I haven’t felt “ready” to write about my experience on the Montane Winter Spine 2026, and to be honest I still don’t feel completely prepared or even really motivated to sit here and do it. Usually, I am chomping at the bit to get it all down, all to often because there is some harrowing mental health episode brewing or because something don’t want to forget happened, or because I’m really angry about something or because if I don’t get all the thoughts out of my head I feel like it will explode. I don’t feel any of those things at all. I just feel really calm and sleepy.

It has been 11 days since I finished running 268 miles north up the Pennine Way from Edale to Kirk Yetholm. I don’t feel any of the things I expected to feel (deep sadness, grief, depression, the horrors) I just feel calm and together. And sleepy. I remember reading a post Lucy Gossage put up which said something along the lines of ‘running the winter spine will change you’. And I think it has, but not in the way I thought it would. This is incredibly surprising to me – I did think it would leave me in bits. Instead its left me the most grounded and peaceful I think I have ever been. Even Byrness (AKA Fucked Up Narnia) had it’s place in the matrix.

I’m not going to give a blow by blow account of the race – if you want one of those you can read the hundreds of other blogs and race reports. I am going to go through the things that stood out as incredible acts of human endeavour, kindness and endurance and the bits that mattered to me. Because I saw so many things, met so many people and had every experience I wanted to have on the Spine – and I think acknowledging that is really important. I also think explaining how I went into it and conducted myself throughout it may help other people. I hope it will be helpful.

Out of Edale: All fun a games until someone breaks their wrist, right Ross?

I went into the race maybe a teeny bit fatigued from the Dragons Back race earlier I the year, but happy, positive and supported. That fatigue came and bit me on the arse about 150 miles in. I defo felt it, but when it made itself known I gave myself a cuddle and cracked on. Hard things are hard. My body, my choice. I had two close friends running (Laurence and Ross) plus a whole load of other friends on the course both in the race and on the support and media teams. I kind of saw it like a big holiday of high fives – saying hello to everyone as I made my way up a course I knew from recees and the Summer Spine races. Weather didn’t worry me as much as it might have done pre Dragons Back. It had been so bad in Wales that I honestly didn’t think it could get much worse. I was wrong, of course. Coping with weather, it turns out, is down to experience and a fucking good jacket. I had both.

I also had Damian who was the most supportive partner I could ask for. Even when he was trying to take stuff out of my bag to make it a bit lighter, I felt like he literally had a hand on back the whole time. He was a 5/5 boyfriend that week. Would recommend. He even did some cooking.

I wasn’t afraid of the race – I was excited and respectful and just wanted to get out on the hill and be away from life. The ice, snow and wind in the first 30 miles were not great – we lost Ross to a broken wrist - and I was nearly blown clear off my feet on Kinder, but that had happened to be before – experience and a good coat, see. Seeing the MRT at Brun Clough was an early highlight – their salted potato’s and Bovril going down a treat, and I ran alone for the majority of the first 40 odd miles – my main memory is of putting spike on, taking them off, putting them on, taking them off. For kit types, I used Kahtoola nanospikes for most of the race – these are a smaller stud like spike – not allowed as mandatory kit, but much easier to wear on slabs and thin ice than their more aggressive Microspike cousins. They were a lifesaver. I didn’t fall over once – not once in 268 miles. Burger at Nickys – delightful. Chat with David Miller – delightful.

The runnable sections I remembered from summer were now sheet ice. Stoodley Pike was a nightmare. it was impossible to get any kind of rhythm without risking breaking your neck, and I found that super frustrating. But I noticed I was finding it frustrating and asked myself how helpful that was. Not that helpful. I decided that rather than see the conditions as frustrating, maybe I could see them as allowing me to keep a load in the tank for later – they were allowing me to pace myself, avoiding a bad stomach and a death march of a final 100 miles. I should be grateful to nature for providing that opportunity. One of my key goals was to be grateful to nature at all costs and work with her not against her. I really tried to do that, although I did tell her to go fuck herself maybe 8 or 9 times. Sorry, Mother Nature. See below for more details why. This wasn’t a bit of the route. This was ALL of the fucking route. 30 miles of it.

Hebden Bridge was like a ultrarunnering refugee camp. I saw a man in tight white pants and nothing else looking like he had lost his mum in a supermarket. I tried to get in and out ASAP. Dwell time under and hour I think, and I managed three dinners. The next section is 100Km and it was about midnight when I left. I fucking hate this sedction, I told myself. I realised what I was doing, put the Dave Grohl audiobook on and tried to spot some badgers.

