Heart of Scotland Hundred (going on 106). 29-30/05/2010.

My fractured left metatarsal may have been long mended and forgotten about, but my mind was full of doubt and uncertainty on Friday as I sat on the train to Dunkeld, right knee groaning with dull pain that radiated throughout my leg. I was prepared for one of two outcomes during the coming weekend – an early Saturday retirement and volunteering my services instead if the knee took umbrage, or dragging myself through a survival march to a slow completion on Sunday evening if the knee responded in a positive way and my untrained muscles withstood the shock of the surprise endurance exercise. Either outcome would be expected, therefore acceptable. I was resigned and strangely contented as I watched the dry, sunny countryside whiz past the train window.

I was met at Dunkeld station by very good friend Geoff Holburt, who kindly guided me to my hotel. He knew the area well, having spent several days there on reconnoitres. We had plenty of time to kill, so we walked up to the last checkpoint location at Rumbling Bridge, back to the finish at Birnam then back to Dunkeld, doing a spot of sightseeing in the process. I felt like an imposter walking among the tanned and well-trained long distance walkers, me pasty-skinned due to not being out every weekend enjoying this year's amazing weather while keeping myself fit. 7 or more miles in the legs were perfect to work up our appetites for dinner.

Saturday brought us more dry, warm, sunny weather. Birnam can’t have known what had hit it as it heaved with hundreds of ultra athletes raring to go. I was already impressed by the seamless and obviously massive logistical exercise by the organisers. A bagpipe band beckoned us through the stone arch to the starting area, where the biggest first wave of starters gathered for the 10:00 start. John Stewart barked his essential instructions through his megaphone before setting us off 4 minutes early.

I set off at an easy walk, chatting to those around me as I went. The first checkpoint at 6 miles would only be a bucket drop, which I took to mean no food, but I was already getting hungry before I got there and was lusting after a savoury sandwich. I could hardly believe my eyes when the ‘bucket drop’ contained a big tent that housed loads of salad sandwiches and other goodies. I tucked-in in thankful disbelief. This set the tone for the duration of the event – the most amazing food, always with the essential and preferred savoury options, to keep us going from beginning to end.

My legs, unused to any running or endurance exercise for the best part of 4 months, were getting a little trashed by Checkpoint 2 at 15 miles. An early 200mg Ibuprofen soon took care of that. The knee complained quietly, especially on the descents, but it didn't get worse. If anything, the predicted muscle pain was masking it. Things were looking good.

The first 50 miles through checkpoints at Loch Ordie, Kirkmichael, Daldhu, Shinagag, Blair Atholl, Calvine and Dalnacardoch led us into a false sense of security. It was mostly undulating roads, tracks and single paths through heather, quite runnable if you were fit to do so. New footpaths through the heather, with new way-marker posts, were clear to see. The weather was being amazingly kind to us. The sun was warm and the ground was dry.

A most captivating section was The Falls of Bruar at the self clip, prior to Checkpoint 6 at Calvine. The falls and polished rocks were spectacular. Shortly after, the big concrete pipe that formed the underpass beneath the A9 brought out the child in me, aided and abetted by my scientific mind. The ambient noise was making the pipe’s resonant frequency very noticeable to my ears. I felt compelled to excite it properly. I hummed loudly at the appropriate frequency and fair deafened myself and a fellow walker who happened to be there at the same time.

At 10:30pm as we jogged between Checkpoints 6 and 7 in the fading light and spitting rain along the old A-road that's now a cycle track, I heard a cuckoo calling in the valley to my left. At the next checkpoint it was head torches and waterproofs on. Coming up was the first serious off-road section. Ticks are prevalent in Scotland and I fully intended to have my legs covered. Rain was setting in properly now. Head torches went on at 11pm. The rain started to pour and the cold wind blew. On the several miles of country lane before the off-road, I saw many frogs hopping across the road and one toad crawling ponderously. Some remained squashed on the road, having been got by car wheels.

