My Bob Graham Round: 21 Hours 48 Minutes

The Bob Graham seemed to come around very quickly once I’d decided it would become my focus. It was probably May or June when the races I’d entered started disappearing from the calendar, and I knew my original plans weren’t going to happen. There had already been a little whisper in the back of my mind about fitting a BG into the race schedule. Much of the training I was doing had the right sort of demands, and I knew I would have the climbing in my legs. The choice was whether to go back to the Paddy Buckley and chase the better time I’d wanted first time around, or move on to the Bob Graham. The BG won. At that point, I’d done very little running in the Lakes beyond a couple of days out, so it was time to get up there and do some proper recce days. There were moments when I wasn’t sure I would get enough time on the route. I knew I couldn’t obsess over it quite as much as I had with the Paddy, and lockdown and travel restrictions had complicated things. I also wanted to be respectful of the local concerns about visitors. I like to respect the nature of these rounds, too. I don’t want simply to be led around: I want to know the route and the peaks myself. Over the next two or three months, I got to the Lakes as much as I could, while doing most of my specific training in Snowdonia. I think I managed each leg except Leg 1 at least three times, including running sections in both directions, which really helped. A lot of those days were in poor weather. Luckily, during my final week of recceing, when I planned to cover most of the route over four days, the weather cleared. In truth, it was almost too hot, and those double-leg days were back-breaking, but being able to see the ground made a huge difference. Even with that preparation, I knew I would be relying on my support team. I knew the route, but I didn’t know it inside out. Between lockdown, travel and supporting a few Paddy rounds in the build-up, I hadn’t had much opportunity to support other people’s BGs. Fortunately, I had a solid bunch of people around me: guys I’d run with on the route, or people I’d supported and who had supported me on other days out. Then, not long before the attempt, Mike, one of my closest friends, decided to join me for the whole round. Sharing it as a pair was going to make an already special day even better. There were still a few doubts. A couple of niggles had put me out for a few weeks during the build-up, and I wasn’t quite as confident in my long-distance running fitness as I would have liked. Climbing is normally my strongest asset, so I felt happier about that side of things. But sometimes being a little undercooked is okay. It’s certainly a better place to be on the start line than burnt out. We arrived at Moot Hall at around 8.20pm, ahead of our 9pm start. We stood around soaking up the atmosphere and chatting with the support team. A couple of the guys supporting later legs came along too. Then it was time to go. Leg 1: Moot Hall to Threlkeld Running with Mike, supported by John Parkin John is a great guy and a brilliant support runner. He knows the ropes, and it’s always a pleasure to run with him. Darkness had already set in, and there was no moonlight, but the stars were out. It was a beautiful night to begin the round. Skiddaw is a good old honk up to 931m. The line is straightforward: up, then more up. We reached the summit about 12 minutes ahead of schedule, feeling strong, with the lights of Keswick below us and stars overhead. A great start. Descending towards Hare Crag, we spotted some headtorches. We thought they might belong to another BG group, and we seemed to be catching them quickly enough to wonder whether something was wrong. It turned out to be an anticlockwise round. The runner was on his final pull up Skiddaw before heading back to Moot Hall. We later found out he’d completed successfully. Wicked! Once you’re off Skiddaw, Leg 1 becomes a fairly relentless bog fest. There’s the descent off Great Calva, a river crossing, then more weaving through bogs before the climb to Blencathra. Naturally, if there was one five-foot-deep bog on the route, I was going to find it. And I did. A proper balls-deep situation. When you’re still fresh, you can see the funny side, and at least there was a river to wash off in. The clag came down as we climbed Blencathra. We had to take care on the slight contour towards the summit, but John’s navigation was spot on. We reached the top at 868m, now 24 minutes ahead of schedule. We’d already settled on the Halls Fell descent. First leg: keep it simple, no heroics. It’s a cracking descent, and with dry rock underfoot we made a pretty quick plummet into Threlkeld. It was also John’s birthday. He clicked over into another year while we were descending the rocks of Halls Fell. Where better to spend it? I’d intended to have a little cake with a candle waiting at Threlkeld, but completely forgot in the build-up. I owed him cake instead — a good excuse to meet up for another run. At the support point, we saw the gang for the first time since leaving Moot Hall. Coffee was ready, I got a handful