NYM 100 Trilogy Part 2: The Desolation of the Bog

Stage 7: Botton to Glaisdale, 6.8 miles, 1230 ft up, 1420 ft down

I peered out of the checkpoint into the night. It seemed very dark all of a sudden. Still, on the bright side (ha!), you can't see hills in the dark. Or bogs. A lesson I learned a few moments later, as we climbed a hill, which, as well as taking up the full 1230 feet of ascent in one go, also won the prize of boggiest hill on the route. Or maybe even, in the world. The Botton Bog Hill was visibly claiming victims the whole way up it's boggy backbone, as a slow snake of head-torches slithered and careered about dangerously close to the shadowy edge. Andrew had started shaking, and throwing up over the side of the Botton Bog Hill, just to make the evening even more exciting. At one of the highest points on the route, we had reached a low point. 

The rest of the section was tortuous. Andrew was throwing up alarming often. It was a bleak time where I wasn't sure what was best to do. I wanted to stop and pitch camp somewhere, and rest for a bit until he felt better, but my head told me that we were at the top of a moor, it was the middle of the night, I didn't have a tent, and if we stopped then things would just get worse. The logical part of my brain, which had been shrunk somewhat over the last 40 miles, advised to keep moving forward to the next checkpoint, where at least it would be warm and bright, there would be food and water, and other people around to help. So on we went, Andrew alternating between throwing up and trotting forwards - a true trooper! Somehow, we made it to the next checkpoint, which was manned by the South Wales group, and we were welcomed into the hall by people dressed as daffodils and miners. No, really, we were. We rested for a while. I still didn't know what to do. The last time this happened on the Sussex Stride 50, Andrew had had to retire at the last checkpoint, so I thought that maybe that would be best for him in order to get better, but I also really wanted him to carry on, because he'd put so much in to training for this. In the end, Andrew decided to stay and rest a while longer and see how he felt and if he could eat something, and we agreed I would set off again, but with the promise that if he still felt ill, then he would retire. I felt awful, we were supposed to do this together, and here I was leaving him. The logical me was starting to get annoyed with the emotional me, and in order to avoid further conflict, I agreed to carrying on, but secretly hoping he'd set off again in a couple of minutes, and catch up. 

Stage 8: Glaisdale to Sleights, 7.7 miles, 750 ft up, 1160 ft down

For the second time that evening, I peered out of a checkpoint into the night. It was now devilishly dark out here. I had a moment perched on the edge of the front step, where my foot was balanced equally between launching off solo into the night, and stepping back into the warm brightly lit checkpoint. More through lack of balance than any particular resolve of will power, I ended up outside, staring around in a confused fashion, the opposite of a moth who finds itself in a room full of light, and doesn't know which way to head first. 

Crap. I was going to have to do the night part on my own.  

Well, it was already past midnight, so there were only about 4 hours until dawn. 4 hours, that's all. And once through the 4 hours, the finish of The 100 would be within my grasp (sort of, apart from the remaining 40 miles or so). 

I berated myself for a few minutes for being a wimp. I am 33 years old. That is too old to be scared of the dark. It is, it is, it is. 

It is not. 

I realised I was talking to myself already. And I hadn't even left the front of the village hall. 

I passed a few people for a while on leaving the checkpoint, who all seemed very friendly. It seemed pretty busy out here, a steady stream of headtorches weaving their way through the night. This was all going to be fine. Just because it was dark, didn't mean it was a problem. I mean, what was there to be scared of? Ghosts? Ha!

Oh. Now I'm in a wood. Where has everyone gone? They aren't here that's for sure. What should I do? I faffed for a few moments, with the hope that someone might catch me up, pretending to consult my route description, even though I knew full well where I was, and where I was supposed to go. I was in a wood, and I had to go further into the wood. 

Ghosts!

I heard a whimper, and jumped, before realising it was me. 

Poopity poop. The A to Z of alliterative swear words was starting. 

I stared fixedly at the centre of the light of my headtorch, refusing to look towards edges of the circle and see the dark shadows that I was convinced were gathering ever closer around me. I made it through 1.5 km (a mile!) of this dreadful journey and emerged finally from the wood onto a road. Where I ploughed forwards a little more confidently, until an owl started hooting and things started fluttering about in the dark. I ground my teeth and stared straight ahead. Which soon turned right, down a track past an old manor house, Edgton Manor, a track surrounded by trees. I could see the silhouette of the manor house. Just like the house where The Woman in Black lived. 

Oh, for God's sake. Shut up.

But it is just like the house on the island where The Woman in Black lives, where she swoops around, causing misery, and making people jump. 