The 8+ mile section before the breakfast stop at 62 miles was a shock - a rude awakening. Much of it was off-path, heather and tussock bashing on compass bearings, heading for a self-clip that remained elusive until we climbed the flank of the mountain and saw the flashing red beacon in the distance. Then followed an impossibly steep Fellsmanesque climb alongside a big deer fence on newly wetted and slimy peat (2 steps forward, 1 step back). It seemed to go on forever. Pace was 1mph at best. Everyone in our group was suffering the same. Some hung onto the fence, heaving and retching from nausea. The rain had stopped and dawn was beginning to break behind us. Head torches went off at 4am, making a 5-hour night. It would have been 4 hours had the sky been clear.

Daylight returned just in time for a very difficult navigational bit that reminded me of the Pumlumon Challenge – off-path and tussocky. It was handy to see where we were heading for. I was wearing new shoes (Walsh PB Trail), which would have been very comfortable had they been size 11 instead of size 10. My little toes were clamped and had become entombed in massive, single blisters, but worse were my big toes, which came perilously close to the end of the shoes on steep descents. I had the laces tied tightly to prevent my feet from sliding forward but it was not enough. On the final steep rocky descent to the breakfast stop, my left foot was brought to an instant stop on a rock. My big toenail smashed into the end of the shoe and I felt the nail bed get rammed back into my toe. Oh spiffing. That's that written off then, I thought to myself. I was glad I'd packed an old pair of comfortable road shoes in my drop back to change into just in case. The 8+ mile section to the breakfast stop took not far off 4 hours.

I had no right to have got this far. I had expected to be forced to retire during the first day, if not from a trashed knee, from trashed untrained leg muscles. Miraculously the knee was bearing up well to the gentle exercise and giving no trouble. If anything it seemed to be benefiting from the experience. Only when I sat down at checkpoints did it scream out at me. The leg muscles were just about sustaining the reduced intensity of the walk/shuffle strategy. My feet felt just as sore with the fresh shoes; the damage had already been done.

Fed, watered and with new route description in hand, I shuffled my way back out. I was spending a long time at the checkpoints, almost an hour at breakfast and amounting to well over three hours in total. Getting going again took some effort of pushing through the pain barrier. There followed another tough 8+ mile section with a lot of off-path tussock and heather bashing a la Pumlumon Challenge. Mountain rescue were out to guide us across a river intersection out in the wilds, recently swollen by the overnight rain. An interminable slog uphill with no easy option eventually brought us to the track that had been tormenting us for half an hour or more. Then it was up, up, forever bearing right around a hill, where the corner never seemed to end. I swear we must have done a 360 degree turn.

The col was eventually reached, and then a descent brought us to Checkpoint 10 at Pheiginn Bothy, bleak in the cold wind of early morning in the middle of nowhere. A log was burning in the fireplace, candles burned on the mantelpiece and the smell of incense pervaded the air. I detected a woman’s touch. How homely and welcoming. I was absolutely shot and I sank to the floor. The knee would not allow me to rest on the narrow wooden perches. I was suddenly aware of the marshal calling out and rushing towards the old chap perching to my left. I looked up and saw him, ashen-faced, falling to the left. I grabbed hold of his arm to stop him falling over completely. We hoisted him into a proper chair where it was much safer to recover.

I made sure my water bottles were filled (we had to do this at every checkpoint; even so I had to fill up from a mountain stream on the previous section, which tasted strangely musky) and set off shuffling down the track. I needed to relieve myself so I started the familiar juggling act of arranging both bottles and the route book into one hand so I could 'take care of business'. Route book, WHERE'S THE ROUTE BOOK? I'd left it at the bothy. I turned around and trudged back up the hill at 2mph to retrieve it. I needed the exercise you know.

The next 6-mile section off the mountain ended with a long out and back road stretch to Checkpoint 11 at Fortingall. It provided a nice opportunity to say 'ow do to those ahead and those behind. I could only walk in but fuelling at the checkpoint brought the jog back to the legs upon leaving, once I'd pushed through the familiar pain barrier of blistered feet and brutalised big toenail. With 77 miles and two major brutal sections behind us, the worst was over. At this point I knew I would finish. I felt contented as I jogged along and walked over the bouncy suspension bridge. Ahead remained undulating tracks, many in forestry. The sun was getting warm again.

After Checkpoint 13 as I passed the distillery in Aberfeldy on Sunday I was very tempted to pop into the shop to purchase a few tipples. It was around 14:30 and the visitor's centre was open. There was a tour group outside. I thought better of imposing my dishevelled, smelly self upon them.

