I definitely said to Sarah, as I trudged dejectedly into Wasdale, refusing to believe the profuse encouragement that said I could do it, “here’s Fiora, she’ll let me quit”. With the benefit of hindsight, I’m not sure how I reached that conclusion. Maybe I was hallucinating and thought I saw someone who’d let me walk away. That’s not what I got. As we walked to the gate of the car park, she looked me dead in the tear filled eyes and said, “okay, when you go through this gate you’re on leg four. We’ve made you some of that whiskey tea, then you’re going up the next hill.” I was not impressed. None of my support crew would listen when I explained I was quitting. I was being spoon fed porridge. My shoes were changed. I went to the loo and stared down a long drop realising my options were... View Article
There’s a scene in Air, the movie about the birth of the Air Jordan brand, where Matt Damon, thinking he’s failed, phones his friend. “Thank you for believing in me,” he says. Both Miguel de Montaigne and C.S Lewis have written more eloquently than I could on friendship but neither of them, to my knowledge, ever attempted the Bob Graham Round. I’d venture, therefore, that those of us who have may have something to add. I’m sure Miguel would’ve had some flare on the alpine trails and Clive would’ve been a menace around Oxford uni’s cinder track, but the Bob wasn’t on their list and that’s a shame because they missed out on the selfless fellowship it provides. Perhaps the most moving part of attempting the Bob Graham Round is descending on Keswick with a small army of supporters, knowing that for the next 24 hours each one will do... View Article
For a below average gardener, I’m quite obsessed with my clematis. I bought it the year I moved in and every winter it dies back so thoroughly that I assume it is finished. Surely nothing good can come back from the spindly dry sticks I’m left with? And every spring, around about Easter, it surprises me with a resurrection. It’s in raging bloom at the moment, assaulting the dullness of the shed with bright purple flowers. What I love about it is that it doesn’t bloom based on just one season. It’s established itself in the soil. It’s grown a big root network. So every year is more than just a bit of sunshine and water, its the cumulative affect of years of growth. And this gives me hope. Specifically, this gives me hope for the Bob Graham Round. I’ve had one of those seasons where things don’t necessarily go... View Article
It was supposed to end in champagne, not five minutes of dry retching by the side of a b-road. I wanted to tell you all how it felt to dash up to Moot Hall, surrounded by friends. Whether I’d managed a jog up the hallowed steps or had crawled on my knees. But instead, it’s time for a different tale. For the day before an attempt on a lifetime ambition, you’d think Friday would’ve been stressful but a strange calm had descended. I was neither scared nor excessively psyched, just very matter of fact. I would run 66 miles over 42 peaks because I’ve trained myself to do just that. I bought supplies, had a short nap, and chatted to my support team as they rolled in. By five to eleven I was stood at Moot Hall chatting to another round going the same time. A photo opportunity, an extra... View Article
Legend has it Steve Prefontaine said, “the best pace is a suicide pace, and today looks like a good day to die”. That’s all well and good when you’re bombing around a track in Oregon, but Pre never looked up at Skiddaw in the clag knowing he had over twenty hours of running ahead of him. He never skidded through the bogs as you start the climb from Threlkeld up to Cleugh Head in the dark. Or had to bomb off the top of Sca Fall trying to figure what gully to take for the 3,000ft drop into Wasdale. And I’d be very surprised if he ever had to drag his tired body up the fence post scramble onto Kirk Fell in a 50mph head wind, fifty miles into a day on the fells. I know that in two weeks I should be climbing them to fulfil one of my... View Article
February 8, 2022,
by Pete
When I was very young, just an infant really, my mother dipped me in the shuddering waters of the River Styx. Holding me by my heels she submerged me in the inky flow to ensure I was invulnerable. And — in fairness to her — it almost worked. Almost. But those heels, the only area not to be dipped, would inevitably become my weakness. Okay. Not quite. I may have appropriated Achilles’ story a little. But I have a surprising degree of empathy for the lad at the moment. We both found ourselves engaged in quests of epic proportions. He took his ships to Troy, I took my S/Labs to Troutbeck. And both of us were let down by our weak spot. All of this to say, I hurt my heels. “Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier;I have seen worse sights than this.” -Homer, The Illiad One... View Article
January 11, 2022,
by Pete
I was just a couple of miles into my long run on Saturday morning when Goldfrapp randomly shuffled from a Spotify dance playlist. I’d kind of forgotten about Goldfrapp but within moments I realised that I too am having my life dictated by a Strict Machine. It’s called Bob. I didn’t particularly fancy a run on Saturday. It was cold. I’d been good at the eating part of training but the sleeping part went less well. There was ice on the ground. And I’m sure at the time there were some other excuses too, but I can’t remember exactly what they were. But here’s the kicker; I didn’t decide whether to run on Saturday morning. I decided whether to run when Georgia and I had a FaceTime and settled on a date for our Bob Graham round attempt. In that moment I made not just a decision on what to... View Article
