In the days after the race, lots of people asked me, “What’s the next big thing?” An entirely reasonable question, since in the past I’ve always had a ‘next big thing’. I’d answer “there isn’t, this was the big thing”, and struggle to explain that this wasn’t just another challenge ticked off, it was a quasi-spiritual experience.

I didn't get the usual 'post-big race' blues. However, I did keep crying lots, in particular (and most embarrassingly) while watching 'The Finisher' (the documentary about Jasmin Paris' Berkeley Marathons finish) at the Sheffield Adventure Film Festival. Unsurprisingly, after a couple of weeks, I did start thinking about my next, Arctic, adventure. Years ago, I’d thought that a European Arctic ultra would be a step to doing one of the events in the Yukon. But my body’s reaction to the low temperatures on day one of the training course confirmed my feeling that my middle-aged female body doesn’t handle the cold well enough any more for this to be sensible. I wish I’d been able to do an Arctic event (and discover how much I love the Arctic) sooner, but there’s a limit to how much can be fitted into a single life. Even without the training course, the full Lapland 500 km requires too much time off in term time to normally be viable for me. Doing the 185 km race, which just covers the 1st loop, is a possibility, but it was the solitude of the 2nd loop that I loved.

After a few weeks, I started dreaming about, and researching, backcountry skiing across Svalbard (something that several people on the training course had done). I did a little bit of cross-country skiing when I lived in Sweden, but I’ve never downhill skied, and my approach to slowing down on descents was to fall over sideways (and once backwards, leading to a ‘broken’ tailbone). I bought books on Svalbard, found companies that ran trips and training courses in Norway, and almost got to the point of booking some skiing lessons on a nearby indoor ski slope. However, before doing that, I thought I should try to address the knee injury and get back to running. With more spare time, I’d been catching up on jobs around the house, and putting weight through it at odd angles (rather than moving slowly forwards in a straight line) kept making it twinge.

The last month or so has been a rollercoaster of wildly varying diagnoses and prognoses. I first saw a physio at my usual practice (the White House in Sheffield) who does ultrasound imaging. The ultrasound didn’t show anything abnormal, and the only obvious issue he could find was very tight muscles around the knee joint. He said there was nothing that indicated that an MRI would be sensible at this point, and suggested I see one of the other physios who specialise in leg issues. Cheered by this, I made an appointment with the physio who’d provided my Arctic strength and conditioning schedule and did a tentative 30 min of alternating running with walking. The running felt weird, but not painful. The next day, the knee was grumpy, though. And a few days later, at the end of a not-too-long stroll in the Peak District, a rocky descent made it decidedly angry.

At the next physio appointment, another careful examination of my knee revealed a potential meniscus tear, which might or might not need surgery, and an MRI was suggested. At this point, I was mainly relieved that I’d managed to convince someone that there was something wrong (and I wasn’t just being a wuss), and to know what it probably was. I got the MRI done, privately, a week later and was expecting to have to wait up to a week for the results. However, the next day, in a gap between appointments, the physio phoned me to break some very bad news. It was a meniscus tear, but a worse one than he’d thought (a radial tear through the posterior horn with extension to the posterior meniscal root, with partial extrusion of the body of the meniscus into the medial joint line). My memory of the phone call is fuzzy, but I got the impression that because of the position, repair wouldn’t be possible, and the best-case scenario would be trimming it to delay the onset of severe arthritis (thankfully, despite having walked quite a lot on it in the last year, only mild arthritis has developed so far). He strongly recommended talking to a surgeon and suggested a couple of specific people at Sheffield Orthopaedics. I tried not to get too carried away with Google/ChatGPT doctoring, but over the weekend, the significance of the injury (an eventual knee replacement and no running) sank in.

Due partly to work commitments, it was a couple of weeks before I got an appointment with one of the recommended orthopaedic consultants. I’d originally been planning on walking the LDWA Hunnypot 100 in the meantime. However a LDWA 100 didn’t seem like a great use of the remaining ‘life’ of my knee, so instead I spent a couple of days (legal) wild camping in the Yorkshire Dales. I’d intended to spend time reading in the Sun, but due to broken reading glasses and a surprising amount of wind, I came home early. On the train home, a migraine (my first in over a decade) started. Fortunately, I got home before the vomiting started and was only sick 3 times in an hour before falling asleep (in the past, I’d regularly have hours of intense pain and vomiting). My migraines are stress-induced, and on top of the knee injury, there’s a lot of very bad stuff going on at work (for particle physics and astronomy nationally, the whole of the University of Nottingham, and Nottingham physics specifically). Most of my colleagues, including some research superstars, have received ‘at risk of redundancy’ letters, but (so far at least…) to my huge relief, I haven’t, thanks, I think, to the research fellowship which allowed me to do the Arctic race.