At 3am I came across a farmer in a field with his little quad bike. He must have been in his seventies. He had a box of quality streets and was handing them out to each runner – there were BIG gaps between us now. He was so kind. He didn’t need to do that but he did. I took one and he wished me good luck. I nearly started crying.

Lothersdale, Gargrave (no Co-op stop for me!) and then towards Malham. I was getting a bit ratty, but instead of being a cunt to myself about it I recognised lack of sleep and told myself it was OK to feel like that. As we made our way towards Malham (80 ish miles) I spotted some others ahead of me - Linda, Texas John and a few others. I joined their merry little gang, and it was the best thing I could have done.

I have always thought of myself as a bit of a lone wolf runner but like my therapist said to me, us humans don’t have teeth, fur and claws for a reason – we need each other. And I needed some company. Linda has an infectious energy and Texas John is just fucking funny. I didn’t say much to start off with but soon we were chatting like we’d known each other all our lives. It was hammering it down but we didn’t really care. I worried so much about weather but really, it doesn’t effect you like you think it will when you’re having a great time. After a stop at Malham Tarn for hot food where we bumped into the incredible Sarah Perry, Luke and Murphy, we headed off to Pen-Y Ghent. Fountains fell was wet, windy and icy but good company make it easy, and on the way down the hill we picked up the fourth member of our little crew , Ben. We carried on as a foursome into the night and up and over the hallowed Cam High Road which was, as described in every blog about the spine ever, fucking shit. Very high winds, very, very cold and icy as shit. After spending three and a half years on the Cam High Road and sliding down the long wet grass into Hawes, I was rewarded with the most delicious soup, a clean white bunkbed and the delightful face of Mel Sykes. 108 miles done, 153 to go. 39 hours on the go. No sleep.

*The crew arrive in Hawes by Clorre Cam*

I got 90 mins sleep at Hawes and it was AMAZING. Got up, sorted my shit out, ate and got the gang together. Texas John was still asleep, so after a quick X Factor style audition process, we took on Matt as a replacement. I felt like I was in the Sugababes. Matt was on probation for the first day and he knew it - opening all the gates, shatring snacks, being nice. Little did I know it would be me the group dropped next. That’s showbiz. We had been acing timings and it was 5am when we left. Sleeping when its dark, moving when its light is the holy grail of the Spine Race. We only had three hours until it got light. WIN.

Great Shunner Fell dealt some serious spine weather with high winds and non-stop heavy rain. We stopped at the village honesty café in Keld for a brew and then cracked on to Tan Hill – where they have only gone and got heated floors in the barn! We stayed a bit longer than we should have for this reason, eating soup and putting our gloves on the floor then trotted off over Sleightolm Moore – which was frozen thank fuck, and on towards Langdon Beck. We passed the halfway point (an underpass on the A66) and popped into the excellent Clover Lodge – the world’s greatest honesty shed for some soup. Again, huge acts of kindness by other human beings. Then something happened which blew us all away. The sun came out.

Hawes toilet selfie (PUT ON YOUR GOGGLES!), Great Shunner Fell descent, signs and the sunset en route to Clove Lodge

We trotted towards Middleton through the most amazing sunset. It got dark (spoiler – it always does) and I started to flag. The boys went ahead, leaving me and Linda to navigate the high force/low force section. Linda was slowing down and I was trying to be inspiring, but I was tierd and ratty and sick to fucking death of having to walk. I could feel myself getting upset and what made matters worse was the wonderful Hannah Rickman as working as a volunteer at Langdon Beck – so the minute I saw her I wanted to cry. So I did cry. A lot. I called Damian and had a full-on meltdown. He was very very good about it, and calmed me down with “It’s supposed to ne hard”. Thanks for that. “I love you” That’s better. I later found out Damian had started a relationship with Joh Shield earlier that day, and that they had announced their engagement outside the Border Hotel after arriving hand in hand following a 45 mile whirlwind romance. It was a low blow, but I am glad they are both happy and wish them the best. The photos were lovely.

Hannah looked after me brilliantly – she knows exactly when to hug and when to not hug. She makes great tea. She’s unflappable, She’s also a great singer. I had some food and told the rest of the band I was going solo after a sleep (classic isolation move from me) and went for said sleep. 90 minutes of it. Then I went downstairs, sorted my shit out – and, of course left with the rest of the group because they knew I was being a dick and were patiently waiting for me. I felt like I had felt in my drinking days – like I had upset everyone and needed to apologise. This feeling makes these races quite hard for me at times. It’s quite triggering and makes me want to die.

