Day 3

The next morning the universe threw us a bone – it had finally stopped raining. We were excited, knowing that we were only 1.5km away from Nicky’s diner, where we could get some breakfast, coffee and replenish our water supplies. Chris had messaged her the night before – worried about getting caught short – she was kind enough to reply and confirm it would be open from 8am.

Packing up was a swampy nightmare. Thankfully, I had packed a million of those supermarket zip lock plastic bags meant for sandwiches. Instead they became biohazard containment units: wet stuff in one, damp stuff in another etc. I would find a way to dry some of it later.

Arriving at Nicky’s just in time for the wind to play ‘keep your clothes on’ we hid around the leeward side of the diner to protect ourselves from the elements. 8.00 AM came and went, total ghost town. On the positive side, there was a portaloo, which I imagine sees biblical queues during the Spine race. Chris sent a message asking if it would be opened soon and received a wildly apologetic message from the owner who said her staff had let her down today. She was extremely sorry and was chasing it up. In the meantime 30 minutes had passed and it was now raining, so we admitted defeat and decided to carry on.

No water restock, no hot food. Just the two of us, a litre of water between us and a handful of squashed snack bars to survive the day. Brilliant. Its not Nicky’s fault. We should of been more prepared. For me, it was also about learning about each other. Chris did not fare well on low food supplies. I could cope on less calories but struggled mentally to deal with the pain in my back and my wet bag of clothes. Either way, we weren’t in the best of moods as we trudged on.

The terrain was far easier today. The “weather” came and went so we played the game of ponchos on, ponchos off quite a bit. In between we enjoyed the walk over Black Hill, which looked suspiciously like White Hill and Kinder in terms of high plateau, lots of rocky terrain and grey weather. Next we walked onto Marsden Moor, which looked genuinely stunning under a rare blast of sunlight.

The day was a lengthy bite of stony trails, endless flagstones and more reservoirs than I can remember. We walked near to them, around them, alongside them.

In the morning after passing the White House pub, which was closed until midday, we bumped into Kit walking the other way along the trail by Blackstone edge reservoir. She was walking John O Groats to L:ands End, mostly wild camping and covering over 20 miles a day. It is inspiring to see young people on their adventures and it gave us a real mood lift. Kit had taken her first day off in 30 days at a hostel in Hebden and remarked how good it was. This obviously planted some seeds in Chris’s brain. More on that later.

Our grand finale was Stoodley Pike, where we now found ourselves bathed in sunshine again. The damp clothes came out and we hung them off the back of our rucksacks. This is where we also ran into civilisation: the day trippers were out, presumably walking up from Hebden to see the monument.

I suddenly got a burst of energy on the last stretch. My lighter pack (due to there being no water left) and the fantasy that I was in the spine sprint race and heading to the finish line made me want to run down the hill, like I was winning or something. Perhaps the lack of food was making me hallucinate.

The euphoria died when we hit the valley floor. Low blood sugar is a marital hazard and suddenly we couldn’t agree which direction to walk. The campsite was up the hill to our left, Hebden Bridge was to our right – but considerably further away than I’d realised. Which way was best to get food and water as soon as possible? In the end we opted to walk down the road towards Hebden hoping to see a pub or cafe before we got to the centre. Suddenly there it was: Salvation – a roadside coffee van. We wanted to do a victory jig but instead settled for egg butties and lucozade.

As I was inhaling my egg butty (along with a decent amount of shell), Chris was leaning against a wall, frantically tapping on his phone. He turned to me and said he could get us into the hostel Kit mentioned in Hebden, if I wanted. I wasn’t sure. A wave of outdoor guilt hit me – we should be camping. But then I thought about my pack – roughly 70% of its contents were wet and the hostel had the holy grail: a drying room. Beside this, it was technically our holiday. Yes we are doing a challenge, but nobody was giving out medals at the end (although it turns out they give you a certificate). We were allowed to enjoy ourselves. The guilt evaporated. I nodded, and Chris booked it before I could change my mind.

The IOU hostel in HB is absolutely lovely. The only catch? It sits atop a hill that is so aggressively steep we were digging our walking poles into the ground. I’ve since discovered this is the exact same hill where the Spine Sprint finish line is located. Cool.

