What’s the time an average person finishes a marathon? Average people don’t run marathons. It takes a special kind of ‘sickness’ to spend 16 weeks training from New Year’s Eve, in sub-zero conditions, to go and run 26.2 miles for ‘fun’…

A first overseas race took us to the beauty of Switzerland and the Zurich Marathon – spring marathons are always in abundance, and admittedly, we’d tried for the Rotterdam Marathon but completely underestimated the popularity of that and it sold out within hours of going on sale. 

Instead, 13th April would be to another European destination. We flew via Amsterdam on the Friday afternoon and hit the inevitable delay on the connecting flight; where I’d made my peace with the idea that we’d be spending the night in Holland, rather than making it to Zurich… first concerns were allayed when KLM delayed the following flight, so we made it to our hotel roughly an hour later than expected, but still on the Friday night.

Saturday morning took us to the marathon expo to collect our numbers and race bags, including the finisher t-shirts… there’s something impure about getting your finisher t-shirt before you’ve even run the event – or maybe I’m just a bit of an old fart purist these days? After that, we took a boat tour of Lake Zurich and marvelled at how clear the alpine water was and how clean the city was. Definitely a recommended city break.

Then, marathon day arrived… there’s something very humbling about being told to keep the noise down by your 6-year-old, as you stand eating a porridge pot, half naked in your hotel bathroom. To be fair, it was 6 a.m., but as a parent, the irony of an early wake-up being grumbled about from the other side, wasn’t lost on me.

We headed to the start area and as you’d expect from a Swiss organisation, everything ran like clockwork – the bag drop was as slick as you’ve ever seen – we all got black, branded, drawstring bags to leave with our race numbers attached, before we headed for our start pens.

Again, Swiss timing was massively evident here – the race was stipulated to start at 8 a.m. and my god, did it… they literally had a clock with the current time showing, and the race started at 8:00:00. Not one to be late for.

As dear readers will know, my obsession for the last couple of years has been this pursuit of the marathon holy grail – otherwise known as the sub-3 marathon. I found the pair of 3-hour pacers and stuck to them like glue. There was a fairly well-sized group with no English voices to be heard – lots of German and a weird feeling of patriotism washed over me at times – I was running for my country, here! A lone Geordie voice in amongst these Europeans, trying to decipher the shouts of “HOP HOP HOP” from the crowds… “here, I’m ganna hop, ye dafties!” – nobody laughed.

These pacers were something else, mind – I’ve never bothered with pacers before, but seeing these guys in action was incredible. Constantly shouting splits (at least I think that’s what they were shouting), grabbing 12 cups of water at each station – six in each hand, and running along at 4:15/km pace and not spilling a drop, (bet they’re great when it comes to getting a round in!).

I stuck with them through halfway – clocking 1:29:58 at 21.1km- Swiss timing, once again. 3-hour pacers were bang on, and so was I… My watch even telling me I was 4 seconds +/- from my goal time of 3:00:00. I’d stuck with my gel strategy of one per every 5km, and it was serving me well, so far. But disaster was round the corner.

They say you shouldn’t try anything new on race day. They say it for a reason.

I’d trained with the same mix of slow-release carb gels and caffeine gels throughout, but even before I’d left the house on that Friday afternoon, I’d screwed myself over and I hadn’t even realised it. Fail to plan – plan to fail.

I hadn’t actually planned for what I’d need on race day – I had none of my usual gels left and completely my own fault, through lack of planning, I had none of them left. I grabbed some new ‘caffeine hit’ gels I’d picked up online – 100mg of caffeine per gel… the packaging suggested no more than four in one day. At this point, I’d convinced myself that four would be fine and that I could mix them in with other non-caffeinated gels and all would be grand.

30km came around and I was three caffeine hits in… “hmm, stomach doesn’t feel great… nah, crack on, Chris, you’ll be fine, be finished soon anyway, it’s only like two parkruns left”

Funny what your mind tells you in those moments.

I spotted someone doubled over at 35km, throwing up at the side of the road – with hindsight, I probably should’ve joined him. By this point I felt rotten – like the worst morning-after hangover from my student days – full-on nausea and a stitch that I didn’t remember developing – I honestly don’t remember which one came first, now – the stitch or the nausea, but they were both kicking my ass, and I reluctantly had to let the pacer group go to take some major deep breaths and some real soul-searching ensued.

Stopping has never been in my playbook – ever since the early days of Gibside parkrun; on my second ever run there, I’d stopped and walked up that killer hill and found it SO hard to get going again, since then, I vowed to myself that I’d never stop again, (even if I was running at walking speed – mentally, I was still running, regardless of pace).

I forced myself through that last parkrun’s worth of distance and got over the line for a 50-second PB. In the days and weeks that have followed, I’ve really been through the five stages of grief. A PB is a PB and I’ve now reached the acceptance stage, but I know I could’ve done better.

Fail to plan, plan to fail.

That mess I’d made of the gel ordering, or lack of, had kiboshed my three-hour attempt, way before I’d even laced up my shoes and necked that 6 a.m. porridge.

Within five to ten minutes of the finish, I knew those gels were sitting somewhere very north of my stomach… I found myself a lonely tree, and, if you remember the Little Britain sketches where the woman does the projectile vomit, this was me. They tasted the same coming up as they had when they’d gone down… in case anyone was wondering. Within seconds, I felt better. “Pint and some chips, please!”

All in all, this was only my fourth marathon and it’s all a learning curve – I’m an inherently positive person, and I’m already finding positives in all of this. There’s no such thing as failure – just a learning opportunity. I’d stuck with the three-hour pacers and hit the halfway mark absolutely bang on the money. I’d hit 25km on the money and even at 30km I was still on pace.

Who’s to say if I would’ve nailed the time with better fuelling, or maybe I’d have been looking for other excuses?! Thankfully, I have my first world marathon major on the horizon, with the Chicago Marathon in October. I’ll go into that with all of the things I’ve learned about pacing, fuelling, strategy and maybe most importantly, about myself, as a much better runner for my Zurich experience.

Another part of my acceptance in all of this is that ‘progress is progress’, no matter how big or small it is. 3:10:08 this year, beat my Manchester 2024 time of 3:10:58 by 50 seconds. Again, I go back to that first Gibside parkrun in 2017 – that guy would never have dreamed (or had nightmares?!) of running and finishing a marathon… That’s the guy I’m running against – nobody else – the previous iterations of myself, and every time I beat him, I grow as a runner.

