WInter Spine Sprint 2023

Winter Spine Sprint 2023

In January I did a Winter Spine race, in many ways my biggest and most daunting running challenge to date, so I couldn't help but write a bit about the whole experience. It's hard to explain how extremely mixed the emotions were - it really was one of those times I hated and loved at the same time. I'm so proud and pleased to have finished, it felt like one of the great successes of my life and I absolutely never want to do it again.

I didn't take a single picture out on the course, but here are my before and after selfies. You can see something of the experience in my face!

The Sprint is a much lesser challenge than the full Spine - we don't get the experience of multiple days' sleep deprivation, exhaustion and the really long term toll on feet and body.  The name Sprint shows something of the organisers' sense of humour - it's 72km from Edale to Hebden Bridge, but I'd guess most of us who'd sign up for this have done longer distances than that.

Where the challenge really lay on this one for me, was the ground conditions, the weather, the darkness (all but the first 4.5 hours), the fear and the mental challenge of making the right decisions and holding things together in all that.

My Spine journey has been:

• 2018 - got into running, did my first ultra
• 2019 - first aware of Spine, after Jasmin Paris' famous victory. First considered maybe doing the easiest version (the Summer Challenger, the Sprint didn't exist then), some day, but really thought it quite a ridiculous idea.
• 2020 - after months of lockdown, life seemed less infinite, and if I was going to do ridiculous things I may as well get on with it. Signed up to Summer Challenger
• 2021 - did Summer Challenger, proved to myself that I could
• 2022 - did Summer Challenger again, better and quicker
• 2023 - in for this Winter event.

I chose to do this one for three reasons:

• I've got a bit of a thing for the Pennine Way
• because it tests me, faces some fears, it's a challenge outside my comfort zone
• to see if I want to do more of this sort of thing. Maybe I'll even enjoy it so much I'll consider a full Winter Spine?

Preparation

I actually wrote a whole separate post on my preparation, mainly to get it out of my head I think. I was up early on the day of the race, and got kit check out of the way before a Full English at the Ramblers Inn. It left me with a bit of time to kill at the Penny Pot cafe and I sat down with Pat Quill who told me the tale of his previous Winter Sprint attempt (ended in temporary blindness) - I'd already decided to maximise use of goggles, but this left me in no doubt. 

So, to the start, with forecast for various kinds of precipitation. As is often the case, it feels right to split the race story into thirds.

Leg 1: Start to Torside. Running a bit.

My aim for this section was simply to cover the ground as quickly as I could and make the most of daylight hours. For the first few kilometers I wasn't far behind Kim Kennedy, who I'd met at a previous race. Despite her modesty, I knew she'd be a contender for a female podium position (she got 2nd, nicely done Kim!). She's a better runner than me, and well trained, and I knew I wasn't in her league, so although I toyed with the idea of pushing on to catch her I held back a little bit.

On to the Kinder Plateau, the wind started to pick up (cue the usual "upfall" joke). In terms of type 1 fun, this might have been my favourite part of the race. I've been up there before in about 20 metres visibility. This afternoon, despite a little rain which added to the exhilaration, over on the horizon I could see my home hill in West Cheshire - some 60 km away. Wonderful place to be, with the wind blasting over the edge, a pure pleasure.

This wasn't a very sociable race for a couple of reasons, the main one being the wind making conversation impossible, and another that we all seemed pretty focussed. I ended up in a sort of unspoken partnership with someone called Ste, and at least as I saw it we helped drag each other along, overtaking each other a few times. I was really racing this bit to be honest, unleashing my rarely seen competitive side, and why not make the most of it while it lasted.

After Snake Pass, once the flagstones ended, there was a just lot of cold water everywhere. The path was a stream, ankle or at most knee deep, but the stream bed was firm millstone grit sand. The black stuff adjacent to said stream was a deceptive quagmire that was sometimes thigh deep, so it made sense to just walk in the stream. My feet had been wet since my waterproof socks leaked on Jacob's Ladder, and weren't going to get any drier for a while (although critically my feet stayed warm which is the real benefit of these socks).

I was pleased with my navigation on this section, the route isn't always obvious, and I hadn't been over it since the summer. I can't have been very far from other people, but you can't see very far ahead or behind, so I was alone until about Bleaklow summit.

