CHAPTER ONE – YOU CANT HAVE IT ALL, ALL OF THE TIME
To enrich but dismantle life as I know it
Overland it was the most remote and definitely one of the most incredible, awe-inspiring places I’d ever experienced. I was still reeling from the thousands of birds - shearwaters, razorbills, gannets and puffins diving off the 300m+ cliffs past my gently surging kayak. We’d paddled over 20 miles and made it round the most southerly point of the Outer Hebrides, nothing to our right but America. We were camped up on the beach on Mingulay and I was intensely mindful and grateful for the rare opportunity to make it here in such calm conditions. We walked to the highest point, watching the puffins waddle from their burrows and in with the breeze came a waft of signal. THE email. What were the chances of that! I couldn’t believe it, I got on. I’d been offered a place on the University of Leeds Doctorate in Clinical Psychology. A lifelong dream to many psychologists and something I’d finally had the confidence, at 40, to apply for. How poignant to receive it in a place of pure wildness. I felt so intensely alive, and I needed to cherish it, as the next three years would both enrich and dismantle my life as I knew it. It would take me away from the mountains I love and into the city.
Could my soul survive it, would it be worth it?
Sacrifices had to be made but I was determined to strike a balance between my passion for psychology and unhealthy work ethic with my need for nature and movement. I wanted to learn from previous mistakes. The initial stages of building our outdoor centre (Yorkshire Dales Guides) had consumed my life and I watched Running Wild (youtube.com/watch?v=TNZcVRkmJEE) to remind me to consciously make that commitment to myself, to make time to get out in nature. To help with this I’d been lucky enough to have one of the UK’s best running coaches agree to work with me. I’d coopt to him the burden of planning my training and get him to find the most efficient way to use the little time I had. Perfect I thought.
The feminist who paid a man to tell her what to do!
Nope!! Despite my newfound delusions of grandeur and ferocious determination, I hated being coached. I think part of it was hating being told what to do with my precious spare time, my whole life was now at the mercy of others’ demands, which was quite a change from being my own boss. Stubborn brat, feisty ass woman connotations aside 😉, it sucked all the joy out of it. There were no carefree journeys anymore, no soul stirring, character building adventures in the hills. Each hill rep ,interval session, and breath monitored run I did, sucked my soul into the abyss of its calculated competitive intention. My running improved but this wasn’t what I loved about the outdoors. I mean yeah, I wanted to up my game running, to compete properly again. But if constantly feeling wrecked, for a few fleeting moments of glory, is what’s required? Sod that!! We parted ways only a few weeks before his suggested Yorkshire Three Peaks race and it was hard to shake off how demoralising and confidence bashing our departure had been. My head knew it was a clash of values, my heart felt like I was a lazy failure. I needed to hold tightly to the wisdom that this wasn’t about either of us and it was ok to not want to beast myself, all the flippin’ time.
In the space of a week I’d submitted my most dauting assignment, moved into our first bought home and then on the morning of the race reignited a flicker of motivation to saunter round the 3 peaks. Despite my best intentions I had succumbed to the enormity of the doctorates demands. Old patterns were emerging and despite adjusting for my coach’s ambitious expectations, I hadn’t as promised, prioritised myself and my joy in the Fells. Was doing this race biting off more than I can chew or totally underestimating myself? Feck it. This wasn’t going to be about perfectionism or avoiding failure. I was giving myself a day in the Fells with friends, knowing that despite all the demands on me I carved space for what was important to me! Timsy was right, just start at the back and enjoy it!!
Train with the numbers, race with the feel
This was a race that had intimidated me and signing up was not my idea. It was so iconic and to me as an ultra-runner, so goddamn fast. It was the final test for my doubting self who felt my successes thus far were tactics and toughness reliant. As a pure runner what was I made of? As I ran round passing dozens of over-cooked, cramped up, fallen-to-pieces men, I thought, lord Jesus, self-doubt is the contagion of the patriarchy. How is it that I’m witnessing this (& fair play to them like!), but yet on the side of the road cheering us where so many far superior women athletes who were too riddled with self-doubt to see that they were more than worthy. If you’re reading this and there’s a race in the back of your mind! Just take a bold chance and sign up. I have never felt ready or good enough for most of the things I’ve done. If I’d let my self-confidence have the steering wheel of my life, I’d have been robbed of the best experiences and the most formative building blocks of my self-esteem. To fail in life is a huge achievement, the most admirable of acts in my humble opinion. It means that you’re moving towards what you value in life, that you’re prepared to take risks and be vulnerable in the adventure that is life. That’s where my Goldust is. Facing into failure is often the most excruciatingly vulnerable but most gloriously liberating thing I do.
