Intro

I first heard about the West Highland Way in 2007, in relation to the 53 mile Highland Fling Race.

Despite having only just run my first marathon, I became captivated by the idea of running in the Fling, and ultimately in the main 95 mile West Highland Way Race.

My first trip to the WHW was in March 2008. I immediately fell in love with the route and the stunning scenery, but illness meant having to withdraw from both the Highland Fling and the full WHWR that year. I revisited the WHW in September 2008, remembered how much I loved it, and asked to be put on the waiting list for the 2009 WHWR.

I had another trip to the Way in March 2009, and a month later, on my fourth visit, raced over some of the route for the first time in the Highland Fling. 

In June 2009, I completed the WHWR. However it was far from being the well-rehearsed run that I had planned for the last few years - I was battling sleep from early on, and it was only the support of my crew that got me to the finish.

2009 Race - the short version

20th June 2009

95 miles

33 hours 59 minutes I know some people are itching to read WHW blogs, and the crews are reluctant to blog until the runners have, so this is a summary of my run, with a flowery waffly version to follow over the next few days (or weeks?). Friday - felt tired and sick, couldn't sleep in the car, not well rested Start - felt great, raring to go, excited, ready, looking forward to the hours ahead. Milngavie to Drymen, 12 miles - my least favourite section of the WHW, and no exception today. But I felt good, and arrived at Drymen ahead of schedule, feeling very comfortable and happy. Drymen to Balmaha, 7 miles - I loved this section. I usually do, but found it tough on the Fling. This time it was fantastic, except the midgies had started to feast. Arrived in Balmaha almost 30 minutes ahead, and had a quick stop to be sprayed with midgie poison and refilled with water and I was off. Balmaha to Rowardennan, 8 miles - I really struggled here on the Fling, and the same happened this time. Arrived in Rowardennan about on schedule, losing all the time in hand. Had a longer stop, and had some food and more midgie spray. Rowardennan to Inversnaid, 7 miles - My favourite section of this run. I usually love it, but found the beginning difficult on the Fling. This time, it was just fabulous. I walked the ups reasonably strongly, and ran all the downs. I felt great. Inversanid to Ardlui Ferry, 4 miles - my previous nemesis, that I learnt to love. This time, though I didn't hate it that much, I found it tough, and it seemd to go on forever. The rock scrambling was relentless and energy sapping, and I was so relieved to see the back of the shoreline. Ardlui Ferry to Bein Glas Farm, 3 miles - Another section that I usually enjoy, and I love it today. I flew along. Bein Glas Farm to Carmyle Cottage, 4 miles - a mixed section, that I've sometimes found tough. Today it was awful. I kept falling asleep on the move and almost falling over before I jolted awake. Managed to get to Carmyle Cottage, where my crew had dashed to meet me, and lay down for 10 minutes and had some food. Carmyle Cottage to Auchentyre Farm, 5 miles - the unplanned crew stop had worked wonders, and I comfortably ran/walked to the checkpoint, probably only 20 minutes behind schedule. Auchentyre Farm to Tyndrum, 3 miles - the first run with Santa. Except she was always way ahead and I couldn't keep up. But I got to Tyndrum quickly, and after a quick drink carried on alone. Tyndrum to Bridge of Orchy, 6 miles - discovered just after leaving Tyndrum that I had no water. Think with the extra stop there had been a mix up, but I had no reception so couldn't contact anyone. Managed to plod on, walking with a bit of running, and arrived in Bridge of Orchy to be welcomed by Santa carrying a bottle of water for me. About 2 hours behind plan. Bridge of Orchy to Inveroran, 3 miles - Steve accompanied me for this, which although short, is one of my favourite sections. Basically a mile and a half climb up through forest and moor, followed by a mile and a half descent over moorland. We flew it. Inveroran to Kingshouse, 11 miles - started out feeling strong, and was half way along Rannoch Moor when the overwhelming tiredness started again. Pushed on to meet the crew at Blackrock Cottage so I could shut my eyes and lie down for a bit, and so went a lot faster than I should and arrived 30 minutes before I was expected. By now I was only about 90 minutes behind the original plan. Kingshouse to Kinlochleven, 8 miles - Steve had walked with me the short distance from Blackrock Cottage to Kingshouse. I was barely aware of anything by this stage. What took everyone else about 10 minutes took me 30 minutes. I was shivering badly and my crew were concerned. It was decided that both Santa and Steve would run with me for the last 22 miles as I think everyone feared that at some point one of them would need to run off and get help. More on this section in proper blogs. Neverending Story. Kinlochleven to Lundavra, 8 miles - Having had a half hour nap, I woke up very dazed and confused. But we managed to run out of Kinlochleven, much to the crew's relief. Were accompanied by sweepers, as we were the last to leave the checkpoint when it closed. Lost them after a mile when we started overtaking people that had set out earlier. I was pretty much unable to run now as my feet were so sore, but the terrain was tricky, and Steve and Santa were also tired. A slow and quiet procession to the final checkpoint at Lundavra. Lundavra to Lochaber Leisure Centre, 7 miles - it's a fact that the last mile of a race is the longest. In this longer race, the last 7 miles were the longest. Possibly longer than the 7 miles into Kinlochleven. Saw the sign for the Leisure Centre, realised there were three minutes until 34 hours, and forgetting all the pain I ran to the finish. Fantastic support the whole way around, from everyone involved.  My support crew metaphorically carried me from Kingshouse, both the buddy runners and Hendo and Siouxsie, who worked miracles at the checkpoints. It's a great race. It broke me, but I finished. I'll be back next year to do it properly.

2009 Race - Learnings

I was too complacent and naive. I thought that having recce'd the route a handful of times, including the Fling and a few ultra distance runs, and having completed an 85 mile run, would give me an idea of how this 95 mile run would feel. It didn't.

Attention to detail. I'm great at this. But as was clear this weekend, sometimes at the expense of the basics. I spent so long working out the exact details of how everyone was getting there, budgets, checkpoint plans, booking flights and hotels, exact food requirements, numerous packing lists, but ignored the basics of where I would need my crew to be. I though the mandatory checkpoints would be enough.

Sleep. This was the main problem and in my mind at least, it was either directly responsible for causing other problems, or at least worsened problems that would have happened anyway. I've run through the night before. I did during the Ridgeway. And while I wasn't amazingly alert the whole time, I was fine to continue. This time the tiredness was like nothing I'd ever experienced. And it set in during the day - around noon I think, so it wasn't my bodyclock being influenced by darkness. I'd had no sleep the night before, as the race started at 1am. I had originally booked a hotel room to crash in for a few hours, but cancelled it, partly due to the cost. That was a petty reason for a fatal error. Next time I will travel on the Thursday, and get plenty of sleep that night and during the day on the Friday.

I don't think my time plan was wrong. I think I'll stick with it for next time, or hopefully even reduce it, as I want a sub 25 (9 hour pb). A lot of time was lost through long stops, which I needed due to the tiredness, but that I hadn't allowed much time for. Up until Kingshouse, I was not far behind schedule, but the section in the dark was a shocker, and from then on it was just a case of keep moving forward. Time targets no longer mattered, and so I didn't push it, where perhaps I was able to.

I should have had more crew stops. As an independent person, I wanted the minimum support and to make my crew's duties as simple as possible. Perhaps if I'd got them more involved they would have had that simpler job, rather than needing, at times, to focus on just keeping me conscious. Next year I will add in crew stops at Drymen, Carmyle Cottage (planned this time!), Victoria Bridge and maybe at the Braveheart carpark before the final mile.

I considered using plastic boxes to store my stuff for the crew to find everything easily, but dismissed it for the awkwardness of travelling with them. Any awkwardness will be worth it, so I will use them next year.

The ability to lie down in a vehicle would have been great. I squeezed into the back seat a few times, but to curl my legs up when they were already aching was very uncomfortable. Next year we will use Hendo's new Bongo.

I need to investigate taping my feet up. I usually just put up with blistered feet after getting them wet (apart from Northants where I was saving myself for WHWR so stopped completely), but it did slow me down, as on that route in particular, it is so rocky and uneven that there is always going to be pressure on sore bits.

I need to be less stubborn. I refused to take painkillers and pro plus until after halfway, as I didn't want to be relying on them. But I needed them, and should have taken them. And I should have used bodyglide, rather than think I just wouldn't bother. Nothing serious, and probably nothing that slowed me particularly, but I would have been more comfortable.

I wanted to run alone as much as possible, but I should have planned in buddy runners from earlier (although I still want to do Rannoch Moor alone next year). As it turned out, half of my support crew were injured anyway, but seeing how other runners got on suggests that in most of the second half a support runner (or preferably two at a time as Karen had planned) would have helped me focus.

I didn't put midgie spray on from the start. As it was dark, I figured it wasn't necessary. But from Drymen onwards it was light and the numerous bites on my arms are all from this section. At Balmaha and all other stops I was regularly sprayed with ASSS and strong insect repellent.

I didn't eat at Balmaha, as the midgies were too impossible to stand around in. I have not experienced the midgies before so was unaware of the impact, but if I'd had a crew stop at Drymen, I wouldn't have gone 27 miles without eating.

I still need to work on nutrition. The crew did a great job, and apart from Balmaha and I think towards the end when I couldn't eat, they made sure I had something to eat at each stop. But I could only eat tiny amounts, and over the whole race my calorie intake must have been around 1,800, compared to expenditure of around 12,000. Good way to lose weight anyway, I'm still half a stone lighter, despite eating everything I can get my hands on for the last few days. I need to find something that I can comfortably eat and digest. Pasta, brioche and mullerice was ok for the first few stops, but after that I had to force it down and mostly played with it to make it look like I was eating.

But I'm not all negative - there were things that went perfectly - my crew were fabulous and needed to do far more than I thought they'd have to, but they rose to the challenge magnificently. I was drinking plenty (and near the end having 1-2 pit stops every mile!), and I did genuinely enjoy running some sections. At the beginning, and for a long time into the race I felt strong and fresh. Clothing was fine - apart from the chafing that inevitably happens, there were no issues. My waterproofs were very comfortable, although I don't think it rained when I was wearing them so they are perhaps still untested. The rest of my gear was all previously tried and tested, and apart from one iPod playing up, all was fine.

As the memory of the tiredness and confusion and pain fades, I'm starting to convince myself that I enjoyed it all.

2009 Race - Santa

It started for me when i finished work. Plan was to get 3.30 train to Weej then get picked up at 4.20 but i wanted to get there earlyish for less faffage. GOt 2.30 train which got me there for 3.30, went straight to bar and got large glasswine, it had been a long week, i needed it. Got call to say i'd get picked up in Milngavie instead of Queen st due to influx of take that fans heading to Weej for concert so off i went to get ticket. Train not for another 30 mins so popped into bar for vodka. Train to Milngavie, hopped off and into Jen, Sioux and Hendos arms, this theme was to continue to the bitter(sweet)end 

Got to car and made plans for supermarket shop, as we were heading out carpark Hendo suddenly shouted *there's LoonDod* car was stopped in midle of road, and all of us jumped out and into his arms (theme, end etc) The car was abandoned literally in middle of road with all 4 door left wide open, lol.Cars were so not impressed trying to get past, it was only when a double decker promised to rip off the car doors that Sioux jumped in and moved it. After bit of chat we left LD to ponder about moving the Bongo or leave it where it was and we headed off to shops. 

Shopping done, coolbox packed and it was time to head to our headquarters aka The Highland gate Beefeater pub. We bagged a big table and ordered tea, coffee and coke. It was here that i unveiled the Tshirts i'd got done for Team Jen. 

Jen knew nothing about this and cried,this was theme that was to continue to bitter (sweet) end. Race was discussed, we looked at all the laminated stuff we had, our checkpoint details etc, it was all very regimented and thought out. Food was ordered and we all ate heartily thanks to Hendo (thanks) and before long Tpot arrived and TeamJen was complete at last. Parts of team Lintie & Team Loondod arrived to join us for a drink, when i say parts, i dont mean, one arm, one leg, i mean not *all* of them were there. More hugs, and several drinks later( me wine, LD guiness, Flip Beer, everyone else soft drinks) and team L & LD headed off into sunset. 