After conquering Mount Hebden, we evacuated our wet gear into the perfect drying room, exited a monster spider from the bathroom, showered and redressed in our spare kit. I should note we only ever had two sets of kit. One you wore and one you carried. Rejuvenated we made our way back into the centre of town to enjoy coffee and cake at a lovely cafe in the central area. Hebden is beautiful, and we sat soaking up the buzzing cultural vibe to the soundtrack of a local busker playing his guitar. A quick food restock later, we retreated to the hostels snug room to eat dinner and relax.

Day 4.

A new day brought new vigour. We were technically speaking, off course, so started our day by making our way back onto our original route on the PW. This involved climbing a seriously steep moss-covered cobblestone path that turned out to be a hideously slippy death trap. Chris told me to step onto the razor-thin cutting edge of each stone – a strategy foreign to my feet. It helped, but i still occasionally lost traction, sliding backwards while emitting a high-pitched ‘eeek!’

The four kilometre trek to May’s shop was a beautiful mixture of steep inclines, narrow woodland trails and boulder hopping. Reaching the legendary shop felt like making it to the promised land; we finally met May and secured the ultimate prize: cheese pasties for the road.

From that point on, the landscape underwent a transformation, trading the rocky terrain of the first few days for rolling grassy fields, an endless obstacle course of stiles and gates, herds of silly sheep and finally, the open moors. I quickly realised this bleak, windswept wilderness was my absolute happy place. Of course, the trail couldn’t just let me enjoy it; one steep hill masqueraded as several, turning one false summit into another.

Finally we came over the top and spotted Top Withens in the distance – the ruined farmhouse that inspired Wuthering Heights. The weather was still dry and after inspecting the ruins, we claimed a bench out front for lunch. Shortly after, Philippa, our buddy from day two on the Way appeared. Just as she said hi, the heavens opened and we all ducked into the tiny side shelter, happy to escape the rain and have a good adventure catch up.

The last 10km of the day went from easy fields and moors to a ridiculous descent into Cowling dodging bogs and streams.

We found our campsite and joined many other hikers in a very small field. After playing tent-peg Tetris, desperately trying not to trip over everyone else’s guy ropes, Chris was in full social-butterfly mode, happily chatting away with Kate, Maren, and others. Meanwhile; I was residing in a dark, anti-social place in my tent. My back was screaming. I tried rolling from side to side with my knees to get some of the locked-up muscles to release.

It was hard to tell what hurt more: my spine, or the fact that literally everyone else looked fresh as a daisy. What is wrong with me? I wondered. After showers, we dragged ourselves into the village for supplies, scoring a chippy tea and eating it in the local pub (shoutout to the landlord who allowed us to eat inside). It should have been a triumph, but it was honestly my lowest point. The pain completely hijacked my evening. On the way back, I kept having to pause, bend double like an elderly person, and just breathe in and out slowly.

This was getting ridiculous.

Day 5

We awoke in glorious sunshine and a miracle: my back had stopped screaming. Never underestimate the power of sleep. We indulged in our unusual breakfast of tuna sandwiches and more usual mugs of coffee.

The day started (as most did) with a climb. The first trig was Pinhaw Beacon, followed by a descent back down to Thornton in Craven, where we began hunting for a tuck shop we had read about. When we found it we were delighted. It was a tiny shed with a fridge full of cold drinks and a table overflowing with snacks and noodles. Outside there was a table and chairs to sit at and enjoy your goodies. The honesty box set up had a standard mini book to write down what you had eaten and paid for alongside a tin for cash. More unusually they had provided a small card machine so you could pay that way. How amazing is that? A fully functioning card machine, in the middle of nowhere, that works on trust. Honesty boxes always restore my faith in humanity – its such an awesome thing to do for hikers.

A few kilometres on we found Ardor Cafe just off the Canal and stopped for a proper sit-down lunch. Two stops in one day – absolutely blessed.

Pumped up with caffeine we continued along undulating hills, before coming into Gargrave, where we stocked up at the co-op and bumped into Luke for a catch up. We then proceeded along the last 10km stretch to Malham on easy flattish terrain by a river. Nonetheless we were starting to feel the 30km and 900m of climbing in our tired muscles.

Just before Malham there was one last really short sharp hill that seemed especially hard, largely because it was unexpected.