It was a survival game now. Checkpoints were getting closer together and food and drink was kept trickling in to keep the legs working. I was amazed how regularly I needed to eat now. It made the difference between being able to jog along feeling positive, to only being able to trudge very slowly in a cloud of negative thoughts and misery, with any pain magnified tenfold. I've been there so many times I know the warning signs and what to do about it. Never is Coke as useful as when running an ultra. Combined with something savoury like a sausage roll, it's turbo fuel.

I had been chatting to others as we went. 36 hours seemed to be the target to aim for. If I got this far I'd hoped for better than that. I was feeling stronger with the easier terrain and the knee was not causing any issue. The only pain came from my feet and untrained leg muscles. I knew that was only temporary and could be disregarded. I pushed on as fast as I could go, alone, with only my route description to show the way. My brain constantly calculated pace and likely finishing time. I MUST be able to beat 36 hours. Sub-35 was beginning to look more of a possibility now that the 2mph average speed of earlier sections had increased to more than 4mph.

At 94 miles with only 12 to go, I put my foot down and shuffled what felt like my fastest two sections to 103 miles. The sun was beating down and I was running on fumes by the final checkpoint, which had no supplies. It finished me. I could not run a step of the final 3 miles to the finish.

I walked across the threshold of the Drill Hall in Birnam in 34:22 to loud applause and a ringing of a hand bell. I was utterly drained and not far off collapse. I had to sit down right there. I removed my (dry) shoes and first pair of socks. Attempted removal of the Injinji socks soon made me realise that my toenail was mobile, stuck to the sock and trying to come off with it. A wave of nausea and cold sweat swept over me. I lay down for 5 minutes to recover and resolved to leave the Injinjis on until I got home. At least they were clean and dry, so good were the conditions through Sunday. Geoff, who had started 4 hours after me and finished 4 hours before me(!), was on hand to get me food and drink and get my bags from the baggage store. What a gent.

Though still on the floor, luckily I had recovered sufficiently when the cameraman thrust his appliance in my face and started probing and pumping for information. I hope I didn't let the side down.

I was soon crashed-out on a top bunk in the dormitory, so exhausted that multiple loud snores, the constant squeaking and banging of the door and the new arrivals through the night provided no hindrance to 7 hours of restorative slumber. Monday dawned crisp and bright, when I rose for breakfast and to cheer in the final finishers. Having spent the best part of two days and two nights out there, they always get the biggest rounds of applause.

I had no right to expect to finish the HoS100. It was a massive gamble that could have gone either way. The final outcome could not have been better. It evolved from a worst-case scenario of retiring early on Saturday through finishing, finishing before the second nightfall, finishing in less than 36 hours to finishing in 34:22. It might have been one of my slowest performances but boy was I pleased anyway. The knee actually benefited from the exercise. Contrary to expectations, the train journey home was more comfortable than the outward journey.

I'm so glad I travelled up to take my place on the event and I feel so thankful for the outcome. The event was filled with over 500 registered. It was a massive logistical exercise and the support and food we received were second to none. The organisers and volunteers deserve the highest praise.

I took a few pictures along the way.

Runfurther series race 5 of 12. The 48th Fellsman. 08-09/05/2010. The view from the other side.

Still with dodgy knee and now woefully unfit, my registration was replaced by voluntary duties. At the beginning of the week when I saw the ominous forecast of low cloud, rain and biting winds, I was almost thankful I wasn’t running. However by the time the weekend arrived, the forecast had changed to dry and sunny, with just the cold wind remaining. The rain had bugg’red off down south where it belongs, to leave the Yorkshire Moors in a state of once-in-a-lifetime dryness for The 48th Fellsman.

A drive up to Threshfield on Friday was followed by three bus journeys to Ingleton. I was accompanied by novice Stuart Blofeld, with whom I was supposed to be running but now I was just showing the ropes. He had my route maps and notes, perfected since 2003, to help him round in my absence. We had enough time for a walk up to the last checkpoint at Yarnbury to give Stuart a point of reference to aim for in the dark early on Sunday morning. The sun was shining and everywhere was bone dry, but the NE wind was strong, cold and very drying.