Quick change in TeamJen HQ toilets and i was in clothes that would stay on me until sunday aftenoon. WE all jumped in car and headed off to Milngavie car park (again) THis was very surreal, similar to Highland fling but that was 5am, this was 12pm on a Friday night and car pakr was full to bursting full of cars, campervans and winebagos. Full of excited chatter and you could almost feel the tension and excitement in the air. As Jen & Hendo headed off for pre race briefing,rest of crew *jenned up* the sunshine bus, aka Siouxsies car aka Jenmobile 

Before too long it was 12.50am and we all headed over to start, hugs aplenty to Jen, LD & Lintie, and we watched in awe as they headed off an a solo journey that would take us all with them. I cried. (theme, end etc 

TeamJen was fired up and ready to go, so plan was to go to Beechtree Inn and wave, cheer and clap (quietly. it was 1.30am & next to an Inn) As we looked down in the darkness, we saw a tiny trail of lights approaching slowly, what an awesome sight it was was an excitement grew. The excitemnt soon stopped when we realised we'd all hopped out car without our midgie nets, the midgies didn't forget to let us know that's for sure. Dived back into car and Tpod got Jens wind up torch whilst we got midgienetted up, this caused mucho hilarity and i was bent double laughing at some points for next half hour or so. We saw Jen come through which was fab and she was happy bunny. Time to head to first checkpoint and try and catch wee it of sleep before jen arrived. 

Uh oh, Houston we have a problem. We had a travel kettle which we decided to test out whilst at beech tree, every so often we'd pop back to car to check on it's progress, there *was* no progress, it was crappest travel kettle in word we decided and when we jumped back int Jenmobile, we all agree that a ceromonial stamping of kettle was called for once we reached rowarden(first checkpoint) Sioux put key in ignition, the car did'nt start. Haha , very funny Sioux, joke over, it's 2.30 am, lets head off now. Errrm, no joke. The car would not start. Sudden realisation off the kettle situation and sudden horror of realising the kettle had drained the battery. completely. 

Out car and before long we had people offerring to push until it fired into action. Cue 8 of us pushing car around carpark at 2.30am , to no avail, back and forth, down hill. nothing. Then the angel Gabriel appeared, wearing a hi vis jacket and a midgie net with *marshall* on it (clearly to hide his wings).Whilst waiting on Gabriel to sort out a support car to appear from nowhere, to get us in middle of nowhere to jump start the car, we swung into proper srs support crew mode and made 3 sets of aternative arrangements in case Gabriel and his fellow angels couldn't sort us. They were soon binned as a chariot flew the the air carrying jump leads. The car was working, hallelujiah, yeee who have little faith, rejoice! We thanked Gabrielle, and his fellow Angel and all jumped into the happily purring Jenmobile to head to Balmaha....... 

****** 

Next stop Balmaha, we got there parked up and i got my only proper sleep of the weekend. I snuggled into sleeping bag and pulled hat over my eyes and promptly crashed out for about an hour.

Woke up to find Hendo & Tpot sitting outside on the seats drinking coffee with Flip daylight had broken whilst i was asleep.As i looked around the car park it was clear themidgies were out in force, all we could see were big black or green heads, it was a most bizarre scene! GOt semi organised and runners starting appearing. Was in car when Jen arrived barking orders at everyone, water, drugs, midgie spray, give it to me. LOL 

We got Jen sorted quick sharp and she was looking great, she didn't stop long and before we knew it she was off again, Jenmobile was packed back up goodbyes said to team Lintie and off we set off for Rowardennan ( i may get mixed up with checkpoints and stops, if i do, sue me, what can i say, i was sleep deprived) 

The drive there was stunning, the stop over point even more stunning, i was getting running commentry from Hendo & Siouxsie bout Highland fling route in prep for next years race, i think it brought back good/painful memories for them. Loch Lomond takes your breath away. 

I decided to run out and find Jen then run back in ahead so we could have exactly what she wanted ready, and not be caught on hop like last time. Met Lintie as i ran out, gave her hug and she said Jen was about 10 mins behind. Headed into Forest and up some hills til i found her,think she was surpised to find me in middle of forest at 6am or whatver time it was! lol I got my instructions and took off ahead, got back to car and shouted everything out that needed done, so by time Jen arrived we had it all ready, even had spoon in muller rice ready to eat. 

We were getting the hang of this support crew stuff. Jen was 25mins ahead of schedule at this point and was looking good... 

****** 

Next checkpoint is long way away, we dont get to see Jen now til Auchentyre Farm. We decide team Jen needs food and head into Tyndrum for eat all you can breakfast. More surreality (is that a word?) as we all were convinced it was mid afternoon. Fabulous breakfast was enjoyed alongside great company of Flip & Ultracat aka bits of Team Lintie. 

Then it was off to Auchentyre Farm, what a lovely place that is. Nice toilets, smell clean! Showers, kitchens, great wee shop, wigwams..just lovely. Ultracat bought me best cup of tea ever and we all just chilled out generally. Just as Hendo & Sioux were unloadng stuff out car to go have a wash my phone jumped into life (signal was very random!) it was Jen, it said simply *carmyle cottage please* 

omg omg. All 4 of us jumped into action, Hendo drove like Jenson Button back up road to Carmyle cottage, me & Sioux were left shaking in back of car with our eyes closed. Got to CC to find Jen sitting in chair beside marshalls, she'd literally just got there *phew* 

She was pooped and needed a lie down, this is where the pic of Jenmobile was taken, see Jens feet sticking out window. 

We fed her, we rested her, and she was off again ,next stop back at lovely farm. Got back there to try and rest and was rudely awoken by Llamadance and mini Llamas, he was there as part of Team Loon Dod. One minute i was talknig to Llama, then his phone goes, i turned round and he was gone, it was at this precise moment that LD himslef came running through, i high fived him and cheered, he said *whurs ma crew?* i said, errm, no idea sorry! He wasn;t bothered hesaid he wasn't stopping! Loon indeedly! The was where i saw the lovely HappyG and equally lovely JulesR for first time that day. 

Tpod ran out to meet jen and run in with her as i got geared up and ready to run for first time with Jen. My plan was stay a wee bit ahead of her all time as i know she doesn't really like running with anyone, and Tpot had already told me what she' d said to him before when he dared run alongside her! We got through to Tyndrum fairly quickly, it was 2nd time i'd been on that route, last time was supporting Siouxsie in last stages of the fling.

Got to Tyndrum and Jen wanted to be alone again, this was all part of the plan though. So it was back in car for me as we waved Jen off after quick refueliing for her. 

****** 

It seemed very far. Bridge of Orchy, next stop. 60miles in. eep. Waiting at bridge of orchy when an amzing guy comes in who we've seen mayn times during the course of the day/night. He has one arm, and one leg. srsly. too amazing. 

Txt from jen, can someone meet her with water she is half a mile away, i grab water and take a run for the steep hill,meet jen at top, she looks relieved. I get more instructions as to what she wants on arrival at checkpoint and i take off like a loony down the hill and we're ready to rock n roll when Jen arrives. 

Tpod is running next 3 miles with Jen, another favourite part but she wants to share it with her someone special. 

They come flying off hill looking very happy indeed, Tpod rejoins us and Jen runs off into the distance heading to Rannoch Moor,be another 3 hrs before we see her again. We arrive at bottom of glencoe and i go try and sleep for wee while, to no avail. my stage next, Marshalls have warned us of bad weather, i start to feel a tad nervous, ok a lot nervous! 

Team Lintie is also at Glencoe, it's great that we're all seeing each other so much, it's like having 3 support teams, this race is special, truly. Lintie comes flying in with HappyG, i go over to hug her and she asks *me* if i'm ok! lollers, tbf, i looked bad, i'd just got out car after failed sleep and was wrapped up in a blankie 

We see off Lintie & Ultracat and headd off to Hotel for some much needed warmth and much needed drink. I had tea, then i had a glass of wine, i needed it for what lay ahead, trust me. We weren't meant to meet jen at bottom of Glencoe but we got txt asking us to go there so we all hopped back in and headed back up, Tpot ran back down to hotel with her, Jen was very very tired at this point, we were all more than a bit concerned about what lay ahead through the night. 

It was now dark, cold and windy, but thankfully dry. I put as many clothes on as i can find, i've never ran in the dark before, well clearly i have, in Edinburgh and whatnot, I've never ran in the pitch dark before, up a mountain, in the middle of the night. 

I'm scared, srsly. Luckily Tpod is also running with us,3 of us, 2 head torches, what lay ahead was a long long night.... 

****** 

It’s taken me a while to get this written down, I keep forgetting bits then think, was*that* at this stage etc..

After making sure Jen was ok, we set off, I’m not afraid to say I was more than apprehensive. 1. Because Jen was tireder than ever 2. It was dark and cold 3. I’d never ran in dark before with head torch, certainly never up a bloody mountain, that’s for sure. 

I thanked the lord that Tpod was with us too. Off we went, we stayed together for first few miles then I did my usual and powered on a bit. My thinking was that it keeps up the momentum, we really really needed that to happen, to stay warm, and to keep moving. We actually started passing a few people, and every so often I’d get called back whilst jen rested or we needed stuff out backpack and needed another torch. We finally got to fabled devils staircase, it seemed to take forever to get to that point and we made what felt like steady progress up it, I kept thinking we were at top then I’d find another turn, I didn’t find it too hard, there was couple steep parts which was fairly stony and slippy but mainly it was ok. 

We got to top and although it was dark we could see outline of glencoe and several other hills, it looked stunning, it never gets completely pitch dark in highlands, there’s always a slight glint somewhere in sky.

So, over we go, descent time, hurrah.(orso i thought) We could see the lights of kinlochleven twinkling in the distance, it lifted my spirits like you wouldn't believe. BIG mistake that was.This my lowest point. It seemed to be the further we got down, the further away the lights got, until we couldn’t even see them anymore. 

Soul destroying. At certain points I could see head lights twinkling then standing still, I kept thiking the bogey man was waiting on me to jump out and eat me but it just happened to be other runners taking a break. For ages I could see 2 lights, not moving at all, it freaked me a bit, eventually got to them to find 2 medics. I said to them *how the heck did you get here* we walked they said, walked? Oh great, how far away are we then? 1.5 to 2 miles they said. 

I’ve never felt so happy, srsly. Tpod spoke to Hendo to tell him where we were and give him indication of how long we’d be. 

I swear those medics were lying or we were hallucinating and walking on spot for hours cause it felt like another 5 miles before a worried Hendo called asking where we were, I think I swore. He asked if we were still on west highland way fearing we’d got lost, this panicked me somewhat but I was sure we hadn’t gone off track, there wasnt any to go off, how could we? Jen said, no, we’re on right track, so we headed on down. And down. Got to fork in road where 3 paths led off, I looked puzzled, luckily Jen knew her way around, a lot to be said for recceing the route! 

More panic set in as we realised the time, 10 mins before cut off point,(4am) We ran into kinlochleven, along the streets, got heckled by some drunk little fuckers telling us we were going wrong way, more panic (on my part) 

Finally we see Hendo & Siouxsie, and never in my life have I been so happy to see anyone. I’m sorry I didn’t show it. Siouxsie was a star,led me into sports centre and made me tea, tried to get me to eat and generally looked after me &Tpot, thank you Sioux.Hendo came back wit Jen after checking her in at checkpoint and took her through to hall for lie down 

My spirit was broken at this point, it’s hard to describe, not sure if it was sleep deprivation or my spirit that had been broken by taking 4hrs 15 mins to cover the last 9 miles. I couldn’t comprehend it, we’d kept moving all the time, all the time. To say I was disheartened didnt even come close. Tpod kept saying over and over how awful it had been, I kept agreeing, Hendo kept teling us we had to focus, we had to stay strong for Jen etc.I needed to sleep and wanted to sleep before Tpot hit Hendo. 

Thank god for Hendo & Siouxsie, thank god. 