She doesn't live anywhere. She's a  ghost, you fool. She's not real.

I realised I was talking to myself again. Out loud now. 

Then I realised it was making me feel better. If the ghosts can hear me talking, they'll assume there's more than one of me, and leave me alone.

I also realised there were several issues with that statement, but it was all becoming just a little bit too much for me to cope with, and so I continued along the rest of stage 8, alternately humming to myself in an increasingly high pitched and tortuous tone, pausing to hopefully look behind me to see if any head-torches might appear, and discussing with myself out loud what I was doing. 

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard other voices. I stopped talking to myself and tuned in. All was dark. I was confused. They seemed to be coming from a hedge. I looked at the hedge. The hedge looked back, still talking. That was weird. Even I thought that. I wandered over to the hedge to investigate. There were some tents pitched in the field the other side. Oh.

I continued on, and in a further eternity, I spotted two tiny pinpricks of light up ahead. Fellow participants - triple hurrah! And then there seemed to be more and more head-lights appearing. I had made it through the lonely night in one piece. I finally made it to the checkpoint at Sleights. I managed to eat one square of melon, one fig roll, and one cheese triangle sandwich.

Stage 8: Sleights to Hawsker, 4.6 miles, 580 ft up, 340 ft down
It was a bit lighter now, and the next section was quite short. I temporarily felt a bit more energetic after the food, and I was confident I knew the route from the recce. I trundled along for a whole mile, looking at Whitby Abby which had come into view in the (very) distance, just in time for dawn. 

It's quite magical to witness the dawn, having been up and moving through the whole night. Some of the shadows that haunt you in the darkness are suddenly erased as the first rays of light touch them. Lost in my thoughts, I shortly became actually lost. The words on the route description just didn't match reality. I wandered up and down three sides of a field looking for the 'soon bear 1/2 right to look for a stile on the left' in the description, but alas without joy. I joined up with a gentleman also on the same quest, and eventually we spotted some others right back at the first side of a field climbing over the fence. Just over the fence, that is, not over a stile. Well, obviously, that's what the route description meant when it said stile. Of course.

A little while later in Sneaton, I happened upon Nigel. Nigel is a a great bloke who I first met a few years back when I was running the Woldsman 50 miles, which I ran most of with his daughter Tanya. Nigel was out of action then, awaiting a knee operation at the time, but was supporting Tanya on her way around, and so I spent quite a bit of time with them both that day. It's always great to see them at different events, and it was brilliant to see Nigel back moving well after his operation. We chatted for a while. Nigel mentioned he was having a rough time, and was just seeing how far round he could get. I mentioned I was also having a bad time, my list of aliments now extending to nausea and stomach aches, headaches, low mood, a frightening number of blisters, and a concerning drop in pace. As always, even when he was feeling rubbish himself, Nigel had only positive things to say, and I owe a lot to him for giving me a boost at a time when I wasn't sure what I was doing, or why I was doing it anymore. I was made up to check the finishers list and see him on it - nice one Nigel! 

I popped in to the checkpoint at Hawsker, and ate a mini flapjack and a strawberry. I just wanted to get to the breakfast stop now. 3 more miles to 1) see my Mum, 2) sort out my feet which were now burning like hot chilli powder had been poured into my shoes, 3) try and eat something, and 4) once past breakfast at 62 miles, the finish seems a little closer to reach.

Stage 9: Hawsker to Fyling Hall, 3.0 miles, 420 ft up, 320 ft down
I hobbled around the next three miles in a little less than an hour. Although I was still ahead of my hoped for time, I knew I was slowing in my legs and mind, and was struggling to keep it together, and spent the hour internally beating myself up over this fact. By the time I got the the breakfast stop I'd had just about enough of everything, especially myself. As soon as I saw my Mum (wearing the Checkpoint Super Hero outfit of apron, ready to cook breakfast for 500 people) I lost it, and dissolved into a blithering useless wreak. A few minutes of Mum Motivation, a change of clothes, some minor foot surgery and new socks and shoes later, I felt almost positive again. I had some breakfast (some coffee, a whole sausage, some beans and a whole piece of bread and butter- more than I'd managed in 18 hours!) with my Mum and her lovely East Lancs LDWA friends who were manning the checkpoint, and who were all ace and cheered me up no end. Gosh, maybe this whole thing was even a good idea! There were only 40 miles left!