Ste from before caught me up around the descent down to Torside, and not long after that I had a cramp attack when I tripped slightly. As I screamed in pain and accidentally threw one of my poles away, Ste very kindly helped retrieve it while I lay in a heap. It's not exactly a cliff edge, but a steep drop on the right hand side, that I wouldn't have tried to clamber down if my pole had gone any further. He generously stuck with me for a few minutes, and even insisted on watching me get a drink down.

I arrived at the Torside mountain rescue gazebo just after sunset. So far, exactly on plan.

I was pretty efficient at getting ready for the next stage, putting on my head torch and switching my top layers. Up to now I'd been in only a thin merino baselayer and waterproof shell. I knew I'd be moving slower as I went into the night, so I stripped off my sweaty base layer and swapped it for my Buffalo shirt, with the waterproof jacket back over the top. I took the time to have a salty snack and a hot drink before continuing.

Leg 2: Torside to Harrop Dale. Holding it together.

Having done that first leg in "race mode", I really switched mentality at this point. This was always going to be the hard section for me psychologically. I'd intended to take it very carefully and hold myself together against some things I was scared of. I knew there were situations on this section that could seriously unsettle me mentally, and I had a few ideas on how to deal with them.

For one thing, daylight was gone, and I hate the dark.

I feared that getting out of breath on the steep climb section would lead me to panic. I'd had a little bit of panic attack on my own on a recce up Fountains Fell in the summer, and although I'd calmed myself down, it wasn't a state i wanted to revisit in midwinter and total darkness. So I took the ascent very easily, and got caught by a few people, who fell in behind me for a while.

The edge of Laddow Rocks is scary too, with a proper cliff edge to the right. Thankfully the weather wasn't too bad and I was able to stay upright without difficulty. I was mindful that a fall here, like had happened to me above Torside, could have been bad.

There are a few stream crossings, but none were more than knee deep. This is something I'd thought about a lot in preparation. I'd been and sat down in cold streams in the middle of long runs to get used to it. I'd packed enough clothes (more than the mandatory) so that I could - in theory at least - have recovered from falling in. I'd recce'd Dean Clough specifically in the dark. I'd also prepared a GPX file of the Blackpool Bridge diversion which might have been called for if it was in full spate, just in case.

A lot of this 2nd leg of the race was about managing my mental state, it wasn't about racing. 

(Reading this back I realise I'm dwelling on things that scared me, but that was a huge part of why I did this race.)

I got overtaken quite a few times, but that's to be expected. Reaching the A635 / Greenfield Road was a relief, but I didn't hang around. The butty van where I'd stopped for a cuppa in the Summer was apparently there but I didn't even look for it. On down towards the reservoirs, it was starting to snow now, but not really settling as the ground wasn't that cold. I think by the time the full Spine people came over next morning it would all be be white, but for now it was just blurry horizontal streaks dominating what little vision I had. I kept my head torch on low power as it wasn't possible to see more than a few metres anyway,  

I met someone coming the wrong way. He muttered something about being too cold, and said he'd decided to head back to the road and quit. A timely reminder of one of the dangers, but he was safe, and had made a sensible decision. Temperature-wise I felt okay, it was only around zero (although wind chill fairly severe later on). I'd hit upon the concept of using my head and hands to regulate temperature - I doubt I'm the first person with this idea. With the Buffalo top on I was too warm on occasion, so took my gloves and hat off. I'd added "toddler" type loops to all my gloves so i could let them dangle from my wrists. When I started to feel less than warm, gloves went back on. I could have added another top layer or thicker gloves if that wasn't sufficient.

As I came to the A62, there was someone I knew cheering me on which was a lovely surprise. Laura Twigg who I'd met on a couple of previous races was there waiting for a friend. A nice little boost before arriving into the 2nd mountain rescue point at Brun Clough - and a favour I tried to repay months later when Laura did a race on my home turf.

Leg 3: Brun Clough to Hebden Bridge. More of enduring the weather.

A quick stop here: a hot drink, no messing. I'd done the racey part 1, and then I've done the toughest terrain and not had any mental breakdown on part 2. I think it's fair to say I'd had some winter conditions. My feet had been wet for the last 9 hours or something and I was okay with that. I'd stuck to my original plan of staying independent rather than teaming up with someone. So, proud of myself. One of the mountain rescue people pointed out how few miles it was to the finish, which meant very little to me. For one thing, I think in kilometres with running, and also I had absolutely no idea how long it would take.

All I knew is I'd have to put up with the weather and carry on. I had entertained thoughts of running harder and making up some of the places I'd lost, but wasn't particularly committed to any plan.