Bex Hewitson was guest reporter and chief cheerleader for our latest XC outing – here’s her eye witness account of last Sunday as she recovers from injury…

With the threat of torrential rain and gale force winds, the DVRC XC team made no secret of their hope for a cancellation. On the realisation that their prayers to the weather gods were going to go unanswered and that, actually nobody is forcing them to do this; the team made their way to the Lambton Estate for the third (actually second, after Druridge was cancelled last week) fixture of the season. I am told that the erection of the team tent was a sight to behold, however as the start times approached, the sun came out, the wind died down, and it turned out to be a stunning autumn Sunday afternoon!

The ladies team was represented by Lola Wright, Beth Heppell, Natasha Powell, Kirsty Robson, Eleanor Shotton, Caroline Smith, Melanie Armstrong and Karen Cutler. Debutant Lola put in a stunning performance on the course and brought the DVRC ladies home, closely followed by Natasha who had blitzed through from the medium pack. The other ladies all beat the demands of the course to finish muddy and furious at the hills, but after heart rates decreased and sanity returned, they were smiling and admitting they “quite enjoyed it, actually”. 

The men’s team represented by Chris Hewitson, Kieran Ridley and Mike Slawski set off in mild drizzle on a course that had seen hundreds chewing it up beforehand. Chris led the men home after 3 gruelling laps, his face and his road-running legs saying it all as he thundered down the finishing straight. I’m sure you’ve all seen the photo of Kieran caught “mid F-Bomb” as he shut down the overtaking attempts of the bloke behind him. Mike saw the whole team safely home, looking fresh as a (muddy) daisy!

Obviously the one thing on everyone’s minds while flogging themselves around the course for “fun”, was the after-run cake! Gorgeous goodies were provided and demolished by a well deserving team. 

It was strange to be a spectator, and FOMO set in on a few occasions, but it was great to be there to support my team and still be part of the “XC Craic”. If you are interested in getting involved (even if it is just for the cake and bantz), please drop Janis a message and come along to the next fixture on November 23rd. It would be great to be able to put a full men’s team out (6 guys required), and for more of you to sample the joys of this Type 2 Fun! 

We’ve been busy at other races in recent weeks, obviously our Kirsty Robson was at both, and wrote up some first-hand reports for us…

Firstly, The Angel View Race – the name’s a bit of a giveaway! This one was introduced to us as it features on our club grand prix list. The (roughly) 5.5-mile race is a nice low key local event organised by Low Fell Running Club over a varied 2-lap terrain with hilly off-road sections. The compacted trails and small road section made up for a couple of challenging sections. Overgrown grassy fields and slippy slidey mud sections were a reminder of what’s to come later in the year when the cross-country season starts. The finish line takes in the iconic structure and a few of us were lucky to score for chocolate that was left over from the earlier junior events. Not to worry for those who missed out on a sweet treat.

Low Fell RC looked after us well and we were rewarded with a lovely buffet afterwards in the Angel View Hotel where the presentations took place and Kirsty Robson and Claire Thompson took away prizes for age category wins!

Secondly, The Anita Nott 5k women’s only race. This one is organised by Heaton Harriers in memory of Anita Nott, a member of Heaton Harriers who tragically lost her life in September 2006 whilst out on a training run. HH’s website tells us that Anita was an amazing lady who gave much to her club and was very keen to see women getting involved in running.

The course is an undulating 5k route starting and finishing on Armstrong Bridge over Jesmond Dene and goes through Jesmond Dene Park, Heaton Park and Armstrong Park. It was a warm evening as we went to collect our race numbers from The Corner House giving us a little warm up before heading to the start on the bridge, which was crowded and full of chat, just how you’d imagine when almost 500 ladies stand shoulder to shoulder. The there was a minute’s silence, as a mark of respect for Anita and you could’ve heard a pin drop. We then sped down into Jesmond Dene to a tunnel – woohoo! This was shortly followed by bridge crossings, the beginnings of the undulations and another visit to the tunnel. Heading over to Heaton Park the route goes under trees, past the pavilion and up up up to the entrance to the park at Heaton Park View.

For me, this brought back a memory of my first poor effort at training for the GNR in 1990 as I used to live very close by. What goes up, must come down and we were rewarded by an easier return to Armstrong Bridge and the finish line. The squash and chocolate treat we’re just what we needed to prep us for the walk back to The Corner House for presentations.

An unofficial addition that ladies make to this is a post-race ‘party/social in the park’ but, due to a change in venue from Millfield House in Jesmond Dene, our prosecco picnic didn’t go to plan. However, being classy birds, we didn’t let those bubbles go to waste and we supped on route of course!

This meant we were primed ready to raise a glass to congratulate our Bex Hewitson who won a prize on achieving an age category win.

As Anita was very keen to promote runners particularly veterans, the race has an extensive prize list to encourage everyone to take part. Anita herself welcomed the prize structures in local races that highlighted the strength in depth of the veteran field. I’d like to think of how proud Anita would be at the sight of the varied field of club runners, running their very hardest in all their colours through the beautiful parks in her memory. Our DVRC ladies did us proud.

You didn’t think we were just going to share the story of Susan’s 50k and not mention Jamie hitting 100k, did you?!

After a DNF in last year’s 100k at 40 miles I said never again, 48 hours later I had re-entered as I don’t like been beaten. What was unknown after entering was the roller coaster months to come where my hip totally gave in and resulted in hip resurfacing surgery back in December.  It was also unknown at the time if I would be running never mind stand on start line for what I’d confidently say is the hardest race I have ever entered.  After taking a regimented approach with my rehab I made my mind I would commence running on March 1st. As the weeks went on slowly got stronger and I decided I’d at least stand on that start line (Sue was trying to persuade me to drop to the 50k) I ignored this thinking I’d rather stick to the 100k and just see how far I got. 

 The big day arrived, kit check was the Friday morning the then it was an afternoon relaxing (may have had 2 beers lol) before sorting my pack, drop bag and having an early night as I had to be up at 3-15 am (not that I slept).   The alarm seemed to go off 5 mins after setting it!  I quickly got dressed had breakfast and made my way to the start which was a good 20 min walk.  

