100 Miles for The Rosemere Cancer Foundation!

May is the best month. It has two bank holidays, thus two long weekends. Hurrah! I have just realised during the first one, that The 100 is on the second one, and that means that it's now only four weeks away.

Oh.

That being the case, I am going to divert my energy from worrying about it, to fundraising instead. I am going to be running The 100 to raise money for The Rosemere Cancer Foundation. 

Why?

Well, in November last year, we found out that my Mum had breast cancer. My Mum. My Mum who spends all of her time looking after everyone, and being kind, and making the world a nicer place. How dare it? I felt upset, furious and scared, all at once; a washing machine full of emotions on a fast cycle.

And it must have been a million times worse for my Mum, who it was actually happening to. But, my Mum is amazing, strong, and positive. Also, she checks herself regularly and so she found the cancer early and got it checked out straight away. Just a few weeks later she had had her surgery. Then she spent a few weeks going to the Rosemere Cancer Centre in Preston each day to be zapped with radiotherapy. Everything worked, and now she is back to being cancer free again. 

So the Rosemere Cancer Centre was a big part of my Mum's whole experience. As a family, we are so grateful to them for looking after my Mum, and so we want to raise some money their charity, The Rosemere Cancer Foundation, to go a small way to say thank you for their care. My Mum speaks really highly of the staff there, for the lovely way they treated her, and took care of her. And it's also things like a cup of free tea or coffee each day while waiting for treatment that make a difference, and help make what can be a scary time seem a little more comfortable and a little less stressful. The Rosemere Cancer Foundation makes all that possible, and funds research, equipment and training, to ensure that every patient's cancer treatment is as effective as it can be. It does loads and loads and is amazing!

Anyone that knows my Mum will know she has been incredibly positive about the whole thing. They will also know she is super active, and barely stopped walking at all during her treatment, and is now back to walking well over 20 miles again, and is planning longer things already!  I'm pretty sure that as well as all the great treatment she's received, the fact that she's doing so well must be down to how positive she is and how fit she is as well. I'm very proud of her! 

So, as a family, we wanted to raise some money for the Rosemere to say thank you. In keeping with my Mum’s approach to keeping fit by travelling long distances on foot, I decided to dedicate this years North York Moors 100 to her, and to raise sponsorship for the Rosemere along the (long) way.

If you'd be interested to take a look, my fundraising page is here:

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/100milesforrosemere

Also - thank you to everyone who's sent well wishes my Mum's way - that's definitely helped too! 

xxx

North York Moors 100 Recce Weekend: Trilogy Part 3 - The Return of the Bog

Ahoy there! We survived our night in Boggle Hole. Well, almost all of us did, but Paris is missing from the photo.....

...only kidding. The Boggle returned Paris back to Team Luxury, in exchange for a Luxury Item. He's a decent fellow really, The Boggle. Despite the rumours in common folklore of Boggles being malevolent creatures;  short, hairy, ugly, and bad tempered, I think they're really just misunderstood. The Boggles who live around here live in caves underneath the cliffs. If I lived in a cave under a cliff on the Yorkshire coast, I believe that I too would be in a bad mood. People less prone to imaginative flights of fancy say that these caves were actually used by smugglers to hide their contraband. Rubbish. Where on earth would the Boggles have gone if their caves were used by smugglers?

Anyway, Boggles, smugglers, or neither, it was the last day of our trip, and all that stood between us and a nice few days off to recover (what? we're back at work tomorrow??) was 30 miles. In route description terms, that's only five stages left. And, it's got the added excitement that we need to be back at Thornton-le-Dale in time for the bus and the train home. 

Feeling the pressure, our first task was to climb back out of Boggle Hole and get back on to the route. 