Tea ‘n’ Tiffin in the Naked Man Café in sunny Settle was pleasant as we waited for our third and final bus to Ingleton. This one was a school bus. The same bus driver as last year was driving – a real character who knows how to handle the pupils, not that they needed handling. Like last year they were quiet and perfectly well behaved – amazing considering it was Friday and they had the weekend in front of them. They were kept pacified by their electronic gadgetry.

In Ingleton we had another wander, from the start at the leisure centre on the outward leg up the track towards Ingleborough. We climbed to the top of the first rise, where the track was laid out before us and disappearing around the hill in the near distance that was hiding Ingleborough. The wind was still keen. The turnaround back to Ingleton provided views I’ve never seen before. It had been a good day of checking out the beginning and end of the route, a few easy miles in the legs. After a good meal of fish & chips followed by a pint at the pub, it was time to retire.

Saturday dawned cool and dry. We wandered up to get registration out of the way before breakfast and so I could introduce myself to Juliette, Headquarters Controller, who would be providing me with my job for up to the next 24 hours. The crowd outside was large by the time we were ready to receive the ‘Hikers’ for registration and kit check. There was a lot of setting up to do but many hands made light work. Stuart was one of the first through and ready just in time for 7am breakfast back at the B & B. An hour later the queue was stretching around the building. Inside, the hall was heaving and full of friends to chat with. Time raced by towards the 09:00 start. A runner asked if there was anyone who could drive his car back to Threshfield. Since I was going to get a lift with the staff, I said I could. A minute later, another runner made the same request. He was just too late.

Suzanne Carter, new Event Organiser and mother to a new-born baby, gave an excellent speech and called for a minute’s silence for previous Hiker Tracy Dryden, who tragically was stabbed to death in March.

At 09:05 the siren was sounded and they were off across the playing field, avoiding the cricket pitch as instructed and as guarded by the ground keepers.

I drove the car safely back to Threshfield without incident. It was a sporty little number with a rather fierce clutch, which I soon got the hang of. By the time I arrived back at Threshfield, the wind had really got up again. I imagined what it must have been like on the tops for the Hikers. It was not long before the sun came out and it became a beautiful day, but I was stuck indoors in the control centre behind the kitchen, with the crackle of the radio and the sound of the Catering Officer keeping her kitchen in order (we couldn't survive without you, Shona and crew).

In addition to the many comings and goings from/to the checkpoints, the control room contained four fixed teams:

1. Radio communications people, who have their major relay station at Kidhow Gate, before the left turn and climb up Dodd Fell. Reception seemed less good than I would have expected, but they always seemed to manage.

2. Data communications people who used specially set-up Wi-Fi links via mobile phones (I think) to receive hiker numbers and times digitally to their computer, which was running specialised software to process and display it. This was a new system being trialled, which removed a heavy burden from the radio operators, who no longer had to read out lists manually. It removed possible communication errors and freed up the radio communications for logistics, emergencies, supplies and bus coordination. First two teams seen here.

3. Old-fashioned paper-and-hook people who received regular print-outs from the data comms people. They wrote down the times on colour-coded paper notelets and hung them on one of nearly 500 hooks. It might have been old-fashioned and labour intensive but it gave an instant visual indication of Hiker progress: a succession of different coloured paper notes of progressively decreasing size, such that earlier information always remained visible. Non-starters were easily identified by their tally hanging back to front on the hook, while finishers were identified by their sweaty tally hanging on the hook the right way round.

4. Data entry people whose data were used for final timings, the results list and certificate printing. This was Dawn's and my job – a very important one because it is our face to the outside world, the only result the Hikers get to see and who worked so hard to achieve. Our data source was the print-outs after the paper-and-hook people had finished with them, or the finishers' dockets from the finishing desk. The software, specially developed by a whiz kid for The Fellsman, was intuitive and a pleasure to use. However, there was one small bug, which will be revealed later.

The apparent duplication of effort was necessary while new methods were trialled. It would be foolish to put all eggs in the new basket and run the risk of catastrophe if it should fail. The old method ran in parallel for security. I liked the old method. Its information was big, colourful and easy to take in.

Near the beginning, as I scanned through the list of starters to note the numbers of names I recognised and whose progress I wanted to follow, I noticed a few spelling mistakes. They were soon corrected. We couldn't have certificates and results lists with people's names spelled wrongly.