of potatoes down, and we kept ourselves to the planned ten-minute stop. Threlkeld, 15 minutes ahead of schedule. Perfect. Leg 2: Threlkeld to Dunmail Raise Running with Mike, supported by Chris Palmer and Dave McFadden Zidane I’m a great believer in getting the first big climb of a leg out of the way, then taking a breath. Head down and honk it out. That was the approach on Clough Head. I pushed hard and took 19 minutes off the scheduled climb time. Maybe that was excessive, but it’s a long climb and quite a satisfying one to bosh out. We topped out at 726m, now 36 minutes ahead of schedule. After the clag on Blencathra, I was looking forward to the Dodds, hoping we’d get the stars back and a clear run across the tops. For a moment, it looked promising. Then the clag dropped again, and a decent gale developed. It quickly became clear we would have to work for our lines across the Dodds. We were running on bearings and searching for trods. All credit to Mike: he stepped up and took on the navigation, getting us across Great Dodd, Watson’s Dodd and Stybarrow Dodd with a little soul-searching, but without losing more than a few minutes. I always feel better once I’m over Sticks Pass. The route across Raise and Whiteside towards Helvellyn feels more straightforward, and we reached Helvellyn at 950m, still 30 minutes up. By then, visibility was proper cotton wool. With a September start at 9pm, we still had hours to go before even the first hint of daylight, so we needed to take care. We had a small blip at Dollywaggon Pike. We reached what we thought was the summit, then followed a bearing towards the pole. When the pole didn’t appear, we realised we’d dropped too early and missed the summit. Doh! Back up we went, then down again on a fresh bearing. This time, we hit the pole. Bosh. We lost about eight minutes, but we were still well ahead, and it was early enough in the round that I wasn’t worried. Food was going well at this stage. Liquid fuel and solid food were both going in without any problems. We went south around the tarn and climbed the scree path to Fairfield, reaching 875m with 27 minutes still in hand. Then it was Seat Sandal and the long descent to Dunmail Raise. Somehow, we briefly lost the trod in the mist on the way down, but found it again and arrived at the road crossing feeling good, 25 minutes ahead overall. It’s always a boost to see those friendly faces at a support stop. I sat down for a coffee, smashed a few more potatoes and listened for the five-minute call, then the one-minute call. There was one quick decision left: change shoes or keep going? I switched from my Mudclaws to my Scotts, and I’m glad I did. A few people have told me the Paddy is rockier than the BG. I’m not so sure — Legs 3 and 4 of the Bob Graham have plenty of rock! It was great to meet up with Mike Bourne, Andy and the rest of the support group. Morale was high, and everything was going to plan so far. Leg 3: Dunmail Raise to Wasdale Running with Mike, supported by Andy Quicke and Mike Bourne Once again, I wanted to get that first climb done and dusted quickly. With two fresh pairs of support legs alongside us, I set the pace and got straight onto Steel Fell. We reached 553m, 26 minutes ahead of schedule. Andy and I had even managed to match our outfits. Clearly, we’d rung each other beforehand to coordinate the wardrobe! This was also where I started getting some strange chest pains. I couldn’t work them out. They felt a bit like bruised ribs when you take a deep breath, and they were uncomfortable. My first thought was, “You’re having a laugh.” There was still so much running ahead, and having pain this early was worrying. I tried to put it out of my mind as much as I could. Later, I would learn about intercostal muscles — something I hadn’t known much about before. Mike Bourne and Andy had been among my first calls for support. We’d supported each other on previous outings and kept in touch. They’re top lads and a great laugh to have on the hill. Still in complete darkness, we worked our way around Calf Crag, with some lovely lines from Mike B and some enjoyable running. We got a little disorientated finding the trod towards Sergeant Man, but corrected it quickly and carried on around to High Raise. At 762m, we were 14 minutes up. Then the sky started changing. Blue appeared above the mountains, and the Lake District’s silhouettes began taking shape around us in every direction. Those moments are why you do it. There is nothing quite like sunrise in the mountains. As the light grew, we could see distant inversions sitting in the valleys. It was epic, and it gave me a massive boost. We were approaching ten hours into the round, the night was behind us, and suddenly it felt like game on. With daylight, we could relax a little. We knew the lines, could see where we were going, and could concentrate on getting food and drink down. It was around 7am, without a cloud in the sky, and already obvious that the day would get warm. We took a great line into the back of Rossett Pike. Andy’s line onto the plateau below Bowfell was sweet as a nut, and we reached Bowfell at 903m, 24 