I feel asleep on sofa about 4.15 and woke up at 4.45 with feeling of dread. Sioux said to me that if I didn't run( I hadn’t said I wouldn’t, I mustve just looked fuckin awful) 

Then tpot would have to go it alone with jen. This woke me up and I knew what I had to do, ffs, it wasn’t about me, if I was tired and demoralised, how was Jen feeling? 

Next stop Lundavra… 

****** 

Hendo & Siouxsie, my heroes, without you I’d have probably curled back up and went back into my silent little world i'd ventured into. After my talking to, I slipped away to cry, only kidding, I went off to the car the layer up again. I was shivering and I needed to get warm. 3 fetch tops, a hat , gloves and my thick running jacket later I was sorted lol. Drank bottle of lucozade in car and sat quietly waiting. 

Time to go, Jen came out smiling, Tpot looking apprehensive again. We set off, thankfully the morning light must’ve put a spring in our steps and it was a full oh, 5 mins or so before was stripped down to my vest, hat n gloves packed away long with jacket 

I liked this stretch, we had a long climb out of kinlochleven, seemed to be never ending, then it was undulating for while, over really big stiles and round hills , through burns. We had sweeper guys with us at first but we soon lost them, and we soon caught up and overtook several others. We were back on form, yeah baby! 

Jen kept making me laugh by saying Lundavra was just around the corner, I kept saying, omg, not like Kinlochleven round the corner? Kinlochleven will forever be remembered as the place that doesn't exist, I have some demons to lay there for sure. 

I even sang some songs on this bit, s club 7 for those interested, bit of proclaimers and anything that would just make me smile generally. If I’d known Happy & Flip were singing Abba songs I’d have got them to run back and join us for a sing song 

We came across a stretch that was really barren, the trees had been chopped down and left to die, it looked like a nuclear bomb had landed and wiped it out, I kept saying to Jen & Pot that clearly the world had ended and we were only ones left! 

Got round corner to see some people, confused I ran on and spotted Hendo & Siouxsie, omg, I ran into their arms with glee, what a difference those 7 miles were to those during the night!They had seats ready for us, fab, Jen was fed and watered again, had a wee rest and a shut eye. 

We didnt stop for long here, 7 more measly miles to go, and it was over. Yes! Off we set again. This section is just lovely, it takes you through an enchanted forest, I loved it, then a big downhill section which I couldn’t resist running down like a loony with my arms wide aeroplane styleee. Waited at bottom for jen and pot and we sat on a pile of logs and looked at Ben nevis towering over us in the beautiful sunshine. It was her that I knew Jen was indeed going to make it. Passed a few runners going up way who kept saying well done! Only 2 miles to go…Then we came out of forest to the road, boooo, wee walk along to find a very smiley, very bouncy Hendo shouting, 1.1 mile to go, 1.1 miles to go, you eat that for BREAKFAST lol, he was funny

He hopped back in car and took off. He appeared again at official end of WHW shoutng again. Started to get emotional at this point cause Jen kept saying, I’m going to do it, I’m actually going to do it. *sob* 

Around corner and Jen broke into a run, we followed, turned into a crowd of wonderful wonderful smiley happy faces, cheering, clapping, all for Jen. Me & Pot stepped back and let Jen run in, after hugging everyone I could see, we went inside, hugged jen, hugged everyone some mre and cried buckets, each & every one of us. 

It was over. She’d done it. She came, She saw, She conquered
(TM Dario, race director)

2009 Race - Steve

Part 1 

About a week or so before the event, I became aware that the West Highland Way Race was imminent. Although I had long known the date of the race, and that I was to play a part in Jen's run, I hadn't really given it any thought at all. All part of being a crap boyfriend, I suppose. It was also partly to do with the fact that I was completely unable to visualise anything about the weekend. I didn't know any of the area at all. My knowledge of Scotland was limited to a weekend in Edinburgh to run the marathon at the end of May, and a school trip to Largs many years ago where we spent all of our time inciting the locals to riot. Jen, of course, spent the week before the race stressily faffing. Clothes were laid out and checked. Food and transport were planned. Obscure meeting points with beautiful made-up names like the Bridge of Orchy (didn't I read this name once in Lord of the Rings?) were planned. And through it all I remained blissfully ignorant, oblivious to the weekend I was about to experience. 

Part of the problem was that the I could not rationalise the distance in my mind. I know that 95 is a long way. It's the kind of distance that you drive, or possibly cycle if skintight padded lycra is your choice of weekend outfit. But run? On foot? I had no concept of how that was possible or what it would involve. Of course, I do now, but I'm still unable to rationalise the distance in my head. You might be able to understand why later. 

I can only try to put the difficulty of 95 miles into perspective. A marathon is a tough distance to run. Your clothes chafe. Your feet might blister. Your glycogen stores will probably run out with a few miles left leaving you running on empty, and with a complete desire to stop moving. However you can train to minimise these worries. You can easily do a few long runs in the build-up to a marathon. You can get to know your body and its capabilities. You can even train to dupe yourself for a while. The pain of a marathon is transient and so can be conquered. 

Thousands do each year. The distance can be easily rationalised: two ten mile sections, followed by a 10k. Most people can run those distances separately. Lots can run them combined. 

A 95 mile race is entirely different. You don't train for this distance for a few months. It consumes you for over a year. Anything less and it will break you entirely. It's nearly four times a marathon. If you get chafing or blisters or fail to fuel properly on a marathon, you can finish. Get it wrong on a 95 miler and you don't stand a chance. How do you break the distance into manageable chunks, distances you can rationalise to what remains of the sane part of your brain? Nine ten mile sections and a five miler? Three marathons and then a little under twenty miles? 

It can't be done. 

You still have marathon distance to run after you have been going for 69 miles. If you feel awful after 40 miles, as you'd be entitled to do after such a ferocious distance, you have to talk yourself into running another 55 miles. You're not even near halfway! 

This was partly why I found it so difficult to relate to the race that was about to happen. I had no concept of what was involved. The weekend in my mind's eye was a big blank. To those who asked at work I said that I was going on a road trip from Glasgow to Fort William. Occasionally I'd be meeting some runners on the way. I'd then show them Glasgow to Fort William on Googlemaps and they'd walk away laughing. 

So Jen spent the week before planning meticulously. She had to. I spent the week blotting the weekend from my mind and trying to cope with her stressed head. On Thursday I stood out of the way while she packed, intervening only once after she threw hamster food all over the room. I was then exiled back to my house so that she could get a good night's sleep. That Friday morning I woke at 7am feeling a bit uninvolved with the whole project – my own fault. I didn't realise that I would not only take part in the race that weekend, but it would slowly become a part of me. That I would fully embrace it and ultimately Jen's goals would gradually merge to become mine. I was also unaware as I groped my way down to the shower that I would not sleep again for another 57 hours. 

I found my mind wandering again on the train on the way out to the airport. I find trains terribly distracting. Much as I'd love to put the time to good use and read, I almost always stare out of the window instead. As the evening sun darted through the lineside trees on a fine evening the scale of the weekend began to dawn a little more. 

I've known Jen for about 18 months now. Ever since I've known her, this race has been one of her dreams. She's really been training for it, mostly subconsciously, for two years. In those two years she's run along most of the route several times. She's planned how the big day will go endlessly in her head. In the same way that racers dream of sub-3 marathons, Jen dreamed of completing the WHW race. All of her support crew had very specific instructions: This is my dream race -do not, under any circumstances, let me drop out. The only person allowed to screw this race up was Jen. The rest of the team had to be perfect at all times. 

I was now feeling tense. A couple of 'what ifs' came into my mind, questions I really should have thought about much sooner than six hours before the race began. What if she's in a bad way when she arrives at a checkpoint? What if she hallucinates? How will we cope with her devastation if she doesn't finish? What if the weather is awful? How will the sections run in darkness go? 

I've always prided myself on being able to think on my feet and deal with anything that life can throw at me. However running through the Highlands, even in June, with minimal support, through the night, would be a big undertaking. Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I was looking forward to it. I would say that, wouldn't I? I wasn't running. I had it easy. The human body is certainly not designed to run 95 miles, yet I was going to see it happen. As the sun set over the fields North of London, a condemned man mindset slowly set in. I knew something large was looming in the night. There was nothing I could do about it other than hope blindly and trustingly that everything would be ok. 

I was a more naive person back then. 

I stepped off the plane at Glasgow and instantly blended in with the locals by asking the taxi river to take me to “mull-guy” and not “miln-gavie”. Ha! One-nil Tpod. I hadn't even had to drink Irn-Bru in a desperate attempt to avoid being picked on by the tartan hordes. I was still a little concerned that this might have been a giant practical joke by Jen and it was only once we crossed under the Clyde that I guessed that we were probably going the right way. I was also in a hurry. The rest of my team had been in the pub for hours and I didn't want to miss a moment. Hendo had warned me that everyone was crying, so I wanted to go to lend a bit of backbone to the team. 

The taxi driver tried to make conversation on the way but, bluntly, I couldn't understand a word he was saying. So I told him that my OH was running a 95 mile race to Fort William in a few hours, which had the same effect it has on everyone. He shut up and stayed quiet while his brain tried to make sense of it all. In the meantime I had a little chuckle at a sign over the M8 saying “Tiredness can kill”. Bad karma which I paid for later. 

I finally made it to the pub in Milngavie to be met by Jen in the car park. She most certainly had her ultrahead on, as she was making no sense whatsoever. Happily, she spent most of the evening in Siouxsie's car panicking rather than in the pub panicking. It may be Victorian, but I'm sure that isolation is the best way to treat maladies of the female mind;-) I walked into the pub to be met by the full brilliance of Fetch. Team Jen were tucked away in the corner dressed in our excellent t-shirts, prepared by Santa. We had a kit, and therefore were a proper team. 

Lintie and Loon Dod were also making their last minute preparations, which seemed to involve a pint of Guinness, though I'm sure none of it was actually drunk because I'm not sure anyone would be mad enough to set off on a 95 mile race while half-cut. Some of Team Lintie and Team Dod were also there to add to the celebratory mood. As is my way, I spent the remaining few hours of the evening cracking shit jokes and being utterly unhelpful. 

Eventually things became a little more serious. Loon Dod and Lintie disappeared to get ready for the race. Hendo and Jen dashed off to the final race briefing. I decided to change into my running gear in the pub toilets to avoid being arrested with compression shorts around my knees at 6am in a roadside layby. Quite what the drunken revellers of Milngavie, out for a Friday night pint or five made of it I don't know. Luckily we had strength in numbers and a couple of translators so I didn't feel the need to resort to Irn-Bru at any stage. 

Once again, before I knew it we were on the move, driving towards Milngavie Station: the start of the race. It was midnight. The station car park was a sight to behold. At first it looked like what I imagine a giant dogging convention would look like - all cars with boots open and half-naked people applying vaseline. We parked and took a look around at the other teams. I felt like the Jamaicans in the early parts of Cool Runnings. Other teams were wordlessly visualising change-overs, miming out spooning pasta salads and taping feet. They all seemed to have proper matching kit. The runners looked focussed and aggressive. All we had to show for our organisation was a packet of baby-wipes and Hendo's pornographic playing cards. 

We set to work tarting the car up. Within seconds I felt much better, with large “Fetcheveryone” signs blocking all of the windows, creating massive blind spots, and a wee flag hanging off the aerial. We had a vehicle, it was fully equipped, and, though I say so myself, it fucking rocked. Other teams stopped glumly mid-imaginary-gatorade handover to stare. The only thing missing from Team Jen now was competence, but that would have to be earned on the road. Jen seemed to trust in our abilities, and that was good enough for me. 

We were all still smiles, and the anticipation was building beautifully. There's nothing quite like a pre-race buzz. 

Especially when the race is absolutely insane and the buzz happens at half past midnight. We posed for a few photographs; the team recorded for posterity in full battle dress, ready for action. It was a fantastic moment. We then joined the other teams who were slowly moving towards the start area. 