Having climbed the hill, warmed up a bit, and getting into our stride, things were looking up for the day. We are all great at this! We soon reached a compass bearing in the instructions (please see later on, for the A to Z of route descriptions, where compass bearings have a special appearance). No problem! We are adept at this by now! We thus all consulted our compasses, orientated ourselves to the right compass bearing, and all set off across the moor. I soon became aware that my outfit choice for the day, of short trousers, was an error, as the heather scratched my legs to tatters. Soon after that thought, I became aware that there was something wrong with me even thinking it in the first place. Why were we running through the middle of heather?? The route description says there is a path. Reality disagreed. A frustrating time followed, as we zigzagged across the moor on the compass bearing. Eventually we emerged, after climbing over a ditch and barbed wire fence, onto the road. My feeling that we might have been where we weren't supposed to have been, was swiftly confirmed, by a man in car pulling up, and asking us 'just out of interest' what we were doing. Which in itself was a bit weird, come to think of it. Where had he come from?? Anyway, we soon got back on track, and our spirits were lifted again by the discovery of another Boggle Hole.

Soon after this, we had our first break, in Littlebeck, sat on the grass in the sunshine, which was all very pleasant. This lulled me into a false sense of security, as the next section had a 33 % hill in it, and pleasant isn't a word I would associate with that. The irritating saying 'it will be worth it for the view', turned out to be correct, and some good running followed with big views all around. Had a good chat to Jen about races that she's done abroad, exciting things like running in places where there are wild animals roaming around. I imagined being chased by a lion, in an attempt to go faster. And sure enough, as if to prove a point, the North Yorkshire equivalent of a lion showed up.

Run!!!! The next part was a nice downhill section over the moorland. Up above, a couple of Army planes were out training. The noise was immense, and coupled with the vastness of the moors, made me feel all shivery. Next up, we arrived at Goathland, which is where Heartbeat is filmed. It's very popular because of that, and had a large choice of village shops, for a village so small, and subsequently a high standard of cake on offer. We ran on through village, and up and along a ridge, where the much anticipated 'A to Z of Route Description Words That Fill You With Dread' commenced. I feel it's appropriate to share this one, so here goes:

A = ascend (self-explanatory)

B = bog (also self-explanatory)

C = compass bearing (since the heather moor incident, from which my legs still haven't recovered, I am having a real trust issue with all compass bearings)

D = dip under horse railings (what if a horse runs past?)

E = eventually (eventually as in.....how eventually?)

F = friendly Alsation dog loose! (it's the use of bold writing and punctuation that makes me nervous about this dog)   

G = generally diagonally (what is different about a general diagonal, compared to a normal diagonal?) 
H = hill (obviously)

I = immediately (see 'E')

J = just (there is not such thing as just though, is there....'it's just around the next corner', that sort of thing...it's a lie)

K = Km (anything with Km in it, as this sentence is going to take a long time to do) 

L = leave village hall (really, do we have to?)

M = meanders upwards (don't sugar coat it, upwards is upwards, meandering or not)

N = near (see 'E')

O = over another stile (I hate stiles - try being short, then you'll understand)

P = pass Wilson Arms (or any pub, for that matter, an instruction that makes me sad)

Q = quad bike track (if you need a quad bike to get up there, it's too muddy)

R = retrace route (what!? why!)

S = soon (how soon?)

T = TL at Taylor Hill Farm onto TK (winner of most number of T's in one instruction)

U = uphill (I think we've covered why that's on the list)

V = valley bottom (because the only way is up)

W = what are we doing?

X = X ST (see 'O' which becomes especially true near to the end)

Y = good question

Z = zigzag (I don't think that's in the official rote description, but it's in my version for sure)

I was feeling a bit tired after the mental input required to come up with that to be honest, and the rest of my observational narrative whilst running deteriorated into fragments....into forest.....I like the forest....bogs, more BOGS....The Bog Has Returned!!!!! But we will out-run it....

Kind of. Out onto road.....nice long downhill.....checkpoint at outdoor centre....last but one section....forest again....still like the forest....will there be a Boggle? Or even a bog? Or a steam train? No, but there is a massive hill instead.....

A H M U V 

W Y

I can't do this. I can't even talk any longer.