minutes ahead of schedule. The Voom bars were working well, and the gels were going down fine. Normally, I love flapjacks on a long run, but I couldn’t stomach them that day, so I stopped trying. Around this point, I began to suspect I’d overdone the electrolytes. My stomach felt dodgy, and I started trying to get more water in alongside them. The chest pain was still there, although it wasn’t getting worse. I stretched a little, wondering whether it might be trapped air, and probably moaned about it now and again. It was manageable at that stage. One small mercy was that climbing seemed to ease it, while descending brought it back, so I did get occasional breaks from it. Bowfell is a beautiful mountain, and the views were incredible. From there, we picked off the peaks towards Scafell. It seemed surprisingly quiet given the weather, although a few more people appeared as we approached Scafell Pike. We reached its 977m summit, 23 minutes up. My original plan had been Foxes Tarn to Scafell. After doing a little research and speaking to Mike B, we went via Lord’s Rake instead. I hadn’t done it before and was happy to follow his lead. I really enjoyed it: a bit of scrambling, a bit of fun, and a memorable part of the leg. In truth, though, I found the second half of Leg 3 tough. Towards the end, eating became a real struggle. I knew I’d got food in earlier, but my mouth was dry and sticky, and I couldn’t seem to get my hydration back on track. I don’t blame the drink itself. I felt I hadn’t balanced it properly with water, and I wasn’t sure my mouth ever recovered. We descended the scree towards Wasdale and reached the stream crossing. It looked like a lagoon, and the temptation to sit in it and never move again was overwhelming. Instead, I drank plenty of water and trudged into the support point, where everyone was smiling. I was really feeling it now. The day was getting going, and so was the pain. Leg 4: Wasdale to Honister Running with Mike, supported by Richard Brown — AKA Hula Hoop There’s only one thing on your mind when you’re sitting in Wasdale: Yewbarrow. It was roughly a 50-minute climb on my schedule, and it’s absolutely disgusting. The perfect steepness, arriving at exactly the right point in the round to break your soul. I felt broken going up. Rich worked us hard and set a good pace, which was exactly what we needed. I remember looking at Mike and noticing he was a funny colour. Rather selfishly, I thought, “Well, if Mike feels fucked too, perhaps I don’t need to feel quite so bad about wanting to throw myself back down the hill and sit in the lake.” Rich is a top guy. We run together quite a lot, and he kept us pushing all the way to the summit. We reached Yewbarrow at 628m, 27 minutes ahead overall, having gained another three minutes on that climb. Great job, Rich. There’s very little recovery before the next big climb to Red Pike. This was where I first seriously thought I might not make it. I felt as though I was falling apart at the seams, and I couldn’t eat. It was that horrible feeling of being sick without actually being sick. The thought of food was enough to put me off. The next couple of hours were misty — my brain, rather than the weather. I plodded along in the heat while Rich bullied me into eating and did an epic job of keeping my spirits up. He even recruited people we passed on the hill to tell me to hurry up because I was slowing him down. It made me laugh. Little things like that help the darker stretches pass a bit faster. Mike was brilliant too, helping me get fluids down and switching between whatever we had: Coke, water and isotonic drinks. He’s always so solid on the long stuff. By now, I was putting my face into brown water just to cool down. Leg 4 felt so dry, but fair play to Rich: he kept finding water along the way and making sure it kept coming. I felt bad for Mike. He was doing his own BG alongside me, yet spent much of this leg supporting me and keeping me moving. When we reached Kirk Fell, the life drained out of me like a leaking airbed. The climb wiped me out. All I could think was that we must be losing loads of time and that it wasn’t going to happen. At the summit, 802m, Rich told me we were still 30 minutes ahead of schedule. We weren’t losing time; we were actually up on the leg. I tried to remember my schedule and do the maths, but anyone who’s done endurance stuff will know that, in full bonk mode, the simplest calculation becomes PhD astrophysics. I couldn’t tell whether Rich was trying to boost my morale or whether we really still had half an hour in hand. Even through all that, Leg 4 was beautiful. The views down the valleys and across the ranges give you a real sense of the vastness of the Lakes. Compared with the mountains I knew in Snowdonia, everything felt spread across such a huge area. It really brought home the distance we were covering. You can see why the Wainwrights round is epic beyond epic. But there was still work to do. We descended Kirk Fell and began climbing Great Gable. Another giant bonk, more retching, and more dragging myself uphill. I took some flat Coke from Mike and passed him my