There were 2 waves for my race I was in the second wave at 5 am.  Soon Conquest of Paradise was being played on a loop which is the UTMB anthem and wave 1 was off. It would soon my turn moving onto the starting pen once again hearing Conquest of Paradise being played, I felt quite anxious and emotional that 5 months post- surgery I am stood on a UTMB start line.   We were soon off running through Llanberis loads of people clapping us on as we head out of town and heading up the tourist path (Llanberis Path).  3/4 way up just going under the bridge I was met with the most spectacular sunrise and I remember smiling thinking this is what it’s all about.  Cracking on you don’t summit Snowdon the 1st time you veer off down the Pyg Track.  It’s quite technical so seemed to take forever to get to Pen y Pass the 1st check point which had a 8-15am cut off. I was there 7-45 so it was a quick bottle fill and continued moving.  We were strongly advised to carry additional fluid as it was a gruelling section with no way of getting water. I knew the next climb (Glyder Fawr) was brutal with several false summits and it was getting warmer so I ensured I was fuelled and ready for the ascent.  On reaching the top you are met with a bolder field followed by a nice runnable section then an awful very steep decent on loose scree. Once surviving the scree there was another nice section but it soon followed with 4 points of contact decent. Once down it was again a nice run by the Lin (Lake) before another ascent, it was now uncomfortably hot! Arriving at CP2 I had 1hr in the bag before cut off I spent a little time hydrating /refuelling as the next section was another brutal climb!  It was getting hotter as I made my way up over grass, bogs, rocks then a physical 4 points of contact section before a final climb to the top. I was rewarded with the most spectacular views of the coast, a quick pitstop to rehydrate before ploughing over a bolder field followed my more climbing.  I was plodding along nicely when I fell, I quickly put my poles out on front to break my fall it kind of worked, a cut knee and worse … I snapped my carbon pole, a bloodied leg , I got to the next summit which was a marshalled one thank fully as they looked at me and asked are you ok ,I replied I’m fine but I broke my pole which was a bigger problem as I was not even half way on the total assent.

The lovely marshal took my pole and did a great job of fixing it. I lost about 15 mins there but knew it would help worth it having both poles as long as the fix lasted.  I cracked on, soon I was descending not a nice decent mind negotiating slabs of slippery slate, 4 points of contact and the odd bum slide, I was very cautious as last year a runner had fallen and broke his leg (we could see the bone).   I got down safely the next climb nick named Roseberry on steroids (same shape but no path and another 4 points of contact) we were met by a marshal who advised we had to go around it this year as there was a rare heather (thanks heather) although it was a longer way around it including narrow patchy paths but definitely better! Now there was finally a runnable decent to the farm, last year this was a check point but it could not be used this year so we had an additional 4 miles to go. I was out of fluid now, nowhere to fill my bottles but 2 miles or so I managed to fill my filter flask, tasted awful but I needed fluids. At the water check point I managed to get a litre of fluid, some either got none due to running out or rationed to 240 ml not good at all.

I had 3 more miles to get to the 50k check point and my drop bag. On getting there I was on empty I knew I needed to eat and a lot ! I did just that , fuelling on pasta, a potato pot , 2 muller rice to get me going again . I knew there was another 3500 ft climb coming so I had to risk over indulging. Loads of people DNFd at Carpel Curig I was soon out leaving the village into some woods chatting to a fellow Liverpool supporter we started the climb. I soon dropped off the pace I felt awful, I was getting to next flag then pausing I had nothing in my legs ,upset tummy and felt nauseous..  I was thinking that’s it I’m done as I struggled up climb been passed by several runners, one lad asked if I was ok I told him no stomach issues , he said I have Rennies, I thought why not nothing to lose. I ate it and I think I belched my way to the top lol. Once I summited I felt a new man my mood changed watching the sunset in the mountains, I thought this time last year it was pitch black I can get to the next cp in the light of day so  I ran and ran , one guy shouted thought your running legs had gone as a shot past him . 

I got the farm before darkness, the marshal who looked after me here was fantastic took my bottles to fill them told me I’m doing amazing and had loads of time if I wanted to rest. I thought no way am I losing my banked time I’m going now, this  was as far as I got  last year exhausted , broken and had nothing more , where this year I felt mentally strong and I shed a tear thinking how good I felt with limited running and major surgery.  I cracked on with another runner we soon got stuck in a snake of runners on single tracker , I’m thinking there all moving to slow should I push to get past and if I did would I suffer later , I decided to go for it and pushed on soon 2 other runners followed me.  After what felt like hours we got on the Watkins path and the assent to Snowdon, we played cat and mouse taking turns to lead in between rests.

At the end of the Watkins path you join the minors track which was very sketchy in places pitch black, windy, drops, 4 points of contact scrambles , parts on scree it was bloody awful and never ending . I kept thinking get to the top and you’re going to finish this.  After what seemed to take forever, I reach the summit. In my mind I was going to photo take a photo on top but it was quite chilly very windy and I was exhausted so that idea soon went out of window. I was soon descending Snowdon at 1st I was thinking this is amazing with runnable switch backs that soon disappeared into loose deep dolomite type switch backs which slowed me down and frankly hurt my feet .You could see the lights of the check point which seemed never to get closer , also a stream of head torches going up the next climb which looked horrendous!  Eventually I was back on terraferma and heading towards the check point, Bron-y-Fedw. The cut off here was 5.30 I was here at 2.15, even though I had plenty big time I wanted to get back out so bottles filled, quick snack and I was on my way with only 2 more climbs left.  When I was descending Snowdon seeing the stream of head torches making their way  up  Mynydd Mawr it looked awful but it was actually ok .. I reached the top to see my second sunrise of the race , it was so good after a super tough night to be in daylight and only 13 miles or so to the finish . I was feeling great on the climbs but my feet were screaming on any decent. It was so frustrating as I felt I could really push but any down I was in excruciating pain.  I arrived at my final check point Betws Garmon at 5.30 am the cut off was 8.30.   So not finishing was no longer a concern or option. Again, it was a quick stop hot chocolate, a couple of sandwiches, bottles refilled and I was off.  Leaving the cp I was soon with a group of runners and going through some beautiful woods, well beautiful but very tricky, muddy , fallen trees to clamber over not want you need with 50 miles and 20k of assent in your legs.