It was 6.30 am by the time I left, I had started to think that I could do it. Even if I had to slow down and walk, I was going to get to the end. Helped by an immediate energy boost from a bit of cystallised ginger and a jelly fruit, and with 3 jaffa cakes that my Mum had found in the kitchen squirreled in my bag, I set off into the new day. Honestly, I have the utmost respect for those who take close to the full 48 hours to do it, and who go through two nights. The main thing on my mind as I set off was that however hard it was going to get and however much it hurt, it was all going to be over by that evening. This was the last day of all of my training and all of the build up, and tonight I was going to sleep in my own bed! And have a shower! Hurrah! To be at this point and to think that you are already so wreaked, but to know you've still got to stay up and go through another night must take a tremendous amount of mental strength, and I am utterly in awe of those who can do that. 

NYM 100 Trilogy: Part 1, An Unexpected (-ly hot) Journey

Well, it's taken a while to get over The 100 (two weeks, to be exact). My legs and all the running bits of me seemed to get better much quicker than last year, but I've been totally tired and feeling a bit unwell until today, and I've been feeling quite low. Still, I suppose that your body and mind must have some kind of reaction to doing a long event like that. Feeling more back to normal now, and therefore it feels like time for another trilogy...

The Start

After a final, final, final kit check, it was time to leave (sigh) the comfort of our holiday cottage and a delicious breakfast (thanks Mum!), and embark on the first leg of the journey, which fortunately was to be by car. There were an army of butterflies fluttering about my stomach. I wish they'd sit still for heavens sake, or at least lend me some of their wing power, I've got 100 miles to do. 

Nice to see some familiar faces - Alan, Tara, Gary - at the start. I tried unsuccessfully to drink some coffee and eat some toast and jam, but The Butterflies weren't having any of it. At 11.50 am The Bell rang, and we all trotted outside to the start area. After a safety briefing in which a wide range of potential dangers were mentioned, including (but not limited to) bush fires on the moors, adders (adders!!!), dehydration, getting too hot, getting too cold, and disqualification for not having the right kit (The Butterflies did a flutter), we were asked if anyone had any questions. Why? Would be an obvious one. But I felt now was not the right moment to ask this, out loud at least.

To Checkpoint 1 at Easthorpe: 4.5 miles, 520 ft up, 340 ft down

Phew, that's it, it's started! I'm so glad to be started, and just to be jogging along, instead of worrying about it. I really don't know what I was worrying about back there, I'm completely fine, and everything is going to be OK. Everyone has said that your first hundred is the worst, and that was over with last year's event, so this year is going to be much better. I can even remember all of the route from the recce so far! Everyone else must be feeling the same, as the nervous atmosphere before the start has evaporated, and everyone is relaxing into their rhythm. Ahhhh. It's good to be here! And it's not even raining yet! 

Oh. The rain has started. Well, we got a mile in at least before getting wet. It's quite nice actually, quite cooling. And there's some thunder rumbling around in the background, which The Butterflies must be scared of, as they seem to have gone. It wasn't even that bad, and stopped in a few minutes. Don't know what all the fuss was about. Everywhere looks much greener than it did a couple of months ago on the recce. But, should we become complacent, a sign reminded us that the bog is never far away....

Despite being in a car park, the first checkpoint set the impossibly high standards of the LDWA catering, with tables groaning under the weight of pies, homemade cheese straws, liquorice allsorts....and we'd only had to run 4.5 miles to get here. This was brilliant. I'll probably even put on weight in the the next 95 miles. 

To Checkpoint 2 Hovingham: 5.7 miles, 370 ft up, 610 ft down

No problems on this bit. Nice views (nothing like a good view to take your mind off your current situation), first of all back towards Castle Howard, and then later over the North York Moors. Although, if you look closely, they do look quite high up (but let's ignore that fact). A few more miles through the woods. There aren't even any bogs left now, this is going to be a breeze! Up a hill, and then a wonderful view of Hovingham on a nice long downhill into the checkpoint. Another great checkpoint. Although I was actually feeling a bit sick, come to think of it. Why was I not hoovering up the delicious food? Bit odd. Oh well - ever onward.

To Checkpoint 3 Wombleton: 8.5 miles, 430 ft up, 370 ft down  
A quick stop at the legendary Wombleton general store for some chocolate coated coffee beans (which if I was in charge of the Essential Kit List...would definitely be on there). Managed to navigate the confusing section through the fields that we got lost in on the recce (gosh, I feel so well prepared for this!). Through Stonebridge, which seemed just as pretty as last time. Climbing the next hill, I looked back. A familiar site of dark clouds gathering awaited. If I'm not mistaken, this is exactly where it started raining on the recce. I raced the clouds to the top of the hill. They won.