If you want a glamorous race start, don't consider this race. The start line is an underpass by the station that looks more suitable for mugging than jogging. We each gave Jen a hug and some encouragement, hoping to put her into a good frame of mind however we could. I then scrambled up a grassy bank to get a view of the start and to take some photos. 

“Two minutes!” someone bellowed out, and the runners shuffled nervously. 50 runners beaming headtorches into each others' reflective clothing stood below me as I started snapping. Jen pushed up to the front to stand with Loon Dod and Lintie. All three looked remarkably relaxed. And before I knew it they were off and had gone. The first 50 metres of 95 miles had been covered and it was time for each team to begin to shine. 

Part 2

As soon as the runners had disappeared out of view we raced back to the car and hopped in. I had a huge sense of anticipation and adventure. Whatever happened in the next 35 hours was going to be amazing, one way or another. By this stage my brain still hadn't begun to question quite how long 35 hours was. We punched Balmaha's postcode into the satnav and then bounded out of Milngavie Station car park, never to return.

With 150 starters, each with a motorised support crew, I had expected that there would be a huge convoy of cars stretching along the road into the night all the way to Balmaha. I was expecting the roads to resemble London rush hour as everyone drove to the first checkpoint before getting some rest. It was therefore quite surprising that we turned out of the car park, followed the satnav up the road and saw, well, nothing. All of a sudden we were alone, charging down the road in the darkness accompanied only by our enthusiastic chatter.

The sky outside wasn't pitch black by any means. Even at half past one at night, there was an orange glow from Glasgow over our left shoulders, and elsewhere breaks in the cloud revealed a deep indigo. We finally came to a crossroads and turned onto a road which was busier with support vehicles. However by this stage I guess that most of the support crews had been sensible and had gone back to hotel rooms in Milngavie for some proper rest. The journey, even with so few cars, was still amusing enough. The surreal sight of all the rear lights bobbing in the undulating darkness appealed to the shambolic side of my brain.

As we drove, someone had a brainwave. It wasn't part of the plan, and we were nervous about going off-plan in case it messed with Jen's mind, but we decided to detour to Beech Tree Inn at 7m to watch the runners pass through. So we foolishly gave up the opportunity to sleep, something we would regret later, for no good reason, and also foolishly ignored the satnav and tried to find our own way to Beech Tree Inn.

Before long we were lost. This wasn't very surprising. Signs were scarce and the darkness had stripped the empty landscape of any distinguishing features. We pulled off the road and entered coordinates into the satnav. 

This didn't improve things. Even though we now had directions everything felt wrong. The road was slowly getting narrower and narrower. The twists and turns became sharper and more unexpected. The occasional homes by the side of the road seemed to progress from house to grotto to hovel as we penetrated further away from the main road. At every corner I was convinced we were about to stumble upon a roadblock of angry Scots waiting to pulverise me into haggis filling.

Hendo's answer to the whole dilemma was to speed up, ignoring the walls that flashed into view up ahead and then receded terrifyingly into the darkness behind us. The prospect that we might obliterate ourselves and another support crew around a blind corner flitted across my mind. Roadkill bumped beneath us.

Suddenly we screeched to a halt in the darkness, vulcanising a stretch of Scotland that is now forever Goodyear. “Look!” Hendo pointed, “This is where the WHW emerges after that bridge, remember?”

Those members of Team Jen who had actually run the WHW before nodded their assent, though they might have also been nodding thanks at their survival. Within another few minutes we had pulled into a gravelly car park next to an unlikely inn. We had arrived.

The car park was surprisingly full. Several other crews had had the same idea as us. It was eerily dark still, with the only light coming from a house in the distance. That light was brutally bright, but flickering, as if a tree was waving its branches between us in the breeze. We stayed in the car but took the opportunity to unpack the boot all over the back seat, ostensibly to find our travel kettle. We had decided that we needed to find out how quickly it boiled, in case Jen arrived at a checkpoint demanding hot food. We plugged it into the cigarette lighter and waited.

After 5 minutes it was still stone cold. How tiresome.

I looked up again. The houselight was still flickering, but seemed to have become brighter. Come to think of it, there was now more than one light. “That can't be the runners, can it?” someone asked. We all dashed outside for a closer look. As we moved out towards the abandoned railway line that makes up this section of the WHW at this point, more lights emerged in the distance. A grand sweeping arc of tiny headtorches stretched out into the infinite darkness, filling the void. It was a beautiful, even magical view. We all filled such a breathtaking moment by arsing around and taking comedy photos, mostly trying to make Santa look really small.

At this point a few spots of rain started to fall. Or so we thought initially, but it doesn't take more than a few midge bites for you to come to your senses and put on all of your protective gear. Midge nets went from being funny to essential in a few seconds. As the midgies swarmed ferociously in clouds around our torchbeams, we checked the kettle. Still only tepid. You wouldn't get into a bath this cold. A pot noodle made with this water would be even more unusually manky. We decided to wait longer for the kettle to boil, and ran back over to the WHW.

By now we could tell which way the lead runners were looking from their lights. They were close. Abruptly, the creaking of a metal gate punched through the silence. Seconds later the first runners came through. Each individual was indistinguishable in the dark. Every time they looked towards us they dazzled us with their headtorches. We whispered “well done” as loudly as we dared without waking the guests at the Inn, and clapped with hands muffled by gloves. Sadly, we missed Loon Dod and Lintie, but most runners waved and gave their thanks.

A few minutes later we congratulated the final few runners, and a recognisable voice shouted thanks back. “Jen?” I asked.

She looked completely bewildered when she stopped, which on reflection was probably because we weren't meant to be there and, in our midge nets, we probably looked like ropey extras from 'Mars Attacks'. After the briefest of chats she was on her way, hopefully feeling a little more confident in her crew's ability. After all, we'd made it all the way to the 7 mile point without getting (too) lost. Yeah baby!

You laugh? After all, we were four capable adults. Well...

We got back to the car in high spirits, which lasted for as long as it takes to put a car key in the ignition. One of the problems with water having an unusually high heat capacity is that it takes a lot of energy to boil. And therefore kettles are surprisingly high powered for such common devices. And that power has to come from somewhere. In this case it came from our now flat car battery.

It was completely spent. Even the indicators weren't working properly. To make matters worse, the water in the kettle still wasn't hot. I'm proud to say that I panicked immediately. I had visions of Jen running the entire race without seeing any of her support crew because the four of us were stuck in a car park in the middle of nowhere. At least we had lots of food and drink. My life wouldn't be worth living once we were rescued, but I didn't dwell on that point for too long.

I calmed down and ran over to the nearest marshall who, in contrast to many other marshalls I've met in my time, was both friendly and helpful. Where I was expecting him to keel over laughing before putting on a serious face and shouting, “You're fucked!”, he instead he called the Balmaha checkpoint and established that the marshall there had jump leads. While we waited for him to arrive, Team Jen and another random team we never quite got the name of pushed a people carrier round and round a car park at 2am in the darkness, replete with midge nets trying to get the engine to start. It was one of our finer moments.

Eventually we had only managed to push the car out onto the road, and there we waited. We had a back up plan in case the jump leads didn't work. We would put one of us and some food and drink into the sweeper car so that Jen actually had a checkpoint at Balmaha. The rest of us would sheepishly wait for the AA to arrive from Glasgow. We agreed that if everything was ok we would on no account tell Jen what had happened until she finished the race. There was no point on her wasting energy worrying about us. It was meant to be the other way around.

At this stage we were feeling like a pretty shit support crew. We had fucked it all up approximately an hour into a 35 hour race.

Finally the marshall from Balamha arrived, and thank god, he knew what he was doing. Even when the jump leads failed to work, he knew this was due to a jammed solenoid, and within seconds the engine had started and was purring. I could have hugged him. Hendo did, narrowly avoiding electrocuting them both. The relief on Santa and Siouxsie's faces was huge. We were back in the game. Jen's dream was still alive. We decided there and then that there would be no further cock-ups. We also decided we weren't going to turn the engine off for a few hours. We roared into Balmaha and parked where we could see the point where the runners would emerge. It was time for some well-earned sleep.

Except that the Vauxhall Zafira, while undoubtedly designed for many things, was not designed with sleeping in mind. After half an hour of trying to doze in the same position that recently hanged convicts find their necks in, I gave up and walked out into the brightening gloom. Hendo had gone out five minutes beforehand muttering something about coffee. I took two paces and then gave up and walked back into the car. Midge nets were beyond essential here. The bastards dive-bombed relentlessly from every angle.

I finally found Hendo talking to Flip further down the car park. They were making coffee on Flip's stove. The difference in competence between Team Lintie and Team Jen was apparent already. They could make hot drinks, we couldn't. Not that having a hot drink was necessarily an advantage, as it was impossible to drink through the midge net, which meant exposing virgin skin, much to the joy of the tiny menaces. Besides, as welcome as the coffee was at 4am, there was something offputting about the deep film of midges that covered the liquid surface.

Nevertheless, the three of us passed an agreeable hour chatting over warm drinks while runners started to emerge from the undergrowth into the car park. They were 19 miles into the race, less than a quarter of the distance. Not surprisingly, they all looked very fresh, as if they'd only jogged a mile. The best way to pick out the runners from supporters was by what they wore. Only the runners weren't wearing midge nets. The photos of us in nets have attracted some hilarity, but the only odd-looking supporters in that car park were those without.

When Lintie arrived we knew it was almost time for us to swing into action. Hendo and I walked back to the car, and found Santa and Siouxsie already awake. It was the first time in the race we would be actively supporting our runner and none of us had any idea what to expect. We folded out our camping chair, arranged the food and drink, grabbed the medical bag and then waited.

After another few minutes Jen crashed out of the undergrowth and charged towards us, looking excellent and barking orders. What a relief! If she hadn't told us what to do we might have been slightly limp and clueless. 

Sadly, with her in-the-zone ultra-head on, she was rather forceful. At least she knew what she wanted.

She wanted Ride Shots. Siouxsie grabbed the food bag and started hunting. After a few seconds Jen shouted for Ride Shots again, which prompted more frantic scrabbling from Siouxsie. Jen was covered in a black film of dead midges, which I wiped off while Santa starting spraying insect repellant everywhere. Hendo topped up her water while I was given an iPod that wasn't working and was told to fix it by the next checkpoint.

Meanwhile Jen still didn't have Ride Shots. Siouxsie looked a little flustered and apologetic, before I fished out a packet from the bag and handed them over. Poor Siouxsie had never heard of them and couldn't understand what Jen was asking for. She probably felt like I used to whenever my maths teacher would ask me what 7x8 was and I didn't quite have the answer ready. Finally, with an apology for her brusqueness, Jen dashed off onto the WHW and we were alone again.

It had been excellent that she had been so forceful, as we now knew exactly what to do at checkpoints and what was expected of us. We had attended to all of her needs successfully and sent her on her way. She was 25 minutes ahead of schedule. As we packed the boot of the car for the second, but not the last, time that weekend, we felt like a pretty shit-hot team. It was 5am and bright outside as we pulled out of the car park to drive along the shore of Loch Lomond towards the next checkpoint at Rowardennan. At last, four hours into the race, it felt like Team Jen was on its way.

Part 3

The drive to Rowardennan was beautiful. We roared along above the shore of Loch Lomond in the stirring morning light. To my now slightly messed-up head it felt like it was about 10am. It was, in fact, only 5am. I'd not seen 5am from the other side in many years. At this point the WHW toys around with the single track road, weaving around either side before diving down to the shore of the Loch and springing back up. Given that the field was by now very strung out, we saw few runners. We barely caught any glimpses of the Loch either as the area was heavily wooded. We were by now far away from any meaningful civilisation. As I have mentioned before, we certainly were not allowed any more cock-ups.

Slightly incongruenlty, an ambulance shot past us at speed. We all hoped that it wasn't for one of the runners. We saw it again five minutes later executing a 7 point turn on the narrow road and asked if we could help, but all seemed ok. Shortly afterwards we pulled into Rowardennan. It resembled the location for a New England summer camp rather than a visitor centre in the Scottish wilderness. The setting was breathtaking, with the checkpoint right by the eerie, still water. The only downside were the voracious and innumerable midgies. They ensured that we stayed midge netted throughout our stay here, even when in the car.

