The Grey

If anyone could devise a race more suitable for my abilities, I’ve yet to find it. This race rewards dogged determination and persistence over speed and at 57, that’s what I am good at these days. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t find it easy – not at all, and in fact it was by far and away the longest, hardest race I have ever finished, it’s just that its very nature played to my remaining strengths.

A friend suggested that the race seemed to have similarities with the film ‘The Revenant’. Now I haven’t seen that film but I have seen ‘The Grey’ and the nature of the route, the snow, the fact that runners were being picked off along the way one by one and the feeling that very soon you would be facing your own wolf was hard to ignore.

It’s a bloody long way too. 268miles along the Pennine Way from Edale to Kirk Yetholm in Scotland in January when you can expect everything but the kitchen sink thrown at you, time after time.

But my journey didn’t start in Edale this January. I was going to say it began a couple of years ago when I heard about the race and my interest was piqued, or at least on my birthday 6months prior to the race when I actually entered it.  I’m not sure that’s the case though and in fact my journey to this race probably began a good 40years ago, when I was 17 and I last did the Pennine Way. Since that time I have loved the fells and the moors, loved being out there in the elements and built up the experience of navigating and coping. I haven’t been able to get out there as much as I’d have liked in recent years but the love of the hills has never faded and this seemed like a good opportunity to get reacquainted and in order to get a finish I would need to call upon all those skill and experiences gained over the years.

Pavel Paloncey, who has won this race for the last 2years and was here again this year for his 3^rd attempt carries a piece of extraneous kit, a towel, strapped to his rucksack in homage to Douglas Adams ‘Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy’ - ‘don’t panic’ maxim. It’s a good philosophy to adopt for this race and in the build-up I had to keep that in mind on a regular basis.

One difficulty with this race is that there are just so many variables, some in and some out of your control. The weather, the terrain, your kit, your navigation, your hydration, your feeding etc  all have to be kept in line. Obviously in practice this never happens so when something does start to go awry, ‘don’t panic’ is a good start on the way to finding a solution.  I did get most things right on this run, despite the chances of things going belly up on a regular basis, but on another occasion the variables would all be different and the result therefore an unknown. It must therefore be one of the draws to this race that you just can’t compare it year on year. You just have to take what you are given on the day and get on with it as best you can, your ability to do that being likely to be the best measure of achieving success.

Leading up to the race nervousness saw me thinking regularly about kit and its lightness/suitability. It’s easy to throw money at this race but a balance has to be drawn between lightness of kit and its expense, bearing in mind that you are likely to actually need to use what you carry. I erred therefore on the side of caution and one of my disappointments was that at the start, my kit at about 9kg without water, was quite a bit heavier than I would have liked it to have been and I thought that my pack, compared to others was oversize. I had tried to get it all into a 25L OMM sack but although I could jam it all in, I’d never have got anything out easily. As such I used a 32L Airfit Lowe Alpine sack bought in a sale from the Rab shop … we weren’t to become lasting friends. I also used an OMM chest pouch which was a godsend. Since it’s so awkward to take off your pack sometimes, to have your map, compass, GPS, food, drink, money etc stowed usefully under your nose is vital. If you can’t access equipment easily there is a tendency not to bother, which could be fatal. It’s for that reason I don’t like using poles. If they are in your hands all the time its more awkward to use your GPS/get drink & food out and since I got dehydrated on the UTMB for that very reason I have been nervous about using them.

But eventually, I got to Edale. To say I was ready would be an overstatement and right up to the whistle I was faffing with kit, still trying to decide what to to take/use/wear etc. It did however put the enormity of the task ahead into the background. The start itself was major low key. Racers had to be persuaded over to the start with only a minute or so to go and when the gun did go most just sort of ambled off. I was at the back but there were a couple more determined than me to start off last, so I got on with it and just power marched up the road to the Nags Head, the official start of the Pennine Way.

Jacobs Ladder – courtesy of Racing Snakes

 

Section 1 - Kinder/Bleaklow/Black Hill

Even though the race happened less than 7 days ago I am finding difficult already to remember much about it in any real detail. 268miles and 7 days is a bloody long time and I find that one of the ultra-runners most useful tools is that of a poor memory. The ‘never again’ moments that constantly fill up your days just seem to melt away and once you have forgotten the pain and endless trudging you enter your next race, it’s a vicious circle. You do just have to throw things out of your head or bury them somewhere and stop thinking about the enormity of the task ahead or you just won’t get to the finish. If you are struggling after only 50miles, your back, knees and hips are cursing you , then to think that there are 200miles more of this ahead is the direct line to a DNF and if nothing else this race is attritional, things just build up gradually until you either learn to cope or drop out.