I took a big risk, and I really recommend doing this. I never looked at my watch and ran entirely on feel rather than time. There was no point anyways, I’d been too busy to calculate the pace required to meet the cut offs. I made it with 20 mins to spare having not jogged a single meter of uphill. I ran the downs at a reasonable pace, but my flat running was not particularly fast at all. It was a gamble and it paid off. I even took an awful tumble on the flat. It happened so fast my only memory is the load of ooooof’s from others as they watched me slide along the gravel using my hands and knees as break pads. Dear Jesus it hurt but the adrenaline and my ego kept my blooded, pebble dashed legs moving. I didn’t do it anywhere near the time I’d hoped and shared with others. I’d spent all this money on coaching to arrive at a time that mattered to no one. It was great, I was where I needed to be mentally. I had done this for me only and I felt a deep settling pride in that.
Being true to oneself – the longest ultra of all
The rest of the year hurtled forward, and I lost my mojo, my fitness and my joy again. I didn’t bother berate myself, life had been too demanding. I know women like Jasmin Paris and Emma Stewart are so inspiring. Parts of me felt lazy and lesser for not trying to match their effort but I still wasn’t going to drive myself into the ground trying to have it all. Maybe it is just too much! Well, there’s nothing like having your boobs squashed flat between the transparent plates of a mammogram to give oneself crystal clear perspective! F**k it I thought, you can’t have it all, so something has to give and it’s not always gonna be me, it’s going to have to be work!
Late in 2024 I found a lump in my breast. I knew by the expression on my doctors face she was concerned and when the consultant drew not 1 but 2 circles on my breast I thought I was a goner. I knew loads of courageous runners who’ve survived breast cancer, but the key was catching it early and I hadn’t been coppin’ a feel at all! Major life lesson!! Maybe it had been left undetected and to make matters worse I found out that the BRCA gene (that makes you highly suspectable to cancer) was in my family. The injury of not being told this before now was significant. I was furious. Flippin’ stoic families, ey!! This terrified me in ways I never imagined. To be honest, the prospect of death wasn’t what scared me. Suffering did, and what was new to me, the incredible disappointment of missing out on what felt like my destiny, doing this doctorate and finally having the career I love. I had worked so hard, overcome so many hurdles to get here in my life and mind, and to get cancer now! What if the chemo meant that I couldn’t run or adventure again? I’ll have never had a chance to do the Spine Race, how hilarious a thought is that!
Involuntary transitions
I’ve now had 3 benign lumps aspirated and have been diagnosed with perimenopause. What a perspective altering time. Getting two cancer scares and learning that your body is entering a profound transition. That helped clear the waters! The trick hadn’t been knowing what I needed but instead finding a way to make it happen and accepting the potential repercussions. Saying no and potnetially letting people and myself down. You see, my effort and perfectionism are like a gas, they fill the space they’re given. We had been told time and time again, that our work just needed to be good enough, which was great, but what kept coming was unrelenting. I decided to take the biggest risk of all, to ringfence 10 hours a week for me, to commit to that regardless of the many demands of the course and to mark this I would embark upon the Fellsman. Christmas came and to aid this new attempt to restore balance I decided to give up the booze. I do love my Cava and Champagne but I was dancing a fine line, trying to do an ultra in the middle of a doctorate and not end up in a boom-and-bust cycle of motivation and exhaustion. It made a surprisingly big difference to my sleep and recovery even with the relatively little I drank. I was really struggling with my perimenopause, and trying to disentangle its effects in the midst of so many other effects was bewildering. I felt wretched at times, the brain fog, the fatigue, my hair was falling out, my body was changing, and my sleep was now constantly interrupted. What was I thinking, I can’t do an ultra in the middle of all this but I couldn’t afford not to. I needed to forget all the concerned, crazy expressions on my colleagues faces and go with my gut. I’m not normal but I’m not necessarily wrong. It’s hilarious isn’t it when we talk to normal people about the things we do. They really just don’t get it. Our kinda’ antics had become so normalised to me in the outdoors industry. The more I tried to explain that the 100k Fellsman was half my normal distance and within my context a very laid back, no pressure choice, the more insane I appeared 🤣🤣.
The more you do, the more you can do
There were many bumps along the road and times when I had to reign myself in or take a week off training to recover for example from the food poisoning I got from eating an oyster in London! All in all however, it did me the absolute world of good. I decided to bring my running gear to work with me and go for a jolly before getting distracted by other demands. I would get out for a short run on a saturday morning and spend most of sundays running free in the fells. My brain fog improved; this was also massively aided when I gave up on dieting. That was a ridiculous thing to try given my circumstances, but I soon got sense. My peri symptoms didn’t really improve but the rest of life around them did. I had been chronically fatigued in a way I’d never experienced before, that stayed, but alongside it was my Spirit. I needed movement to think better, to learn faster and write better. The benefits to me mentally and work wise were incredible but my performance running wise was unexpectedly plateauing and I needed to understand why.