When we first arrived the car park was absolutely full with support crews, so much so that we had to do a lap of the car park to find somewhere too stop, much to the annoyance of two supporters who clearly lead very unrewarding and narrow lives. Once we had stopped we gave the travel kettle another go, though this time we kept the engine running, and breakfasted on crisps, marvelling at the stunning view. I decided there and then that I don't see dawn often enough.

We soon had tea, which Santa promptly poured down her front. A quick check of the surroundings revealed some very usable toilets, which I was to discover is crucial to the effective functioning of a support crew.

Before long, Dario, the race organiser, had popped over for a chat. After all, it wasn't very difficult to guess who were, what with our support vehicle festooned with Fetch paraphernalia. He'd heard all about our battery mishap (how embarrassing) and wanted to check that we were ok. He possibly also wanted to chuckle at our ineptitude – who knows? He was lovely to talk to; calm, reassuring and in control. He also knew all about Jen and seemed thrilled that she was running the race. We all looked a little sheepish and tried to look competent by drinking tea through midge nets in fold out chairs. The fact that we had once again exploded the boot over the back seat of the car might have detracted from the desired image a little.

According to our calculations, Jen was due through Rowardennan, the marathon point, imminently. It was funny to think that for most runners 26 miles represents the finish of the race and the culmination of all of their efforts, whereas for Jen the effort had barely started. She could still grow into the race if she felt bad. We stepped away from the car and stood a little up the road for when she arrived.

Lintie came through bang on time, still covered in a thick grime of dead midges but still smiling. A BBC crew were standing by the side of the road working on a documentary about the race. They had neglected to wear midge nets and looked simply miserable. Team Jen felt horribly smug.

We eventually had the bright idea of sending Santa on ahead so that she could bring us Jen's order before she arrived. She darted off around the kink in the road and was gone. Hendo, Siouxsie and I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I wasn't too worried. Although she as losing time she'd built up, Jen was still ahead of schedule.

Eventually Santa tore back down the road, a boundless bundle of red and yellow, to give us Jen's orders. While she and Siouxsie went back to the car to get everything ready, Hendo prepared to take a photo. Jen finally emerged on the road at 6:30am and had the presence of mind to give Hendo the finger, before spotting Dario hiding in his midgie net. Oops. We popped Jen onto her seat.

She wasn't happy. She was hating the race. However she was also adamant that the bad spell of the race was over. We all demanded that she eat at this checkpoint, mindful that there was another 25 miles until the next one, and she managed some pasta and flat Diet Coke. I told her that the iPod she had given us at Balmaha was knackered, but she wasn't fussed.

And then, horror of horrors, one of the other support crews pulled up and asked if we'd managed to get our car started again. A combination of dirty looks and changing the subject managed to preserve our fig leaf and we didn't have to let slip to Jen that we'd already managed to cock up. Phew! Finally, we directed Jen to the last usable toilet for 5 hours before seeing her off down a tiny forested track.

Jen never looks back when she walks away. In the six months we've been going out she's not once looked back when we've parted. Believe me, I've noticed. But at Rowardennan, she looked back. Twice. I felt distinctly unsettled for the duration of the next section. 25 miles is a long way to run by yourself in the wilds, particularly when you've already run 26 miles. Especially if your head isn't 100% right.

I put these thoughts to the back of my mind as we repacked the car. We clambered back inside still wearing our midge nets as there were now more midges inside than out. We drove a few miserable miles with the windows wide open, swatting where we could, before we felt safe enough to de-net. We now had hours to ourselves, but also had a long drive around the far shore of Loch Lomond. We'd been working as a team now for 5 hours and awake for 24. Somewhere, breakfast was calling.

Somewhere, for those who don't know, is twinned with Tyndrum. After a hair raising journey, crowned by Hendo's propensity to stare out of the window while driving, we arrived and enjoyed an all you can eat breakfast with Flip and Ultracat. I say enjoyed because, for the first time in hours, we were midge-free. Determined to get full value, and ever mindful that I didn't know where my next meal would come from, I clung to my plate until I'd almost fallen asleep at the table.

Sadly, I couldn't actually sleep. I could only manage a nodding donkey impression carefully honed during my GCSE chemistry lessons all those years ago. The huge volume of bacon, black pudding and fried bread I'd just consumed were dazzling my addled brain and emulsifying directly into my bloodstream. However I was also utterly wired on adrenaline, caffeine and chocolate.

Feeling sated and queasy, we drove the short distance back to Auchentyre Farm, the 50m checkpoint, for another attempt at sleep. Jen wasn't due to arrive for another few hours. I began to feel that even I could manage some sleep in the Zafira. As the pig I'd consumed began to exact its aortic revenge I slipped into an uncomfortable, greasy snooze.

Part 4

I surfaced from my drowsy rest about an hour later to discover that Llamadance had arrived. He was part of Team Loon Dod. Once I'd fully recovered from the rest I decided to explore the checkpoint a little more fully. It was a wonderful place, with showers, a shop and a little kitchen. It was also a midge-free area due to the gentle breeze that meandered through the buildings. What a relief! Hendo and I refilled the water bottles we were using to fill Jen's bladder with. The water from the taps was a clear brown colour, but seeing as it came from kitchen taps we surmised it was drinkable. Besides, once it was in the blue bladder there was no way Jen would know it looked like it was harbouring tropical diseases. It tasted fine...

I then explored the shop, delighted to find ginger beer and more sustaining food than the chocolate brownies and crisps I'd been living on for the last 10 hours. Loon Dod ran through the checkpoint more than an hour ahead of schedule, shouting for his crew who had disappeared. He looked like he'd run a mile, not sixty. It was an awesome sight.

As Santa got ready for her first stint of running, from Auchentyre Farm to Tyndrum, we exploded the boot everywhere again, as was now our team tradition. We began to prepare for Jen's arrival. By our calculations she was only an hour away, and it's amazing how much time it takes to prepare when you've not slept in 30 hours and you're having too much fun with the rest of the crew to concentrate on the task in hand. We hadn't had any updates from Jen in ages and the phone reception was awful, so we had to assume she was still on time. 

Siouxsie decided that the shower was a luxury that she couldn't miss out on, and Hendo was complaining of furry teeth from overconsumption of chocolate goodies. No sooner had they grabbed their stuff and headed towards the changing rooms than Santa's phone sprang into life.

The message was ominous. “Carmyle Cottage now”.

Caramel Cottage was an unofficial meeting point at 43m, which we'd been told to ignore by Jen. It was a fair drive away. This wasn't part of the plan, and with no further information we bundled everything, including ourselves, back into the car and tore back along the narrow road through Crainlarich to Cadillac Cottage. As we drove, we discussed various possible scenarios. Perhaps she'd run out of water or food. Or maybe her shoes were wet and she wanted to change them. Maybe she had blisters. Perhaps something else had happened and she was pulling out. We didn't know, and it was all pure speculation, but it gave us something else to worry about apart from the fact that we might all be obliterated in a head on collision at 80mph with another support crew somewhere on the A82.

We shuddered to a flying halt outside Camomile Cottage and swarmed out of the car like an over-testosteroned SWAT team. We still didn't know what to expect. We found a teary Jen slumped in a folding chair surrounded by a huddle of concerned onlookers. She looked up at us and as a smile of relief spread across her face, she got up and gave me a huge hug, sobbing into my shoulder. She stank. I used all of my male intuition and decided that this probably wasn't the time to let her know.

She was excruciatingly tired. It had taken her 45 minutes to cover the last mile because she kept having to stop to rest her sore eyes. We all tried not to look too concerned, and tried to come up with a plan.
While this was not a good development, Jen was by no means last. Her race was not ruined. She was well within the cutoffs for each checkpoint and she could easily finish if she kept going. We just had to find a way to keep her going.

We decided there and then that a quick rest stop at 43 miles could only be beneficial. We took off her shoes and popped her on the back seat of the car to have a quick nap, trying not to feel too helpless or redundant as a team. It was a shock seeing her in such a state so early in the race, but we took comfort from the fact that other runners around us looked much worse than Jen did. It seems funny to say so, but apart from her extreme tiredness, she was in good shape. Sadly the tiredness threatened to end her entire race.

While she rested we passed a bit of time wandering along some of the WHW, which was rather damp underfoot. Our runner was upright when we returned. This was a good sign. We forced her to eat and drink, gave her fresh shoes and socks and sent her back on the road, promising we'd be waiting for her 7 miles down the way at Auchentyre Farm.

It was remarkable to see how much she'd degenerated on the 20 miles or so from Rowardennan. She had gone from looking fresh and fine to looking like she was dead on her feet. However, despite this we all felt that she would be ok and that her bad spell would pass. We all appreciated that bad spells were part of ultra running. It's just that I for one hadn't realised how many different forms a bad spell can take. It had to pass. She was only half way through the race in mileage terms and there was no way she'd let herself drop out.

Sadly, some of our exuberance was knocked out of us at this stage, never to return. The race went from feeling like a holiday, like an enjoyable road trip, to feeling like a professional job. It was now our task to help and guide her to the finish. It was what we were there for. We were learning on the job, but also felt we were getting very slick at anticipating and attending to Jen's needs. Though we momentarily questioned each decision made through the fog of tiredness, we were often in a better state to make decisions than Jen was at the time. We decided to not let the latest turn in developments get us down, but to suspend all judgment until Jen arrived at Auchentyre Farm. How she felt then would make or break her race. It was all out of our hands.

We obeyed the speed limit all the way back to the farm. By now it was almost 2pm, and once we got back Lintie came storming up to the 50m checkpoint. She still looked amazing – so bright and alive. All of her team had arrived now and faffed with her race equipment while she enjoyed a jacket potato. We gathered around in a celebratory atmosphere while she ate, both teams enjoying the midge-free, sunny afternoon warmth. Before long Team Lintie were off, leaving us to prepare for Jen's arrival. Hendo finally got to brush his teeth and Siouxsie finally got her shower. We all exploded the boot everywhere again and prepared everything we could think of that an exhausted Jen might need.

After a while I got impatient. To my mind it made sense for one of us to run back along the WHW route to find out what Jen wanted ahead of time so that we could be ready for her arrival. Maybe the sight of one of us would lift her spirits? So I jogged back along the route to try to find her. At this point the route ran along a small farm track surrounded by low walls and fields with horses, and as I passed runners I shouted cheery encouragement. I finally arrived at a wooded road crossing where the WHW met the A82. I decided that this would be as good a place as any to wait.

It was quite a long wait. Not that it mattered in the glorious afternoon sunshine. Besides, I had plenty to occupy my mind. What would I see? How would I react? How would we all cope? How long would we be in this race for?
I caught glimpses of someone through the trees on the opposite side of the road and thought it might be Jen, but it turned out to be a walker with his son. I asked if they had seen someone resembling Jen, but they hadn't. While not reassuring there wasn't much I could do. We passed a few more minutes having a pleasant chat about the race before they moved on and I was alone with my thoughts once again.

Five minutes later I heard a crashing in the undergrowth and, like a wild boar flushed out in a hunt, Jen emerged opposite me. The change from Calomine Cottage was indescribable. She was alert and smiling. It was wonderful news. After establishing what she expected of us at the next checkpoint, I charged back to the team to set their minds to rest and warn them of what Jen wanted. Once we had prepared, we turned to watch Jen run down the side of the small slope that led to Auchentyre Farm. The improvement in her state rippled through the team.

Once again we were perfectly drilled. The socks she was wearing offered no protection from her shoes, which were rubbing the skin from her ankles. We offered bodyglide, which was declined, and new socks, which were accepted. Jen made a token effort to eat more pasta at this point, before we had her weighed and then sent her and Santa on their way to Tyndrum, just 3 miles up the road. Once again she disappeared into the unknown and we had to repack the car boot. We were a much happier crew on the drive to Tyndrum than we had been just an hour beforehand.