Unlike all of the other medical professionals I’ve seen in the past few years, the consultant didn’t start the appointment by telling me how old I am. Instead, he asked me about my activity levels and what I’d like the outcome to be. “Up until a year ago, I was running multi-day ultras. I’d love to get back to that, but I’m guessing that’s not possible. The thing that’s really important to me is being able to continue covering long distances in the hills on foot for as long as possible.” (I’d given a lot of thought to this over the last few weeks.) To my surprise, he told us (the OH had come along for moral support and to take notes) that he could repair it. Apparently, it’s something that some surgeons have started doing in some cases relatively recently, so there’s limited data on how long the repairs last, but without a repair, I’ll likely need a knee replacement within 5 years. This sort of tear is common in middle-aged women with high BMIs (it usually happens when stepping onto a curb), and the high BMI and already severe arthritis mean repair isn’t viable. I have, however, found on the internet several 40-60-something female ultra runners who’ve had similar tears repaired.

I’d gone into the appointment expecting to be able to fit the 8-week recovery from a meniscus trim in between some work travel in mid June and our planned holiday in Japan in early September. Working out how to fit in the more major recovery from a repair, including 6 weeks of no weight bearing, was a bit trickier. I asked about postponing the surgery until December, but was advised that sooner would be better. We went home, and within a few hours, I decided to cancel my upcoming work travel and schedule the surgery ASAP to give me the best chance of being somewhat mobile by the end of Summer. (I was supposed to be at a dark matter workshop in Pollica in Italy this week, and at CERN the week after, for a primordial black hole workshop and also to give a seminar to the theory division.)

I haven’t yet asked the million-dollar questions (not just “will I be able to run again?” But “If so, will multi-day running significantly increase the risk of the repair failing?”). In the ~ 2 weeks between the MRI and the appointment with the consultant, I’d sort of come to terms with having to give up on my six-day running targets (400 miles and then, maybe, in a few years’ time, the British women’s over 55 record). In the last two decades, I’ve done multiple things I didn’t think I was capable of (finishing the (full Winter…) Spine in 2014, respectable finishes at various multi-day races and getting tantalisingly close to 400 miles in 6 days). Being somewhat slow, I was always more focused on challenges than competition, and over the last few years, challenges have evolved into projects and adventures. And for the next 6+ months, the project is rehab, to hopefully allow me to keep on having adventures on foot.

Being in a car travelling at what felt like high speed on icy roads was very surreal, and I suddenly felt very tired. Back at Jockfall, I was driven right up to one of the chalets, and Pulkee was unloaded for me. The restaurant was just about to close for the evening, so I had a very quick shower before eating, replying to some messages and collapsing into bed.

After sleeping through the night, I then spent the morning dozing, picking the Never Stops out of my remaining snack backs and eating the sweets I’d been given at the finish (I’d half-planned to pop to the supermarket in Överkallix after finishing to stock up on non-race food, but didn’t have the time and energy to do it). I also surfed the web, and cried. Not happy or sad tears, but an overwhelming ‘oh my god I actually did it’ feeling. When my official race photos were posted on the internet, it felt like the person in them wasn’t me (they were far too athletic-looking to be me).

After a large lunch, I started trying to organise and pack my gear, but I kept running out of steam. I also had to be careful about how I moved, as my knee was somewhat unhappy. The rest of my body was in pretty good shape. Various bits of chafing had clearer up significantly with airing overnight, and my feet looked almost normal. The worst damage was actually to my hands; the insides of both thumbs were somewhat numb, and the 3rd, 4th and 5th fingers on my left hand would seize up into a claw if I didn't use them for a while (presumably an after effect of gripping trekking pokles). That evening, there was a post-race party. I went along for a bit. It was good to catch up with various people, but it was all a bit much for me (in particular, the noise), and I went back to the lodge to finally finish packing.

