but the temperature situation had just been energy-zapping all day. I was shivering even before the sun had set. I felt sick so all I could do was work with what I was carrying: eat, drink and layer up. I stopped to put on my waterproofs over my leggings, an extra base layer, mid-layer, jacket, gloves, everything. Rory passed me asking if I was ok and Fiona followed soon after that. I’d been in the lead so far which had happened by accident as I’d just been trying to run my best race. I didn’t manage to stay with Fiona. She was looking strong and I wished her all the best, assuring her that I’d be fine. There was a petrol station about 10km ahead at the A19 crossing, so my aim was to just get there and then reassess the situation.

It took me ages to get to the petrol station and by the time I got there I felt frozen and pretty miserable. It was around midnight now and the guys working the night shift couldn’t have been more helpful. They gave me tea (‘Yorkshire Tea, you need the proper stuff’), a blanket, turned up the heating in the building and let me sit there for as long as I wanted. I drank the tea, bought a sandwich, took a nap with my head on the table, woke still shivering, got another tea and tried to come up with a plan. The next section would be up the moors and even though the next checkpoint wasn’t too far away, it would be a cold one. Lordstones only has tents and it’s on the side of a hill, so if I was to arrive there cold I’d be in trouble. I checked the tracker and noticed there was another runner due to arrive where I was, so I decided to tag along with him if he’d let me and at least give it my best shot. If I got too cold once we’d hit the more exposed hills before Lordstones, I’d turn around and head back to the lovely warm petrol station.

The person I was tagging along with turned out to be a very fast walker which reminded me of someone. I soon realised I was never going to be able to keep up with him but because I’d been trying so hard, I was feeling a bit better again and decided to at least push on to Lordstones.

Lordstones was as cold as I’d expected. The tents were covered in ice, my drop bag was covered in ice and I’d soon be covered in ice too if I didn’t get out of there quickly. I put my sleeping bag over me while reluctantly sorting my kit for the next section. It all seemed a bit pointless, I felt like it was going to be another depressing struggle to get to the finish line. The few friends that I’d been in touch with weren’t too impressed with my complaining though and they seemed convinced I’d finish this thing, which is probably the reason why we’re still friends.

After Lordstones there’s a series of steep ups and downs which kind of suited me at this stage. It kept my mind occupied. The sun rose as I climbed Wainstones and I was amazed by the amount of people that were up there. Weirdly enough they didn’t say anything and they were standing in very awkward places, in between rocks and on top of rocks. It took me a while to realise they probably weren’t actually there and when a runner came up behind me he confirmed that there were no people to be seen. I chatted for a bit with David Williams who does all kinds of cool things in Scotland, but I lost him while I tried to get my layers sorted. This was just going to remain an ongoing battle. I was either too hot or too cold, mostly too cold. My body’s thermostat didn’t have a clue what was going on anymore and I guess I couldn’t really blame it. I spent the rest of the day running in long sleeves and leggings even though it was another hot day. I even wore my hat – either to protect my head from the sun or to keep it warm, I don’t know.

The moors were a completely different experience this year as I was doing this section in daylight now, which wasn’t necessarily an improvement. You can see miles and miles ahead and although it’s nice to have easy terrain underfoot, it also makes it much harder to stay awake. I took a few random naps in the heather and another longer one before Glaisdale Rigg because I felt like my zigzagging was starting to add too much distance. I could still see people popping up in random places, they never really left after Wainstones. It didn’t bother me. They weren’t creepy, they were just there. Or, well, they weren’t.

Coming into Glaisdale I felt hot, cold, delusional, sharp, sick and motivated all at the same time. I slapped some suncream on my sunburnt face, ate half a cheese sandwich and drank copious amounts of coke, electrolytes and water. Just as I was leaving, Laura came into the checkpoint. She was in 3rd place at this stage. I’d also seen her at Lordstones and she was lovely. We said good luck again as I headed out on the final section. Apparently this is where my tracker page got flooded with supportive messages from a very colourful fan base including Zach Miller and Laurens ten Dam, but most notably the Healy-Raes who somehow seem to take an interest in ultra running these days. It’d be great if they could fix that trail up Strickeen.

Unaware of all these tracker page shenanigans, I suddenly was a woman on a mission. I had 30km to go and I was determined to not finish in a similar fashion as last year. That had been my number one goal all along and although I felt like I’d already failed miserably, this last section could still make a difference even if just for my own head. I managed to hike the long road climb out of Grosmont at a decent pace, ran (‘ran’) everything that was runnable, kept popping gels as if I was aiming for a marathon PB and listened to my worst playlist on repeat. I thought I saw someone behind me so I sped up, then I thought I saw someone ahead of me so I sped up. Was I really going that fast? Nah. But I felt like I was flying. I passed Dean and David W, and as I got closer to the sea I realised I could still finish under 60 hours.

Last year the final section along the coast had crushed both my spirit and my legs. This time I ran it. It was just before dark and there was no one out on the trail, so I entered my own little world and kept cruising. Up, down, left, right. Zooof. As I came onto the road down into Robin Hood’s Bay, I saw an old man with a flat cap sitting on top of a chimney smoking a pipe. I gave him a polite nod and ran down towards the finish line where RD Shane and some of the others were waiting. Thankfully they didn’t have to give me a lift to the hall this time. I could walk and even carried my own bags to my hotel. (Did I take a wrong turn to make that walk twice as long? Of course I did.)

I still didn’t make the most out of all those runnable sections that should actually suit me as a pretend mountain runner. I still spent more time than I would’ve liked dealing with all the negativity in my head. I still could’ve done better, both from a running and a mindset point of view. But I’ll always remember running that trail looking out over the North Sea on a quiet Monday evening, feeling stronger than ever. And I never would’ve got that experience had I not covered the 295km leading up to that, including all the highs and lows.

I might need a new playlist though. And new socks.