Still we got to the top, and there's only a couple of bits of instruction left till the next checkpoint, so we must be almost there. In fact, I can see some buildings! Hang on. Why are we headed down again? Down a steep, steep hill. Ah no, it's OK, here is the village! But wait, there are still a few sentences left before the checkpoint. Which starts with 'ascend uphill'. Two of the A to Z in one sentence. Great. Here we go then. Crikey this road is steep - 30% it says on the signpost! Oh phew, we've to turn off the road. Oh no, onto a steeper path. My sense of humour separated from my body, and remained at the bottom of the hill, whilst my body climbed to the clouds. To Lockton-in-the-Clouds.

The last stage! There was reassurance from Alan that we were going to make the bus, as long as we didn't actually stop moving, and start going backwards. The chocolate covered coffee beans were brought out to aid us. We were on a mission. 

And we made it! The bogs may have returned, but they have been conquered! 

This picture sums up my feelings from the weekend (and thank you for the use of your photos Alan!):

Some shadows from my self doubts and dark moments. But even in the shadows, the sun was always somewhere shining through, and the sun can come in many forms; new friends, kind words, laughs, beautiful views, and realising you've achieved something and outshone your shadows. Shadows - be gone.

Thank you Team Luxury! And until the next time.....let us conquer the bogs! 

North York Moors 100 Recce Weekend: Trilogy Part 2 - The Two Holes

Based on feedback from the first instalment of the 100 recce weekend blog, I have re-branded this series as a 'Trilogy', and the second instalment is named 'The Two Holes'. My understanding of the Lord of the Rings is fairly scarce, and was obtained mainly through watching the films (a mere 15 years ago), and attempting to read the books - but this was abandoned by the end of page one, when I got Gandalf confused with the Gimili, then Gollum, followed by Galadrial, and then becoming totally lost in Gondor. Where Gloin turned up, along with Gamgee, and who is Grima? So any similarities with the actual Lord of the Rings will be by accident. Although, I suppose there are some obvious parallels; I'm thinking along the lines of the Misty Mountains, Mount Doom, Shires, the Old Forest, and Boggles (an addition from North Yorkshire; more on those later).

Fascinating though all this is, we must continue our journey through Middle Earth/North Yorkshire. The first Hole in our tale, was Hutton-le-Hole, where we had spent the night (in luxury, see part 1, now renamed 'The Fellowship of the Luxury Item'). Breakfast was vastly improved from yesterday, and I managed to finish the whole delicious plate of scrambled eggs, mushrooms and toast without fear of it cementing my insides together. The same praise could not be heaped upon my trainers, which were as cold and wet as the moment that I had flung them from my feet last night.

We were quickly reminded that we were in fact in a hole, as the start of the route began (as it would indeed go on) with a hill, which Tara fell up, in shock, as it had been a full 12 hours since we had come across such a hill. Any concerns that I was going too slowly were quickly calmed, as a sign instructed us, quite clearly, that we were to slow down as to not frighten the lambs.

It's always dreadful the first few miles on the second day of a multi-day challenge, especially after a nice breakfast, and I felt quite unhappy for the first few miles.  This was followed by our first recce moment (which is my new name for ‘lost’) not long into the run. One of those moments came up, where the exact same line of instructions quite clearly meant three very different things to three different people; and upon explaining to each other, each alternative explanation also made sense to the others, and so everyone ended up confused. After a considerable debate, involving much turning upside-down of maps (and route descriptions) a decision was reached, and turned out to be right. Hurrah! The trick now is, I guess, to remember what the right decision was, for the real thing. 

Moving on, we arrived at a more straightforward instruction, which directed us to continue along a path in a straight line for 5.5 km. I quite enjoyed that part. Even I can manage these type of directions. Plus, my breakfast had gone down, I felt a bit warmed up, the scenery was nice, and it was quite sunny. All in all, I felt quite good.