Just as you leave the woods you pass the famous red chair, again no photo it was to much effort.  We were soon on the final assent up Moel Eilo . It looked a big climb but it was nice and soft /grassy I was exhausted but still moving getting to a flag counting to 10 leaning over on my poles then moving to the next flag.  I was soon at the top and thought that’s it until I could see runners that had descended in the distance and making their way up an another climb my heart sank.  Think the adrenaline was kicking in imagining crossing that finish line so pushed on . On the way up the sneaky hidden climb someone had dropped a Torque Cherry Bakewell Gel, I picked it up and devoured what I can describe as liquid cake.  I was soon at the top and descending to get to the Llamberis Path , be it a tricky decent with screaming feet .   Once I was on the path I had 2.5 miles to go all downhill , I rang Sue just in case the tracker wasn’t accurate to tell her i was going to be there soon, she was already there waiting . Entering the village, I felt quite emotional what I had accomplished, 5 months post -surgery and I was about to finish the hardest race I’ve ever entered, not scraping in either 3 hours before cutoff.  If anyone who reads who is battling illness /injury takes anything from this report Never Give Up, believe and do everything it takes to battle back. 

One final thing, well more a dedication to one of the most inspirational people I know at our club, you helped me more than you know, to battle back, thank you Tony!  

Recently our very own Susan Wilson took on the small matter of a 50k Ultra down in North Wales… she’s shared the tales the trails with us.

Ultra Trail Snowdonia: Not for the faint hearted! Or gingers as it turned out, soooo hot!

Rewind 12 months and you get two rabbits in the headlights on the 100k route with me affected by the heat, seeing a man with two heads around 25 miles this resulted in a did not flourish and Jamie went onto achieve 42 miles but again did not flourish that day.

Fast forward one year, Jamie stood on the 100k start line following hip surgery and me standing the 50k start line after a tiny fracture to my tibia so I returned to have another go… Best decision ever doing the 50K!! Snowdon mountain range is exactly what it says on the tin, a blooming big mountainous area of ups, downs and stretches requiring four points of contact. It’s is breathtaking, brutal and beautiful with what some say without a path to follow!

Jamie and I arrived Thursday evening to Bangor and as a true romantic we spent the night in a trade car park nestled between a skip and a waterfall. Up Friday morning we headed to Llanberis with a drop off to a kennels for Lusky… me tearing up and him trotting off never looking back, the cheek of it! Arriving in Llanberris registration was priority, Jamie first and me later, atmosphere was building, expo village buzzing and 100 milers getting last minute prep done.

I chatted to a lovely lady from Sweden taking on the challenge asking how her training had gone “oh good but where I live is very flat so I’m hoping the hills are not too hilly“ I smiled and said good luck, in my head the voice said “ee god love yer!!”

Bits and bobs purchased as you do wandering in the expo village which was really well organised and relaxed with deck chairs set out and creating a festival feel without the festival fun. Jamie all registered and wrist strap secure we wandered and repeated the process for my registration. Which involved carrying the weight of a weeks food shop into a hot marquee to put two items on a huge tray, balance the given map, tee shirt and receive a wrist strap as a reward all part of the run experience listening to excited people around you, inhaling the muscle rub and catching snippets of conversation such as “first time ? How you feeling“ “oh I need the toilet… again“

We returned to the van and proceeded to spend the remainder of the Friday evening packing packs unpacking packs on repeat, as you do. As a lovely partner when the alarm goes off at 3am I obviously rolled over and asked the light to be turned off as you go please and just after 4am Jamie left the van for his adventure. What seemed like 5 minutes later and I was up and standing on the same start line at 7:30am, surrounded by the Welsh version of an UTMB race start line with Welsh drummers getting the mood going and waking everyone up.

The route is undulating with a capital U… straight up to Snowdon via the tourist path, turning left to descend down the pig track which basically is a boulder track involving traversing slabs of rock in parts, dodging the increasing number of people going in the opposite direction (often tutting and mumbling more ruddy runners). The route then turned to thankfully onto a little trail hurray… heading to check point 1 and water… relief!

The heat was building, the ginger was melting, but reapplied factor 50 and off I trotted through lovely woods and a flapping marshal jump the fence now” there was a huge ten tonne Bull happily enjoying freedom from his private field and can report that was not the worst climb of my day… up and onward then up a bit more. Woodlands lead to the Watkins path and hurtling downward were many triathletes moving far too fast, definitely not at chat pace.

The supply of water that would have been appreciated was absent so filter bottles to the ready and streams at this point was fast becoming a watering hole for most runners as we then headed back up to Snowdon aka Kings Cross Station, via what felt like a vertical challenge where the path had not been factored in. This section went on and on and up and up without any horizon to be seen, it was like clambering up an escalator when someone at the top was hoying down all the rubble from a building site… uneven under foot, hands and elbows… my thoughts wandered to Jamie as I looked over the one of many edges, this would be in the dark for him so when I saw a way marker laying down I stood it back up thinking that will be helpful!

On finally reaching the top of Snowdon, I saw many things that are not on the usual ultra including a woman on a rowing machine, many charity raising groups all very well but how way move over a runner coming through! My goodness this bit was dreadful and I ended up delicately screeching “coming through, a lady with poles, not afraid to use them “ this did seem to separate and make ways through to turn left and start a descent that was zigzagging, steep and the ground seemed to be moving underneath you (probably was to be fair with the amount of poles tapping on it) this lead to boggy, ankle splodging into CP2 and water thank goodness.

The route in the brochure clearly stated two big lumps followed by two lesser lumps so now I faced the two lesser lumps… do not believe brochures my friends! The remaining route included never ending on the edge sort of paths, woods with many trees to duck and dive also a red velvet chair… random but truly there and towards the end I passed many a vomiting man, many an exposed buttocks as no private wild wee opportunities so as we all know… what occurs on the trail stays on the trail, always [unless it’s on the DVRC website!]. After an age I could see glimpses of the finish only to take a turn up hill to fit in a final twirl to be reunited with the street I had ran up what felt like three weeks ago, and onto the finishing stretch, running nonstop to the finish and what a finish! Music, clapping, bell ringing and utter relief that my knee although puffing up nicely had survived and 35.5 miles, 11,000 feet of elevation had been achieved, cups of tea awaited and a sit down. I felt joy, relief and happiness, job done… now to refuel, drink tea and refresh to follow Jamie on his ongoing adventure.