There was worse. I could not see the name of someone who I knew was out there. The only way we were able to track him down in the list was to check addresses. Luckily I had an idea of where he lived. As soon as I saw his address I recognised it and we were able to correct his surname, where his middle name had been entered in error.

This brings us to the bug. The corrections required a re-initialisation to take effect. This caused every entrant to revert to novice status. My first job was therefore to go through the entire entrant list resetting those who were not novices to their rightful status. Once that was completed, we were ready to rumble.

Computers were linked via a hub. Dawn and I used one of two computers that accessed the same software, but only one was connected to the printer for printing certificates. As the lists came in, I enjoyed monitoring my friends' progress and comparing it with my times of last year.

At something past 7pm, word came through that the first runner had just passed through Yarnbury. We were excited at the prospect of receiving our first customer, the first of the 400 who were being monitored with love and care around the route. I grabbed my camera and went down the road to await his arrival. Duncan Harris soon appeared, loping up the hill towards the school. A couple of young helpers ran down the road to meet him and run back to the finish with him. He finished in 11 hours and was immediately collared by the Grough photographer for 'a word'. It sounded ominous but he only wanted an interview.

Dawn and I now had our first finisher's docket to enter a completion time into the computer. A quick calculation told us that the resulting time was not correct. Timekeepers were using real time, not Fellsman time, which by our reckoning at the start was running exactly 5 minutes late. We had to change an entry to correct the timing error in one go. The assumed time of 09:00:00 at Ingleton had to be the route to success. Once changed to 09:05:00, everything fell into place. We wouldn't hear the last of it if we tried to diddle everyone out of five minutes.

Work intensity increased as the Hike progressed and data came in from more checkpoints. We were kept fed and watered by a fantastic kitchen crew. Youngsters came in regularly to ask if we would like a drink or something to eat. We were never left wanting, even when we could not leave our stations. My dinner of baked potato, chilli and cheese with salad went down a real treat. Here's the day's menu for the workers.

Dawn had grabbed a sleep sometime during Saturday but I had been on the go since 05:30. I finally had to call it a day and retire at 03:00 on Sunday for a sleep. Three hours later I was up again. On my way back to duty I saw Wouter Hamelinck, Belgian ultra runner extraordinaire who gets to his international events by public transport and fold-up bicycle. I first met him at the Lakeland 100 last year – what a great bloke.

Wouter had a problem. His bike had a puncture, the local garage didn’t open until 10:00 and he had to be at Skipton station for 10:00 to catch a train. His only hope was to get a lift to Skipton. I offered to ask around. It was not long before I found a willing volunteer who was just getting ready to leave. What a result. Thank you sir! Aren’t ultra runners a great bunch? I introduced the lucky passenger to his new lift, to a look of immense relief, and continued back to my duties.

By now Dawn was ready for sleep and it was my turn to relieve her. Certificate printing and arranging in Hiker number order was going strong under the control of Juliette’s mum. I continued the entry of the finisher’s data so she had something to print. The hook board had been transformed by finishers' tallies. Checkpoint progress lists continued to pour in for me to enter into the database.

Later I was able to sneak out for the presentation and a chat with some of the lucky finishers. After the presentation, Stuart and I wandered up to the tea room in Grassington for a bite (what amazing cappuccino and chocolate cake). On the way there we cheered several Fellsman Hikers as they approached the finish sporting their sun tans. Their lower limbs were unbelievably clean considering they had just done “The Fellsman”. On our return we walked back with Number 43. She received a much bigger cheer than the front runners get. I should think so too, after being out there for nearly 28 hours through a bitterly cold night.

I returned to the control room to wish everyone goodbye and was surprised to receive a volunteer's certificate. What a nice gesture. This event is so well organised in all respects. Everything is covered, both front line for the participants and behind the scenes for the volunteers. I have seen this event improve and modernise since I first did it in 2003, yet such is the keenness to please, they ask every year for suggestions for improvements so they can be even better. The Fellsman is an iconic and challenging event of immense pedigree that just gets better.

I really enjoyed my volunteering and got a lot of satisfaction out of doing my best for our customers. I enjoyed working with Dawn too. Thank-you, Dawn. I think we made a great team. I might see you next year, possibly as participants if I can get repaired.