*L-R Linda, Matt, Me (aged 12) and Ben. exit Langdon Beck. The band back together.*

Quick welfare check: I was tired, but nothing hurt. I’d had a shower at Hawes and had a change of clothes at Langdon Beck. I was wearing Dexshell waterproof socks and changing them at all major aid stations. I had two very small blisters that I had dressed and dealt with. They were the only “injuries” I would get. My feet, however, had started swelling after I made a rookie error at Hawes and didn’t sleep with them elevated. Fat little hippo stumps on the end of my legs. I had a pair of shoes that were a size bigger but still putting my feet into them felt unbelievably uncomfortable, For one second I thought that my race may well be taking a nose dive – until a genius volunteer suggested I take the insoles out – problem solved – feet happy. 152 miles done., 68 hours on feet, 3 hours sleep total. LFG.

Have you ever negotiated Falcon Clints and Cauldron Snout at 4am, in -4, when it’s super fucking icy? No? Well don’t, because its fucking stupid. That took a while and was a bit scary and annoying, but on we pushed. I am grateful to have seen the snout raging at the witching hour. “As above, so below” I whispered to her. I feel like a protection spell was cast on all of us. We got to an extremely windy, claggy High Cup Nick at sunrise and what a sunrise it was. Mythical, magical and a one off – a pink and red swirling vortex opening up above the valley. This is what it’s about. We stood in silence and starred at mother nature. It was magical. I’m glad I could share that with the others. By the time we got to Dufton it was 9am, so I ordered a cheeseburger at the café, documented it on Instagram as ‘one of the hardest things I had ever done” and then ate it. On the way towards Cross Fell I got a call from my surveyor telling the the house I had offered on was falling down, the wall outside was going to kill someone and I was an idiot for buying it, I told him I was a bit busy and put the phone down. Calm. I just felt calm.

Matt approaches High Cup Nick as the sun comes up and the portal in the valley

We got the full Cross Fell experience – high winds, blizzards, deep snow, clag, sheet ice, glaciers, full face covering and proper spikes deployed. We took it in turns to navigate and coming off the top was a challenge with no path, no footprints and visibility. I am so glad I have been up there before, I am so glad I had so much kit and I am so glad we were all together. We made it to Gregs Hut exhilarated and were fed the most delicious noodles on planet earth (spoiler alert; turns out they’re super noodles, lads) It was a dream in that little bothy, and we all stayed far too long. Never mind I thought it’s runnable down to Garigill. It’s not. It’s sheet ice. And Snowing. Lost my headtorch. Had to go into Annies to find it. Couldn’t find it. Had to use my spare. Batteries wouldn’t work as they were too cold. Managed to get to Alston with spare after Tom Hoyle warmed them up. Took my waterproof jacket off at Alston. Headtorch was in puffa jacket pocket. Bellend.

The full Cross Fell experience.

Four lasagnes, a shower and a FOUR HOUR SLEEP later and it was all guns blazing to Bellingham!. Except it wasn’t because while I was asleep the band had issued a statement saying that due to sleep time differences, they had decided to go on as a threesome. I, of course, was devastated, but vowed to go on as a solo artist. I had cried on this section in summer. Mainly because Damian’s race mix started playing World in Motion into my ears, but also because I felt shit. But this time was different. I felt so at peace with everything. I wasn’t even worried about the house falling though.

Stars and catnaps on stiles

The night was clear and the stars hung so low you could almost touch them. Jupiter shone the brightest I had ever seen it. Silence. Underfoot was awful – super boggy and ankle deep in both grasslands and fields. But the sky was big and clear. Silence. Splash, splash, splash across the fields to Blenkinsopp Moor – the mother of all bogs, past Rasta Ralphs, jogging when I could, trudge hiking when I had to – which was most of the time. A cracker of a sunrise, cat naps on styles. On to Wall Town – coffee in the visitor centre and a nap on the bench in the sun. I was dreading Hadrian’s Wall because I’d hated it in summer but then I’d felt weak and miserable. Now I felt calm and other worldly. I was drunk on the experience. It was 10am and the sun was out and you could see the wall stretching into the distance. The magic and history and the feeling of gratitude for being able to take off my waterproof trousers for the first time all week was enormous. Miles melted away. I met a pony with a massive head and tiny legs. I watched a farmer herd his sheep. I paid my respects to Sycamore gap and hex’d the cunts who’d taken that life for their brutality. All these things that I have done whilst running Britains Most Brutal Race. This wasn’t brutal – it was a privilege. The greatest privilege. To use my body and observe my mind like this was a gift. It all comes at a price, but it is a gift. Turn right off the wall. We are going to Scotland. 50 miles to go. A special moment.

