Despite my pre-race worrying, the journey to Jockfall went very smoothly. We arrived at Manchester airport early and were at the front of the queue when check-in opened soon after. Paying for Pulkee’s journey was a bit of a faff, but SAS were happy to take her, and check her and my holdall through to Luleå, so I wouldn’t need to collect them in Stockholm and take her to the airport hotel for the night. (Having called the crappy plastic Rovaniemi rental sledge Pulkee, I’d planned to call my proper pulk Petra. But the name didn’t stick, and by the end of the training course, Petra had become Pulkee.) Feeling vastly relieved, I said goodbye to the OH and went through security. In case there were delays at check-in, I’d bought a fast-track pass. This turned out to be unnecessary, but it did mean I didn’t need to queue. My calorie-dense Real Meal bars got the first of several thorough inspections, though. Feeling hungry for the first time in days, I treated myself to an all-day breakfast and did some book shopping.

At the gate, someone with an almost matching OMM rucksack asked if it was OK to sit in the seat next to me. I realised this was John Knapp, who’d done the race on foot last year and was doing it on a bike this year. I think we’d interacted on the internet before, but had never met in person (he’s a lot faster than me). I was unusually brave and introduced myself, and was surprised to be told that John had found my Spine race blog useful the first time he did the race.

The flight went smoothly (no cancellation while over the North Sea this time…). The ‘terminal’ hotel turned out to be outside the terminal, so I was glad not to have to push an overloaded trolley along icy pavements. After a big breakfast and a thorough check of not just my Real Meal bars but also my head torches, I positioned myself at the gate with a view out the window to watch luggage being loaded onto the plane. A bit later, John appeared and uttered the alarming words, ‘I’ve been reading your blog’. Unlike the bloke I once met on the Pennine Way, he didn’t start quoting bits back to me, and we had a good chat about various races, and I got some useful tips about the route and cold-weather events in general.

There was a short wait at Luleå airport for more people to arrive, followed by a minibus ride to Jockfall past stunning snow-covered forests. I did a bit of exploring before it got dark. At this point, it was pretty cold; if you took your gloves off to take photos, your fingers would very quickly get cold. Most of the luggage, including Pulkee and my holdall, had been left in a trailer at the airport to wait for later arrivals. As a group of us sat in the main lodge waiting for our luggage, there was a fantastic display of the Northern lights.

The first morning of the training course was an indoor theory session. There was nothing really I hadn’t heard/read before, but it was good to hear it again. The afternoon was spent on rental gear collection and stove and fire lighting practice. (Having bought all my own gear, I felt like a bit of ‘all the gear, but no idea’ poser.) It was fun hanging out with the other people doing the training course in the evenings, and hearing various adventure stories. However, there were quite a few ‘big personalities’, and I’d often retreat to our lodge feeling slightly overwhelmed.

The next day, we headed out with our pulks in very cold temperatures (in the low -20s). Half an hour or so in, we stopped to practice sock changing. My toes were cold, so I stuck some toe warmers between sock layers. A bit later, we stopped to practice setting up camp, and I had a bit of a ‘mare. Being towards the back of the pack, I had to go further from the trail to stamp out a campsite. Then (despite having put it up at home several times without any trouble) I struggled to get my tent up properly (the cold made the fabric very stiff and I was scared of snapping the poles). Because of my recent tendency to get cold toes (they sometimes go numb even on the tram to work), I’d rented some Winter boots. I tried to change into them, but they wouldn’t fit in my snowshoes. I did manage to light my stove fine, but I was still struggling with my tent (and worrying about my toes) when we were instructed to stop and have a jog and do some exercise to warm up.

The night before, I’d told people about the tendency of Swedes to use swear words without realising how rude they were. Olov, who was running the training course (and is the cheeriest Swede I’ve ever met), had denied this. However, next we were given (theoretical) instructions on ‘how to shit in the woods’. We then headed back to the lodges, and I was surprised and taken aback to discover lots of burst blood vessels (capillaritis, I think) on my thighs. I sometimes get this during multi-day events, but not as badly, and not after only a few hours outside. On a more positive note, breathing cold air was making me cough a bit, but nowhere near as badly as I was worried it would (and I didn’t need much of the huge stash of Strepsils I’d brought with me).