Am I just past it?
Am I just past it? Is this what menopausal women have to accept? The feminist in me wanted to rage against the injustice and constraints of it all. Well, I was going to push through it, prove them wrong, redefine the menopausal! Then my tired body whimpered. I remembered graduating out of a need to prove anything, of the fluidity of being ok with both being kind to myself and embracing that ferociously determined part of me. I remember a friend of mine, a seasoned admirable fellrunner when she got diagnosed with breast cancer. She said that she didn’t need to be a hero of her journey. Her intention was not do chemo and be out running so inspirationally quick afterwards. Instead, she was giving herself permission to ‘just be, and heal.’ That always stayed with me. I returned to being ok with not doing it all, all of the time. Well….sort of 😉. I decided to chat to a coach again. A coach! But didn’t I hate it last time? Besides there’s only 2 months left, what difference could it make?
To do the same thing twice and expect a different result…
I’d remembered running with the Settle Harriers shortly after the three peaks race and meeting Steve Hopwood who’d just ran the Fellsman in an incredible time. Everyone was excitedly talking about their races but the humility with which he shared their joy really struck me. He had all talent but none of the ego. I’d clocked that he was a running coach and decided to have a frank chat with him, albeit 10 months later. I chose my last coach because I viewed him as the best. I went with my ego rather than my gut, when instead I needed someone who aligned with my goals and values. It was worth the chance because it was a completely different experience, mostly because I knew what I didn’t want this time and made it explicitly clear. I didn’t do near as much training as was suggested but that was ok. The response to the little I did was reassuring and I faced into the Fellsman having covered only a small fraction of the miles I’d have normally done. What was my potential given this very different style of training? Time was to tell.
Tapers as we all know are one of the hardest parts of training. No more than yourselves I’m normally crawling up the walls, but I had my transfer viva looming and was finishing up a placement with its consequent assessments. The wheels were starting to wobble and when I took my foot off the gas the only place I wanted to crawl was bed. Jesus Christ how was I gonna get going again? I found myself bewildered at the start line. I had no idea what time to aim for. Well I just had to figure it out on the course and, more importantly, not forget to enjoy myself.
To seek out the Flow...
For me, running long distance has always been a transformative, trancendental experience, spiritual you might say but not in the religious sense. It’s a deeply philosophical journey into the depths of what I’m made of. Yes there can be suffering and discomfort but once you radically accept this, you’re emancipated into something far more meaningful and fulfilling. I can be intensely focused on a particular outcome but ultimately I'm always chasing the euphoric feeling of flow. A slightly more extreme but sublime form of mindfulness, that stays with you for months after the event. This is very difficult to explain to others. How can something so seemingly tortuous be so life changing and euphoric? It’s been an interesting experience trying to convey this to a class full of doctoral clinical psychologists and not look utterly insane. I've given up trying. Many find it hard to see beyond the dazzling numbers and what they think it means about you to be able to do that. This for me, misses the point entirely. What’s extraordinary about it is not the individuals who do it, not the performance but how much we as humans and especially marginalised groups completely underestimate what there capable of. I’ll say it again, how can any woman, with a body designed to push a 6lb human out their….. think that running in the mountains for a day or so is too much for them? Women have been in labour for longer yet people think Women are weaker than Men! You might rather sensibly choose not to do this but everyone’s capable of so much more than they think and I’m a living testament to that.