The event filled to capacity for the first time in many years. The reserve list worked well, as did the offer of chance entries on the day. Everyone who turned up on the day got a place and there were more to spare. The 400 who set off fell well short of the 450 quota, thanks to some who failed to turn up and had not made their place available to others by giving advance warning of their non-attendance.

Mark Hartell finished second in a little over 11 hours, while Nicky Spinks came in 8th overall with a record female finishing time, which I did not note; sorry. What a fantastic result though.

Well done to Stuart, who finished in 16:48 or thereabouts. He found himself as chief navigator through the night, with no experience of the route or terrain, unaccustomed to navigating by compass and running in his own little pool of light with someone else’s route notes. No pressure there, then. Apparently it went like clockwork and he never went wrong. I love it when a plan comes together, don’t you?

All the behind-the-scenes pictures are here.

Big weekend coming up.

It's the weekend of the iconic Fellsman coming up. Such is the resurgent interest in ultras, it has filled to capacity for the first time in a very long time. It isn't many years since they were imploring us to enter early because it was teetering on the brink of viability! It was teetering when I first did it in 2003 (at least we had floor space in the hall to sleep), but it has gone from strength to strength since then.

This 2003 picture was taken by Jim Goodman at the top of Ingleborough using the disposable camera he bought in the shop in Ingleton after the race start. I have Jim to thank for persuading me to do it and for my original route notes, which worked amazingly well considering I was running without any prior experience of the area.
The Fellsman is one of the major events in the ultra-running year that demands great respect and whose prospect instills apprehension, even fear, in its participants (especially if the forecast is foul like this year). It's more extreme than most and it's been around for longer than most as well - nearly 50 years! Yours truly of invalidated status was registered but obviously won't be taking part, but I will be there to wave goodbye to the group I was to have accompanied, then help out behind the scenes as required by The Committee-ee-ee-ee-ee. I'm quite looking forward to it. I'll be taking the usual pictures, though by necessity they will be somewhat limited in scope. Watch this space.

I received an email reminder today from the UTMB organisation that I have still not submitted my medical certificate, as if I didn't know :-( It has to be submitted before the end of this month. In any case the doctor would never sign me off. As I sit here resting my useless limb on my computer case for relief, it is dawning on me that this year really is going to be a write-off. Running remains a pipe dream when walking is still uncomfortable and cycling is downright painful. The chances of me getting repaired and having regained sufficient fitness to even walk the TDS are non-existent. I so hope I can be repaired eventually....

I finish with a glimpse of happier times, a picture taken by Karen McDonald of Runfurther at last year's Fellsman. (Karen = superwoman = my hero :-)

The light at the end of tunnel has faded.

Last week provided a surprise setback. Although the left metatarsal fracture is all but recovered, the right knee took an unexpected turn for the worse. A couple of walks to work with attempts to run a few yards proved that something is seriously amiss and has no intention of getting better by itself. Now, there is never a time when I'm not reminded of my decrepit state – in bed, on the bog, even walking has become uncomfortable, sitting gets more painful than before and driving, even before 'exercise', is almost unbearable.

The sports physio now suspects that perhaps it's not inflamed tendons after all. Exercise was prescribed for that, which provided my light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps the crepitus (compromised cartilage / crunching knee, which has become noticeably worse since February) is the cause of the pain after all. Anything that exacerbates it is not advised. That's very bad. It's as good as 'confinement to quarters' for someone whose life is getting out and being active.

I await a second consultation with the knee surgeon on 21st May for a reassessment. First time around he said there was nothing for him to treat and recommended physiotherapy. That isn't working. Let's hope he finds something the second time and can perform a miracle on me, or else Calderdale Hike 2010 may have been my swansong.

Once more, all energetic locomotion involving my own two feet is off-limits for the foreseeable future. Unsurprisingly I suffered my third major low towards the end of last week. Since I will have little to report, this blog will tend to die a death. However I do hope to travel up to The Fellsman next week to help out, take pictures and see the group I was to have run with. I'll see you soon Stuart, Chris, Danny, Mark and Matt.

I'll finish with a picture, a bitter-sweet reminiscence of when I still had it and could still do it. Note the offending knee, fully-loaded and uncomplaining back then. Staffordshire Moorlands Christmas Cracker, December 2008.