And the trick with ultras, I've learned, is that feelings never last for long. I hold this thought firmly in mind in those moments when I feel terrible, after all, it won’t last forever (although it may seem so, at the time). But the flip side is, it's a sobering thought when you’re feeling quite good, but are aware of a little shadow hovering somewhere close by. Around the next corner, up the next hill, behind a tree, in a bog...a shadow ready to sap your energy and your spirit, ready to whisk you in a quick moment straight from the sunny Shire right back to the gloom of Mordor. Beware.

My shadow was waiting for me in Rosedale, the end of the first stage for today. There was even an air ambulance there when we arrived, which was an ominous sign. Team Luxury convened in the centre of the village green, along with the rain, which is good at choosing it’s moments to coincide with other low points. In the moments where we all scrambled about for waterproofs, my shadow appeared from behind a nearby tree, and quickly enveloped itself around my soul. Right in time for decision time - due to the route, this was the last point in the day where any sort of shortening to the route could be negotiated. 

Paris and Jen decided to take a slightly shorter route, right across the top of the moor. I ran the Lyke Wake race here a few years ago, with my old running club. In the middle of July on a sunny day, it had been delightful, and I even managed a light tan in Yorkshire. Today, in the driving wind and rain, I wasn't so sure of the desirability of a route right over the top of the moor. Plus, I'd come to recce the 100 route, so recce the 100 route I would do. Shadow or no shadow, decision made.

Approximately one half of a second after we went our separate ways, I had second thoughts. Who was I kidding? We hadn't even done 7 miles yet, and there was at least 30 more to go. Everyone else on this weekend was so much better and experienced at this than me. I was already tired – physically, but mostly mentally from a day and a bit of trying to convince myself I could do this along with everyone else. And now I'd just chosen to run 30 more miles up and down and around the moors, in the driving rain and wind, and I was probably just going to slow everyone down, and ruin the whole thing for everyone.

I was an idiot.

And spent the next few miles reminding myself so, as my shadow danced around, laughing at me, and the rain beat down. The route writers also joined in, and turned up the gradient. The hill went on and on. 

Then the wind joined the party. I referred to the A to Z of swear words, but none were really a match for my current mood.

Instead, I tried to channel my discontent into moving forwards, which was requiring increasing effort, as the wind had different ideas as to which way we should be going. As we continued up the hill, The Lion Inn came in to view. This had been the scene of a most pleasing checkpoint on the Lyke Wake race; a welcome break after a long uphill drag in the beating sunshine, and a car park full of family and friends. Those scenes seemed very far away today. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be too hot, for a start. Instead, we continued up road for a mile, which felt much more like the whole 100 miles, all concentrated into one little section of road.

Finally, finally! The 1.6 km of hell finished, and we turned right off the ghastly road, and up across the moor, where we headed for Fat Betty. If, like me, for you this conjours up images of a lovely warm tea room, with hot tea and scones, you will, also like me, be bitterly disappointed. Fat Betty is a wayside cross, a Christian Cross constructed in the 10^th or 11^th century, serving the dual purpose of reinforcing the Christian faith to those who passed and reassuring them, and also pointing travellers the right way at points where the way could easily be lost (helped by the dashing Young Ralph cross, which is found nearby). In addition to all this, the Fat Betty cross also marks the meeting point of the three original parishes of Danby, Westerdale and Rosedale. So she’s quite busy, but continues to be helpful, guiding tired runners in the right direction. We continued across the top of the moors for a while, running along the narrow paths through the heather, and dodging bogs. The rain had eased off, and even the wind had chilled out a bit, and there were some great views from up there.

After a while, we headed down off the moor, down a valley so steep and rocky it was hard to stay upright. Quite an abrupt change from the last few miles through soft bog and scratchy heather, but that's what I love about trail running, things are constantly changing, no few steps are ever the same. 

We arrived at Botton for our next break, welcomed by the smell of wood-smoke. Botton, as well as having a delightful name, also has great purpose; it’s part of the Camphill Community, initially based in Scotland, which supports adults with learning disabilities. We stopped in a little circular shelter and munched an array of goodies. A man holding a packet of smoked sausage walked across the bridge, I imagined in the direction of the source of the wood-smoke. Sigh….a fire, and sausages…….