 

I know the 1^st bit of the Pennine Way quite well. Being a Derbyshire lad this is my playground and as such Jacobs Ladder, the Downfall (flowing down, not up this year) and Bleaklow in particular are great friends and were pleased to see me. The weather was mild, with little wind and the bogs kind. Jacobs Ladder was the first to remind me however that my pack was heavy but over the top this was forgotten, pleased to just be out there. I also took more photos of this part of the route than did on the rest put together, I even did some light jogging along the slabbed sections of path.

     Bleaklow

Bleaklow was equally enjoyable, though the slog up onto Black Hill plateau was another pack weight reminder and my knees, back and hips were already complaining. Not for the first time already I was worried about how my back would cope with a week of this stuff … ‘don’t panic’.

 

Slip sliding over Bleaklow and Kinder, I had just been congratulating myself on not falling over so far when a sudden pirouette dumped me ignominiously on the ground.  Were I at that point to have realised that this would happen so many hundreds of times in the future I wonder now whether I would have finished at all. It was however to be one of the major tones of the next week, falling over.  Later on I even took a starring role in demonstrating it on one of the daily videos. When being interviewed and being asked what I was finding the hardest I responded ‘standing up’ and then promptly and on cue, fell over.

 

It got dark as I got to the plateau. It also started to rain. One major issue with this race is the interminable darkness. I find it hard enough on runs like GUCR to stay awake on a run through a mild 5hr night in May with a consequent effect on performance but here 2/3 of the race would be run in darkness, 16hours at a time = don’t panic!

 

And here is where things start to get dim. I can remember the 1^st bit well, but as it got dark so were things thrown into the cupboard and although I have vague recollections of slipping and sliding around and losing the path to Stoodley Pike on several occasions that is about all I can recall. I can recall arriving at Stoodley Pike in the wind, recall the drop down to Charlestown and then the muddy, slippery ascent up to CP1, but that is about all, 15hours of very little recollection even just days after finishing. The descent to Hebden Bridge CP at 45miles was muddy and slippery, I fell over a couple of times and it started to snow, I do remember that.

 

Section 2 – to Hawes - the long bit

Sleep management was one of my major worries leading up the start of this race. We all have demons to overcome in Ultras and mine are generally sleepmonsters. I often just can’t stay awake and end up nodding off/sleepwalking as I’m trying to make onward progress so I wasn’t sure how I’d cope or what my best strategy should be. Hebden Bridge CP (shared with the Challenger racers who had set out 3hrs earlier) has bunkrooms where racers can try to get a bit of shuteye but I had the problem of trying to decide whether after only 15hrs or so I needed any sleep yet. The next section to Hawes (at 110miles total distance) was a long one at 65miles, and if I didn’t try to sleep a bit now then I’d really be suffering by Hawes. I lay down on one of the bunks for a half hour or so. I may have got 20minutes but the place was so busy I decided nothing was going to happen and got back up to get back out on the hill.

 

Starting off again from any CP, whether an official one with the comfort of food, showers and beds or just one of the minor ones which might have been only an empty village hall, was a big deal throughout. Getting boots/socks onto sore/wet feet and rucksack back on to aching shoulders and out into the elements again must have been a task too much for some after a while and I am sure accounts for many DNFs. But you have to be strong since like going for any run, once out the door it’s much easier.

 

I don’t now remember much of the next bit either apart from the fact that when it got light the route took me across field after muddy/slippery field with occasional errors trying to find stiles. This was a low point for me. The route was muddy and wet and I kept falling over. I have run in Hokas for years now and have found them an incredible help for my back. They have allowed me to return to running and Ultras after a big back operation in 2013 and have allowed me to enter races like this. I’m their biggest fan but Hokas have always had rubbish grip in mud and I don’t  consider there is now much excuse for this since it’s been going on for so long without any apparent improvement. On a pair of my old Mafates i’ve had the sole replaced with proper studs. My Rapa Nui 2s with a vibram sole, are supposed to be an improvement and to be fair they are a little better … but not much and they were starting off from a very low level of traction on prior models. For the Spine I’d decided to buy a pair of the same shoe but a size bigger than usual to take into account foot swelling. Until the foot swelling took place I wore a pair of normal socks over the top.