CHAPTER TWO - THE RACE
The start of this race really tested me. I had never turned up to anything so undertrained and underprepared and my ankle was strapped to the hilt from wrecking it the week before. Check-in had unexpectedly took all evening and I got to bed late and barely slept. A far cry from my usual evening of chilling out and meditation. I felt horrendous at the start line. I decidedly accepted it though, there was no point in dwelling on it and making matters worse. The miles ahead were many and like my mantra ‘nothing would last forever, not even death.’ Off we went, into the sun, and up Ingleborough where I accidently caught up with Clare Nance. This was a clear sign I was going too fast. She was chipper and comfortable ambling up the hill, whilst I was hangin’ on for dear life. It felt so demoralizingly slow, but I daren’t move any faster. It was a needed distraction getting swept up the hill but I didn’t want to get wrapped up in her pace and end up dying in a heap the wrong side of Whernside. All was negated when I rolled my ankle only 6 miles in and had to slow down. This was not getting off to a great start 🫤
The battle with my fatigue and the heat continued. The thought of running 60 miles when I felt so tired daunted me. It was so strange. I’d been so determined and excited for this day all year, but now all I wanted to do was go back to bed. I felt so sick on the ups and couldn’t run the downs like normal as my ankle was banjaxed. Gosh, my head had never been in such a dark place before, normally I’d find the positive in everything. I even had thoughts of dropping out when the food I forced down me on Gragareth was promptly refluxed back up. There were loads of amazing women around me, all of them in the front peloton of the race, looking both inspiringly and demoralizingly strong. After Great Coum I caught up with Karen Nash, the utter legend storming across the fells, steadfast as ever! This spurred me on to Dent alongside a lovely compliment from Debbie. Here I met my close friend Tom, who like a typical lad went off like a rocket having paced himself like a hare on speed. I turned up heartened to find that many others had been stifled by the heat too. It was time to shelve the idea of either racing or quitting and get loads of fluid on board. I was 20miles in and hadn’t pee’d yet! The poor teenage scouts didn’t know what to do with themselves when I asked them to pour the jug of water over my head. And just like that, the sun went in, the food went down and what lay ahead was a brand-new race. Like I’d hoped, I miraculously came back to life and the boost from this was fire under my legs. The next 40 miles I got steadily faster and faster. There was an inverse relationship between the sun and my speed.
It felt amazing and very strange to be pushing harder the further I went into the race. I normally hit a proper wall by Redshaw, 30 tough miles in, but I felt dapper talking Spine tactics with a lovely lad called Tom. It felt weird and wonderful running with someone so fit who struggled to keep up with me, alas this was lost as he kept catching me on the downs. It was hard to not feel demoralised by how unstable my ankle felt on the rough descents, but discipline was key. I kept leap frogging with a fantastic runner called Lynn, she was so strong and focused every time I saw her but my better line off Dodd Fell allowed me to get in front. I couldn’t believe I felt so strong at 38 miles but again this advantage was robbed on the road descent from Fleet Moss. I didn’t push it as the steepness of the road and my over tightened laces were causing me some tendonitis. I lost a lot of time on this road section. I felt a little weary on the ascent from Yockenthwaite and started congratulating myself about the relatively few miles left (still nearly 20 mind and three more ascents!!). This could have been a fatal indulgence had I not caught Lynn on the ascent. I had been super conservative to here and this was my chance to test who had more in the tank. She was a better runner on the flat but nevertheless I pulled away on the approach to Hells Gap. This was my only glimpse of racing the whole day but it spurred me on as I passed a fellow rescue colleague whilst teetering on my wonky ankles down the technical descent to Cray.
The Patriarchy is real....
and it is the Women who have torn me apart most viciously
Now then, I really value straight talking vulnerable truth, and being true to that, I’m going to fess up about something internal that was going on for me in this last section. To keep the people anonymous, I’ll be somewhat vague. In many ways my running has been a poignant exploration of my potential both physically, mentally and spiritually. I was an insecure young adult and these races have shattered my self-concept and redefined a whole new world of what I’m made of, and capable of. I’ve hung out with many extraordinary athletes over the years and going through the process of awe and rebuilding has not always been supported. Stepping into your own power can be really threatening to others and their reactions to it can wound ones confidence. The shifting of power as relationships evolve, can also elicit some interesting dynamics that both parties might be oblivious to. This is something I believe I’ve experienced, and it’s been most viciously at the hands of women who have perceived me as a threat to something they believe is both scarce and threatened - power and glory. They occupied most generous ‘mentor’ roles, so long as I was, in their minds, athletically subordinate to them. When they perceived me to be either trying to compete with them or gaining on them (neither were actually ever remotely true) they proceeded to tear me down. This was so confusing and painful at the time and it’s taken a lot of reflection and stepping back to understand. I mention this because I believe it’s not an uncommon occurrence. It’s often an unsaid part of how women are socialised to compete for what they erroneously believe is scarce and it can bring out a primitive behaviour that wounds others. As a feminist who is passionate about helping empower others, I feel it needs naming and validating.