Alan Vicarage headed out west to sample the delights of a 3 dayer round the best of the Lakes… thankfully, he’s survived to tell the tale for us.

The Scarpa GL3 arrived on the 3rd may with an overnight camp on Ennerdale showground with registration and a kit check for a Saturday morning start. Saturday arrived with the clouds and the rain, the spare tent was dispatched to the car and off we went, you have a 3 hour window to start when you fancy, I started the Herdwick course which was 19k and 1034m of climbing taking in Great Bourne,Red Pike,High Stile and High Crag, the decent from there was treacherous in the damp but I survived and down Scarth Gap we went to pop out of the clouds on the way to the overnight camp in Buttermere.

The bottom of Scarth was where plans changed with me taking the last opportunity to fall down a ditch with my leg left behind. Buttermere was achieved and a trip to the medic tent was required, first aid administered meant I could put my tent up, feed myself and make it to the beer tent.

Day 2 dawned and it was clear I couldn’t run, so a power walk was required for the café course, 17k, 876m of ascent, back in the clouds again for a course centred around Fleetwith Pike then back to Buttermere, for food and the beer tent again and a free one as well, bed time arrived with clear skies and hope eternal.

Day 3. 15k, 571m of ascent. We woke up to rain bouncing off the tent ( it’s character building stuff apparently). The tent was packed away to be transported to the start, the rain stopped and off we went, and mercifully the lecture we received at the start on how to evacuated the course if we got caught in the forecast thunder storms wasn’t required, we took in Crummock Water and Gavel Fell, from there we could see the finish about 5k away and that’s when the excitement got to me and I started running, very slowly to be fair, but running non the less and the job was done, then off to Keswick YHA for a night without a beer tent, a shower for the first time in three days, and hopefully a good night’s kip!

So what do you get for your efforts on this kind of event is great camaraderie, a bruised elbow, an almost definite big toe nail loss, and one leg twice the size of the other one, oh and an email from them within an hour of finishing, offering early bird entry for next year!

For four months, I’ve thought of nothing but the Yorkshire three peaks fell race. After running my first 50 miler – Greener Miles Running’s sweltering The Chopper – in October last year, I was casting around for the next challenge. Upping the distance didn’t appeal. I’d found the 50 hard, and the persistent exhaustion I felt for days afterwards was like nothing I’d previously experienced. I needed three weeks to recover and be in a state where I wanted to run again. So I decided to drop the distance but increase the challenge. The most iconic fell race in the country, with the sphinx like Pen y Ghent, towering Whernside ridge, and imperious Ingleborough, seemed to be a good option.

There were other reasons I fixated on three peaks too. I’d never done it before. I’d never even been there before, apart from a nose round Sedbergh a few years ago. It would be out of my fell comfort zone – roughly speaking, the Cheviots and the North Pennines – and the longest challenge fell race I’d attempted. But I also wanted to improve. I’d spent most of 2023 preparing for ultras, and had found the mileage arduous at times, as well as difficult to fit in around a job that insisted on absorbing a lot of my time and energy. So many miles last year were completed half asleep, with the dog, at an easy pace, and just felt junk as well as unenjoyable. Focusing on improving my speed endurance and general fitness was appealing, so much so that I ‘bought myself’ a coach for Christmas, with the explicit brief of getting me round the three peaks in as quick a time as possible.

Four months of graft later, I am on the start line, scared. I feel fit, but frightened. In front of me, Ingleborough looks like a giant pagoda. Pen y Ghent – let’s call it PYG – looms over Horton like a JRPG superboss – Penance floating over the Calm Lands. Whernside isn’t visible, but it is the biggest of the three, and I have been warned the climb is nails. I am here though with the cheer squad – appropriately more canine than human. Georgina and Dexter are here, the latter of whom thinks he’s coming and is confused when I leave him behind to duck into the start funnel. DB, long time inspiration and Spine legend, has also come along with her two dogs to see both the three peaks and the Fellsman. She gives me some excellent advice at the start, as always, which I promptly ignore (sorry mate).

Weeks earlier, I’d read that three peaks is more accurately described as three fell races separated by two cross country races. So let’s proceed in that way.

Fell race 1: PYG

The start of three peaks is the closest I’ve ever felt to being in a peloton. We loop through Horton on the tarmac, before turning abruptly left towards PYG. It is uphill but not horrifically so, and I maintain a steady pace while making sure I stay controlled. The lane winds upwards before taking another abrupt turn towards PYG, and above me I can see the frontrunners already halfway up. I choose the spot where I’ll stop and walk and plod on. Before long, the frontrunners are flying past me the other way, bounding down the hill as if running away from an eruption of lava and fire behind them. The ascent is over quicker than expected, and rather straightforwardly too. Fresh legs and the buzz of being in the peloton no doubt help, and I reach the summit feeling good, and grateful for the warmup.

XC1: the trail race

Penance behind me, the descent begins. After a quick loop of the summit and a quick dalliance with some bog, we are back on the quick, bouncy track. This is the part of the route that is basically a trail race. Over the small(er) Whitber Hill, we wind through the landscape, and I focus on maintaining an effort not a pace. My watch buzzes to announce the passing of each mile, but I deliberately don’t look at it. I think about something ultrarunner John Kelly once wrote, that he asks himself early on in races: could I reach and maintain this effort later in the race if I needed to, even if my legs are tired? If there is any doubt that the answer is yes, ease off a bit. Following this mantra, I reel off a series of undulating yet comfortable eight and nine minute miles between PYG and the first cut off CP at Ribblehead. I’m about twenty minutes ahead of the cut off. Feeling good still, I refill my water bottles, neck an energy bar and a couple of salt tablets, and take in the glorious viaduct, watched over by its eternal master, Whernside.

Fell race 2: Whernside

The ascent of Whernside is the only properly boggy bit of the route. Instead of following the usual three peaks route, it takes the crow line direct to the summit from Winterscales Farm – think the ascent of Hedgehope in the Chevy. We leap over suspicious pools of shimmering brown and green fur, taking chances where we feel brave enough. I go thigh deep into one, quickly extracting myself, but not before hearing the care of the fell runner from behind me – “you okay mate?” “I’m good”, I shout over my shoulder. Soon the bogs give way, and I slowly understand why this ascent has the reputation it does.