 

But the shoe, poor already in mud proved a liability in slushy snow and the main reason why I couldn’t stand up. Even now I am amazed that in the amount of falls I took I didn’t injure/damage something since some were pretty spectacular. On one particularly dramatic occasion I landed on my hip plumb between two nasty, pointy rocks – a narrow escape.  I guess I should have had them resoled straight out of the box but should you have to do that with a shoe that’s already expensive? Anyway, I dumped them when I got to Middleton and swapped for a pair of Salomon GTX walking boots for the 2^nd half. These were narrower and probably account in the main for the sores on the outside of my feet but at least I didn’t fall over quite so much.

 

Anyway, as darkness fell (again) I stopped at Gargrave Co-Op to refuel, with a 4 pack of pork pies, coke and Eccles cakes – a meal of champions. Refuelled and in a better mood I plodded on towards Malham.

 

Because of the fact that so much of this race takes place in darkness a lot of the route and its sights are invisible and this was the case with the impressive Malham Cove. I know what it looks like but didn’t see it today. The ascent to the Tarn was hard and long, the route through the rocks was awkward but without incident, though the route to the Tarn itself was more difficult and locating the bridge over the torrent not easy in the dark.

 

I stopped briefly at the Malham Tarn CP. I ate a ton of Kendal Mintcake (thanks guys) and got my head down on the table for 30mins. I fell immediately asleep and surprisingly refreshed after such a short period of sleep and apart from being a little disorientated when stepping out of the CP made good progress towards Pen-y-Ghent, one of the proper mountains on the route. I also recall an inspiring and interestingly snowy crossing of Fountains Fell on this section too.

 

Last year the winds had meant that racers missed summiting Pen-y-Ghent but there were no such issues this time. The stars were out and it was windless.   The ascent itself was awesome and exhilarating. A lot of the rocks over which you have to scramble to reach the summit were covered in sheet water ice and it made the whole thing seem incredibly special, if more than a little scary. I was on my own, immersed in this experience and that again made the whole thing seem one of the main reasons why I had signed up to this event.  Trogging down the long descent into Horton under massive skies and millions of stars to a plate of chili and rice/pint of tea at the café which was thoughtfully open for 24hours is a moment which will stay with me forever.

Pen-y-Ghent summit

 

It got light not long afterwards and I remember little else except passing names of caves and pots that I recall from my Uni days until I reached Hawes, apart that is from an amazing cloud inversion looking back at Pen-y-Ghent and a rare and elusive Brocken Spectre that proved very difficult to photograph. It was also at this point I started toing & froing with Dan and we made our way the rest of the way to Hawes together. One of the major requirements of this run is that over a period of several days you have to be fine with your own company since you spend long periods in your own head. That being said, after a couple of days you do tend to loosely pair up from time to time with those going pretty much at the same pace, for company and a break from the isolation. The pace varies though and as such the bonding is loose, but sometimes company is a relief.

 

After Horton - Courtesy of Racing Snakes

 

Section 3 to Middleton – the short bit

At just 35miles this is the shortest section between  CP’s.  This year the full Spine race had a separate CP at Hawes YHA where I was able to shower and sleep for an hour or so. I had arrived in daylight and was reluctant to waste any of it by sleeping but had no option really, other than sleeping out on the hill and reaching Middleton would mean I had done over half of the route.

 

By this section however my brain was well and truly fried. Everything I can recall seems blurred and I can’t put stuff into its proper order. I do recall ascents of Gt Shunner Fell and other tops, but only vaguely. I recall minefields of rocks and mud on the paths between Thwaite and Keld but little else. What stood out however was a box of flapjack sat on a stile filled by locals Emily and Abbey, donated to Spine racers.  Not only tasty and unexpected, this was very typical of the strength of local unofficial support throughout the race.

 

After that I made my way over to Tan Hill Inn, the highest in England but unfortunately not serving by the time I got there. Nonetheless Tom Jones managed to rustle me up a meal from pub leftovers of hot dogs chips and mushy peas … which was just as awesome as it sounds.  Fully refuelled I then set out over Sleightholme Moor, a place I had heard much about and been dreading as a mud road to hell. I guess however I must have got lost since it didn’t seem that bad to me. I was struggling to find any path in the dark and instead spent a lot of time wading through heather and bogs which were reminiscent of Frodos journey to Mordor, expecting at any minute to see a face looking up at me from one of the pools.