The centre of Malham was very pretty, old buildings, a winding river, and a sudden, influx of actual human beings. We stopped briefly for an ice cream and then walked up the road to the campsite. The site was a hiker’s utopia: a really large field, amazing shower facilities, a washing station, and a sheltered area with washing lines and pegs to hang your laundry. Looming in the distance the white wall of Malham Cove, our first climb for the following day.

We pondered walking back down the hill into the centre of Malham to have a pub dinner, but a nearby vegan restaurant caught our eye. It turned out to be a slightly posh establishment – or so it felt – making me hyper-aware of my smelly hiking boots and intensely ripe clothing. Still, the food was spectacular. After topping up our wine reservoirs and charging our phones, we retreated to the sanctuary of our tents for a genuinely blissful night’s sleep.

We kicked off day one bathed in glorious sunshine and a healthy dose of hikers optimism.

We had stayed over at the YHA in Edale the night before, which meant we only had a 2km skip and hop to reach the official start of the Pennine Way.

The launch pad is a modest gate, tucked around the corner from the Old Nags Head pub. Fun fact: they serve a really spectacular plate of veggie sausages, mash and gravy btw. On another day this might of been a useful way to get some additional calories in but it was 8.30 in the morning.

We trekked up towards the start of Jacobs Ladder, a climb we’ve done so many times before. The walk started so easily – life was good. We were happy in the sun and delightfully deluded about the path ahead.

Day one was supposed to be around 28km (30km if you count the bonus mileage from our YHA). My only minor concern was the short descent off Kinder Scout after Kinder downfall. Why? Because I am a chronic over thinker of rocks. Give me a steep uphill or a nice grassy slope down and I’m fine. Give me a sharp rocky descent and my brain forgets how to function normally. My depth perception takes a holiday and I have to stand there like a buffering computer just to focus on the next step. Happily this particular down was a lot easier than I’d remembered it. Unhappily, Chris still made it down in half the time and I celebrated my triumph by catching my foot on the first step and attempting to tumble down after him.

Rewind to the start. We were basked in a warm sun as we continued over Kinder, climbing over the stones and rocks on repeat like an old fashioned step class without the leg warmers. Mid workout we met a lovely man called Luke. He told us he was walking bits of the Pennine Way, following his own custom itinerary. Further north he intended to ditch it all together and divert to Newcastle to run the Great North Run – so very cool.

Once we reached the bottom of the rocky down I nearly tripped over, we found ourselves on a long stretch of ground with a path made of flagstones. These were the first ones we came across but as the Way continued on we would soon find this was a very common way to help walkers avoid the peat bogs. Most of the flags were solid but occasionally they would wobble leading to a minor ‘woah’ moment. Thankfully they were all bone dry and so without a bench or large rock to sit on, we opted to simply sit on the stones to have our lunch. There was literally no one else around so it didnt seem to matter that we were directly on the path. We enthusiastically got out one of our stoves and cooked up noodles and a coffee. Looking back it seems funny. Later on the journey we tended to shove cheese butties in our mouths as we walked on like dead eyed zombies, the naivety of day one long behind us.

At the end of the flagstones we crossed the Snake Pass and stepped onto Bleaklow – a chaotic wilderness where easy paths quickly devolved into a maze of giant peat shelves and bogs. Navigating became a bit of a guessing game; we relied entirely on the glowing purple line on our watches to stay on track. After a short scramble up to the plateau, the heavens opened. We immediately looked like two swamp monsters from the deep and forged past the trig point. Mercifully the trail smoothed out onto a gorgeous ledge flanked by heather, giving us a brief reprieve.

The relentless rocky terrain that followed, however, felt like a nightmare at the time – largely because a tendon in my leg had decided to complain. Since we’ve been home I’ve seen YouTube videos and thought – ‘oh its not that bad.’ This has led me to question my own mind and I’m looking forward to doing another reccy to see if it feels better. The final drop down from Bleaklow is steep but not overly so.

A few kilometres later, after a short woodland walk and a short climb up a road, we found ourselves at Crowden Camping site. We’d booked our tents in to stay but when we got to reception we noticed they had some pods. Chris asked about the price. The lady explained it would be £16 extra for us to stay in one. Don’t mind if we do then. We’d heard that the weather would be bad overnight so it seemed like a no-brainer for so little extra.