It’s steep. Super steep. Ahead of me, runners slow before going down on all fours, edging their way up the face of the hill like General Greivous from Star Wars. I keep going with just my legs for a while, but then we reach the final couple of hundred feet before the summit. It is like climbing the side of an obelisk. My pink gloves hit the deck and I have a momentary vision of flies crawling up the inside of a glass bottle – that’s what we are. I glance up and see Scotts and Merrells pounding the turf inches from my face. Off to the sides, people pause to stretch out cramp. I feel like I’m barely moving. But it’s not a long final section, as brutal as it is. Soon I’m over the lip, onto the ridge, and turning left along the line. The views from here are stunning, PYG off to the left, Ingleborough’s graduation hat summit dead ahead. I catch my breath and pick up a jog.

Here, we dodge walkers and Fellsman competitors, before taking a sharp left off the side. I’m reminded of the north descent off Simonside – it is sheer, with boulders jutting out of the path like giant’s teeth. I move at a pace that feels neither dangerous nor totally safe, and for a brief time it’s even fun – my legs are still feeling nimble, and the adrenaline tears me down onto the flat road that leads to CP4 – the last one with a cut off.

I am well inside, and stop for a moment to refill bottles with my hideous electrolyte mixture the race organisers have helpfully transported here from the start. Behind me, another runner dibs in and announces he’s pulling out. “No you’re not,” comes the disapproving Yorkshire accent of a marshall, instantly. “You’ve got half an hour before the cut off. Have a drink and rest and see how you feel.” I set off just afterwards – whether he continued on, I do not know. I take a right off the road, behind the inn, and turn towards my final foe of the day – Ingleborough.

XC2: good and evil

As I begin the climb, the wheels give their first sign of loosening. My legs feel suddenly heavy. My hamstrings twang with the sharp, familiar stab of cramp. I look up at the third peak in the sky, wondering how on earth I’ll get up there if I’m struggling on the pathetic, barely registrable incline that is the back field of the inn. In front of me, another runner is clearly feeling the same. We walk together in silence for a few moments until the gradient flattens out. “Time for a little jog”, he says, as much to himself as to me. I nonetheless obey, and we run for twenty seconds until I feel the gradual incline return. I stop, sip, breathe hard, and walk again, my hamstrings tighter than Hendrix’s guitar strings.

We’re all familiar with these moments, where light and dark, good and evil, battle in your mind. In the red corner, evil bleats the rhythm of impeding failure into your ear. “If you’re cramping now, what will you be like on the steep bit?” “You blew it running too hard between the first two hills. Idiot. Time to pay.” “You’ve not eaten enough, and now your stomach wouldn’t be able to take another energy bar. Well done, genius.” In the blue corner, a meek voice attempts to be heard: “Just this last hill. You’re strong. You’re almost there. You trained for this. You can do it.”

The trick, a wise, wise friend once said to me, is remembering that between the corners is a referee. And that’s you. And while you can’t directly stop the voices, you can stack the deck a bit. So I grimace and reach into the side pocket of my pack. Out come the salt tablets. Of the four that remain, three go down. I sip the cloying, vapid electrolyte mixture on my chest until the horrid citrus salt flavour has gone. I move forward purposefully, but slowly, and soon we reach the laughable excuse for a flight of stairs that brings you out onto Ingleborough’s hump.

Fell race 3: Ingleborough

I drag my legs up each of the steps, exchanging jokes with the walkers who stand to one side to let me pass. “You’ll regret that in a minute,” I say, “when you’re trying to overtake me again.” But the legs endure this torture with a dull, nihilistic acceptance, dutifully obeying the signals they are being sent to clamber up the rocks. The voices of failure are still there, but more muted now, as if they know the evidence is starting to turn against their argument. I reach into my zipbag of marshmallows and sweets and force a handful down my neck as I finally reach the Ingleborough summit plateau. (The marshmallows, by the way, are a revelation for this kind of race – easy to get down, full of sugary carbs, and super light to carry).

Ingleborough is weird. It’s like a carpenter has designed it – pop a spirit level on the floor, I think, and the bubble would remain perfectly still. But the time for irreverent thoughts is over. The voices of failure have been replaced with a grim whisper of determination. “Let’s get off here and back home.” So I walk the last few steps to the summit, do the dibness, and turn 180. On another day, I could spend hours up here. But that’s a drop of rain, so let’s go, and go quickly.

Unfortunately, the grim whisper of determination is quickly silenced by an equally rational but less welcome realisation. I’m going to finish, but my legs are done racing. My knees aren’t lifting properly, and I’m starting to stumble a bit on the jagged ground and kick stones every few steps. The descent off Ingleborough isn’t particularly steep, especially once you’re off the top, but (for me) it is technical – a mixture of slippery flagstone and treacherous rubble. I make the conscious call – back off. Get home safe. I’ve turned my right ankle more than once in training, and as I stretch my legs out a bit over the flagstones my hamstrings threaten to ping again. The ten minutes extra I might gain at the bottom are not worth the risk of a serious misstep. So I slow right down, concentrate on my feet, and try to ignore the sheer skill and daring of the runners flying past me left and right.

The next four miles pass uneventfully. My friend from earlier, who coaxed me into a jog lower down Ingleborough, comes past. “I’ve been watching your gloves from further up there,” he says as he overtakes. “Can’t miss them!” I wave him through with my bright pink right hand and smile. Very soon, we are being directed through a gate across a grass field, and the race marquee leans over the horizon towards me. I canter across the road and into the home straight, precisely four hours and fifty minutes after leaving. One final dib, a printed bit of paper with a time on. I walk outside the tent and unfold onto the floor. Over the tannoy, an announcement is made that I am from “the best running club in the world.” I’d written that in one of the comment boxes when I’d entered the race, but had completely forgotten, and am amazed they actually read it out. (Surely that’s worth free membership for a year, club committee?!) I can’t savour the moment for long though, as my dog appears out of nowhere and attempts to lick nearly five hours of grime and pain off my face.

Post-race

Post-race is a bit of a blur. I have that familiar feeling of exhilaration and exhaustion. I make a pitiful attempt to eat some five bean chilli (DB finishes it off when I fail), and force down some pop and a non-alcoholic beer. We laugh as DB’s dogs eat cheese off the floor, aided by a mischievous runner who ‘accidentally’ spills an entire spoonful of cheddar goodness off the table. But the exhaustion is already winning. So we head off, back up the road to our caravan.