electrolytes, hoping the sugar would help and that my stomach might settle. We reached Great Gable at 899m, 29 minutes ahead. I love Great Gable. What a beautiful mountain. It also became the place where I had a proper word with myself. Was I going to faff around and let this slip away, or get my shit together and finish the job? I wanted it. I wanted that 22 hours 30 minutes. And, quite frankly, feeling the way I did, I wasn’t keen to come back and do it all again! I had reached a point where my body wanted to give up. I needed my mind, and my determination to finish what I’d started, to carry me through. People talk about hitting the wall. For me, that was where the real battle began. Descending Great Gable, Rich was still telling me I needed to eat. He was right. On what felt like the 311th attempt to get some Hula Hoops into me, I finally ate some. I promised I would eat properly at Honister. I just needed to get there. That agreement with myself worked, and we knocked off the remaining summits before descending to the support point. I felt woozy, to say the least. I sat straight down, took a gel, had a decent coffee, ate some vegan chocolate chickpeas and drank some water. I still didn’t feel particularly great, but I knew we were nearly there. The boost and positivity of the support group really lifted me. They were all brilliant. Sadly, Howard had developed van trouble and had to leave after Wasdale, but he’d left the others in charge. At Honister, I finally looked properly at my watch. I had five hours and four minutes left to finish inside 24 hours. My immediate thoughts swung between how fucked I felt and whether we could get the final leg done in under three hours. Unbelievably, a sub-22 finish suddenly seemed possible. Leg 5: Honister to Moot Hall Running with Mike, supported by Richard Brown and Andy Quicke It was great to have Andy back with us. I looked up at Dale Head and knew that was the big one. I couldn’t afford to lose time on it, so I went as hard as my legs would let me. I motored up for about three-quarters of the climb before slowing, but it was a good effort. We took two minutes off the scheduled time and reached Dale Head at 753m, now 34 minutes ahead overall. Every time I’d recced this leg, the weather had been awful. Looking at the map and the shape of the landscape, I’d always thought this edge must be beautiful on a clear day. Now I could finally see it. Utterly beautiful. I just had to keep running, keep moving and keep climbing. We were almost there. Gels were about the only food I could stomach, but they were going in okay, and so was the water. The chest pains had been around for so long that I’d almost stopped thinking about them. The bigger bonks had distracted me, and I could cope with what remained. I still wondered where on earth they’d come from. We followed the straightforward lines to Hindscarth, then reached our final summit: Robinson, 737m, 40 minutes ahead of schedule. Partway down, before the drop towards High Crags, we paused to take it in. The last summit, the last mountain view. It was a great moment. Unless something went badly wrong, I knew the round was going to be a success. The only question still sitting at the back of my mind was whether it would be under 22 hours. We had a lovely flowing run down through the beck and into Little Town. The support team were waiting with my road trainers and, most importantly, my fluffy socks. Anyone who runs with me knows how much I love putting fluffy socks on after a run. I decided that wearing them with my road trainers for what felt like a 618-mile road back into Keswick would make me feel better. It did. For about four minutes. In reality, there were roughly four miles left. You do the maths and know you’ve got it, but that road feels never-ending when your legs have gone. Mike kept encouraging me to run, while Rich and Andy set a quick pace on the downhill sections to secure a strong finish. Then came the bridge, the track, the town centre, and finally the run up to Moot Hall. I’m an emotional person, and by then I could feel the tears coming. My usual response kicked in: “For crying out loud, man, pull yourself together.” That final run up to Moot Hall was brilliant. The feeling of it being over, seeing friends cheering and clapping, and spotting tourists wondering why everyone was making such a fuss over a bloke running up the high street at around 7pm. What a day. I looked at my watch: 21 hours 48 minutes. I’d never imagined that would be my finishing time. It felt surreal, and I was immensely proud — and absolutely chuffed to be joining the Bob Graham Club. I said it after my Paddy, and I’ll say it again: I would never have done it without the amazing support on the hills and on the roads. BOSH. 21.48. Thank you to the team To Mike, for sharing the whole round with me and keeping me moving through the hardest stretches. To the road support team: Howard Jones, Elaine Sargent, Nick Jones and Yricka Gardner. And to the leg support runners: John Parkin, Chris Palmer, Dave McFadden Zidane, Andy Quicke, Mike Bourne and Richard Brown. You made this a day I’ll never forget.