As I was hobbling about the place causing alarm to people that saw me, we came across Kate and Maren. Little did we know that these two would become a recurring theme on this journey – we crossed paths so often they eventually felt like old childhood friends. Sadly, I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly on night one. As we stood chatting my back had a violent tantrum and went into spasm. Standing still was agony so I had to awkwardly abandon the conversation and move to our pod to sit down. The back-sabotage completely wrecked some of the early days on the trip for me in terms of socialising. Thankfully we found a solution later down the line – but more on that later.

We slept well in our pods and woke ready for day two in sunshine again. It didn’t appear to have rained at all, leading us to think we could have just camped after all.

Day two was mostly a solo affair, apart from an early encounter with Phillipa – an absolute legend who had already conquered the Pennine Way and was now cherry picking the best bits, while a company moved her bags for her from one pre booked accommodation to the next.

She was more than capable of the terrain as we started stepping over rivers and walking up steep rocks but we were faster so she wished us bon voyage and on we went. The weather took on a rainier turn and we donned our ponchos.

Clambering up steep, slick rocks my brain randomly asked: ‘Hey, remember how you want to do this in the dark in January?’ Mental stability questioned. After a hazy maze of stream-crossings and flagstones that completely ‘bypassed’ my waterproof socks, we finally camped up on White Hill. We had seen the spot on a YouTube video of the Pennine Way and had checked that we would get good weather for it. However, after two days of rubbish phone signal, we missed the memo that ‘good weather’ had been replaced by a torrential downpour and 40 mph winds.

We found our spot and took a moment to think about which way to face the tents so that the narrowest part was facing the oncoming wind direction. As we did this, it started to rain and the wind picked up. Pitching the tent went from ‘a bit tricky’ to ‘full on comedy sketch.’ I’d smash one peg in the ground, shuffle to the other end of the tent and look back just in time to see the tent fly off the first peg. In a moment of pure, unadulterated genius, I decided it was time to insert the centre pole. Huge mistake. I hadn’t built a shelter; I had built a plane. The tent suddenly had wings, lift and a desperate desire to fly into the sky. I spent the next ten minutes hanging onto the thing for dear life, airborne and aggressively cussing until I finally relented and asked Chris to come over and help me pin it down. Once anchored in a few places I was able to get the rest of it down and sorted.

Job done, I now crawled inside the swimming pool. As it had been raining hard for the duration and due to me and essentially most of my stuff being wet, it’s hard not to let some of that water get into your inner canvas/sanctuary. I dried the floor off as best I could and got the essentials laid down – my mat and sleeping bag. Now to deal with all the wet gear. I sorted it into piles: ‘miraculously still dry’, ‘might dry tomorrow hanging on the back of a rucksack’ and ‘nothing but a drying room is dealing with this stuff’. This sadly included my hiking boots and socks.

Listening to the 40 mph gales whip my tent sides back and forth, I lay there questioning my life choices.

A few other pics from the days:

We finally did it. After picking up our camper van back in January, life seemed determined to keep us off the road. Between a mountain of “house stuff, “ unexpected snow and even a bout of shingles, the van sat waiting – until this past weekend. We finally made our escape to Edale for our long-awaited first night away.

The Great British weather was unexpectedly kind, bathing the landscape in sunshine, as we tackled the climb up to Hollins Cross on Sunday afternoon. It was a classic peaks walk; six hilly kilometres featuring energetic stream jumps and what felt like a gallon of mud across the fields. We finished the day exactly how you should; tucked into the Nag’s Head, celebrating our first successful outing over a couple of creamy pints of Guinness and some well-earned hearty pub grub.

The first night in the van was a resounding success, thanks largely to the new roll-out mattress which proved to be incredibly cosy. Waking up to the quiet of the outdoors with hot coffee and toasted crumpets felt like the height of luxury.

We also had some top-tier entertainment right out our window. We spent the morning watching two men across the field engaged in a desperate battle against the wind, running back and forth in a frantic bid to stop their stove from toppling over. To be fair, they had been our main source of amusement the evening before too; we spent over an hour captivated by the spectacle of them pitching their tents, scratching their heads, and generally grappling with the Great Outdoors. Although as armchair critics we did make some of our own blunders, forgetting cutlery and having to stir our coffees with a penknife.