Before we go DB asks me: “how is it compared to Chevy?” I don’t answer immediately but it’s a good question: how do the two challenge fell races that I’ve done stack up? The truth is three peaks is both harder and easier than Chevy. It is faster for sure, and the cut offs make you move faster than you want to early on (if you’re as unfit as me, that is). Whernside is a tough climb, but the toughest bit isn’t long, and it’s hard to judge Ingleborough objectively, considering the battle of good and evil that was going on in my head when I was climbing it. But I can’t help concluding that if I’d have felt like that coming up Hedgehope from the north east side, I’d have ended up on my back. And that’s it. The three peaks feel brutal, but brutal in smaller doses. Cheviot and Hedgehope feel endless at the best of times, something that is psychologically as well as physically hard. Beyond that, there’s no escaping the fact that the first half of three peaks is basically a trail race, and you can comfortably get into a steady rhythm after PYG. I don’t think I’ll ever run an eight minute mile on the Chevy, that’s for sure.

Then there’s the nav. I’d fretted previously about not finding the time to recce part of the course, but I needn’t have worried. The long list of entries meant there was never a moment where I couldn’t see runners in front of me. And of course, while following those in front of you is never a guarantee of staying on course, marshalls stood tall at every possible place you could take a wrong turn, blocking the incorrect path and pointing towards the right one. The waymarks are inconsistent, but I spotted a few here and there. All this meant I never once had to reach for my map. Chevy, of course, is easy if you know where you’re going, but would be instantly more challenging nav wise for an unprepared first timer, especially if the clag drops. (First time I did it, I had to check the map between Brands Hill and the Carey Burn Bridge, after briefly going off course.) And Chevy is worse underfoot too. The peat monsters snatched at my foot only once on the way up Whernside, but they can snatch with more arms than an octopus even in July at the foot of the Cheviot. The three peaks seem so much more runnable, so much more forgiving, than Chevy can be, despite the extra hill and distance.

But all of that is missing the point. I’ve realised the reason I have fallen in love with fell running is the calculus of it. There are so many variables, very few of which are solely in your control, and most of which aren’t at all. The variables that aren’t in your control interfere mercilessly with your attempts to correctly handle your pacing, your fuelling, your mental strength, your balance, your body. But each fell race is a different equation – each one assigns the variables different values, forcing you to adapt almost endlessly. It’s this constant battle with yourself and with each unique course that makes fell running so challenging and so addictive. (Well, that and the views. They’re not bad either.)

Shout outs

If you’re still with me you’re probably getting bored by now, so let me end with five shouts. First, to Georgina, for continuing to put up with this nonsense and for pretending not to be annoyed when my 6am long run Saturday alarm goes off. Second, to DB, for knowing precisely the right words at precisely the right times (even if I’m bad at listening to them #CowardiceThenHeroism). Third, to Sophie at Ultra Potential, for shifting the fitness of this short, inflexible imp up a gear (but not for the 6x3min steep hills followed by 6x3min tempo session – that’s just cruel). Fourth, to DVRC, the best running club in the world – as officially proclaimed at one of the most iconic fell races in the land. Fifth and finally, to all the organisers and volunteers at the race, for making this first timers experience so positive and memorable.

They say a marathon is the weeks and months of training you put into the main event… race day is purely the celebration of it all. I’m starting to see why ‘they’ say this.

We caught up with Chris Hewitson to hear about his experiences from last weekend.

Last year I trained fairly well for my first proper marathon ‘race’ – having previously done the Town Moor Marathon in 2022 and the SEVEN loops it entails; Edinburgh 2023 seemed more legit. However, as Bex and I raised our daughter Emily to share – she took this one step further and shared her chest infection with me a couple of weeks before race day.

I started and finished on that day, but knew it wasn’t my best effort and probably went against a decent wedge of medical advice to even run it in the first place. I finished with a time of 3 hours 16… again, not something to be upset with, but when you know you’re capable of better, it eats away at you – back at those Town Moor laps, I’d run 3:14 – so I knew I was capable of more.

This may seem a bit ‘woe is me’ (and I guess it is, a bit!) but to me, this showed me how far I’d come with my own personal running journey. To give you a potted history of how I’d come to be disappointed with such a time, let’s rewind back to 2017…

Jamdani, Whickham – having a curry and beers with friends – “hey, do you fancy doing Gibside ParkRun tomorrow morning?” being full of Dutch courage… or maybe Indian courage, I agreed and despite being full of the previous night’s food and drink, up I rocked at 8:55am – fast forward to the finish along that wonderful but LONG finishing straight that we all remember so fondly, and I’d spent pretty much the entire second half of the course wanting to throw up. The breakfast in the cafe also threatened to make a reappearance within seconds/minutes. I vowed never to do it again and disappeared from the ParkRun scene for a fair few months.

But something on that day unearthed a bit of my brain I didn’t know existed. Having previously been a footballer from the age of 7, running was always used as a punishment when you’d lost a training exercise or hadn’t completed X number of passes, etc – hey, it was the 90s, I’m sure training methods have moved on since… I hope they have, anyway!

Fast forward to 14th April 2024, and I’m stood on the start line of my 3rd marathon, listening to Manchester Mayor, Andy Burnham telling us not to go off too fast and that it’s not a race – “aye, maybe to you, pal” I found myself saying out loud.

I’ve been absent from the last 3 months of DVRC sessions, while I took myself away to follow an app-based training programme designed to get me to the holy grail of a sub-3 marathon. Strict sessions were planned for easy runs on Monday, efforts on Wednesdays and Fridays, with a long run on Sunday. Having followed this probably 90/95% religiously, I felt better prepared than ever.

As for the Manchester Marathon as a whole – what an experience! I’d been told and had read so much about how it’s the flattest and friendliest marathon in the country – even my new mate Andy said as much on the start line. Whilst I’m not sure it’s the flattest; Kieran Ridley had warned me about the inclines around 14/15 miles; it certainly was the friendliest. The support was literally non-stop! There was nowhere on those 26.2 miles where there weren’t people cheering and shouting encouragement at you. I made a game of trying to hear when people would shout something including either “Chris” or “Derwent Valley” and tried to acknowledge them as best as I could.