We pulled into the car park at Tyndrum just in time to meet half of Team Lintie, and passed an agreeable half hour talking to Happy G and Flip in the gorgeous summer sunshine. I was in the Highlands in the summer and I was content. Where did my life go wrong? We were outside the last shop for thirty miles and Hendo suggested that I go inside to buy some drinks. “Use your imagination”, he advised, and I took him literally, emerging with milkshake, Irn-Bru, ginger beer, Ribena, cola, everything. It was to prove a masterstroke, as all that Jen really consumed for the next 40 miles of the race was banana milkshake bought from this little shop.

Jen arrived at Tyndrum looking remarkably well. Once again, we did our F1 pit crew impersonation, attending to wheels, wiping down the driver and ensuring that there was adequate fuel in the tank. As she disappeared up the hill towards the Bridge of Orchy, Team Lintie sped off towards Kingshouse at 70 miles, and Team Jen rewarded themselves with a trip to the Good Food Cafe.

Those who have read my recent Market Harborough blog will understand that I was very wary of somewhere calling itself the Good Food Cafe. My experience suggests that places which feel the need to describe themselves before you've had a chance to make your own mind up do so for a reason. The reason usually being because they are crap. This establishment was the exception to the rule. If you ever find yourself within 30 miles, make a detour to visit. The food was wonderfully hearty and unpretentious. I had an excellent caramel shortbread with my tea, and had I been thinking straight would have devoured a haggis with chips. Sadly, I was under the mistaken impression that I'd be able to eat something filling later in the day.

The owner came out to chat to us, recognising us as a support crew. She is considering running the race next year, and would probably be capable of doing so, being an experienced ironman competitor. She wished us well and asked our opinion on what should be included in the next Highland Fling goody bag, to which the cafe contributes. It was lovely to see such involvement in the races. No-one locally needed to care, but almost everyone we met were effusive and sincere in their good wishes. It really made the race seem even more like a large inclusive secret, like it was something special. Are you listening, Bein Glas Farm?!

We sadly tore ourselves away from comfort food heaven and struck out towards the Bridge of Orchy. From this point on the landscape changed noticeably. It became much darker and scrubbier. A stumpy, bleak moorland, though it was still damp and overrun with midges. With the loss of tree cover the air temperature dropped, especially with the windchill. The Highlands began to feel more stark, exposed and brutal. We might have been over halfway through the race in mileage terms, but I got the distinct feeling that the race hadn't really started for most runners.

Of course, stark, exposed and brutal was also beautiful. After moments we had pulled over by the side of the road to admire the view. We picked out the WHW, passing between gorse around the ankles of a hill. And who should we make out well below us, a speck on the path? It was Jen! She was running. Yes, running! Our spirits soared. She was through her bad patch and looked good. Team Jen was back on track. Our exuberant road trip could continue. Nothing could now knock us off our stride. It was nearly 6pm, I had been awake for 35 hours and we had completed nearly 60 miles of the race. We had broken its back.

We should have known that a lot can go wrong in 35 miles.

We arrived at the Bridge of Orchy in the blazing evening sunshine. It was delightfully picturesque, with a little stone bridge crossing a wide torrent. We took the time to chat to some of the now-familiar support crews and, sadly, watched a racer limp in and inform one of the marshalls that he wished to pull out.

All that way for nothing.

I applied the finishing touches to my race look: tit tape and anti-midge (compression) socks. I was due to run a couple of miles from here with Jen when she arrived. We looked up the hill to where the WHW emerged and waited.

Finally Santa received a text from Jen asking for water. Apparently we'd forgotten to refill at Tyndrum. What an error to make in the hot afternoon! She shot off up the hill and we waited her to re-emerge with Jen. Once they arrived we had the briefest of stops to top up Jen's water, before Jen and I prepared to leave for Inveroran. At last I could stretch my legs after so long in the cramped car. At last, after feeling like a run ever since I'd seen the racers leave Milngavie, I could get going.

Part 5

As we signed out of the checkpoint the marshall took a keen interest in our equipment. It seemed a little over the top for a 3 mile jog over a hill, particularly as the sunshine was plentiful and warm. We confirmed that Jen was going to run in what she was wearing, to be warned that the weather was due to deteriorate in the evening and into the night. At that point I didn't care. Why ruin an enjoyable run worrying about the future? We told the marshall that we would be meeting the support crew at Inveroran, just 3 miles away, and would ensure Jen was properly equipped for her solo run across Rannoch Moor.

We then left the bustle of the checkpoint behind us and started to climb up a loose and rocky track, which quickly twisted and turned out of sight behind a screen of trees. Occasionally we could see a pair of runners up ahead in high-visibility tops, but more often than not we felt alone, with Jen leading the way up the path. I blabbered at her incessantly, hoping to keep her mind off any discomfort she was feeling.

The climb was short, brisk and enjoyable. It felt wonderful to finally be on the move and part of the race. We broke out onto the top of the hill, marked by a small cairn after an all to brief scramble up the path, and wow! The view was stunning. It felt as if the whole world was stretched out in every direction, falling away at my feet. I had to keep turning and turning to take in the whole sight. We kissed...

And then with springy, light steps we began to run downhill. We could see Inveroran below us and waved just in case our support crew were watching. We raced over the rocky path, tearing past the two runners who had been up ahead, joyfully bounding down the hill. There was no time for conversation now. This was a time to live in the wonder of the moment. It as over all too quickly, but excellent all the same. We arrived in Inveroran triumphant. I felt indestructible, though I'd run fewer than 3 miles. Of course by this stage Jen had covered more than 60.

The team fed her Ribena, gave her more clothes to carry and then let her run her favourite section over Rannoch Moor alone. She was due to take around 3 hours.

We drove alone the desolate road through the moor, with snowsticks guiding our path. The marshall had been right. The sky clouded over and the wind whipped up, draining the colour from the sky and the warmth from the surroundings. It was bleak.

We decided to detour from Kingshouse to Blackrock Cottage to have a look around, and stumbled across Ultracat and JulesR, who were waiting for Lintie. We cooled down quickly as we waited for them and began to throw on layers, but didn't have long to wait before Lintie, Flip and HappyG came flying off the moor, still looking excellent, all things considered. I sent Jen a text asking if she wanted us to wait for her at Blackrock Cottage, but given the lack of phone reception I got no immediate answer. We therefore took the opportunity to go to Kingshouse Hotel for a couple of warming cups of tea in the bar, well, apart from Santa who had wine as part of her preparations for her stint over the Devil's Staircase. We relaxed. Jen wasn't due for a while.

I suppose at this point I should have grabbed my final opportunity for a sleep. I'd been awake for nearly 40 hours, but thought that I'd have plenty of time to sleep once we'd seen Santa and Jen off for their overnight run. I should have eaten something sustaining too, but the thought never occurred to me. Instead I enjoyed a languid conversation in the sweet warmth of the hotel bar, savouring the calm.

Our reverie in the cosy pub was interrupted by a text from Jen. Actually, she did want us to meet her at Blackrock Cottage. Now. She could see it. She was coming off Rannoch Moor half an hour early.

We raced out to the car and just bundled everything into the boot. Within seconds we were roaring off across the A82 and had screeched into the space next to where the WHW emerges, just as Jen stumbled off the path. She might have taken half an hour off her expected time over this section, but the effort and her tiredness had destroyed her. Once again, extreme sleepiness had taken hold. She became horribly cold as soon as she stopped moving. She was mentally exhausted.

We put her in the car for a quick nap, while Hendo held her legs in the air. No, I'm not sure why either. While Jen dozed, the rest of us discussed what to do with her. We decided that I would guide her for the 10 minute walk down to the Kingshouse Hotel checkpoint, while the others drove ahead to set up our camp properly.

We flung more layers onto Jen in an attempt to keep her warm and to stop her from shivering. It didn't have much effect. Despite everything she was still coherent and told us she was worried about overheating, but too my mind it was safer to be too warm rather than too cold. We set off together down the road towards the checkpoint.
The journey took half an hour.

At first Jen shuffled on her toes to try to keep the weight off her sore heels. Then she shuffled on her heels to try to save her blistered toes. Finally, after 5 minutes, she ignored all of her aches and pains and shuffled as normally as is possible after more than 70 miles of running. Even though we were moving she was still shivering. I could hear it every time she spoke. She was so tired she kept shutting her eyes as she walked, tripping blindly along the road.

Despite it being after 10pm and despite the A82 being almost deserted we still nearly got run over by some idiot doing 90mph. In the final fading light of Saturday we stumbled together down the path into the car park of the Kingshouse Hotel. I shouted Jen's number at the marshal while Jen dropped into the arms of the rest of the team.

While Siouxsie and Santa helped Jen in the car I told Hendo about my worries. Jen was cold, but didn't realise that she was. She had been trying to be sick every 50m on the way from Glencoe, but was unable to vomit. She was close to falling asleep even when she was standing up. Hendo nodded, looked stern, leant into the car and for the first time since the start of the race, he stopped being nice.

“Jen...Jen...listen to me. You are going to change into dry, clean clothes. Yes, yes you are. You are going to rest for a bit, then eat and then drink. OK? Good.”

And for the first time that weekend, Jen was too tired to argue and just nodded in compliance. While Jen changed, we made the decision that I would run through the night with her as well as Santa. This wasn't part of the plan, but there were too many things that could happen to leave two people out on their own. What if Jen got into difficulty but there was no phone reception? At least this way one of us could stay with her while the other ran for help. Santa was happy with this arrangement, though I remember battling through my own tiredness to try to evaluate if what we were doing was the best course of action or not. I just couldn't think straight.

We gave Jen a bit of rest by staying to within 15 minutes of the Kingshouse Hotel checkpoint closing. I packed as many clothes as I could lay my hands on, a survival bag, food, drink and painkillers into my rucksack, then donned a midge net and reflective gear for the run ahead. Santa was already ready to go. While Santa, Hendo and Siouxsie helped prepare Jen for the journey, I told the checkpoint marhsall we were leaving. She warned it would probably take three hours to climb the Devil's Staircase and descend the other side. Seeing that the Kinlochleven checkpoint closed at 4am that would give us an hour's leeway. Team Jen hugged all round, then Santa, Jen and I plodded into the darkness, leaving Hendo and Siouxsie behind us.

We had only 2 torches between 3 of us, so we decided that Santa would use one and go on ahead, and that Jen would, of course, have the other. I would run just behind Jen to ensure our pace was fast enough to see us in to Kinlochleven on time. The path was immediately rocky, uneven and wet. And Jen overheated very quickly. I agreed she could take off a layer, but was still worried about the risk of exposure. I kept asking every 15 minutes if she was warm enough, each time receiving a mumbled reply that she was.

We must have been moving at a fair rate, because we passed two other runners who were also out late at night on this section. All we could do was say some encouraging words and keep moving. To my left I could see the shine of car headlamps on the road below us, and to my right I could see the looming silhouettes of the mountains. Besides that, the cold breeze on my face and the jagged path underfoot, my senses were consumed by my extreme tiredness. God only knows how Jen felt at that point. Our long trudge through the night had begun.

It was to take over four hours to cover the next eight miles. We told Siouxsie and Hendo not to bother meeting us one mile into this stage, as there was no point wasting the time. Santa kept chatting to Jen to keep her mind occupied and stop her thinking of the cold, the route, the difficulty and the pain. Both Santa and I were determined to stay in high spirits for Jen's sake, and when it's high spirits you need, I can think of no better person to have around than Santa.

We plodded through freezing streams that ran untamed over the path. My feet were repeatedly soaked as, without a torch, I could barely see where I was putting them. Before long Jen was dreaming of a banana milk and a sit-down before the Devil's Staircase, and was furious when we reminded her that we had sent Hendo and Siouxsie on their way to Kinlochleven without stopping. She still wanted to sit and rest, but Santa and I wouldn't have it. The earlier we got to Kinlochleven the more substantial a rest we could have there.

At the foot of the climb up to the Devil's Staircase the path jagged away from the road. This was it. From this point there was no turning back. We couldn't drop out after 74 miles. We would have to continue without support to the next checkpoint. We were alone. We could fail up there, somewhere, or make it by ourselves. It was an intimidating thought.