My daydreaming was interrupted by the departure of Team Luxury from our shelter for the next stage of the run. We were headed to Glaisdale next. I had given up counting how many stages were left, as there seemed to be loads, and they were all really long today.

In hindsight, that was exactly the right thing to do. 100 miles is a pretty long way, and I find it best not to think about it all at once, which I found on my first few self-navigated ultras I was pretty good at, but lately I seem to have lost the knack. Maybe it’s time to get back in the habit. So, instead of seventeen stages, it’s best to think of just one at a time. In fact, even better is breaking it down to only one line of the route description at a time (e.g. turn right at the third telegraph pole whilst going diagonally....). It is very mindful really I suppose, living (or, running) in the moment. Not thinking of what’s ahead, or what you’ve left behind, focusing on the moment, and experiencing the here and now. I was trying hard to do this, and getting on quite well, until we got to the very last point on the instructions of this stage, which turned out to be almost 4 miles long. 4 miles. In one line! I guess that was the ultimate test of mindfulness, which I quickly failed at, and reverted to thinking too far ahead again, and panicking that it was too much to tackle.

Fortunately, we arrived at Glasidale (about 4 miles later, mind you), where I was able to sit on the grass for a while and collect my thoughts, while Tara and Fabrice went in search of water (and I realised I’d drunk less than a litre all day, which was probably part of the problem).

After some chocolate coated coffee beans (which had turned out to be an exciting new discovery on this trip, in terms of new options for rocket fuel), we headed off towards a place called (Dire) Straights on the last long leg (8 miles) for the day. A pretty couple of miles along a river took us to Egton, where there is a big posh house, so posh it has a toll cottage. Those of you with keen (very keen/ superhuman) eyesight, will note the cost of a hearse was much cheaper than any other form of transport (and if you can't see it, you will need to trust me on this one). Team Luxury’s sense of humour, which might be questioned by some at the best of times, was compounded due to our increasing fatigue, and several jokes were made in poor taste, as to which the best way we could continue our journey may be. 

Hearse or no hearse, no one seemed to be collecting tolls, and so we made it to Straights with our finances intact. Fabrice had to abandon us to return home for work, and to send him off, we had a quick refueling stop at the local shop. I was becoming concerned at my current level of crisp consumption, which had risen from occasional crisp usage to 2 bags a day over the recce weekend. But, no time to fret, as there were now just two short sections left! The sea soon came into view, followed by Whitby Abbey. Suddenly, all the anxieties of the day melted away, as I looked out to sea in the fading light, and finally had a mindful moment. 

We arrived at Hawsker, our last stop of the day, and took our last break in a field, opposite a group of cows. A conversation about burgers ensued, between the carnivores in the groups, and Tara, who was on the side of the cows. The general demeanour of the cows suggested they didn’t particularly require any support, as they glowered across the fence at us, and stamped their feet.

Moving swiftly on, we headed for Fyling Hall. On the way we encountered my favourite part of the instructions which warned ‘Beware! Friendly Alsation dog loose!’. Sure enough, the Alsation was indeed loose, and was joined by two horses. Not having been warned in the instructions as to whether these additional creatures were friendly or otherwise, I approached with apprehension, but following the brave lead of Alan and Tara, soon found that all creatures were happy for us to cross their farm yard.

In the fading daylight, we made it to Fyling Hall, the end of the official route for the day, without needing head torches! On the real event, this will be the breakfast stop. Through Tara’s retelling of previous 100s, I was shocked/ enlightened to discover that whisky porridge is a menu option for breakfast, and by the revelation that several hardened members of the LDWA 100 club are half-cut for the second half of the walk.

Unbelievable. And there I had been with my bacon sandwich. No wonder I’d found the second half harder. This must be the missing piece of my training, and I am busy sourcing a hip flask to fit in the front pocket of my running pack, so it will be accessible at all times.