Risk it and leave it all out there
Something I can’t say reminded me of this, I felt the pull of their resentment deep inside, pulling at past insecurities. They had said to me I was never capable of the time I was now looking to finish in, and scoffed at my more humble aims. What if they were right? Doubt bubbled up as an unconscious heavy feeling. I recognised this insidious poison and shook it off by upping my speed. I instantly went from feeling shite and small to focused and determined. I came back to myself and the glorious mountains. How would I ever know my limits if I wasn’t prepared to fail? Steve's words played through my mind...'once you get to Cray (45 miles in), put the foot down and leave it all out there'. It’s amazing the power of a thought. I didn’t really believe it, but I was gonna give it a whorl and see if I survived. I was averaging 4.1mph and wanted to try and keep it that way. Yet again this was mindblowing. Not only was I on track to beat my last time, with half the training, I was on track to beat my 6.6ft lakes born, husband’s time. I didn’t give a shite where I placed amongst the women now, I just wanted to beat Mikes time. The craic we’d get out of that would be mighty🤣🤣 !! That would get his running mojo back. From Cray I was heartened to meet and pass loads of lovely Fellsman runners. How could I feel so good, so late, into a race where I felt so dire to begin with? I even caught up with Clare on the descent off Buckden Pike, she was bossin it but didn’t seem bothered to race me, something I was very relieved by.
The descent off Great Whernside was a little frustrating, as the ground was in perfect nick. Oh to just switch the brain off and hurtle towards the now dry but usually leg sucking bog below. Instead I was having to tip toe down and this was made all the more irritating by taking a woefully shite line across to the path. I was bored by this point and ready for the end. I cranked up the Led Zepplin to get me going but I could hear some very loud singing in the distance. This made no sense at all, I couldn’t see any runners anywhere near. Could I be hallucinating, surely not, its not even bedtime yet. As I got closer to the Capplestone Gate checkpoint I could make out the dorset tones of the Craven Pothole Club motely crew (my husbands caving club) who were singing most gleefully ‘Balls to Bradford Pothole Club’….. a sweet affectionate song LOL, for people like me in the rival (& clearly superior) Bradford Pothole Club. Yes we're a bit of a Romeo and Juliet duo (hubby & I) in the Caving world. This was a fabulously ironic boost and lifted my legs and my spirits to the end. I was now unbeknownst to me in 5th place amongst the women.
So, there ya have it. It’s possible to train and do an ultra in the middle of a doctorate and not run yourself into the ground. Ironically, it did my head, my mood and my academic performance the world of good. Yes, I felt bolloxed most of the time, but I would have done anyways. At least I was happy and productive and bolloxed. It also showed my perfectionist, anxious overachiever side that you really don’t need half the preparation you think, and in spite of loads of stuff going wrong you can still have the performance of your life. This was my 4th Fellsman. My first I did in 26.5hrs, my 2nd in 19.5, my 3rd in 15.38 and this one, my 4th, in 14hrs 43 minutes, another woman in the top 10% of the race. A Woman won it overall 😊 and nearly had the overall record too while she was at it. Weaker sex, my arse!! Also, not so great for me but amazing for women, is that we’re collectively getting so much better that my time would normally have been 2nd woman, not 5th. I ran it nearly an hour faster than last time even when I was moving slower on the downs, normally my biggest strength. Having a coach really helped even if I only gave Steve 2 months and feck all training runs to sort me out and it wasn't a regime of beasting me. We were both surprised with my time.
I started my running journey carrying two parts - one a young insecure child, the other an ambitious chancer open to failure and success. On each long run my inner child learns to trust the older part, and that child's need to protect me from failure quietens. I nurture both, and I continue to explore and grow.
I want to say a few THANK YOU'S. To my husband, my rock and my biggest cheerleader, to Becca of Eye-Bex sports therapy who’s blessed hands repaired the relationship between my legs and my ambitions and compensated for all the strength and conditioning I never got the time to do, to Steve Hopwood of Zone 2 coaching, you listened, you tailored and you worked to my values. I didn't do as I was told but you kept showing up for me on my terms. Thank you for all your professionalism. And to my fab friend Vicky, who unbeknownst to her likely saved my race. If you hadn’t of been so kind and got me those sweets I’d have been stuffed cause I couldn’t eat anything else that day. That bit was grim.
And finally, this was a fundraiser for a very important Charity, Mind - Bradford and Craven. Inequality is something dear to my heart. I'm doing my doctoral thesis in Clinical Psychology on the mental health of adolescents in Bradford and their stats are so stark, it brings me to tears, often! All children need a chance especially those living in poverty and deprivation. Bradford District, a beautifully diverse melting pot of cultures, has some of the worst health inequalities in the UK. Despite the UK being the 6th richest country in the world, over 20% of Bradford's children live in poverty and deprivation which significantly impacts mental health. Ethnically minoritised children in Bradford will experience a 20-year healthy life expectancy gap between them and their white counterparts only 10 miles down the road. This is NOT right. Every child deserves a chance!
Please spare a couple of quid to help with the terrific community work of Bradford Mind.