Getting to the start line of my first “Spine” race

The Spine Race is one of those iconic races almost everyone has heard of, even beyond the running community. It’s notorious. The most brutal race in the UK, they say. Add the full force of the British winter in January and you have a real challenge on your hands.

The full Spine Race distance is 268 miles, covering the entire length of the Pennine Way, but other distances have been added to the series since the inaugural edition in 2012. These include the Challenger and Sprint options, the latter being a ‘mere’ 46 miles. My race, the Winter Spine Challenger South, covers the first 108 miles of the Pennine Way from Edale in the Peak District to Hawes in the Yorkshire Dales. That distance is more than enough to be challenging, especially given the vagaries of the weather at this time of year. North of Edale is not an area of the Peak District I know well, so I was looking forward to getting out onto new terrain and exploring some unfamiliar trails.

I’ve always been drawn to big challenges and, although I’ve run many long races since I started ultra-running in 2012 (more than 80 in fact), I’d never taken part in a Spine Series race before. A gap in my event calendar, combined with a serendipitous email offering a waiting-list place in November 2025 led me to the start line. Sometimes things just feel meant to be.

And so there I was, standing in Edale, lined up for a delayed start—pushed back by two hours as Storm Goretti dumped significant snowfall across large parts of the country, bringing widespread travel disruption. Such was the concern that all train services in the area were cancelled for the 24 hours preceding the race, forcing the organisers to delay the start to give runners more time to arrive.

My race-day preparations were more relaxed than some. I’d stayed locally at the YHA near Edale the night before and was being exceptionally well looked after by my good friend Spencer. His next-level chef skills and meticulous organisation set me up perfectly in terms of logistics and nutrition.

With no way of knowing exactly what conditions would be like—or how much rest I’d need over 108 miles with around 5,500 metres of climb—I set myself a rough target of between 45 and 48 hours. Whether I finished at the lower or upper end of that range, I knew there would be two long nights out on the hill. In January, there are fewer than seven hours of daylight, meaning around 17 hours of darkness to endure before the sun rises again.

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The First Day – ‘Winter Wonderland’ (Start to 32 miles)

At just before 10am on Saturday 10 January 2026, 173 of us stood cold—and perhaps a little nervous—on the start line. After a brief set of pre-race announcements, we were off.

After a couple of flat miles out of Edale, we soon started to climb up Jacob’s Ladder onto the Kinder Plateau—the first real opportunity to assess the conditions. The climb itself wasn’t too bad, but once on top it was clear that significant snowfall had accumulated and we were in for a challenging day traversing the high plateau which was white in every direction as far as the eye could see.

The first pop-up checkpoint, run by a local Mountain Rescue team, came at around 15 miles. My planned time to this point was 4 hours 55 minutes. Arriving just after 3pm, I was close to plan and, importantly, relatively unscathed—nothing more than a few slips and a couple of falls, softened by the snow. After a brief stop, I pressed on.

I was cold, but that was expected. The temperature had barely risen above freezing all day and I’d been running in four or five layers for most of it. As darkness fell not long after 4pm, I was conscious that it would only get colder so I needed to keep moving. An overnight low of -8°C was forecast, so conserving body heat early on was vital.

Around seven miles later came the next unofficial checkpoint at the A635 crossing, accompanied by rumours of a snack van that might still be open. Arriving just after 6pm, I was relieved to see the hot food van still there. I thanked the team profusely for being out on such a bitterly cold evening while they heated up a sausage sandwich for me. It went down perfectly alongside a hot chocolate and a can of Coke.

Ten miles remained to Nicky’s Foodbar—another unofficial but well-established fixture on the route. A transport café housed inside a shipping container. Spencer was there waiting for me, keen to see how things were going, and we headed inside to find a table.

The air was thick with warmth and moisture, heavy with the aroma of burgers, chips, and frying oil—like a fast-food restaurant and a sauna sharing the same space. The guy serving told us to help ourselves to any chocolate we wanted—a generous gesture that perfectly captured the community spirit inspired by the Spine Races.

I spotted a crème egg and thought, yes please—that’s exactly what I want. Sadly, my excitement was short-lived. In the time it took to put my food down and return, another runner had taken the last one. Catastrophe!

Still, I was grateful to sit down and tucked into a cheeseburger and chips with a hot cup of tea. My second-choice confectionery was a Twix, which I took with me and ate on the trail. Even so, I couldn’t get crème eggs out of my head. I really, really wanted one—preferably several!

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Into Darkness (32–46 miles)

I left Nicky’s at around 21:40, feeling warm and well fuelled after nearly 12 hours on the move. I made a conscious effort to maintain a decent pace to keep my heart rate up as I quickly cooled off and began shivering in the cold night air.

The mission was simple: cover the next 14 miles and reach the sanctuary of the mid-race indoor checkpoint before the weather deteriorated. It was already bitterly cold, but sleet and rain were forecast overnight. I was desperate to arrive dry; getting wet would mean getting colder and having to dry kit on top of everything else that needed doing.

After a slippery, winding descent into the valley, I reached Hebden Hey Scout Centre at around 2am—the (not quite) halfway point. The rain had held off, and I felt incredibly fortunate.

The maximum permitted dwell time there was eight hours, but my plan was to be out in under six. That allowed time for hot food, access to my drop bag, and a few hours’ sleep.

After warm chicken-and-rice broth followed by rice pudding, I sorted my kit—swapping headtorch batteries, refilling food bags, and topping up bottles. I was then shown to an 18-bed dormitory and an empty top bunk.

I settled down shortly after 3am and set an alarm for 6:30am, just in case. In reality, there was little risk of oversleeping. The reality of 18 exhausted, sweaty, restless men trying to sleep in the same room quickly became apparent. Inevitably, there was a snorer—possibly the loudest and most irritating I’ve ever encountered!

After half an hour of quiet irritation and failed attempts to fall asleep, I eventually drifted off. I woke slowly around 6am, having managed about two and a half hours’ sleep. Not wanting to fall back asleep, I stretched, moved around and quietly lowered myself down from the bunk, went downstairs to eat some breakfast, and then prepared to leave.

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Once more unto the breach

Just before 7am, I stepped out into the pre-dawn drizzle and began climbing back up towards the Pennine Way. Along the climb I passed runners still making their way down towards the checkpoint, several hours behind me in the race, cold and wet, but all still within the 24-hour cut-off at 10am on Sunday.

I mentally reset as I moved forward along the Pennine Way. Clearing my head to go through it all again. At this point, there were still 62 miles to go, but that thought didn’t register at the time. My only aim was to stay present—to deal with each mile, each climb, each step as it came, without worrying about what lay ahead.

To be continued…

Please Support My 2026 Fundraiser

Running the Spine Challenger was never just about finishing a race for me. I choose these challenges because they test resilience, patience, and mindset—qualities that many people are forced to draw on every day through circumstances not of their choosing. Through my blog The Hard Way, I’m raising money for UK charities supporting people affected by homelessness and mental health challenges. Please support my 2026 fundraising if you can. I’d be hugely grateful for your support. Every donation helps turn hard miles into something that genuinely matters.
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