Very shortly after the mountain rescue point, I found Ste from before, the guy who'd helped me when I had cramp. Now he was the one suffering from cramp, and saying he was getting too cold - he'd decided to call it. This undoubtedly influenced my choices for the remainder of the race. Hypothermia had been on my radar since before I signed up, but having now seen too very cold people quitting within the last hour or so, I was very aware how close that threat was.

Also at this point, the weather kicked up from a bit challenging into what counts as genuinely brutal. Over Standedge the wind strength struck me as comical, I could almost lean against it. I'd estimate 60mph. It became a slog against the elements, very slow going. I had goggles on, and my hood over my hat, but any exposed bits of face were being blasted by hail at 60mph. Type 2 fun this bit! This wind didn't really abate at all until I dropped into the valley the end of the race (6 hours later!).

Sections that I barely even noticed in the context of the Summer race were taking ages. Whichever way the route turned the wind seemed just as bad. After just about avoiding falling into a waist deep bog, I staggered into the warmth of Nicky's Cafe  - a converted shipping container. The only chance to be inside on the whole race. I made the most of it and stayed for nearly half an hour, getting some hot food sitting by a heater.

It occurred to me that I could quit now and absolutely nobody would think less of me. A couple of people I knew arrived. Eventually i dragged myself back out, and the weather hadn't improved at all. It's really not very far to the end from Nicky's - but it took hours. Genuinely countless hours as far as I was concerned, as I wasn't doing my usual constant mental arithmetic to predict times. Blackstone Edge seemed very tricky, with the rocky terrain meaning constant tiny decisions as to whether to aim to land my foot on a rock or in a gap between rocks, while resisting gale force wind.

It wasn't the "worst" winter conditions possible, but unquestionably the worst I'd spent this many hours in. When the terrain did improve, on the runnable flat track after passing the White House pub, I would have been physically able to push on, but it was taking most of my mental energy to just put up with the weather. At points it really felt like I might get blown over the wall into the reservoir, so strong was the wind.

Simon Chevis caught me up somewhere around Stoodley Pike, and passed me - he seemed better at this relentless trudging thing. As I finally dropped down the hill out of the wind, I put enough of a spurt on to catch him for a bit of a chat. It was just a short walk through Hebden Bridge, and we plodded along together to the finish at 03:24, with a race time of just under fifteen and a half hours.

Post race reflection

I got myself into the warmth of the finish checkpoint, and enjoyed the hospitality of the amazing volunteers. As Suzanne, who I'd run with for while in the summer, served me some cottage pie, I felt simultaneously pleased I took this challenge on, hugely satisfied to have completed it, but also 100% sure I didn't want to do it again. 11 hours of darkness felt like enough, and I think the weather gave me a bit of a taste of what "brutal" means to complete the Spine experience. 

The Spine summer challenger is one of my favourite things in the world. I didn't just endure it, I loved most of it. This, not so much. At the end of the day I do these things for fun, so I won't be signing up to another winter spine event any time soon.

On the pew next to me Kim Kennedy, who'd finished second woman (awesome effort!) , awoke from her post race nap. Due to my conservative attitude and mental demons, the gap between us had ballooned from 20 minutes at Torside to over two and a half hours. In athletic terms, this wasn't my greatest ever achievement, but it wasn't about that.

I'm happy that my three Spine experiences add up to a complete story, and a great personal success. I've achieved things I would never have thought I'd even try. 

The Summer Challenger North still has some appeal. Perhaps one day I'll come back to that one, but for now having obsessed about the Pennine Way for a couple of years, I don't have any particular plans to go back. There's a certain hollow feeling to be honest, I guess a little bit like withdrawal from an addiction, but i'll find other stuff to do.

Post race, one thing I noticed was that without the motivation of a Spine event, running in the dark and cold held little attraction. I got out and got some miles in, but there was no feeling that I loved the Winter gloom now I'd "conquered" it. The reality was I actually detested the darkness even more than ever. Doing the Winter race hadn't made me suddenly relish that particular kind of endurance. Seasonal affective disorder will probably hit me every winter. I just don't like the dark very much at all. In a way, that makes my completion of one Winter event even more satisfying.

Huge thanks to everyone involved in supporting me and in putting on these races.

What's next?

Something quite different, the Yorkshire Three Peaks race (for which the Spine Sprint counts as a qualifying race). Then I'm sure I'll be back to silly distances in the not too distant future.