foot looking pretty good

Most people left early the next morning, but I decided to split my journey over two days again, so the OH could pick me and Pulkee up from Manchester on Friday evening. Despite having a full separate holdall and, I thought, less in her than on the way out, Pulkee was significantly overweight. I didn’t have the energy to rearrange stuff, so I paid the excess baggage fee (that I’d put so much effort into avoiding on the way out). There were lots of military planes noisily taking off and landing at Lulea airport. I spent the long journey catching up on emails and eating lots. That’s not cheap when you’re at airports in a Nordic country, but I did get more than my money’s worth from the hotel buffet breakfast. Despite all the eating I was feeling rather thin; when I got home I was 59 kg, 4 kg ligher than when I left. (My body weight fixed point has drifted up 4 or 5 kg over the last few, thanks to weight lifting (and also middle aged spread…).

a midriff fit for a 90s girl band, and refueling on airport food

The plane from Stockholm to Manchester was full of the loudest drunken Swedes I’ve ever encountered (on their way to something football related, I think). A group of them tried to barge past us into a lift, but Pulkee was a very effective block. The OH had stocked the car up with Pringles and HobNobs, but I got through the hour and a bit journey home without needing to eat again. As usual after overseas multi-day events, the worst of the tiredness only hit when I got home. The first night, I woke up with no idea where I was. Unlike post-Spine, I didn’t panic. I reassured myself that wherever I was, it was warm and dry, so I could go back to sleep and figure it out later. When I woke up properly later on, I was lying diagonally across the bed, with my head at the bottom… The other hindrance to ‘getting back to normal life’, was my head continuing to play its 90s indie playlist. It’s hard to concentrate on meetings and emails when your head insists on playing the Leveller’s ‘One way of life’…

The short, sharp descent back onto the lake wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. However, there were multiple braided snowmobile tracks on the lake, and I had difficulty staying on route (as the route is ‘put in’ by snowmobiles, the GPS track can only be approximate, and you have to follow the marking tape attached to sticks and trees). I had drifted too far to the right onto a track that started turning in the wrong direction. And when I tried to correct myself, I ended up too far left, so in the end I decided to backtrack to the last marker post. While I was going in the wrong direction, off track, Kimberly and Emiel caught me, and I sheepishly followed them.

The route climbed up through forests before crossing two large frozen lakes. It was a gorgeous sunny morning. At this point, it looked like large twigs had been planted into the snow to mark the route. Balls of ice had frozen onto them and glistened in the Sun like baubles. It was still quite cold, though. I thought with the Sun up and warm temperatures forecast, I could remove my mittens, but quickly my fingers became cold with ‘only’ two pairs of gloves on.

I had another sudden urge to poo, and I stopped just after a small cabin. I hadn’t seen anyone for hours, but with two pairs of trousers around my ankles, I heard a snowmobile in the distance. I just about managed to get myself fully clothed before the race photographer appeared. He took some photos while I refilled my Nalgene bottle, and apologised for disturbing my ‘morning moment’.

post 'morning moment' (credit: Jonas Palsson)

The rest of the morning went well, and I enjoyed a lunch break on a nice forest trail. The afternoon was less fun. There were some good, fast stretches of quiet road. I enjoyed passing ‘tent/bivy prints’ in the snow from people’s camp sites, and occasionally seeing tyre tracks from John and the other biker. However, the warm temperatures made for slow going. I stopped multiple times to remove and re-add layers, and to put my snowshoes on, and then take them off again when they didn’t seem to help. Occasionally, I would see someone, presumably Kimberly or Emiel, in the distance, but I never managed to catch them. At dusk, there was another road section, with reindeer being fed along it (and the farmer’s vehicle left running with the keys in the ignition).

In the dark, another scene worthy of a film appeared. But this time it felt more like an Everest disaster movie. In the centre of the trail, two figures were sitting on a pulk, huddled in giant down jackets. It took me a while to recognise it was Kimberley and Emiel. I was tired and hungry, but I had my head down trying to push through the final mile or so to CP5. Initially, I tried to manoeuvre Pulkee around them, but then Emiel told me that there were still more than 10 km to go to the CP (which would be quite a few hours at the speed we were moving at). While the race is advertised as 500 km, it’s actually 515 km, and this stage was significantly longer than stated. Thanks to Karl’s blog, I had the correct distance (39.5 miles) in my notes, but when I looked at them without my reading glasses on, I had misread it as 32.5 miles. [Lesson learnt: a font that is readable without glasses in good light at home, isn’t necessarily readable in poor light when tired.] I was going to need to get some more calories in to get myself to the CP, so I parked Pulkee behind them, layered up and sat down for as long as it took to force down a 500-calorie Real Meal bar.

