I stood at the start surrounded by hardened humans beneath an iron grey sky. My heart already pounding, I joined in with the countdown with my stomach churning.
Go!
The pack moved but was quickly stopped by a stile. I was in the middle of the pack as I climbed over and caught a glimpse of the man-goat hybrids, including Barry, climbing up the zig zag trail of broken rocks. I followed, instantly feeling the bite of a gradient that mocked any I had run in training. Then the tick-tack of pole tips hassled at my heels and the holders began to push around me on the narrow trail.
My heart pounded. My temperature rose and my breath accelerated in and out of my stricken, wounded bellows. Panic had me by the throat and I was 0.4 miles in.
Standing to the side of the trail I let everyone pass me. I watched them climb and was frozen, until an angry voice in the back of my head started calling me names. I listened to it asking “why did you come here?” and I knew the answer; to finish this.
I started off, watching the train of people disappear around the rock bluff. The run became real climbing and the cloud around grew thicker but I knew I was near the top, but then a yellow coat appeared coming the other way. The man wearing it shook his head at me and said “sod that up there. I’m not doing this.”
I could not imagine what I was about to face at the top and it was not as close as I thought. Before I got there I found a bearded man sat on a rock. I asked if he was okay and he said “it’s been an hour and ten. If you’re not here within 50 minutes you might as well quit because you’ll never hit the checkpoint.”
I ignored him and pushed on to the cloud covered Summit of Harrison Stickle and took my first checkpoint.
From here I ran, jumping over the terrain and remembering that I had trained for this. Each flag appeared out of the mist and I kept saying “one flag at a time” until I spotted one in the middle of a river. I stopped and stared. Surely not, but in fact yes, so I abandoned any idea of keeping dry feet and charged through to the other side where the second checkpoint was found.
I climbed Pavey Ark in to the cloud and now I was onto High Raise, moving at a slow run, desperate not to miss a flag amongst the heavy cloud, I battled with rain and a brutal headwind. Stopping for a few minutes I pulled on the waterproof bottoms and they would not come off again until after the race.
Pushing through I saw something I was not expecting! It was a human, running with poles and I had closed the gap. We hit checkpoint three together and stayed together until we picked up another person. I was no longer alone and as we descended on trail I felt capable on and with each stride the visibility improved.
The trail ended and we were suddenly on road. It was a strange transition from the bleak remoteness of the previous miles and we moved at a steady pace towards checkpoint four at a seemingly random spot in the road. We then joined a flat trail, picking up two female runners into our mob and one of the men running with me declared “misery loves company”
Checkpoint five was in a barn and the only feed station. I tried to fix a floating and creased insole while my cup of coffee cooled and as I failed I decided to remove it completely from the shoe. It was 10 minutes inside the cutoff and I looked to the four people to get going again and was dumbfounded when they all declared they were quitting.
I swallowed down my coffee and left them, not wanting the temptation to quit infect me. This took me back to where I began; alone. Fitting that “misery liked company” because I needed no company. I was as far from misery as I had ever been in my life.
My solo journey now was up Sour milk gill, climbing wet rocks beside the roaring force of water. Turn after turn revealed more and more climbing, but thankfully the rock climbing gave way to rocky trail which zigzagged up and up into more heavy cloud. I found checkpoint six sheltering behind a crop of rocks, wrapped in a golden sleeping bag. This was for Windy Gap, but that was still a mile of trail upwards for me to climb and was too harsh for the Marshall to remain up there.
Windy gap was exposed and deserved the name. The dense cloud gave the day the feel of being dusk and the route ahead of me was a descent through scree deep down into the valley. I started out gingerly and carefully, but was suddenly passed by a fell runner who was gliding through the scree on his heels. I mimicked his method and let gravity take me, but not achieving his level of grace or speed.
My next checkpoint was beyond a fantastic, but at times terrifying traverse around Great Gable after another torturous climb. Time was against me and I needed to reach it within 20 minutes, but the terrain was not for rushing. Green algae on rocks was like ice underfoot and any misplaced foot sent a thousand stones a barking and cursing down the steep slopes to the valley below.
Suddenly I had company again. A safety Marshall waited at a wall of rock that was part of my route. He pointed at a few footholds and watched as I hauled my tired body up and over. “Keep moving” he said and I was off, picking my way through rocks, deciding up and over or under and around based on what I had learned the hard way about the various colours and the relationship to the grip it offered.
One mistake could have been life changing.
I made it through and down a steep slope to a stretcher box. A Marshall here checked I was okay before allowing me to continue and I began yet another climb up to the checkpoint.
I reached Esk Pike 40 minutes beyond the cutoff so I would no longer be given an official time, nor would I be allowed to climb Esk Pike as the flags were being removed by the sweepers. Two other runners who had also missed the cut off were standing up there and we all set off on the alternative route to the end which was no shorter, but avoided some of the exposure Esk Pike would have offered.
The other two runners, once shown what trails to follow by one of the Marshall set off at a run. My speed was hampered by a barking knee and thoroughly fatigued legs so they soon left me behind.
I was now the last runner on the course and as I began to descend down Rossett Gill, ankle deep at times in the water and picking my foot holes carefully, I began to smile. I had covered more than 20 miles of serious terrain and nothing was going to stop me crossing the finish, be it with an official time stamp or not.
The Marshall from Esk Pike had collected the last of his flags and caught up with me as I hit the Cumbrian way and we walked the last mile chatting. He told me he was being paid for marshalling by getting a free entry for next year and I said I would look out for him on the start line.
Then it was all done and I was at Stickle barn. My friend Barry was stood at the finish line waiting for me, having smashed the route and finished a good four hours earlier than me. Beside him was the race director holding not one, but two bottles of the cider that represented the finishing medal. He gave me both and never have I ever felt so deserving of a “finishing medal”.
So now my challenge is to do it again. I have to return to the Skyrace, maybe not as runner 81 and hopefully not as the last finisher to cross the line, but certainly once again dancing amongst the clouds as close to the stars as a man can get on this wonderfully rugged stretch of England.