Back to reality, it was now just one (or two, ish) short miles to our Youth Hostel for the night, in the second hole of the tale, Boggle Hole. Head torches to the ready! The last part was not without its own drama, we ended up in a (another) farmyard, where a barn full of cows, their eyes glinting in our torches, followed our progress with 100 reproachful glances. Then we mistakenly ended up in the wrong valley, and to correct our detour needed to climb literally the steepest hill of the day, while a bat tried to drive bomb us from above. Thankfully, we made it to our place of rest and relaxation, and enjoyed a wonderful evening in the bright and welcoming Boggle Hole YHA, with Jen and Paris. Boggle Hole YHA has recently been renovated, and in a final punch from the day, just in case we had been getting cocky that we’d nailed things, our rooms were 70 steps up the cliff to the new building. I conceded it was worth it though, brand new rooms, hot showers, a drying room….Team Luxury are well at home!

At the end of this epic, I will finish with a quote, lifted straight from the mighty tomes of JRR Tolkein:

“The World is changing. Who now has the strength to stand against the armies of The Hills and The Yorkshire Weather? To stand against the might of Boggle and Bog ... and the union of the Two Holes? Together, my Lord Boggle ... we shall rule this Moor."

North York Moors 100 Recce Weekend Part 1 (the start)

Friday

You know you're in for a good weekend, when you get stopped by the police within half an hour of getting off the train on a Friday night...

...with the question, "Don't meant to be nosy, but...." (oh no) "....just out of interest, what are you doing? Are you starting or finishing?"

Wow. We look that good already?

Let me explain (before any rumours start).

It's the middle of March, and it's the annual 100 Recce Weekend! (that's recce, not wrecked, just to re-emphasise). This year was the first time Andrew and I had been along, after being taken under the kind and capable wing of Alan (Hall) on a trail run last year, and we joined recce-pros Tara, Jen, Paris and Fabrice, and Alan (organiser extraordinaire), or, Team Luxury (see later on). Each year the LDWA has a 100 mile event on the end May bank holiday weekend. The recce weekend has been going for a few years now, with the aims of figuring out the 100 route from the route description, and more importantly, to have a good weekend of fun and running.

The time was now almost 9 pm, and already that evening we had all skipped joyfully from our places of work, to Kings Cross for the 5.30 train to Scarborough, where during the journey we carb loaded, and compared maps. I was vexed to discover that instead of spending four entire evenings plotting 100 miles of route on three different maps, I could instead have ordered a custom made map which fitted the whole route on one sheet, and plotted the route for you . The disappointment was intensified by the discovery that the route description I had printed from the website was now several editions out of date, and so the route that I had plotted on the heap of maps I was lugging around for the whole weekend, was now probably wrong anyway.

I had no time to dwell on matters, as once at Scarborough, we had a 2 mile walk to the Youth Hostel we were staying at, and it soon became apparent that what I consider a brisk walk, and what other members of my new team considered a brisk walk, were two vastly different ideas.Once at the hostel (and I had sat down for a bit and recovered), Team Luxury commandeered a large tea pot and the library room, to discuss, amongst other things, the right colour for running socks, Brexit (Brexit woe in general, not the colour of socks required to be for or against), and the main focus of the weekend - the Luxury Item Competition, which was to be held the following evening. Exhausted, we retired to bed (but not before a quick game of table football with some other guests) ready for an early start. 

Saturday

Someone appeared to have meddled with my alarm, and set it for a horribly early hour, as a trick. Oh wait no, that's the actual right time to wake up on a Saturday morning if you've chosen to spend your weekend doing trail ultra runs. Galvanised into action by the thought of being left behind, I ran (might as well get started) to the kitchen, and set off the weekend by making a porridge/ cement concoction for breakfast (well, at least it should help to stick my body together later on when I start to fall apart), and then it was a quick jog 2 miles back to station to catch a bus to Thornton-le-Dale. I could quite happily have sat on the bus all day to be honest, it was nice and warm, we got to sit on the top deck at the front, and it was all very easy going. And it took such a bizarre route around the countryside, that I had an inkling that the 100 route was probably quite similar anyway, so we could just do the recce from up here. 

