The Winter Tour of Bradwell (actually the Winter Half Tour of Bradwell, but that makes it sound much shorter and easier than it deserves in my opinion) is a 17.5 mile self-navigated fell race with over 3500 feet of climb (or approximately 700 Lauras). I signed up around Christmas, straight after getting knocked out of the Parkrun cup as it coincided with the planned date of the final. Coming in exactly 4 weeks before my next ultra it felt like a good last push and a marker of where I’m at. My husband Jim did this race last year and I distinctly remember thinking how I’d never be able to do it – how things can change!

Photo credit: Robin Rutherford

Anyway as race day rolled around, the familiar feelings of self-doubt and that I couldn’t actually do it after all started to sneak in. It still felt a push outside my comfort zone, and a tough week, feeling a bit under the weather the day before the race, a terrible weather forecast and a confirmation of the cut off being 5 hours – my expected finish time – all coincided with me resigning myself to being a DNS as I went to bed early the night before. But race day dawned, a good night’s sleep had me feeling much better, and the predicted frost and sleet hadn’t materialised, so I grumpily got in the car and headed across to Bradwell, now raising my expectations to merely missing the cut offs and being a DNF. I was actually ok with that though, from a training perspective I could still get the miles in and see how I was feeling, which was the main purpose of doing the race in the first place, especially with the poor conditions adding an extra challenge that I may well face on ultra day too.

On the drive over the fog started to make itself apparent. Not great for a race requiring nav, especially not for a spectacles wearer, where even the gentlest mist immediately sticks to the face. I really, really wasn’t feeling this. I collected my map, route instructions and number and promptly safety pinned it directly to my actual leg, which didn’t exactly improve my mood. The race had an hour start window – I was planning on giving myself the full 5 hours and setting off straight away, so Jim offered to start his race 20 minutes or so behind me, meaning he’d catch me up part way round and be able to see if I needed a running buddy. This was just the reassurance I needed to get me actually on the start line, and he waved me off as third starter, what a keen little bean!

This race has one of the most brutal starts of any race I can think of. A steep climb over private land (only accessible on race day, so no recces allowed) before popping out on a less steep but still very much uphill public footpath across Shatton Moor. My bad mood had dimmed to nonchalance, and I saw no reason to rush and make it any more of a struggle than it already had to be, so I walked a lot of this bit. By the time we reached the top of the moor the fog had well and truly set in – it was really eerie up there, silent and chilly with the occasional flake of snow, and although I knew there were plenty of people around I couldn’t see a soul. Fortunately the route stuck to the main path though so nothing to worry about nav wise at this stage and I was soon through the first checkpoint and jogging along quite, dare I say it, happily! The first descent took us into Shatton on a firm path, which was steeper than my quads were ready for but at least it was over quickly. A road crossing at the bottom and it was onto the Thornhill Trail, via a couple of twists and turns which I nearly missed, having lost concentration once I felt relieved at knowing where I was. So from 7-10km or so was nice and easy, just keeping going as far as the dam wall – familiar to many as the start line of the Striders 10k! Shortly after this we took a path to the left and the second climb began. You don’t go all the way to the top of Win Hill (maybe my least favourite hill), but it still felt a long way up through the woods before reaching checkpoint 2. It felt quite magical in the mist. Doubling back to contour the side of the hill and crossing the top of Parkin Clough (aka Bastard Parkin Clough), emerging from the trees to more snow flurries. It was at this point as I trudged through significant mud that I started to wonder where Jim might be – I’d expected him to catch me by now, but I’d also got quite a bit further than I’d thought I might in the first 90 minutes of the race. I knew a tricky bit of nav was coming up before descending, so worked hard to keep people in sight just in case. I don’t like following fellow racers in an event of this sort, and always use my own map, but find it reassuring when I choose the path others have taken!

It was around this point as we got back onto tarmac taking us through Aston and round the back of Hope that I realised I might actually be enjoying myself. I was feeling strong, capable, and like I was confidently overcoming the conditions. I was warm enough, not wet through, well hydrated and keeping on top of my fuelling (an individually wrapped chocolate crepe had been my snack of choice thus far). Just before the ascent to Lose Hill commenced I stopped to get a sharp stone out of my shoe and saw a familiar face! Jim had caught me up at pretty much exactly the halfway point of the race. We had a quick chat and shared a handful of fizzy sweets before he skipped off up the hill, I think he was pleasantly surprised at my new found chipper-ness!

Lose Hill is really big and really steep, with a false summit on a clear day. In the fog I had absolutely no idea when I was approaching the top. I didn’t even attempt to run any of it. It being a miserable day weather wise did mean there weren’t as many other people out as usual up there, so it was pretty bleak, but my spirits were still lifting as I slowly ascended. The next checkpoint was at the summit, so I touched the trig and felt ready for the real fun to begin! Onto the Great Ridge, three climbs done and just one to go. Mild confusion ensued, as another race converged with ours on the path, including waymarkers which we needed to ignore, but soon enough we were dropping off Back Tor and back on solid ground into Castleton.

Entering Cave Dale I was pleased to find I was over half an hour ahead of the cut off! I was starting to think that maybe I’d nearly had enough now and needed to take on more fuel, so I slowed to a walk up the rocky terrain, enjoying the views of Peveril Castle in the gloom (I’d previously only been here on a head torch run) whilst consuming a pretty rank pouch of mango and coconut, which somehow managed to remind me of baby food, despite me not having eaten any for about 35 years. Since about 10k in I’d been to-ing and fro-ing with a friendly gent called Stuart, who was stronger on the climbs than me but got less carried away on the flat. We ended up joining forces and sharing stories on a very pleasant ascent through fields on the Limestone Way. I was definitely tired, but feeling really positive by this point and enjoying the day out immensely with even a few beans still left in the tank. The final checkpoint was soon in view and with it the end of squishy terrain, with the last few miles of the race on tracks of varying rockiness with a bit of tarmac thrown in. I was surprised and pleased that running still felt absolutely fine, assisted by the fact we’d pretty much done climbing, so I made it down Dirtlow Rake and Pindale pretty swiftly with just the cement works separating me and the finish line. I had another nice chat here with a chap wearing an incredibly large bobble hat, who in response to me asking if he’d done this race before replied that it was his very first fell run – nothing like chucking yourself in at the deep end, eh?!

The nav through the last section of quarry was a bit confusing, and the industrial aesthetic was a shock to the system after hours of glorious countryside, but I made it through without incident. A final (and very unwelcome) steep, sharp hill where I finished off a bit of carb chew and then it really was all downhill back into Bradwell village. I’d not been looking at my watch once I knew I wasn’t going to be chasing the cut off after all, and I couldn’t believe it when I crossed the finish line in 4.00.39!!! A tiny bit of me wanted to be annoyed at those 39 seconds but as a sub 5 I really can’t complain. I think it might be the proudest of myself I’ve ever been when finishing a race, and I’m going into the last bit of ultra prep with my head held high. We all got a Tour of Bradwell bottle of beer from local Intrepid Brewery, and a generous cup of hot soup, which I’d been looking forward to since Aston. There was a choice of four though and the thought of having to make a decision when I was tired was too much for me, so a fellow runner kindly picked for me – red pepper and tomato. Yum. I later found out there were also biscuits, a fact Jim (who’d finished some time before me in his own course PB) neglected to tell me until we’d got home. I’ll let him off this time.