A wall of dark rock loomed up ahead of us. It was impossible to gauge its steepness, height or features. However, I was certain that the Devil's Staircase must have earned its name. We would have to climb and conquer it. We began to climb.

Initially the path consisted of loose rock which we scrambled over. The biggest challenge was keeping our footing in the dark. I was relying on reflected light from Jen's headtorch, and the fact that the sky was deep indigo and not pitch black, and therefore presumably provided a little light. By this stage I had gone over 40 hours without any meaningful sleep and so couldn't concentrate on where I was putting my feet. The rocks looked like they were contoured in ways that they weren't. I was forever on the verge of twisting my ankle or tripping.

I kept muttering encouragement at Jen, trying to sound as upbeat as possible. I'd shout, “Well done!” whether there was a reason or not. We simply had to keep moving forwards and I was encouraging myself as well as her. I tried to distract her by asking what this section was like by day, but by now I was only getting monosyllabic answers. The only words she said to me for the duration of the climb were 'ditch' and 'stream' to warn me when we were crossing them. Apart from that, Jen was silent.

After another mile or so she stopped for a pee break, which I took as a good sign – she was drinking enough fluids. After another few minutes Jen insisted on sitting on a rock for a while to rest her aching eyes. At every break Santa and I tried to encourage her to move on so that we could have a proper rest at Kinlochleven, but we were battling against Jen's tiredness, as well as our own. Occasionally on the steeper climbs Jen would drift or sway a little and require propping up. As we continued to climb I looked beneath us and saw the unmistakable twinkle of headtorch lights. Other groups were behind us, though it was impossible to tell how far behind.

Eventually the path began to zigzag wildly. The rocks were large and loose, and slowed us down. All I could hear was my own heavy breathing. All I could see was the blue-grey silhouette of the path ahead. All I could feel were my bagstraps digging into my shoulders. All I cared about was that Jen kept shuffling forwards.

Finally we appeared to be cresting the hill, and I could hear Santa getting excited ahead. Meanwhile the two we had overtaken earlier had caught up with us. Knowing that Jen hates feeling pressured on a run, at the next wide spot I shouted forcefully, “Jen, give me a hug!” and she fell back almost lifelessly into my arms, nearly knocking me back down the slope. I held her tightly as the two runners passed apologetically, saying they didn't mind running behind us. I wished them good luck and said we'd probably see them soon.

By now the wind had begun to whip up, dry, icy and from the north. I knew we were near the summit. Jen asked for a break and I told her to wait until we had reached somewhere less exposed. And then finally, delightfully, almost unnoticeably, we conquered the Devil's Staircase and began the much more arduous task of descending into Kinlochleven.

We could see orange street lighting in the distance far beneath us. I tried to kid myself that it was another town, but deep inside I knew that this far-off place was our destination. We passed the two overtakers almost straight away. One of them was limping and could barely bend one leg, which made their downhill progress tortuous. Not that ours was much better. The combination of slippery, loose, uneven rocks, brooklets and tired legs in the dark meant that we were moving horribly slowly. Santa continued to scramble on ahead, picking out the path while I kept Jen moving. She was still stopping for pee breaks every mile, but this didn't alarm me as much as it alarmed her. I was too tired to think about it. She also kept turning her ankle on the tricky terrain, gasping with pain each time. This worried me far more. A sprain would end her race after more nearly 80 miles of hard effort.

Finally we bridged a small river and met two roving medics. They told us we had 1.5m to go until we reached Kinlochleven, which, given what happened afterwards, I can only assume was a direct measurement as the crow flies. I didn't tell them that Jen had fallen asleep while walking three times in the last ten minutes, each time needing catching as she fell. I didn't tell them she was drifting along in a dreamlike doze. I just called Hendo and told him to prepare for our arrival. He sounded relieved to hear our progress and asked what we wanted when we arrived. All I wanted was hot food for my stomach and a bed for everything else.

We plodded on, relieved. Our nightmare trudge was nearly over. The checkpoint at Kinlochleven had beds and cooking facilities to look forward to, something we all desperately needed. We had an hour and a half to make it before the checkpoint closed.

We soon left the treacherous path and joined a wide, looping, gravelly road that led us down into a valley. The tree-lined route was murky and close, full of midges. We passed the top level of a hydroelectric power station and caught another glimpse of the orange street lights, much closer now. We plodded on.

After another twenty minutes there was a split in the road. We followed the WHW around and continued to move along the circuitous road. After another mile or so we were worried. We had continued downhill, but could no longer see Kinlochleven. By our calculations, and that of the roving medics, we should have arrived. Instead the road seemed to be taking us further away, winding into the middle of nowhere. All of the other runners whose head torches we had picked out before had disappeared.

After a short while, we had just 40 minutes until the checkpoint shut and Jen would be disqualified. By this point, I was so tired, sleepy and exhausted that I was utterly fed up. I was willing Jen to drop out. She was in such a bad way, and there was such a long distance left to run that I thought she would never make it. I was shattered, cold, starving and miserable. I just wished she'd give up so I could curl up by the side of the road and wait for someone to come to pick us up. I couldn't hide the despondency from my voice. There was still no sign of Kinlochleven. We trudged on.

The gloomy sky was beginning to lighten. We didn't have much time to spare. I took Jen's headtorch off to examine the map. If we had taken a wrong turn it was too late now. We were facing disqualification. I couldn't make head nor tail of the map as there were no distinguishing features at all to guide us. The whole route so far had been run in the dark. Hendo called to check where we were. It had been a whole hour since we last spoke, and he was worried. So were we. We didn't have a clue where we were, if we were near or far away from the checkpoint and we were running out of time.

It was now 3:40am. Jen had been running for nearly 27 hours, but it would all be for nothing if we couldn't get to Kinlochleven in twenty minutes.

When I told her the time Jen let out a sobbing wail,”No! All this for nothing!” and broke into a furious shuffle. Her continued sobbing tore right into me. The thought of her goal being snatched away, her sheer determination to keep going after 80 miles of hellish running and her strength to run for a line she still couldn't see made me feel ashamed. I strengthened my own resolve.

“You are going to make it!” I barked, believing every word even if she didn't. She just kept sobbing between breaths. “Come on Jen!” I yelled. Santa was now tearing ahead to try to confirm the route. As we ran across a bridge I desperately asked Jen, “Do you recognise this?”

“I've only run this bit twice, both times in the light.” came the despairing reply, before she finally shouted, “Yes, I recognise this bit. We still have half a mile to go!”

I glanced at my watch. 3:49. We couldn't afford any more mistakes. We ran down the track and suddenly stumbled onto a road. Civilisation!

“Where do we go?” Santa yelled, before darting on ahead. Jen was still sobbing with the effort, knowing that this was going to be bloody close. I prayed to the God that I don't believe in that we would not be disqualified. The horror would devastate all of us. Over the last 15 hours we had all given far too much to the race to take nothing out but the taste of failure. It couldn't happen.

In the distance I saw a group of people by the side of the road, and thought we had arrived at the checkpoint. It turned out to be a bunch of drunken idiotic youths. We left them shouting abuse at us as we darted through a small copse, and then suddenly, there they were! Siouxsie, Hendo and a marshal were standing in the road up ahead. We'd made it with four minutes to spare!

At this point Siouxsie and Hendo took over. Jen, Santa and I had been so totally destroyed by the 8 mile stretch that we had ceased to think. I had just entirely shut down, beaten by the tiredness in my legs, the sleepiness in my head and the emotional wave of relief that had just hit me. I took almost nothing in as Siouxsie drove me and Santa to the leisure centre for some food, while Hendo escorted Jen to the medical centre to sign her in and to have her weighed. Only gradually did I realise that the cutoff for the checkpoint was actually 5am, and that we had made it with an hour to spare. Rather than feel annoyed, I felt relieved that we could now enjoy an hour's rest before stepping out to test ourselves over the last two sections. I was desperate not to run another step, and still convinced we wouldn't make it.

Siouxsie gave me and Santa some food, but all of a sudden I wasn't hungry. I ate a few half-hearted mouthfuls of pot noodle. All I could bring myself to do was to mutter, “But it was awful” over and over again to whoever would listen. Hendo came in with Jen and tried to get her to eat. I told him that she should be sleeping, as she had been drifting off while walking earlier, but Hendo was seeing more sense than I was at that time and insisted she ate a little before placing her on a mattress in the sports hall. Within seconds she had drifted off into deep sleep, and shortly afterwards, so had I.

Part 6

After just seconds of sleep Siouxsie gently shook me awake. I felt so warm and cosy with my dreams, and her gentle voice slowly roused me back into the harsh reality. I was shivering violently with the cold and both my hamstrings were cramping. I was still hoping that someone would come to tell me I didn't have to run the next stage. I was utterly miserable. I had the feeling of someone who's woken up on the morning of an exam they have done no revision for. A feeling of impeding doom.

Hendo came over for a pep-talk. At this stage I'll have to paraphrase, because I can't remember it word for word. He said something like, “Listen Tpod, you've got to buck your ideas up. I don't care if you feel like crap, I don't care if you don't think you're going to make it. This is Jen's race, you have to be positive and she has to hear that in your voice and see it when she looks at you. OK?”

If I hadn't been so utterly exhausted I would have tried to punch him between the eyes.

Gradually, still shaking uncontrollably, I got up and limped to the toilet. I threw cold water over my face and stared at my sallow, worn features in the mirror, and then stumbled back out to finish the job. Something had changed in me. Hendo's words had reminded me why we were all here. Santa was looking upbeat and ready. Jen was awake and looking infinitely better after just 45 minutes rest. Although I'd been asleep for just half an hour it was now light outside. It was a new day, and we had to cover just 14 miles in 7 hours. Our target was to move at 2mph until midday, and I had a feeling we could do it.

Jen went to sign out of the checkpoint. We all hugged our goodbyes as I set my Garmin before marching down the road to meet Jen outside the medical centre. Once Santa and I were level with her, we broke into a jog. I hadn't realised at the time, but apparently the sight of seeing us run off just one hour after we had staggered half-dead into the checkpoint was beautiful. The fact that we even continued at all was down to the brilliance of Hendo and Siouxsie. They saved the race at this checkpoint.

We soon realised we had picked up two more runners, who were looking surprisingly fresh. They were the sweepers...we were the last runners to leave Kinlochleven. Even they played their part. They were wonderfully reassuring. They told us if we just kept moving we would make it to the finish before the race cutoff. Their confirmation of this fact lifted us further. I asked what we had to do to shake them off, and they replied that we only had to overtake someone. They would stick with the last runner.

Jen had warned that the climb out of Kinlochleven was horrific. I had been told it would last forever, constantly twisting and turning, always rising. I was therefore pleasantly surprised to find it was over before we'd really started. Once we had beaten the climb I knew we would finish the race. We were averaging 22 minute miles, well above our target pace. We had also overtaken a pair of runners and had therefore lost the sweepers. We were going to make it! Jen was going to finish her race!

This section of the WHW was beautiful. We ran along a relatively smooth, pale red path deep in a valley high up in the mountains, with a low cloud ceiling obscuring the peaks. The trail stretched ahead of us, miles into the distance, guarded by craggy rocks peering out from the moorland. It was everything I'd hoped the WHW would be. We quickly overtook another few groups of people and we were flying. Sadly I had absolutely no phone reception, and so couldn't tell Hendo or Siouxsie that everything would be just fine. I told Jen once that we were on track, and was then told not to tell her again unless our pace dropped below 25 minute miling. Jen was still pit-stopping regularly, but I had stopped to care about this now, and so had she. We just made sure that none of the other groups were in a position to catch up, then let her duck behind a rock.

As we ran we could see the route ahead of us hug the mountainside and then curve away in the distance towards Lundavra. Jen insisted that I tell her once we were ten miles away from the finish at Fort William (or 85 miles into the race, depending on the way you want to look at it). Our pace remained excellent and I still had no-one to tell. Up ahead I could hear Santa singing to herself, as if a small girl merrily walking through the park. I could almost picture a small balloon tied to her wrist...