We weren't actually starting the 100 from it's proper start,as due to the logistics of travel and finding places to stay, it wasn't possible to (and when I say 'we' from now on in relation to any kind of logistics, I am referring to Alan). Today's run was to be 36 miles from Thornton-le-Dale (check point 15) to Hutton-le-Hole (check point 4), and here we all are at Thornton-le-Dale, looking quite happy at this prospect, and with my new trainers looking conspicuous by their lack of mud.

And off we set...The first couple of stages today were pretty flat, through lots of farm land, which I quite enjoyed, to get warmed up and into the swing of things. And on the real event, this is the last 10 miles, so nothing can ever be flat enough by that point. It even got warm enough to take off jackets - even in Yorkshire, even in March! We'd been going about 8 miles before we had our first navigational mishap, but there you go, that's the point of a recce I suppose. I've never recced a whole route before, and I know that from what I've read about 100's there is a long-standing debate over whether recce-ing the route is some form of cheating, because you've already worked out the route beforehand, so on the event you aren't having to deal as much with that side of things. While everyone is entitled to their own opinions, my opinion is that that's rubbish. It's the equivalent of saying you can't do any training beforehand, or practice what things you can eat or drink, or look at your maps beforehand. The idea of not preparing for something makes no sense to me. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail, and all that. So the recce is staying. End of.

So, after around 11 miles or so, we made it to Malton, which on the real event is the start and finish, and therefore the perfect chance to practice our stylish finishing poses (which we might as well, because if I make it this far on the real thing, I'll be crawling by this point).

Funnily enough, the biggest challenge of all the navigation was leaving the school, which is point 1.1 on the instructions. At some point in the version changing, the instructions got changed from turn left out of gate to turn right out of gate, and due to the varying versions of the instructions we all carried, this created some confusion. We then all somehow managed to miss the turning on the correct instructions, and spent the next 10 minutes wandering up and down the same street (which just so happened to be on a hill), before finally cutting through the hospital car park to get back on the route (if nothing else, I suppose, at least now we know there is a hospital close by to the finish, which gives some comfort).

Back on track, the route started to get more interesting, firstly crossing a race course (alas, there were no horses to commandeer to gallop around the rest of the 100), and then through pretty woodlands, with glimpses of great views through the gaps in the trees.

A bit of a climb to checkpoint 1 at Easthorpe, and then the views of the North York Moors began....moody and contemplative in the distance, the rays of sunshine which would make another place look inviting, instead cast long shadows over the hills. If I was prone to fanciful thinking (which I'm not, of course), I would say they looked angry at our impending arrival, warning us to stay away. But that would be daft. The next couple of miles were pleasing; good views, forests, good chat, and our first proper encounters with the real bogs - cheerio purple trainers! 

About 20 miles in, we arrived at Hovingham, our official lunch stop, which arrived in the nick of time, as my batteries had suddenly run out of juice. The village store in Hovingham is a gem. I insist that you go, even if you don't need to go to to Hovingham, or indeed don't even need a village store. Every type of gustatory delight was packed onto it's heaving shelves, and we spent a fine time restocking our bags, before bursting from the door onto a nearby picnic bench which heaved under the weight of our recently acquired sandwiches, pies, quiches, crisps, brightly coloured fruits, cakes...you name it, the shop in Hovingham has it. 

