Finally, we arrived in Grassington ready to tackle the wonders of Wharfedale.

Both slightly nervous but ready to take it on. The weather conditions weren’t looking fantastic but not quite as bad as our recce run 4 weeks prior. As we collected our numbers and electronic tags, we couldn’t help but notice the demographics of the people around us…an older gathering of people who’d many times over completed this run and many like it. The brief eye contact accompanied by a nod of acknowledgement between passing veterans every second.

Jen however, looked like a frightened little rabbit, while Phill was…….well – Phill!

The rain stayed persistent as it built towards the start but we were ready and prepared by this point. The general feel at the starting line was actually rather relaxed and jovial despite the gruelling test ahead.

The first two parts of the run took us through familiar ground up to Kettlewell, a little climbing and undulating but nothing too hectic and we kept a decent pace going. At Kettlewell, our recce run had gone back to Grassington but the actual route took a long and relentless climb, part contouring the huge ridge east of Kettlewell.

The descent of these types can often be as nasty as the climb, but quite enjoyable in the early stages. Once you begin the steep drop and your pace steps up it’s hard to decelerate. The bottom lead to a rather flat leg which hand-railed a river and the impact of the fast drop started to set fatigue in the legs at this point.

After a good 2 miles along the river an extremely long and arduous climb took us onto the tops of Wharfedale. All Jen could think of was – this isn’t Skiddaw, tis isn’t Skiddaw, this isn’t Skiddaw.

While we agreed post event, that on a beautiful day, having a leisurely ramble across this very distinct countryside may be enjoyable, it wasn’t something that took our breath away at this very point.  Not that we had any breath to take away.

The blustery gales followed our bearings giving us a surged head-on wind for a long stretch. Eventually, as legs started to tire, we ventured down to the wonderful Malham Tarn. We were both just wishing for a rapid finish at this point.

Jenny’s normal energetic and sprite-ful look had turned into a more “are we there yet? – Phill, please stop talking to me” look. Another heavy climb took us back onto the moor-tops but the knowledge of it being the homestraight kept us going strongly towards the finish.

Jen said after that she was chanting to herself in time with the rhythm of her feet – “nearly home now, not long to go, nearly home now – not long to go” over and over again.

The biggest wave of energy for us both came as we emerged on the brow of the last hill before dropping down toward the beautiful Grassington. The monumental rugby goalposts towered above everything and served just the ticket to drive us in.

Finishing the race was a huge relief and, despite both walking like 40 year mining veterans for a couple of hours, we were thrilled with having accomplished the event. A great event and if you want to fight weather, have completely numb feet and waddle like a penguin, we completely recommend it.

Phill afterwards

Jen afterwards

And it's all over