The next four hours were the toughest of the race. Moving at 1.something mph through soft snow, up short, sharp slopes was a huge effort. Sometimes I’d look down at my watch and see I’d only moved 0.1 miles since the last time I’d looked. I kept stopping and looking at my phone to see exactly where I was and how much further I had to go. Eventually, I reached the steep descent into Lansjärv. Even that had a steep uphill sting in its tail.

When I arrived at CP5, I was seriously considering pulling out of the race. I was several hours behind my worst-case 9.5-day finish schedule, despite sleeping far less than I’d planned (3-4 hours a night, rather than 6). With more warm weather, and hence soft snow, forecast, moving fast enough to finish within the 10-day cut-off seemed impossible. I didn’t bother taking the kit I’d need to replenish if I continued into the CP. I was gently told that quitting when I wasn’t ill or injured didn’t make sense. ‘But it’s my maths that’s broken’, I protested. Within about 5 min, I decided to keep going and see what happened. I texted the OH: ‘very slow afternoon due to slushy snow. If this continues (and potentially gets worse) won’t be able to finish on time’. I went back out to Pulkee, collected the gear that needed recharging or restocking, and ate a nice but somewhat low-calorie, meal. Rob arrived just as I was heading to a dorm room, where Irjen was still asleep.

After ~4 hours sleep I had breakfast (an official breakfast of 2 pieces of bread, plus one of my dehydrated breakfasts). I left CP5 just behind Kimberly and ahead of Emile. We’d been warned that other people had struggled to find the correct route across the first frozen lake (there were other marked, cross-country skiing) trails, but with dawn just breaking, it was fine.

To start with the route undulated through forests. While the ups were hard work, it was enjoyable. I did a lot of back and forthing with Kimberly and Emile (returning a dropped snack bag to them at one point). The temperature had risen significantly, and I kept stopping to adjust layers. The lower layers I’d been wearing from the start (long pants, fleece tights plus cross-country skiing overnights) were far too warm. First, I switched the fleece tights for a thin merino base-layer, however I was still too warm. For the 2nd day in a row, I was caught with my pants down by the race photographer (this time a drone, so I didn’t get much warning) as I ditched the overtights and merino base-layer and put the fleece tights back on.

In the afternoon, the route switched back to the more typical lake and thinly wooded bog crossings. It was beautifully sunny, and on stopping to take some photos, I noticed that one of my snowshoes was no longer on top of my pulk. Just as I was going to phone the organisers to check what the time penalty for losing a snowshoe would be, and ask about backtracking to my lunch stop to get it, I spotted it hanging off the side of the pulk. From this point on I used both bungees and ratchet straps to secure the snowshoes in place.

I reached the Suloajärvi three-sided shelter, 18 miles into the stage, in late afternoon. It was perched by the side of a lake, in a somewhat exposed location. Kimberly and Emile were there eating with a fire going. After eating a savoury dehydrated meal, I was still hungry. The next, similar, shelter was 20 miles away, with another 8 miles after that to CP6, so I decided to have a breakfast as well. Kimberly and Emile set off and, with the Sun setting and the wind howling, for the first and only time, I felt very alone (and slightly scared).

The evening was, however, fantastic. The trails were well compacted (possibly because they were close to the town of Gällivare) and, for the first time since day one, I was moving at 3 mph fairly effortlessly. Crossing a frozen lake with a full moon behind me, the night sky looked like a black hemispherical dome, with bright lights shining through holes. At one point, I thought I could see an orange glow from a settlement ahead. However, over the next 10-15 min the glow gradually turned into sheets of pale green light shimmering across the sky.

Occasionally, I’d see a red rear light in the distance, but I didn’t catch up with Kimberly and Emile until around midnight when they stopped to bivvy. I was feeling good and, given the fast-moving trails, decided to press on to at least the next shelter and maybe even the CP. Not long after, I encountered some locals doing what looked like (drunken) doughnuts on snowmobiles.

As always, it took longer to get to the shelter than I was expecting. I got very sleepy and got my phone out several times to check how much further I had to go. Eventually, I got there and found Irjen dozing next to a fire with his gear strewn across the other 2 benches. I asked if it was OK to move his stuff, and I lay down with my big down jacket on, initially intending to just have a nap. Irjen told me I should have a proper sleep, and after 5 min I decided he was probably right and got my sleeping bag and settled down properly. Unfortunately, I left the ‘CP bag’ with my earplugs in in my pulk bag. And when Irjen fell asleep properly, he started making very strange gurgling breathing noises. So I had to crawl out of my bag, half shove my feet in my shoes, and go and get the earplugs.

