2025 started on a high with my completion of the winter wainwrights round. Actually to be more accurate, it started with me stumbling into a puddle somewhere on the eastern fells around Kentmere pike on the winter wainwrights round while Kim navigated and Tom supported, but lets not get pedantic! I was off sick struggling with burn out during this time, whilst Simon, my husband, had just been blind sided by a sudden redundancy.
The Wainwrights was a fantastic distraction from dealing with the two things. We were also well into a long house renovation project on our house, with our two rescue dogs struggling to deal with the intermittent interruptions from builders, joiners, electricians and other trades people coming and going for months on end with no end in sight (it’s still not finished!). 2025 threw lots more shite at us, which made the house and un/employment situation feel like an easy-peasy recovery run, and on we battled through! There were some highs too, but each one seemed to be followed by a crushing low, as I and we took one after another body blow. The support of Simon, the dogs and our friends kept me plowing on through the crap that life seemed to endlessly through at us, and at me personally. As always, running was the key to managing the ups and downs of it all.
I had tried a winter Bob Graham Round (see link below for more details) about 9 or 10 time before: some were supported, most were solo, many were balanced with a full time nursing job in a busy Accident and Emergency department or the GP surgery I moved to afterwards. Unsurprisingly neither didn’t seem to nicely aline with lots of Christmas holidays to try a mid winter BG! My last attempt was the winter of ’23-’24, where I started 4 hours after finishing work on Friday evening, the weather looked ok, the mid-winter window was closing, but I was knackered after a full working week. I’d left it late in the mid-winter season as I’d had a virus in the earlier part, just the usual cough and runny nose, but enough to know I should delay an attempt. The trouble with balancing training, tapering for an attempt and finding a decent winter weather window forecast which doesn’t change as it gets closer, is as difficult as balancing the navigation, carrying, eating and drinking of the round itself. In this attempt, I got as far as Wasdale and started to feel really dizzy, I thought maybe I was a bit dehydrated so drank lots and lots at Lingmell Gill and ate as much as I could stomach for the next hour or so. It got better, and then got much worse. As I passed the Pillar Wind Gap and could see Mountain Rescue and a rescue helicopter helping some poor sod to get off to hospital. It was getting dark and cold, I knew I still had the ascent and descent of Kirk Fell and Great Gable to get and down, I stumbled, and my dizziness went crazy meaning it took me a few attempts to be confident about standing upright unaided, I made a decision to stop, had a little cry about the disappointment, rang Simon and made arrangements to go home. Another failed attempt. It was a similar pattern to some of the previous ones, but this was the furthest and closest to a return to Moot Hall as I had got. The conditions were perfect, it was the same day that Scottish Finlay did his solo unsupported round, which confounded my disappoint (the weather, not Finlay :) ).
Needless to say, I’ve spent lots time thinking about getting everything right, including the alignment of weather (just to say, I’ve no influence over the actual weather, but mean being vigilant about only considering to go if it was ok. I had a previous attempt where I drove up from Yorkshire, walked to the Moot Hall and then decided the weather wasn’t as good as the forecast had said, so drive back to Yorkshire again!), mid-winter, training, weight carrying (I’m somewhere around 52-53 Kgs, carrying 5-6Kgs in a sack is a significant amount of weight, one year I hadn’t trained with much and this caught me out). I also thought A Lot about my psych and the role of it in my completions. We don’t talk about this much: but I think it’s probably as significant in success or not, as any other training or preparation I have done. My last attempt had shown me that I could finish, if I could line up the holes in the Swiss Cheese correctly: one of those cheese slices was me, or more specifically, my belief in me. I suppose this would be a good point to acknowledge that I should have been very under confident about my chances of success, given my 9 or 10 failures, but somehow, somewhere, I became increasingly confident about my chances of success during 2025. Some of this was the Winter Wainwrights completion, I had some testing winter weather, bitter strong winds, lots of rain, frozen conditions under foot, cold days, very long nights, I felt like I had got some great kit which I had thoroughly tested (I love OMM kit for winter), some fantastic support both hill and road (Thank you, thank you, thank you all again) and I had done it. As in, all of this tested or helped, but, ultimately, it was Me that completed the 214 Wainwrights.
2025 separated the wheat from the chaff in terms of my support network. There was very much wheat, I gained new friends and cemented many friendships when I talked about the effect of my situation on me: I noticed a few gradually fall away too, but that’s ok, I’d rather know that I cannot lean on people, than think I can and then find out that I couldn’t. This gave me confidence in me, other important people in my life believed in me, not because of my running successes, my career or anything else, but because they liked or loved me, because they wanted to support me and mostly, because they believed in me. This is very powerful. They are all important to me and I hold and cherish these friendships dearly. 2025 is a year I hope Simon and I never have to relive, but I know I’m stronger for it all the same.