That evening, we went on a shopping trip to Överkallix. I replaced the sweets and nuts I hadn’t been able to fit into my luggage, and also got some Never Stops (the Swedish equivalent of Minstrels, but much better). Emily (whom I’d met in January on Mark Hines’ course, and was sharing a lodge with) spotted some Bic lighters with ‘chimneys’, and I bought a purple one. Bog standard lighters don’t work in Arctic temperatures, but I found this one was fine down to -10, provided I stuck it down my bra to warm up for 5 min first. I also modified the way I was securing my bedding bag to the top of the pulk. It was drooping down and dragging through the snow, and the ends of the ratchet straps that I’d shortened were fraying. The latter issue was fixed by melting the ends with my new lighter.

The next day, we went on a longer practice walk. At the lunch stop, I got my tent up OK (having practised again the evening before). However, this time I failed to get my stove to light, and embarrassingly had to ask Olov for help. It turned out that in cold weather, more fuel in the primer cup and (especially when the fuel bottle was getting empty) more pressure were required. In the midst of my attempts, Henning (who was quietly extremely competent) drily observed 'You nearly set your gloves on fire’. However, nearly setting my gloves on fire, without panicking, was actually something of an achievement for me.

We then walked some more before setting up camp again. I’d just got myself a dehydrated meal ready, when we were told we were practising proper fire-making. We collected wood, which Emily arranged, and then I set fire to, using her preprepared vaseline-soaked cotton wool and my fire steel. Some of the blokes struggled to set fire to larger branches, and Olya (a cheery medic who was doing the 185km race and helping with the training course) declared our fire the best fire. Before our egos got too far out of control, Olov appeared and told us that while it was a very pretty fire, we’d need a lot more, bigger branches to build a fire that generated sufficient heat. After that, we had a pretend sleep in our tents, before packing up again. My period had started the evening before. I was glad to get the one heavy day out of the way before the race, but finding privacy to change tampons during the training course was tricky. I wasted 5 min walking up the trail out of sight, and then, despite rushing to pack my gear up, everyone was waiting for me (which I hate). And then my flashing rear red light annoyed the person behind me on the walk back to Jockfall. Walking through snowy forests in the dark was fun, though, and a taste of what was to follow. That evening, I practised lighting my stove until I was confident I could do it consistently in the cold.

The training course ended with a half day ‘out, set up camp, and then back at your own speed’. Thankfully, this time I didn’t screw anything up, and I was far happier doing everything at my own speed. When Emily and I got back to the lodge, I had a bit of a moment when I couldn’t find the key in the jacket pocket I usually stored it in. I hadn’t been into the pocket at all, so I couldn’t understand how I lost. I went to the reception, sheepishly admitted to losing it and asked to borrow a spare. On the way back to the lodge, it suddenly occurred to me that I’d been the first of the 3 of us to leave that morning (Roisin, who’d also been on the Aviemore course but had past Arctic event experience, so didn’t need to do the pre-race training course, had now arrived). We only had 2 keys, so I didn’t take one. Sure enough, when we unlocked the door, there was a key hanging on a coat peg inside.

The afternoon was spent preparing snack bags, and generally flapping about kit. I wasted half an hour trying to work out where I’d put my spare shoe laces. I then decided I needed to make an insulated cover for my spare power bank. I’d somehow managed to lose my nail scissors (I suspect I accidentally put them in the bin), so I had to use the knife on my multi-tool and ended up cutting my finger. At this point, I decided I needed to stop flapping and just try to relax.

I’d been hoping to catch up on sleep during the training course, but in fact, I struggled to get more than 5 hours a night. Initially, it was too hot to sleep, and the bed was too soft for my liking. These issues were solved by finding the thermostat and moving the mattress topper onto the floor. But then I had issues with my arms and legs going numb. This had started happening a bit in the last few weeks, but nowhere near as badly. Google told me the solution was to sleep on my back, but I really struggle to do that. Starting a race tired is far from ideal, and I dropped my initial plan to keep going through the first night and stop and sleep for the first time at CP2 back at Jockfall.