Our next trek took us up toward Barber Booth and back – a relatively modest six-kilometre loop that was made far more dramatic by a ferocious, unrelenting wind. It was the kind of ‘breeze’ that physically buffets you, threatening to knock you off balance with every gust. As we braced ourselves, we couldn’t help but wonder what the conditions were like up on the exposed plateau of Kinder Scout. I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for adverse weather; there is something about battling the elements that makes you feel profoundly, vibrantly alive.

Away from the van, our running training is hitting its stride. We’ve both successfully worked up to 18km of hilly trail, and with that under our belts, we’ve feeling more than ready for the off-road marathon in a few weeks. Looking further ahead, we’ve plotting a major adventure in September, though the specifics are still under wraps. We’ve currently debating whether we’ll both be on foot, or if I’ll take the lead runner role with Chris providing the ultimate mobile support in the camper van. We’ll have a clearer picture in a few months, but for now, we’re just relishing these run-walk outings and enjoying the rare feeling of being injury free.

Late last year Chris and I decided to plan an adventure for September 2026. Since my legs are holding up – or at least not flaring up when I run – we’ve put together a training plan to build our endurance up to moving 30km a day carrying full backpack/tent etc.

Our planned route should take about two and a half weeks, but I’m keeping the specifics under wraps for now.

I don’t want to overpromise only to be sidelined by tripping over a log – or knowing my luck over our very skittish cat.

We are just getting started again with our current long run sitting at 13km. A long way for some of course but still short in Ultra training terms. Over the next months we will be building that mileage up alongside other short runs, dragging our willing bodies to the gym, cycling and hiking. I’m craving those bigger miles, a chance for a long-run mini adventure, exploring hilly trails on foot, finding new cafes and rewarding ourselves with a tasty hit of latte and cake.

I’m hesitant to say my gluteal tendinopathy is resolved but there has been significant improvement. I walk and run pain-free but I still experience some soreness if I’ve done too much sitting and with certain gym exercises.

My latest physio session was a total eye-opener. She identified some key areas for me to strengthen – specifically my psoas (yes, I had to Google it too!}. We also did a deep-dive running analysis; we’d touched on it before, but this was the full, ‘official version’.

She asked me to run slightly faster than my normal comfy pace. After videoing me from every conceivable angle, we sat down together to watch the footage. She paused the video and drew a line on the screen from my hip to the floor to show me two issues: I was overstriding; landing with my leading foot way out in front of me as well as striking hard with the heel of my foot. These habits don’t just increase injury risk but also slow you down as you are essentially braking with every step.

She got me to run again and put a metronome on paced at 180bpm. She told me to run to the beat. This is apparently the optimal cadence. My natural one is more like 160. I wasn’t allowed to speed up the treadmill to reach this cadence. Instead I needed to turn my legs over faster to achieve this. She took more videos and once again we regrouped to watch them back. I was surprised that with only 5 minutes of advice my landing foot was now directly under my hip (as it should be). I was now landing flat on my foot rather than on my heel.

She asked me to resume running and this time asked me to imagine I was bounding through long grass. The goal was to fix my ‘flight’ – or lack there of. Normally I’m a shuffler; my feet barely leave the ground, making it a miracle I generate any forward momentum.

Imagining the grass I felt like I was skipping with exaggerated high knees. Whilst this is how it’s felt, the reality was more modest: I was finally adding a little lift to my stride.

Videos were taken and we sat down to look them over. It was amazing. As well as the added flight, I now had a clean toe-landing and improved rear foot kick.

Literally only 10 minutes training and my form was improved immensely.

She noticed I still looked a bit stiff, but reassured me its natural since the new form takes time to stick. and that this was natural. For the next 5 weeks, I’m to do some of my running to a metronome and visualise that long grass. I’ll then head back for part 2 – tackling my narrow gait. But one thing at a time.

In other news I spent a lovely day yesterday with a friend. We went to the Portico Library in Manchester to do a relaxing yoga session with a new teacher. Today I had my usual Thursday yoga lesson, so I’m feeling very relaxed and stretched now.