A selection from the wall by Clorre Cam

Horneystead farm is a special place and Helen is a real life angel. She had three dogs with her – two of them she had adopted when her neighbour died and I rolled around on the bed with them whilst drinking amazing vegetable soup. I so wanted to stay and nap but it’s seven miles to Bellingham and still light so on we go. I hiked and jogged in silence, the sun went down., I thought about all the things I had done since I got sober and tried not to cry.

*Dog cuddles at Horneystead by Clorre Cam*

Bellingham was the final big stop before the end, and was full of my media friends. We got told off for laughing too loud. I decided not to sleep and crack on after some soup and amazing casserole – oh and pretty much full kit check. I was now 225 miles in, 106 hours on feet with 7 hours sleep in me. Add the cat naps maybe 7.30? Maybe I should have slept at Bellingham. I should have slept at Bellingham. Sleep at Bellingham next time. I saw Damian at the SST water stop or at least I thought I did. He was driving my car. My car with my dry robe in it and my things. My warm car. Fuck sake. It started to get cold, really cold and I was very, very hungry. At this point nothing you eat can sate you. You’re just fucking hungry all the time. This will go on for three - four weeks post race and you will most likely spend tens of thousands of pounds on food you would never normally eat.

I looked at my watch and it said -6. On the ascent up to the fire track that snakes towards Byrness I stopped to look at the stars and fell asleep for 15 mins with my hood down and gloves off. When I woke up I thought my hands had fallen off and my eyes were sealed shut. BIG FUCKING MISTAKE.

This part of the course freaks me out every time I do it. Theres’s badness up there – the whole area needs to be saged. I feel like there a portal up there that you’re forced to go through. In the late 1800’s 64 people died during the construction of a reservoir near Bryness including a child who fell between railway cart and the railway line. A lot of them are buried in the graveyard of the church at the bottom. Maybe that explains everything. Maybe that explains why the church was SO FUCKING COLD.

Look at all the fun I am having ay Byrness. And in the church!

At Byrness my friend Kirsty takes me in to the mini checkpoint like an ultrarunning Mother Teresa. I ask her to hold my hand. I am a bit fucked by now – but its ok because it just tiredness. Just tiredness. Nothing to worry about. It’s so cold. They make me tea and hot chocolate and a sandwich for the road. I go to the church, get in my sleeping bag and bivvy, lay on the floor by the altar and go to sleep for about 2 hours. I keep waking up freezing, but I also manage sleep in waves – I am THAT tired. When I finally decide to get up at about 6.30am it says its -7 on my watch.

I don’t know what to do with myself I’m that cold, so I start to cry and start to try and get my stuff together to leave. Then something grabs me and tells me to stop and be fucking bothered. I calm down and put the kettle on to make the hot exped meal I am carrying and go to grab my mug for a shit coffee. In my mug is a note written in pencil. It says “You’re great. Wrap up warm, be kind toyourself and lets get this finished. Good luck” . I start crying again. I have no idea who it’s from. I later found out it was from Matt who had also been asleep in the church.

I tell myself there’s loads of time and it will get light at 7.30. Food is fuel and will heat you from the inside. I pay £20 to the church izettle as a protection bond on the Cheviot and so they fucking well afford to heat the place next time. Witches can use churches too, ok?

The dawn over the Cheviot was pink and white and the ice was like tiny crystals. It was everything I wanted it to be. By now I am crying at everything. I eat my cheese sandwich on the pile of stones and cry a lot. Now is my time to finish this. I’m going to enjoy every awful second.

The ground is frozen but very slippy and makes for slow progress over some otherwise runnable hills but everything is so beautiful. It’s cold and my feet hurt – they are just sore and tired but they hurt. I am dog tired but I am still managing three miles and hour. I count down 9 miles to Hut 1 – there it is – hot coffee and some proper laughs. I count down 7 miles to Hut 2 – there it is and it’s the final one. Jamie Rutherford takes some photos of me. I look so peaceful because I am. I feel like I have made peace with myself. I also look fucked. And make no mistake, I really was.

Underfoot conditions on the Cheviots making it the longest marathon distance ever.

Seven miles to the end. I spend them thinking about what I will say at the wall because I want to say something that means something, not just utter rubbish. I’ll try and sum up my thoughts here.

