If I’m honest, I went into this one knowing I hadn’t put enough effort into training. The concept of running from one side of the Lake District to the other has always appealed, but in practice the thought of that boring second-half just wormed its way into my head a little too far. Not that that stopped me making a multitude of other schoolboy errors though.
This was the first serious race I’d done for about 18 months, so I was a little out of practice. Staying in a Travelodge the night before (rather than camping) seemed like a sensible idea, but realistically meant a 04:00 wake-up to ensure I caught the coach to Caldbeck at 05:45. I was fairly sensible up the first hill (High Pike) then got cross with people fannying about on the descent trying to avoid the mud. I opened up, ignored my quads screaming, and flew down to the valley floor and the River Caldew. A lady caught up with me in the process, saying she had been saving her legs but my flat-out running gave her permission to also have fun and enjoy the descent too, which I was very pleased about!
The ascent of Blencathra was a bit of a slog, but that was soon forgotten when we crested the summit to a sea of cloud.
© Haydn Williams 2026
I had never been down Hall’s Fell ridge before, and I didn’t enjoy it. It’s a lovely bit of ground; scrambly without being too dicey. In my opinion, though, there were too many inexperienced people trying to race down technical ground in inappropriate footwear. I witnessed several slips, including one person sliding six feet and taking out two people below him in the process. Not fun.
Thankfully I survived, made it to the first checkpoint in Threlkeld, and had my mind blown. Being used to proper races with no checkpoints, I was astounded by the amount and variety of food and drink on offer. I had a sandwich and a glass of coke, but since my bag already contained sufficient provisions to feed a small village, I got back out on the road after about five minutes. I felt invincible leaving the checkpoint but that lasted only as far as the climb up Clough Head. I’d not been that way in the past, and I don’t ever intend to go that way again in future. My legs turned to jelly, I had multiple rest stops, and no amount of food could recover it. My first sit-down was at trig point, from where I walked the rest of the route. I was not in a particularly cheery mood, but figured I may was well continue and see what happened. Plus the weather and scenery were lovely.
© Haydn Williams 2026
Anyway, long-story-short neither my legs nor my mood improved, although the latter did perk up once I decided to call it a day at Grisedale Tarn and head down to the road. It was worth persevering for the hills, but I wasn’t about to punish myself with another eight hours of flat-ish footpath running when I already felt pretty rubbish. Mega-thanks to the lady who gave me a lift to Ambleside, from whence I caught an Uber back to the start and scurried home. 40 km and 2,500 m ascent isn’t too shoddy, but I should probably prep a bit more next time.
Assessment: Not enough hill training, leading to poor morale when body rebelled. Not enough desire to actually complete the second half of the course, leading to bailing out before the flat bit. Not enough races entered, leading to a lack of any semblance of race-craft.