 

Section 4 – Middleton-Alston

Setting out along the Tees we were told of a landslip that meant a diversion. It was easy enough and along a pretty good (if uphill) isolated tarmac road too but the sleepmonsters were raising their heads and I recall walking 1^st off one side of the road and then the other with eyes closed/brain turned off.  Back on the route again the snow seemed deeper. I had been looking forward to the dramatic sight of High Cup Nick but since it was dark it remained invisible but certainly not out of mind. By this point visibility was low and the snow covering all signs of a path made navigation alongside an invisible 200’ drop, interesting to say the least. But I was pleased with my navigation along this bit, didn’t fall off the edge and reached Dufton, an empty village hall to rustle up the best boil in the bag beans and sausage i’ve ever tasted.  I had also received a text asking me to wait here to be grouped up for the Cross Fell section. The next racers, a group including Dan and Esteve (Stevie)  arrived in about half an hour but needed a break themselves so I got into a bin bag, boots on then into my sleeping bag, lay down on the floor and had another 30mins sleep.

 

  After Gregs Hut with Stevie and Dan

 

Cross Fell was another memorable section. The snow was deeper than it had been up at High Cup Nick and there I was with an Englishman, a Spaniard and a Norwegian (Dan, Stevie and Leif) trogging out the miles up and down over several snowy summits till at last we reached the top of Cross Fell, in daylight for a change.  Leif pressed on but Dan, Stevie and I stopped for a quick photos at the summit and then onward to Gregs Hut Noodle bar where we were treated to curried noodles and hot chocolate. Awesome.  After that it was a long easy descent down the track from Gregs hut and then a shortish last section to Alston CP itself, where I was able to refuel and this time take a sleep of a good hour and a half. Luxury.

 

Section 5 – Alston-Bellingham

Dan, Stevie and myself had arranged a time when we would be up and off from Alston. Luke joined the group and at first I thought I felt revived on leaving the CP but it was pretty soon clear to me that I just could not keep up with the others. I just could not stay awake. It made no sense for them to hold back for me, this after all being an individual competition, so I told them to head off without me and I’d hang on till dawn when I hoped for a mental revival. As a result of my death pace the next section up to Hadrians Wall seemed interminable and really did drag. Amidst the slipping over I made a couple of navigation mistakes managing to mill around in farmyards for what seemed ages before contriving an escape.  I also seemed regularly to come across wire fences across the route and then be searching for what seemed like hours for the stile over it. Of course it would have been my navigation that was out, and possibly not far but it showed the drawback of moving on your own, with no company to spread out and search for things like stiles which could be invisible just a few yards away.

Hadrians Wall

 

With daylight however came Greenhead and Hadrians Wall at last. As I reached the interim CP at Greenhead the others were just leaving. I was tempted to get straight out again with them for the company but in the end I decided that some food was more important so after a man-hug from Stevie we parted and I sat down for a quick boil in the bag chili and some more great food from Tom in the hut. With daylight and some food in me I felt much revived.

 

I had been looking forward to the next section over the wall and had been disappointed to find that initially a diversion would keep us away from the wall. In the end however the National Trust decided that the relatively low numbers of racers, their likely speed and the fact that they would be well spread out by this point was not going to have an adverse effect on the Wall and we were allowed to follow it. Whilst it was hard work and with some steep inclines I was like a kid taking photos of turrets and battlements and the scenery certainly livened up my day. The views over the surrounding snowy countryside were good too. Then, turning away from the wall northwards  I headed into forest scenery on the push towards Bellingham. It was heavy going in the forest with snow over muddy track and progress was slow. I was also thankful for a slice of Annas Malt Loaf as she and Zoe passed me. We had been toing and froing over the previous night but they had picked up the pace as darkness started to head our way once more and after an all too brief daylight route along the Wall. Not long afterwards the forest gave way to darkness proper and then on to rolling hills where isolated farms would, at the sight of a headtorch marching across their land, come out in force not to chasten but instead offering coffee, tea and handfuls of biscuits.