Runfurther series race 4 of 12. Calderdale Hike 36mi. 10/04/2010.

Developments sort of ran away with themselves last week. I was just about back to normal movement on the fractured foot with no discomfort, even in bare feet. My knee continued to complain while sitting or descending stairs but my sports physio (Tim Deykin of Sport-Med in Stockport is top notch and really knows his stuff) told me that exercise is absolutely essential to rebuild strong tendons. As long as there is no sharp pain, it’s good. Exercise with discomfort is part of a good and proper repair process.

Some tape across my kneecap to keep it pulled to one side and a sanction from Tim on Friday made my mind up for me. The Calderdale Hike 2010 was to be my surprise comeback event. I’d seen the gorgeous forecast for the weekend and I had a perfected route etched in my mind and printed out on 8 sides of A4. Stuff the fact that I’d had virtually no exercise for nine weeks, I could not miss this opportunity. All I had to do was add another two hours onto last year’s time and use that as my new target.

And so I arrived at Sowerby at 7:30am, full of anticipation and excitement. Greetings and encouraging words were had in the carpark even before I made it into the cricket club for more of the same. Oh the joy of being at an event venue girding my loins to take part instead of observing and envying others gird theirs. I did have slight misgivings about 36 miles in Calderdale not being ideal as a comeback event after a nine-week lay-off, but beggars can’t be choosers. It was this or nothing. All I could do was monitor all systems and pull out if things became too painful. There were plenty of checkpoints to do so if it really came to it.

On the stroke of 9am we runners (I use that term in a loose sense for myself) were sent on our way, most of them towards the main entrance but a few of us ‘in the know’ in the opposite direction to a rear snicket on the first of my ‘route optimisations’. Mark Hartell was in the lead, loping down the road into the distance with me in second place (ho yes!), that is until the other proper runners who went the long way round caught up and overtook me on the downhill towards the railway (for me) and canal (for everyone else).

I plodded from checkpoint to checkpoint in the calm air and warm sunshine with my heart racing at up to 180bpm. This was to be expected for one so unfit. It would be a long day of survival tactics. My main aim was to get as far as possible without wrecking myself. I had plenty of breathers to take pictures and refuel at the checkpoints (nice sandwiches). My slower pace meant that I ate more than usual. It was a linear al fresco buffet.

I found myself alone by the approach to Widdop Reservoir, most of the runners having long vanished into the distance. I walked most of my way up that road to a nice welcome at the checkpoint near the dam. After Widdop I took another optimised route to the left side of Cant Clough Reservoir. Looking behind I noticed Malcolm Coles had the same idea as he was slowly catching me up. He knew all the best lines too. That line helped me to catch up with Mike and Yvonne, who proved to be excellent partners for the remainder of the event. It is not often I get to do an event in company like that. It was very nice.

Our climb up the many false summits to the top of Thieveley Pike was very slow in the heat. I was looking forward to a bit of breeze on the top but there wasn’t any. The wind turbines below in the distance, which we had passed two checkpoints ago, stood still in the stagnant air. Malcolm disappeared into the distance from here, never to be seen again (he’s one amazing man with what he can still do into his seventies).

The grubbiest and most run-down section of the route began on the approach to Heald Top Farm (a partially flooded, litter-strewn, derelict-looking dump) and past the edge of Todmorden Moor to Checkpoint 9 at Slatepit Hill. It reminded me of parts of the Round Rotherham. It was sad to see out in the middle of the countryside.

At Checkpoint 10 (Foul Clough Road) we had a nice lecture from one of the marshals on the good all this sun was doing us and how our bodies would be making all this good vitamin D. She must have been reading Doctor Mercola's website. I was certainly feeling the goodness of being out there, although my foot had become worryingly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be feeling this; I didn’t want to crack the bone again. It became a toss-up over whether the knee or the foot slowed me down the most on the down-hills. (My general lack of fitness had slowed me down everywhere else.)

I shuffled my way onwards through Dean Royd Bridges and Lumbutts (seen here in more impressive detail) up to Stoodley Pike then down the other side (sorry to hold you up on that descent, Mike and Yvonne) to Withens Clough Reservoir and through the 15th and final checkpoint at Shaw's Lane. A few more runners overtook us as we went. I know Yvonne could have blasted off into the distance down that final stretch of road but she waited for Mike and me so we could finish as a threesome. Thanks Yvonne; we enjoyed your company and your graciousness.