If you’re reading this and pondering giving a marathon a try, Manchester is one I would whole-heartedly recommend. It felt like the whole city turned out and had prepared everything, all the way down to transport links pre and post race, making it a very pleasant experience.

As for me and my performance, I didn’t reach my holy grail of sub-3, and let’s be honest, in only my 3rd marathon, I had no right to… But, I did bag myself a new PB in 3:10 and absolutely laid to rest the chest infection-based feelings I came away with the previous year. Also, that lad who rocked up at ParkRun in football shorts with a cocksure attitude that “it’s only 3 miles” is still in there somewhere, and feeling very proud of what has been achieved and accomplished in that timeframe.

I never intended this to become a thing. I was never meant to be a runner and certainly not a marathon runner. This has all been a terrible/wonderful accident. I grew up hating running, because I’d been taught to hate running… “it’s proper boring” I said, and people still say to me to this day, when I inevitably manage to steer as many conversations as I possibly can towards running as a topic.

If that 2017 Chris can work his way to running and smashing a marathon, anyone can…

Sunday morning took us to Langleeford, at the base of the two highest peaks in the Cheviots. Guest scribe Matthew Scott was our man in the pack to give us this first person account…

For those of us new to fell running, the word pendulum is most commonly associated with an Australian drum and bass band. But for those in DVRC with longer memories, it is the name of a rather stupid fell run in the Cheviots that takes in its two highest peaks in order: The Cheviot itself, and then Hedgehope. A bit like Chevy, but with the relatively non-stupid bits missed out.

It was last put on in 2017 (I think), but revived for 2024 by Cheviot Trail Events and Northern Fell Running. Starting in the Harthope Valley at Langleeford, it is as simple as it hard – go to the top of Cheviot, then straight back down, then go to the top of Hedgehope, then straight back down.

And so, at 7am on Sunday morning, Peter Storey collected me and Chris Aspinall from our beds and whisked us north to take part in the challenge. As the race started, both Peter and Chris were quickly out of sight as we grinded up the long, slow excuse for a path that leads up to Scald Hill. I managed to run some of it (well, a bit). The bogs between Scald Hill and the Cheviot were on good form, licking my left knee cap as I misjudged a step for the first – but not the last – time. Soon, I followed the lead of many others and leapt the fence, continuing to the summit in the glorious sunshine and cooling breeze.

Usually, reaching the Cheviot summit is followed by a bobsleigh style experience off the side, but today we turn and head back along the flagstones and down the way we came. It is a glorious descent, clear skys all round, and I skip joyously off the hill. As the gradient smooths out, I eat a Toffee Crisp and suddenly taste mud for the first – but not the last – time, misstepping round a bog and losing my balance (the Toffee Crisp was, thankfully, unharmed). Soon I’m back in the valley, on my up to Hedgehope via Housey Crags.

The climb up to the crags is steep, and painful. There is a brief reprieve in the relatively flat plain leading up to Hedgehope, and then I am dragging myself up its side. It is horrible. My legs ache, despite the Toffee Crisp and the Soreen bar I’ve just had. My knees refuse to lift. And this way up Hedgehope is the epitome of lonely endlessness, step after tortured step getting smaller and smaller and seemingly moving me no closer to the summit. Peter and Chris pass the other way, flying. After what feels like a geological period – the Horrorcene – the summit cairn swims into view. I fully plan to walk the last few steps to the trig, only to see two camera lens pointing towards me. Determined to look like a proper fell runner in any photos that emerge, I summon a jog, reach the trig, and turn back.

The Hedgehope descent terrifies me. It’s like leaping off the edge of a world. I make decent progress today though, feeling more nimble than I have done on previous attempts. I taste mud again on my way back to the crags, my pink gloves coated in peat and my right knee grazed and stinging. But soon I am up and over the crags and hurtling back into the valley. I am informed on returning that I am an AM finisher, coming in 2 hours and 27 minutes after the 9.30am start. Great, that means lunch. Peter and Chris have been back a while, finishing 19th and 24th respectively. I’m a bit further back in 33rd.

I reunite with them for a can of pop and a bit of quiche. I dip my feet in the stream and let out a (hopefully) inaudible yelp. God it’s cold (I am reliably informed Peter ‘Wim Hof’ Storey went for a full dip). Before long we are back in the van, and I’m back home, so tired I leave the van door hanging open as I say bye and hobble to my front door (sorry Wim). The dog kicks off big style as I try the door and realise I don’t have my key. My better half is at the garden centre. So I sit with my back to the wall, stretch out, and listen to the sound of his barks as the sun hits my face, grateful as always for another day spent in the punishing, breathtaking Cheviot Hills.

Before we take a mid-summer Grand Prix break, there was still time for one more GP event with a trip down the A1 to Durham to hit the hilly trails, thanks to Elvet Striders.

Heading into the business end of the Grand Prix season, points are getting more and more precious; with Walton, Hewitson and Kirby fighting it out at the top of the male standings; Knox, Shotton, Powell and Hewitson all battling for the female title.

Wednesday night saw a typically large group of DVRC’ers representing the club – with Charlotte Bowes, Glen Cooper, Neil Frediani, Sally Ann Greenwell, Bex & Chris Hewitson, John Kirby, Claire Knox, Jane Parnaby, Kirsty Robson, Rachael Smith, Claire Thompson and Sue Urwin.

The Willow Miner veterans amongst the group knew what to expect with the elevation… Newbies were heard commenting about how unnecessary that amount of hill climbing was!

At the end of the race, it was Chris Hewitson who lead us home, one second outside of the 40 minute mark, in 40:01, closely followed by John Kirby in 41:16 and Glen Cooper in 42:33. For the ladies, Bex made it a Hewitson double delight with 43:07, with Claire Knox next in at 46:58 and Claire Thompson (in new matchy-matchy socks and trail shoes!) in 50:36.

Finish of the night was reserved for Neil Frediani; who outstripped at least half a dozen finishers with his Hollywood sprint, much to the delight of the waiting crowd!

Full results can be found here – with lots of high points to cheer, including Sue finishing 3rd in her category: https://www.elvet-striders.uk/2023/07/27/willow-miner-trail-race-results-2023/

These results coupled with the rescheduled Stanhope 10k – we’ll be publishing the latest GP standings very soon. In what will be a tense finale to the year – it’s still all to play for!