 

The temperature was dropping now too. A hand over hand ascent of the appropriately named Shitlington Crags saw me very soon descending down towards  Bellingham including several more slips and falls on water ice. The most spectacular fall however was reserved for the crossing of a 6’ wall stile and when reaching over for the support of a post on the descent found to my dismay that in fact the post was just leaning up against the wall. A freefall skydive ensued with me ending up lying on my back looking up at the stars … and the stile. This time the rucksack, which for days now had felt like I was wearing a steel bar across my shoulders, cushioned the fall and saved my bacon.

 

Section 6 – Bellingham-Kirk Yetholm

Bellingham CP was a welcome sight indeed and the last proper stop before the end. The complex included a sleeping area but before I succumbed to that I fed up on anything that there was on offer. For a couple of days I had been craving a cheese sandwich and I was even able to satisfy that desire, courtesy of the accommodating Richard Lendon.

 

I went back to the sleeping room, sorted out my kit and decided that I would try and get a couple of hours sleep. I tried in vain to text home but every attempt was met with a complete failure to be able to string two words together and every time I looked at those words they seemed to be spelt differently. I also had to forward two texts to Louises mobile, a task that was very nearly beyond me.  Nonetheless I gave it a go and as I tried to work out how to do it my phone kept asking me very politely if I wished to set up a rule so we could do this more easily in the future. I replied ‘no, just do it’ to which the response was ‘if we do set up a rule it will be very much easier next time we try’. At this point I started to get quite cross with my phone and told it in no uncertain terms that there wouldn’t be a next time so just bloody do it. It shut up after that and I got some sleep.

 

Very much sooner than I’d hoped would be the case my phone, perhaps a little hurt, woke me up at the appointed time. I lay there for a while and then started to do what I hoped was my final kit sort. I was pleased to be where I was but dog tired. I looked around the room and there were in various stages of repair people sleeping, faffing with kit or just sitting, staring into space. The room however had the air of a mountain hut with people getting sorted for their final summit push rather than that of a footrace, no-one seeming to be too keen to get up and off.

 

But it had to be done and the regime of overtrousers,  boots and gaiters on over Sealskinz was unconsciously followed once more.  At this stage I considered how lucky I was with the condition of my body. My back, hips and knees had stopped hurting for no discernible reason some days ago and the main issue I had was with the steel bar across my shoulders which meant I was having to try and reposition my rucksack every 10 minutes or so. The combination of Vaseline, Injinji liners and knee length Sealskinz had kept my feet sweaty but otherwise dry and blister free and as such it was no ordeal, as it was for some, to keep rekitting up my feet. The blessing of comfortable, dry and healthy feet just cannot be overlooked on a race like this.

 

I set off from Bellingham on my own but at some point I cannot now for the life of me recall at all I met up again with Dan, Luke and also Colin. I must have met up with them since they are with me on the photos but that part of my journey has gone and those particular brain cells are well and truly fried.  Anyway, what I do recall is that forest followed forest followed forest. The snow was hard going but moving in a group much easier. It was still dark though but hallucination after hallucination kept me entertained . I am no longer alarmed by hallucinations and indeed look forward to seeing what shapes I can find in the trees. Gnomes, wizards, fairies and strange long-legged birds followed me down the track and peered out at me and in the distance camels played ice hockey on one of the fields. The sleepmonsters were well and truly with me but on this occasion the hallucinations were keeping me sufficiently amused to keep the pace going better than it normally did at night.

 

Colin, Dan and Luke in the forest comparing hallucinations

 

As Byrness approached we were summoned for a foot medical at the interim Forest Lodge CP. Quite why this was required I am still unsure but after prodding my feet rather than requiring me to take off my socks they seemed happy enough. We also fed up on soup and meat and potatoes, which was excellent and unexpected but I was keen to get the thing done now.

 

We had been told at this point by organisers that the cut-offs were being amended and were being tightened at Byrness such that a lot of those arriving after us would be pulled. I must confess that since I knew we were ahead of those amended cut-offs I didn’t pay a great deal of attention but I was told it was due to worsening conditions across the Cheviots on the next section.

 

At first the Cheviots seemed innocuous enough. They started with a wicked ascent out of Byrness but the sun came out and I even put on sunglasses. It was still pretty cold though and no kit came off.  As the day progressed the weather did get gradually worse. The sun went in, the clouds came out and the wind increased.  The Cheviots are a big barren expanse of nothingness but of a different  composition to the Pennines, though all that mattered to me, in my little world  was that the bogs hidden under the snow where much more bootsucking and severe than any we had passed earlier. Esteve,  just behind me on the trog up to Hut 1, lost his boot once and on another occasion just could not get out of the bog he had fallen in. Fortunately I heard his cries for help and was able to return to help drag him out. It nearly happened to me on several occasions too and at least three times I only just managed to eventually claw a leg out that had fallen into one of these bogs, one time resulting in a debilitating cramp.