The ’25-’26 mid winter period started, the weather did it’s usual thing, looked ok, then didn’t, then did (repeat and repeat). Coach Kim headed out for his winter challenge, I waited, I had a bit longer this year as I’ve finished one job and haven’t yet started my new one. Then, just before Christmas I saw what looked like a chance. I headed out, felt strong, training felt like it had worked, my pack didn’t feel too heavy, the Caldew was full but crossable, the rocks were dry and I could move across them fine, it was claggy but this is what I call my front garden (I live in Threlkeld). I decided to descend off Blencathra via hall fells ridge, well the trod to the right of it. Visibility got worse around the ridge as I descended. I got disoriented, lost the trod, lost any trod, except an odd piece of ground that two sheep might once have walked on in 1978 :). I swung eastward to find the ridge line accepting that I’d lost any advantage I might have had, and laughing at myself for being cocky about running in my own front garden. My exact movements are a little unclear to me, but somehow I traversed over Halls fell, and Doddick and ended up climbing up a grassy gully and coming out on Scales fell. I had plenty of devices to use with me, I had chosen to try and navigate as much by memory on the first leg in order to save my battery devices for difficult sections in the future sections (I’ve tiny wrists, so I can’t wear big watches with larger batteries, or they’ll simply not stay on, and handheld devices are cumbersome and I stop eating and drinking consistently with lots of things to hold in my hands). I’d obviously dropped much lower than I thought and traversed across Halls’ fell ridge line expecting it to be bigger than it was and not finding the trods in the clag. Orienteering is not my first language, and I learnt it as an adult. I imagine it’s similar to learning Japanese, not that I can talk/read it either! Even by my previous nav cocks up this was a legend. I headed down to Threlkeld and up onto the next ridge. It would have been easy to stop when my bed was close but if the clag and wind had lifted on the Dodd ridge I might have been able to make up time. I started to ascent up Great Dodd, the wind was in my face, the clag was no better so I headed for home, bed and more reflection about how to get around this. I rested and hoped that I hadn’t taken too much out of my legs and could go again soon.
Christmas came and went, the weather looked good, James Gibson and I texted back and forth very excitedly, he making plans for his double Bob Graham. I picked my time a little after him, wondering if I would see him out there but hoping not to, only to be true to the isolation associated with self supported solo rounds (I'm made up he made it around, twice!). I set off from Moot Hall at a few seconds after 8pm on Dec 28th. I was nervous (as always), some of my very important people came to see me off at Moot Hall. All whispering messages of luck in my ear, I turned on Bob Mortimer in my ears and jogged across to Spooney Green Lane. The restless, itchy, raring to go but restrained feeling drifted away as I marched up towards Latrigg and then Skiddaw. And while the clag closed in and I got into my stride, I let the messages of luck swill around me and held onto the sentiments, hopes and wishes of my VIPs, and focused on Bob M and his lovely, comforting, funny voice. I kept moving and tried to run and stride within myself, avoiding getting into a high heart rate zone and used my body, poles and knowledge of me to self manage well: eating, drinking, navigating, poles in, poles out, steady downhills, march up. The time and mountains came and went, but the clag persisted. I dropped through Threlkeld bang on 4 hours, exactly on my 23hr 30mins schedule. The clag persisted throughout the night, meaning I was putting more effort into finding tops and trods than I would have liked to, but I was moving well, eating and drinking well, Bob M was entertaining me and I felt good, but was loosing time here and there.
I dropped into Dunmail Raise having lost my 30minute buffer and a bit more. I didn’t let myself consider stopping; the Bob Wightman (this is a story of Bob’s, isn’t it?) schedules are brilliant, and generally have some lee way in the later legs if one is moving well, and I knew my endurance would come into play if I got a good run in the daylight. I hoped the daylight and the clag would lift and get me on track. I slipped down the step beside Mere Beck. I did a quick scan, decided I’d just bruised myself and moved off quickly, reminding myself to eat and drink a bit more. High Raise brought more clag and a quick correction when I wandered off on the Old County Tops line. The visibility was about two to three meters here and I’d stumbled across the rocks to the trig just before it. Quick check of the correct top on Thunacar Knott as I couldn’t see the pools of water from the top through the clag, a slight wander about up to Harrison Sickle. Daylight came slowly around Rossett Pike, when a hiker in shorts appeared wanted to chat and race me up to the top: that was half my time gone as it was 8am. I got a brief look down the beautiful Langdale Valley with the meandering Rossett Gill, but it closed in again as I climbed Bowfell. 'Watch the false summit Carol' and 'what sort of a crappy line is this?' I ask myself. More food is the answer! I dropped down to Ore Gap in fuller flow as the daylight did its thing of lifting me, more clag and more challenging, poor micro navigation as I wandered towards Angle Tarn.