I had worked out that this race breaks you by bargaining with you – you never get anything for free and it can overwhelm you if you don’t understand what is going on. She will trick you. When she gives you something, she will take something else away. You never have a full hand of cards. If you get a clear night with low stars and a full bright moon, you will freeze. If you get that photo perfect snow, you will be slow to cross it. If the bogs are frozen then so are the slabs – and you can’t see the ice on those. If it gets warmer, the ice melts, the bogs return and your feet will freeze. The pack that acts as pillow when you sit to rest and carries everything you need also weighs and slows you down. If you sleep, you must hurry. If you hurry, you must sleep. You will never win the game without losing something – all you can do is dance with the Pennine Way in order to keep her happy enough deliver you safe. You cannot deny her your vulnerability. You must serve it up to her and work around what she delivers. And that is what I did.

*A moment in Hut 2 before the final seven miles by Jamie Rutherford*

When I got to the wall and delivered my little speech, as usual, I felt nothing. It was amazing to see my friends and loved ones. It was amazing to have such huge support but I felt nothing – just shocked and relieved to be able to sit down. I finished in 7th place in 130 hours and 22 mins. In my planning I had been a whole day quicker than that. Shows how much I know. I took some time off work in the week after so I could properly rest. Damian looked after me impeccably and I just ate, slept and worked a bit. My sleep is still disrupted, and I wake up thinking I have to go running all the time.

Those wall moments by Adam Jacobs and Tom Hoyle

This race did change me. It has given me a strange calm confidence that I didn’t have before. I think Sophie Grant said it best when she said that this type of running has taught her that she has her own back and can look after herself. It really show you that you can trust yourself even when the shit hits the fan. I was out there for six days and five nights and I did have my own back, I did look after myself and I bargained with the Pennine Way successfully. I didn’t fight against her or myself. I was calm, I was bothered and I was at the behest of mother nature so I gave into her and let her call the shots. I had the greatest time and I cannot wait to do it again.

The morning after the race, Damian got a call from the RD who asked if I was still about as two little girls had come to see me. They were Poppy (7) and Maisie (5). They had come to see me with their mum heather to give me a card and a teddy and a chocolate reindeer and say well done. They had drawn a picture of me as a superhero and written me a card. They told me all about dot watching and how much they had loved it. I was absolutely blown away and quite overwhelmed. It was incredible. I didn’t know these kids, never met them, yet they had been truly inspired by the women in this race and that meant everything. Imagine growing up remembering seeing women doing stuff like this? I said thank you and told them they could do anything they wanted and I hope they remember that. It was a truly humbling experience and one I include here so that you, yes you, reading this, can take a second to remember that people are watching you even if you don’t think they are. Be an example of what is possible. You could change a life or two.

*Maisie and Poppy - future Spine legends.*

One of the major things I wil take from this is that the race is built around kindness. For a race deemed “brutal”, that is pretty fucking ironic. It’s brutally kind.

I saw such kindness on this race - from the incredible volunteers (no words for how amazing they were) to the wonderful humans I ran with. They not only allowed me to be me but they shared everything from snacks to their darkest fears and deepest vulnerabilities. Most importantly they shared their time and company.

Kindness from the local communities leaving out honesty boxes, coming out late at night to offer food or drink or just to cheer us on, from people leaving boxes of flapjacks to farmers in fields with tubs of sweets at 3am. Kindness between runners, kindness between communities and kindness towards ourselves - allowing ourselves to rest when we needed to and being patient with our chimp brains when they told us to stop. The kindness of strangers who bought their dogs to see me because they knew I was missing Pickle.

Kindness from the media teams and the organisers. Kind words, sarky jokes and a feeling that you were home from the very minute we stepped into registration. And the kindness of my friends, some of whom came out to see me despite having won or finished their own races a few hours before, message me and supported me. Humans can be incredible and this race shows that. What grit, determination and enthusiasm was shown by every single person, whether taking part or supporting. it was magic.

So that’s it – once again massive thanks to all the INCREDIBLE volunteers, race organisers, people who came by with their dogs for me to stroke, the wonderful humans I ran with and shared time on the hill with. Thanks to the amazing media team for my great photos and memories and special thanks to Laurence (well done!) Ross (Get well soon), Anna, Kirsty, Mel, Sarah, Nicky S and Nicky L and of course Damian who was such a huge support and who I will consider taking back it doesn’t work out with Jon.

Same again next year??? For SURE.