Last week hubs and I went to see ‘to kill a mockingbird’ at the Lowry. It was utterly superb and made me want to read the book. I thought this t-shirt was appropriate for a play about rebellion as an imperative against hatred and inequalities. It also reflects how I’m feeling about the world right now when I see the news (Note that the picture of me wearing the t-shirt has been deleted by wordpress/Facebook – presumably because it includes a picture of a woman giving a certain signal with her middle finger -hey ho).

Tonight hubs and I are off to see my brother play in his band. Looking forward to some good music and a few beers.

Have a great weekend everyone.

Gosh it’s a whole month since I last wrote. I don’t know how that time disappeared. A few times I’ve wanted to put pen to paper or rather finger to keyboard. Somehow, something always got in the way. Excuses, excuses.

After the incident with ‘Ant’ I got back to running and lifting weights and was feeling pretty good. It felt like full steam ahead. We have even discussed a possible adventure later in 2026. A run from point A to point B. Together. With backpacks. I’ll update in due course if this does seem likely to go ahead.

In the last two weeks I had a few incidents of ‘that’ dull ache at the top of my thigh. Sigh. It had pretty much disappeared previously and I was being so careful. I’m not 100 percent sure what antagonised ‘it’. I think I may have sat around too much during the ‘not allowed to run phase’ and then maybe gone a bit too mental in the gym with squats and weights. However, we are in the land of guesswork here.

None the less, all is not lost. I had a definite ache yesterday for example but today it’s gone. I have read extensively on this matter and for some people you have to ‘manage’ it. I hope that isn’t me and I can get back to where I was a few weeks ago but we will see. I try to keep my glass half full.

I also saw the physio a few weeks ago for a follow up. She gave me the latest rehab exercises I can now do (I’m not yet doing them all – until I’m without this ache for at least a week).

These exercises involve jumping off boxes, doing a lunge and hopping on the front foot. Sitting on a bench and taking a long jump from a sitting position. All of these plyometric exercises are designed to get your body stronger by mimicking the impact of running but in a safer more controlled way. One thing I find tricky is making sure the landing sticks. She showed me the most important element of the long jump is ensuring you stay on two feet solidly as you finish. No wobbles. This sticking strengthens the legs. The reason it works is because you cause micro damage to the muscles (bones too) and then when you take a day or two to rest, the muscles and bones repair and become more resilient. If you are interested in the ‘rough’ science (summarised without data here apologies); they’ve sawn through the legs of dead (obviously) runners versus people who are not doing impactful sport of a similar/older age and found the bone density stronger in the runners. I imagine hiking, dancing, tennis etc etc would have similar benefits. I use this example only to illustrate the purpose of box jumping.

Apart from running, hiking and jumping off chairs into gym oblivion, we’ve been settling more into our new house and area. I’m making some friends and we frequently find ourselves stopping to chat to the locals who are incredibly friendly.

Have any of you got some 2026 goals? I love new year and nearly always have a resolution. It feels like a chance to have a go at something new or another go at something previously tried.

For me I’ve got a few this year.

• I intend to finally finish editing my book. It’s got 49 mini chapters so I aim to edit one a week. Give or take, that takes me to the end of the year.
• Hubs and I are doing dry January. Ah not that you sigh. I know. It’s so predictable. But hey, I was busy cutting down anyway so we figured why not.
• Since I’ve retired I’ve had this bad habit of watching tv in the morning with a cup of coffee. It came about because my husband doesn’t share my love for detective dramas or reality tv shows. He has a tendency to say things like ‘wow who watches that cxxx’ or ‘this is really really bad’ or he doesn’t say anything but sits there rolling his eyes. Finally I found that if I watched my favourite shows in the morning (whilst he is at work) I could avoid the running commentary. However, I realise that this early tv watching is stopping me from getting on with my day and was extending into a bad habit. Thus my third resolution is to only switch the tv on after 7pm in the evening. As for hubs I’ll have to find another solution. Hmm. 🤔 Any ideas?
• Last of all I am going to actually start taking all the supplements I’ve bought that sit around in bottles gathering dust. Vitamin D, Magnesium and Collagen.

Right thats me until next time. Let me know if you have any resolutions.

And now for some pictures of various lovely walks and outings.

Lovely colours on canal boats spotted during a walk