Thunder! And lightening! Very very frightening. Passing quite a few walkers now. Nice to say hi and exchange good wishes with other clearly unhinged people embarking cheerfully on the same journey, marching confidently ahead as the thunder crashed and the lightening stuck down into the nearby fields. The storm came just in time to be honest. Firstly, my engine had been getting quite close to overheating back there, plus there was the added excitement of possibly betting hit by the lightening - a sure incentive to skip ever faster and more nimbly along the country lanes. We arrived, soaked but unscathed, at Wombleton checkpoint, which was so busy, it had run out of sandwiches. Fear not though! The ever capable LDWA were on the case, and in less time than it took to eat an apple (which strangely enough, a walker had mentioned he would like, and a marshal magically materialised not one apple, but a whole sack) fresh plates of sandwiches started appearing from the kitchen. I still wasn't feeling very well to be honest. I sat down in the sunshine on the grass outside the village hall and nibbled the sandwich, but I just felt sick. And also deeply annoyed by this fact.  

To Checkpoint 4 Hutton-le-Hole: 6.3 miles, 710 ft up, 550 ft down
Still, worse things have happened, and we must continue, nothing was achieved by sitting around eating sandwiches. Was it? I'm sure things have been. But, a mere 19 miles into the event, I recognised that now was too early to start having arguments with myself. Anyway, excitingly, the next section included the initial inspiration for the A to Z of route description words. I was glad to discover that other than the addition of a compass bearing, the original genius of instruction 4.6 had remained marvellously unchanged "continue generally ahead through a number of small fields".  

Thus instructed, we continued in the general direction of Hutton-le-Hole. We stayed in a B & B here at the end of the first day of the recce, and the logic of stopping to sleep at the end of a days running was becoming ever more apparent to me. But enough of that, these thoughts are unhelpful in the current situation. And anyway, more pressing matters were at hand, as here was to be The Kit Check! The Butterflies swooped. A large queue of people was snaking out of the hall. Who were all these people?? In the nicest possible sense, of course, but how had we all ended up here at once? And what were they checking in there? Were we having to dress in full emergency gear and stand under a shower to check the waterproof-ness? Was I going to have put my waterproof trousers on after years of carrying them around in the bottom of my rucksack? And why couldn't I go into the checkpoint before the kit check? So many questions. So many. And I needed some tea.

I passed the kit check (which consisted of a record number of items...waterproof jacket, waterproof trousers, compass, whistle, survival bag, demonstration of working torch). The Butterflies, having had a final party in my stomach as my kit was checked, no longer had purpose, and fluttered off into the gathering dusk. Meanwhile, I had a big cup of tea, in my new collapsible mug, and ran (almost literally) into the guy who I ran the first few hours of last years Dorset Hundred with.

To Checkpoint 5 Rosedale: 6.8 miles, 840 ft up, 710 ft down
Met up with my cousin Sammy, who has recently finished the South West Coastal Path, but irritatingly doesn't even look slightly tired despite of this. We were approaching Rosedale, which despite it's idyllic name, I distinctly remembered as being a low point from the recce. The checkpoint was busy. I sat down and managed to drink a mug of soup. I felt like pants. But on the plus side, other people were starting to look like I felt, so that gave me comfort (despite making me an awful person). 

To Checkpoint 6 Botton: 8.0 miles, 1380 ft up, 1130 ft down
Now the hills were really getting started. Just in time for dusk as well. Sob. The big hill up to the Lion Inn Blakely (that's Blakely not bakery - another sob) was back. I remembered this from the recce - how could I forget? The long drag went on and on. And on. Up over the moors. It was quite atmospheric now, if nothing else.

I played a game with the light. How long could I see before stopping to get my head torch out? Andrew had started to pull back a bit. There was a "technical" bit down a rocky gully in now what was pretty much the dark. Side to side, over on ankles, hands and knees. Andrew still seemed to be having some trouble. I hoped he was OK. Still, we managed a jog into Botton. Home of The Famous Botton Cheese! Which was specially cast one year ago in The Botton Creamery ready for the NYM 100!

Managed to eat the cheese and the Botton fruit cake, slowly. I was determined to - as this has been my first aim of the event, to get to the Botton Cheese at 40 miles. Anyway, it was delicious. Managed some more soup as well (soup is my new lifesaver). And a cup of tea (when you're feeling really rubbish - having two lifesavers lined up is always good). Despite feeling pants we'd made it to 40 miles in a little over 10 hours, which was well within my plan, so at least we seemed to be moving well.

I finally lost my game with the light, and dug my torch out of my rucksack, aimed it in the direction of the darkness, straightened myself up, and prepared to face The Night Section.....