Revived, we explored Hovingham somewhat more than instructed, as whilst enraptured with taking photos of a picture-perfect brook, we marched on ahead, missing the instruction to cross the bridge over aforementioned brook. The next bit was a bit confusing, lots of fields, and drainage ditches and gaps in hedges and way-markers to count, but in the end we made to Stonegrave, which despite a bit of ominous name, was a beautiful little place. The next part was a steep uphill. At the top, I turned round to congratulate myself with the reward of a good view (and reassure myself that the reason I was so tired was that the hill was so steep) and saw a wall of dark clouds, rapidly approaching. Sure enough within two minutes it was pouring down, and we all tried to get our waterproofs on in time, with varying degrees of success. As always happens on long runs, once something bad happens it's usually swiftly followed by a further tragedy, just to hit you whilst you're down, Sure enough, that was the moment that we all became utterly lost and the instructions made zero sense to any of us, and the maps were useless. After a conference in the corner of the field in the driving rain and gloom, a consensus was reached, and soon we found our way again. On we trudged though the rain. The next part was a bit of trial to be honest, along a long wet road, wet fields, more wet fields, bogs, some more questionable directions ('soon' - more on that word later). But, finally, we arrived in Wombleton, where we had a break in a little shelter in the sports field, I ate a Bounty, and felt a bit happier. 

We set off on the final 10 km stage for the day, recounting an A to Z of swear words. I won't publish this particular A to Z, as to fully appreciate the brilliance of our deep and complete grasp of darker side of the English language, it helps to be 30 miles in to a long, wet run. I will though, save an equally fascinating A to Z for later in the story. The next section is a bit vague in my mind, which is worrying following a recce, but involved a lot of stiles and crossing roads, and some particularity vague instructions 'continue generally ahead through a number of smaller fields', which all of us interpreted differently, just to add some spice, but the discovery of a tennis ball and an impromtu game of football brought us all back together, and heading 'generally' in the same direction...

...where we eventually arrived in a village...alas, it was not the village for which we were headed for the night. Darn and blast it. I was getting bored of this relentless running by now. But, we were on the last few points of instructions, and there was mention of a 'TL and descend road' and a 'descend FP to reach valley bottom' in the parts that were left, so it all looks quite easy going to the end. Hurrah!

Oh wait. No. Way. We're now in the bottom of the valley, and, without any mention at all of the word 'up' the instructions, the route required us quite clearly to climb out of it. Up the steepest hill all day. The A to Z of swear words....let me add in a couple of new ones I've just remembered.......

Finally, finally, out the the darned valley (now I understand why so many things have got 'hole' in their name around here, because they are literally in holes; holes that have steep sides), and then it was downhill all the way to Hutton-le-Hole, and our place of rest for the evening, The Barn B&B, where we got the newly decorated room, the first to stay in it! And the first to try the shower, which hadn't been connected up properly, and didn't work. 

My swear word list is super long. In fact, I've even got words on there now beginning with letters that don't exist. Such is the irrational reaction of a tired runner to the discovery of a long anticipated hot and soapy shower being pulled right out from under their nose. The owners were super lovely, and got it fixed quicker than a quick thing in a rush, and even did our washing for us as well, and Team Luxury let us use the showers in their rooms, so all was well. And it really is a lovely room - even better now it has a fully functioning shower.

The final event of the day was dinner at The Crown Pub, which is up there for contention for The Best Pub Meal I have had, and the judging of the eagerly anticipated Luxury Item Competition. Let me explain. Running around for 3 days requires a certain amount of stuff. Which you have to carry. Therefore, space is at a premium, and every item is rigorously considered before deciding if it is truly essential that you should carry it around on your back for 100 miles. It's quite a process. A lot of things I had accepted as essential, suddenly weren't. I've never been anywhere without conditioner before, but 50 ml feels heavy once I added it in to my bag. So it came out again. Good luck hair.

The Luxury Item Competition therefore, is the comparing of the one item which you know very well you could do without, but which makes the cut anyway, because, well, we all need a little luxury in our life. There was a large amount of disagreement over what counts as a luxury item. After an impassioned debate, toothpaste and toothbrush, lip balm, deodorant, and clean underwear were all declared essential items. PJs, eye mask and ear plugs, cashmere sweater, luxury toiletries, and an emergency tooth repair kit, were declared luxury items. No winner was decided upon, as the competition was too great (or, more likely I think we were all too tired), and therefore I have christened us Team Luxury, as we are all luxurious.

I slept well in my pajamas. They were totally worth it.