Our time of 8:46 was within my 9-hour target, so I was satisfied. I knew the 7 hours of last year was an outright impossibility even if my knee and foot were miraculously better. I was relieved to be able to walk in bare feet at the finish, which I take to mean I hadn’t re-broken the bone. However it is remaining tender. I hope my comeback hasn’t become a setback.

The knee seems to have thrived on the exercise. It has improved since its right good seeing to and telling who’s boss. My untrained calves and quads, on the other hand, are suffering from severe DOMS. I struggle to get around, but I’m not worried because I know they will be better and stronger again by next weekend. Pain is good. Bring it on!

I was a bit snap-happy because I had time to spare. The best of the pictures are here in glorious slideshow form (mostly proof that I visited every checkpoint and didn’t cheat – as if I could anyway on the Calderdale Hike).

I must thank the organisers and army of volunteers on this event. It has changed for the better over the years. There are fewer restrictive rules, there are loads of checkpoints providing decent substantial food (individually bagged sandwiches, no less!) and there’s loads of friendly support all the way round to the finish, where more substantial food is on offer to recharge the batteries good and proper. They really need to do something about the gnat’s-piss tea, though. A few more teabags wouldn’t go amiss and shouldn’t cost the Earth ;-)

Light at the end of the tunnel.

On 25th March I had my 6-week appointment at the fracture clinic for the follow-up X-ray. The crack across the metatarsal was still visible, but a shadowy lump around the crack indicated the creation of a bursar, which is part of the normal healing process. It supports the break while it heals. I have to return after another 6 weeks for a third X-ray on 6th May, and he doesn't want me to do any running until then. (Obviously not in bare feet, but in protective shoes? Hmm, we'll see.)

Things have been looking up recently. After two major downers where I imagined no more running, ever, some recent expert feedback has restored hope. As I still wait for the consultation with the knee surgeon on 9th April, I did not want to leave any stone unturned. I needed reassurance, information, anything other than being left dangling and fearing the worst.

The first glimmer of hope was sparked by information contained in an email from a fellow fan of the running events (thanks Jenny, you were my saviour). Then I made an appointment with my sports physiotherapist (Sport-Med in Stockport). It was the best decision I could have made. I was given a thorough, expert going-over. Even though my knee crunches in the most disgusting manner, which is most likely shown up on the MRI scan as the “minor degeneration”, it is not the cause of my pain. The pain originates from inflamed tendons at the front of the knee underneath the kneecap, and they will not be shown up by the MRI scan. They need ultrasound to reveal them.

Tendons do repair, eventually. I was told around three months. Furthermore, tendons need exercise and a certain degree of discomfort (not outright pain) as part of a healthy repair process in order to build strong fibres. Complete rest is an absolute no-no otherwise weak fibres will form the repair and the tendons will never be up to the job. Within a stroke, normality has returned; pain has regained its normal status as something good and part of the normal healing process (repairable tendon), not bad and cementing with ever more certainty my permanent retirement from running (irreparable cartilage). I now don't have to worry about a painful knee as I cycle to work. Instead I must chose to cycle and embrace the pain, which is good.

I suffer the common runner's problem of muscle imbalance, where core and other muscles are not strong enough to balance the over-developed running (quadriceps) muscles. The result is poor running action and poor tracking of the knees, leading to injury. It is probably worse for someone like me because I do most of my running when tired and everything has flopped and become lazy. I need to strengthen and condition myself such that everything remains solid and in place even when I'm tired. To that end, I have been given exercises to do. As I clench, tense and bend, I must appear to a casual observer as if I'm suffering from a severe case of touching cloth.

The physio made an interesting comment about broken bones – that they take 2 years plus to regain full strength. I'm no football fan but I've heard repeatedly that broken metatarsals are common with footballers. How long are they out of action? Surely not 2 years. Football is far more explosive and stressful on the feet than the ultra-plodding I do, surely. Say they can return in 12 weeks, that must equate to 9 weeks for me? Any feedback gratefully received.

Yesterday I ran up the stairs for the first time in two months. I did it again today. YES! Now I'm wondering which events I can use to ease myself back. I wonder if I could have done The Fellsman after all?