Then at Great End suddenly the sun came out and I could see! It felt warm, I felt good and I tried not to focus on the time I had lost. I chose to go up the whole of Lords Rake rather than up West Wall Traverse as James had struggled with some ice up the top on his first lap, his winter skills far outshine mine, so I chose the safer perhaps slight slower longer path. I dropped down in Scafell and made myself start thinking about timings and daylight and safety. Most of the big mountains of leg four were in sunshine and the visibility was good. I tried to stop myself from thinking about the time I might have lost and how I compared to a schedule but I knew it said 11am in Wasdale and it was now 12.30. I tried to think about good stuff: I thought about my first Bob and how Julie Pickering did road support, I was very nervous before starting and she said something like ‘Three little mountains and I’ll see you in Threlkeld’ this sentiment is something that I hold in my head when I get nervous, this has seen me through no end of moments when I feel overwhelmed with whatever challenge I have bitten off (and lets, face it, some of them have been pretty stupid). I remember the last night I saw her husband before he died of heart failure, eating curry in my old house in Harrogate, and I want to comfort her for the loss of her life partner, in some kind of attempt to give back something of the strength and support that she has given me. She epitomises the giving nature of our fell community and I've held on to the a lot recently when I felt tested. This drives me up Yewbarrow, I’m now deeply embroiled in my schedule, the hours to darkness and 8pm, along with the distance to Moot Hall, lessens. I make up minutes here and there, enjoying the bright cold winter sunshine after reminding myself to look around, and that being here is an honour and privilege, and then notice that this is all I’m thinking about now, and that I feel happy and have a real sense of belonging. I love leg four, the climbs, the views, the challenge, the mountains; the clag starts to swirl around the tops again as the day is finishing but I manage to get off big Gable before dark, half finding the Borrowdale race line down to Windy Gap. The last bit of sunset comes on Grey Knotts before a drop into almost deserted Honister Mine.
The mizzle starts up Dale Head putting paid to clawing any more time back and reducing the visibility to a few meters again, focusing on lines and trods, drinking, food, I stumble around looking for the line off Hindscarth, but the one up Robinson comes easier, while I distract myself listing all the Robinsons famous or otherwise that I’ve heard off.
The times ticks on. The schedule says 103 minutes from the top of Robo to Moot Hall, I have less than 90. I try to make safe decisions, aware I am tired, and I decide to stay on the tourist trod on the ridge rather than drop to the valley earlier, if only for reassurance. I struggle to stay on it in places and try to focus on making good decisions and not analysing the ones I’ve already made. I really want to get back before 24 hours, and I think about this instead, and laugh out loud when I see that this is currently, primarily, almost solely, because my feet hurt :). But I also acknowledge that I don’t want to spend another autumn thinking about this challenge so intently, although I have enjoyed the process of learning about myself, and my running, and my connection to these mountains, and the community that runs in them. But still, 10 attempts is enough. I decide that I need to give it my all to get to Moot Hall before 8pm.
I hit the grassy track after tumbling and running, and tumbling and running, off the ridge path past the windblown tree. This track has a lovely gradient and I feel like I’ve hit a nice stride, past the gates and the holiday cottages with the smell of the fire, how far is it to Moot Hall, I don’t know. Somewhere in my head, I recall 7 miles but I don’t know if this is correct. It might be 7 kilometres. I hope so. I run, I keep running, there are uphills that my feet and legs complain about, I tell them to shut up and keep coming. Where is Little Town? Stair? The Pub? A few lights are scattered about but nothing that looks significant in between the landmarks. Keep moving Carol. I see a sign, 2 1/4 miles to Portinscale. But does that mean the mile posts near Lingholm or the village centre: I roll this around my tired brain. Where would the village centre be? How far is it to Moot Hall from there? Why don’t I remember this stuff so I know it for times like this? Avoid that car Carol, that would hurt. Drink. Keep running legs, shut up feet. It becomes a mantra while I try to block the other stuff out ‘shut up feet, shut up feet, shut up feet….’. I see the lights of Portinscale and have approximately 12 minutes to go, I realised that I can do it for the first time, and relief washes over me. I look at it objectively and see that I am not being bombed in Ukraine or Palestine and feel slightly stupid, but also see see my stubbornness in completing this challenge and laugh at it. My aunt talks about our family characteristic of what she calls ‘stickability’, the stubbornness to not let a challenge go, I see how ingrained this characteristic is in me and giggle, and then get tearful about her being ill with dementia. The rollercoaster of finishing challenges like these hits me with all these emotions, tears of happiness, sadness, relief, self-confidence, loss of challenge, entry back into the 'real' world and the image of some home comforts trickle down my face. I turn the corner, cross the roundabout. I hear people call my name and remind myself that it’s ok to be proud of me, and of being me. Mid-Winter Solo Unsupported Bob Graham, First Female recorded completion 23hours 54 minutes.
I hope some women join me soon on this completion list. It’s possible, just like the 4 minutes mile is, just like being a female president is (I salute you Mary Robinson, my hero). Don’t conform to moulds, just break them, they have no use in our lives.
This is the link to the Bob Graham Round Club. There are less than a handful of previous ratified Mid-winter solo unsupported rounds. It's a tough round, made tougher by 16hours of darkness, self-navigation, self care and management.