 

Esteve and I got to Hut 1 as it got dark. A stop to crack up the stove for a chicken tikka and rice meal did the business and we were then grouped up for the slog to Hut2 about 8miles distant and itself about 6 miles from the end. As before this section followed the fenceline border between England and Scotland but the conditions of the snow, going from ankle deep over bog to nearer knee deep at times was energy sapping.  Eventually it got so hard to make onward progress that the only way of doing so was to pull yourself up along the fence itself. And it was around here, only a mile or so from Hut 2, and less than 10miles from the end that my race started coming apart. 

 

It just seemed that I couldn’t move forward, I wasn’t cold or particularly tired but the snow just did not seem to be able to bear my weight. I would stand on it and it would collapse. Whereas others seemed to be able to stand on it I would just sink in and the others started to pull away from me. In hindsight I probably did around this point start to become a little disorientated, I was certainly getting very frustrated, irrationally grumbling about my weight for the lack of progress. It was definitely a strange period for me. I was having unusual but realistic déjà vu moments and my whole world was starting to close right up.

 

A couple of the support staff appeared and guided me the rest of the way to Hut 2. Apparently they were doing this for all competitors since it had been apparent from the tracking system that several competitors were moving very slowly.  For some reason we went to Hut 2 via Henhole, which was slightly off route. We picked Colin up along the way since he had apparently been stationary for some time. It may be that is why we went via this route but to be honest I have no idea. Colin in any event confirmed that he had gone off route and ended up in snow so deep he had just not been able to make any forward progress at all.

 

Anyway, eventually we made Hut 2, where everyone was held for a medical. The others who had got there a while before me were about to be released but I was kept back for close to 2 hours whilst I fed up. I wasn’t too pleased about this, particularly since Colin was released straight away and I wasn’t. I was becoming a little paranoid about the cut-offs and it wasn’t perhaps my finest moment. I do recall chuntering on the phone to home, since they had been concerned about my lack of progress over this section too but I am told now that I was talking rubbish, which only served to make them more concerned at home. Tom did his best to get me to eat something and I tried, I really tried but I’m afraid those army dumplings and porridge both seemed to me to taste of the fuel used to cook them, but in the end I got enough down. Thanks for persisting Tom.

 

Eventually the doctor was satisfied that I had recovered sufficiently and allowed both Esteve and myself to leave. The organisers were shadowing racers over this last section and I marched off with Joe in front. I now felt good and much improved thanks to the rest I had been required to take and can only thank the patience of Tom, the doctor and organisers for that and holding me back when I really wanted to be straight back out there.   It was only 6miles to the end now and only one more hill, the Schill. We were supposed to keep together but whilst I had recovered well in the hour I had in the hut, Esteve was suffering and was dreadfully slow. I’d move on quite quickly only then to have to wait 5-10mins for Esteve to catch up. At this rate I’d be lucky to make the 7day cut and eventually Joe got permission for us to split since the waiting periods were causing me to shiver and cool down quickly.

 

The rest was pretty straightforward. I managed the last few miles strongly and without any further incident and as daylight arrived the power levels upped still further and despite another couple of water ice tumbles the finish arrived sooner than I expected and I held onto that wall like it was going to need to support me for the rest of my life. I had made it. There were 24 finishers in the end out of 68 starters, so a 33% finish rate and I was so proud to be one of them. People have already asked me if I am going to do it again and could I have done it better? At present the answer is no and no. I certainly don’t need to do it again since I only ever really just wanted to see if I could get a finish. I suspect only the 1^st half dozen or so are really bothered about placings, I know I’m not and I don’t think any of those around me were either. In the end it was closer than I would have liked it to have been and it’s a race that is most definitely never over till that fat lady is well and truly warbling away but given a different year and a completely different set of variables, could I/would I have come out any better?  I’m not sure I would, so why try and improve on it? A race in which you feel you have done your best and in which your best was good enough is a rare thing indeed and that’s good enough for me.

                  A welcome wall … and defibrillator.