We passed a couple of beautiful, stern, ruined houses. I have no idea why they were built up in this glorious isolation. They certainly serve no purpose now other than to remind those who pass that in the end nature claims everything, though she wasn't going to claim us just yet.

She tried her hardest. The road quality began to seriously decline. Large puddles and springs appeared across the whole route, with tiny inadequate stepping stones that required concentration I couldn't spare to avoid getting wet feet. Every time my feet dried off they received another frozen soaking. Jen continued to painfully turn her ankle on the loose rocks, gasping each time she did so. We were all still utterly drained. My eyes no longer stung with tiredness. They ached a deep soreness instead, as if they were bruised. However the scenery remained breathtaking.

We stumbled over another bump in the path and I looked down at my Garmin, before yelling out, “10 miles to Fort William!” This prompted a little dance from Santa. We were going to make it. We had left the sweepers far behind and had more than 5 hours to complete ten miles.

However the path continued to deteriorate. It was now no more than loose rock strewn over the moor, still horribly wet and jagged underfoot. The beauty had faded too. The path was a dull, metallic grey and the bleak moorland had been replaced by dead forestry. The landscape was filled with blackened, hacked-down trees all around. Santa joked that it was like a nuclear wasteland, and she wasn't far wrong.

We were close to the checkpoint now. I could see a winding road climbing up to meet the WHW. I was desperate to see Hendo and Siouxsie again to put their minds at rest. We were flying and we were going to make it. We hadn't failed midway up the climb. The rest of Team Jen didn't know, and it was vital that they did. Still there wasn't any sign of the checkpoint. I mistook an abandoned JCB by the side of the route for the checkpoint at a distance, much to Jen's irritation.

But wait! There, finally, were Hendo and Siouxsie, waving, smiling. We had made it to the checkpoint with an hour to spare. They now knew too that we would finish. It was a glorious moment. Team Jen were now reunited, not in adversity, but in triumph. A slow-burning glow of unadulterated happiness spread through me as I sat down by the way and began to eat furiously at a Mullerrice. I was still starving.

So were the midges, who were furiously swarming at this checkpoint, despite the fire that had been lit by the marshalls. By this stage I didn't care. I was too tired to try to brush them off. As my head recovered a little more from the strain of the trudge I noticed how meticulously prepared Siouxsie and Hendo had been. Everything that we could possibly have needed had been carried up from the car 100m down the hill to the only flat piece of ground at the checkpoint and laid out so that it could easily be grabbed. Having seen the effort that goes into supporting runners I could now appreciate it from the other side. All the effort really makes a huge difference, with the greatest compliment I can pay being to say that I almost didn't notice.

Siouxsie and Hendo ran around attending to our needs, but, truth be told, there wasn't much that we needed. Just 6 miles out of 95 remained. We all had a satisfied warmth, a feeling that we had come through the worst that this race could throw at us and we were going to succeed. Jen's dream would be realised, and in the process of being won, had become a dream for all of us. We were fully united as a team.

I ate as much as I could stomach and then dumped as much extra weight as I could out of my bag. We then all stood up to leave. There was no point in wasting any more time when the finish line awaited. With quick hugs all around, we left the checkpoint briskly straight onto a steep ascent which was mercifully solid and flat underfoot. By now even Santa was muted, beaten by tiredness and the distance, but she still found the energy to bound off ahead, leading the way.

I loved the climb out of Lundavra. We quickly left the dead forestry behind us and scrambled up a path that felt gentle underfoot. I prefer ups to downs anyway, particularly when tired as it feels like you're making rapid progress even if you aren't. Jen was behind me now, exhaustedly following my heels, placing her feet exactly where I placed mine as we climbed two rollercoaster hills. We swept over a roaring stream on a rickety bridge and sauntered past raggedy old sheep, still keeping our pace high. We were well aware of how quickly our pace dropped when the path had become difficult underfoot on the way into Lundavra.

Despite knowing that we were going to finish, and feeling huge mental relief as a result, it was still a huge mental battle to keep moving. We had been awake for more than 50 hours now, and my brain was shutting down. I had to check and recheck every decision I'd made, in case I'd made a mistake. I checked and rechecked the Garmin and our expected finishing time, terrified that in my exhaustion I'd fucked it up and we weren't still on course to finish before the cutoff. I kept peering uncomprehendingly into a Garmin that refused to tick off the miles fast enough. I didn't trust my own thought process, and we still didn't have any phone reception. Unless Hendo had managed to get word out, the other teams still didn't know whether we were still racing or had been disqualified.

My legs were intensely painful now, particularly behind the knees and where I'd cramped at Kinlochleven. I was limping from a long-standing hip complaint and the soles of my feet felt like mush. My body screamed for me to stop. It was intolerable, and I would have been intensely bad-tempered if it wasn't for the fact that Jen had run *much* further than I had and we still had to get her to the finish.

We soon entered a beautiful forest, completely enchanting, with mossy trunks, streams and pale leaves. It was stunning and glorious to run through in the isolated silence. At one point Jen pointed out what seemed to be a tree root, but was in fact an ornate abandoned wooden table that had been reclaimed by nature. Finally, after a scramble down some stairs cut into the rock and another sore climb, Santa poked her head out of the top of the forest. It would be all downhill from here.

I was intensely disappointed to find that the enchanted forest was to be replaced by a wide, ugly construction track, and that the surface was of large, uneven gravel. My battered legs and feet just couldn't stand it. To make matters worse, the relentless downhill finished off what remained of my quads. We could see another runner dashing off beneath us at full pelt, easily sub-10 minute miling, and Jen tried to break into a run.

It wasn't going to happen. Jen had completely broken herself coming this far. She could, and would, finish with a walk. She was in a far worse state than either Santa or I were in, but with such a short distance remaining I was no longer so worried. She was still on the verge of falling asleep while walking. She'd frequently ask me to tell her if anything large was coming up ahead so that she could close her eyes and keep walking. A supporter we'd first seen all the way back at Carmyle Cottage came up the other way to meet his runner, willing us on, telling us just a few miles remained.

Suddenly we could see Fort William beneath us, and I got phone reception. I texted Hendo to let him know where we were, and got a text from Llamadance asking for an update. He promised that a large crowd would be there to see us in. From this point on, whenever I thought about the finish I couldn't help welling up. Runners and supporters who had given their race everything, who were exhausted and had finished hours before us were waiting for us to finish. They thought our effort was worth cheering. It was humbling and promised to be thrilling. I was so grateful for the news. I was also determined not to cry until we finished. I now understood what effort people put into achieving their goals. I knew what meaning life could take.

My Garmin eventually died, which was a relief because I could stop looking at it every minute. Santa, Jen and I stopped for a final rest stop on a stack of logs. We chit-chatted for a few minutes about nothing in particular, before getting up and setting off for the final time. A speedy runner passed us going in the opposite direction, all smiles and good wishes. And then, after a few more tortuous turns in the road, we were unceremoniously ejected from the wilderness onto an A road.

Cars raced past us. People for whom the WHW Race meant nothing at all wandered along the pavement, unable to understand what three oddly dressed and exhausted runners had been through. Particularly what had happened to the one in the middle with bleary, closed eyes pointing to the ground. We must have looked awful, inside we were broken, but we were also sustained by the still-burning embers of Jen's dream. It was alive and we were feeding the fire.

We were going to finish.

Who would have thought it just six hours before? Not me. Not Santa. Not Hendo. Not Siouxsie. Possibly only Jen herself.

That's why she finished. Because she had fought for and earned every step. You think you know about determination? Put in a pretty useful sprint finish at your last marathon? Nearly puked during your 5K PB? Got up at 6am for a training run? Until you have seen someone race for a checkpoint she doesn't know is nearby at 4am after 83 miles on the road, you've not seen true determination. You've not seen the deep-seated, all-consuming desire that comes form the very heart of the soul. You've seen a petty approximation.

After another half mile trudge past uncomprehending dog-walkers we saw our support vehicle ahead, and an almost bouncing Hendo and Siouxsie shouting, smiling and taking photos. It was all becoming real. It was no longer a nightmare, but a dream. We barely stopped for hugs. Jen had just one mile remaining.

Anyone can run a mile, but unless you've seen or done the last mile out of 95 you can't understand. You can only imagine. It really is the longest mile.

We crossed a road in the centre of town and saw the finish – the leisure centre – up ahead. Llama had been right. A crowd of Team Dod, Team Lintie, other Fetchies and random runners had gathered and they began to cheer. It was wonderful. I looked at my phone, and then yelled the time at Jen. “10:57!”

And with that, Jen began running. No matter what the distance, every racer has a sprint finish, particularly when there's a target to beat. Santa and I ran too, right up to where we turned off into the car park, at which point Jen ran on alone. We had done our job. The last few yards were up to her. We had succeeded. This was her race, and she had done it.

My mind completely blanked. Once again, I had been destroyed by the experience. I have no recollection of the next few seconds. When I recovered I felt like a different person. I had done something. I had helped somebody else to achieve their dream. Despite playing a small supporting role, it felt blissful. It felt like it was my dream too.
I later found out that Jen had run to the threshold of the leisure centre – the finish – and Hendo had flung open the door and Flip had shouted her number. After 95 miles, 33 hours, 59 minutes and 28 seconds she had done it.
Jen Jackson had finished the West Highland Way Race.

**

Aftermath

**

Jen promptly walked over to a small chair outside a gym studio and burst into tears. Santa and I found her there, bleary-eyed and surrounded by Fetchies. I hugged all of Team Jen, desperately fighting back tears myself. We'd come so far, endured so much, won every battle and grown older together. We hadn't come all of this way for nothing. It was for everything. I'll treasure being part of this team forever.

As a slick and well-prepared team, we had two bottles of bubbly to celebrate with. Where Jen didn't drink, the rest of us did.

I'm not sure that we could have made the distance without the stunning support and camaraderie we received from the other support crews and runners. In particular, in adversity and success, the bond of Fetch was amazing. It's a pleasure and privilege to be able to say that I'm part of Fetch. It's moments like the aftermath of the race that really make this obvious to me.

Jen hadn't planned to go to the prize-giving ceremony. She thought that it wasn't fair that she should collect the trophy alone when it took a team of five to finish the race. However she had run the hard miles, she was our team's reason to exist and she was our representative over the whole distance. We talked her into going.
I'm so pleased that we did. The ceremony was held in a hot, damp, stuffy and overcrowded hall. There weren't enough seats to go around, but the presentations were excellent. The trophies were awarded in time order, so Jen promptly left at the beginning to go and get some rest! Loon Dod and Lintie went up to huge cheers, and when Jen returned she nervously asked what to do when she went up to collect her prize. She wondered if she'd get a small introduction from Dario, the Race Director, who seemed to know each finisher personally.

Finally, at long last, Dario launched into a small and perfect speech that I can only paraphrase. “She entered last year, but had to pull out through illness. She wasn't intending to run this year with other race commitments, but eventually abandoned them and signed up. I'm pleased to say that this very popular runner has made it here today. She came. She saw. She conquered. Jen Jackson!”

As Jen went up to collect her award the hall erupted into cheers, not just because of the large contingent of Fetchies. I think she has a little reputation!

After a final few photos it was time to break Team Jen J. After all this time and all of our shared experiences it felt odd to part. A small emptiness appeared, with the feeling that it was all over and nothing quite like it would ever happen again. All we'd have left would be memories to treasure and the distant feeling of achievement. It was a remarkable and magical experience and I'm so grateful to have spent it with such wonderful people.

To Loon Dod And Lintie: You were fantastic. It was a privilege to watch your races. Congratulations.

To Teams Dod and Lintie: Thanks for all the support you gave us. Your runners' times do you great credit.

To Santa, Siouxsie and Hendo: Well done! We made it without disagreement and had fun while doing so. We effortlessly pulled together and got the job done. I wish I was doing it all over again with you. You were all glorious, both during the lows and the highs.

To Jen: I've now seen what true determination and brilliance is.

It's you.