I woke up after a couple of hours, feeling OK and decided to pack up and head to the CP for a proper sleep. The fire had gone out in the night, and to my horror, my shoes had started freezing, with the heel cups squished down from my trip to get the earplugs. Fortunately, I managed to thaw them out sufficiently to get my feet in using the hand warmers I’d put in my socks.

The 8 miles to the CP were a bit of a slog, and I soon felt tired again. Just as I stopped for an urgent poo, Irjen caught up with me and asked if he could make a video. I waved my ‘poo and period’ bag at him and explained I was in desperate need of the toilet. He soon pulled away into the distance. The village of Leipojärvi came into sight, but Karl’s blog had thankfully warned me that the route curved around a headland rather than going straight there. There was then a short, steep slope up to the CP.

Having arrived mid-morning, the village felt quite lively with various people out and about doing things. My appetite had returned big time, and the vegetarian meals at the last couple of CPs hadn’t been particular high calorie. Therefore, I decided to take all of my remaining dehydrated meals into the CP to take stock of what I had left, and potentially eat one or more of them. While I was doing this, someone stuck their head out and asked if I was hungry. I replied that my stomach had become a furnace, and they said that they could help with that. And indeed they did, with a three-course meal, bread and a fizzy drink.

Mid-stage, I’d realised that I’d left my charger and one of my power banks at the last CP. Slightly embarrassed, I fessed up to this and was happy to be told they were waiting here for me. I was then very confused when the extension cables had British sockets, and I struggled to find one for my Swedish plug. I handed over a technical glove I’d found on the trail, and was told it had been reported missing by another participant. I was quite alert, so I decided to sort gear out before having a couple more hours’ sleep. I put all my food rubbish and toilet paper/tampon bags into a single zip-lock bag and asked one of the race crew where I could dispose of it. They took it off me and said rubbish was being separated for recycling. For a moment, I thought I was going to have to explain what was in there, but thankfully the look on my face conveyed the message that this bag was best not rummaged through. The person who did my foot check was slightly surprised that I was wearing 3 pairs of thin socks. However, my feet hadn’t swollen, and having bought shoes large enough to cope with swelling, thick socks and toe warmers, they would be too loose otherwise.

Beds were available for sleeping in someone’s house, a short walk away. When I got there, Irjen was having a shower and I had another desperate urge to poo (presumably due to the huge volume of food that I was now consuming). Fortunately, the person who’d guided me to the house found another toilet for me to use, but I decided to take one Imodium to try and avoid further ‘urgent toilet’ issues. Multiple beds were set up in what appeared to be someone’s sitting room. I had the space to myself, picked the most comfy-looking sofa and slept for a couple more hours. On waking up and redressing, I decided to ditch my pants in my pulk bag. Even long pants + fleece tights had been too warm that morning. I hadn’t anticipated significantly above-zero temperatures and hadn’t brought any other pants with me, so my only option was to ‘go commando’.

When I went back to the CP, Kimberly and Emile had arrived and were very tired, having been kept awake by ‘joy-riding’ snowmobilers. There were also some slightly worrying conversations about the next CP having to unexpectedly be vacated the next morning. Carrying armfuls of bags back to my pulk, someone jokingly described me as a ‘bag lady’. As I groggily loaded my gear back onto my pulk, a local tried to have a quite detailed conversation with me. In retrospect, I should have just paused for 5 min and chatted to him, but I was (given the conversation about the next CP closing) feeling somewhat time pressured.

As I inched my way down the steep slope back to the lake, Rob appeared inbound. It had warmed up again while I was in the checkpoint, and the slope had become a bit slippery. I stopped to let him up without risking my falling and taking both of us out. He suggested I put snowshoes on. I decided my best bet was to reverse back up the slope and put spikes on. This was 5-10 min of faff for less than 100m, but better than falling over and sliding down the slope face-first.

At this point, things finally got ‘flowy’, and I don’t have a good memory of what happened when. I think this was the afternoon I decided I wanted to get a tattoo of Pulkee, and spent several hours designing it in my head. In the absence of headphones to listen to music, my head started providing its own (90s) soundtrack, starting with Mansun’s ‘Wide Open Space’, followed by ‘100 years of Solitude’ and then the Levellers’ entire back catalogue. Looking out for the distinctive poos that some other racers were leaving on the trail also passed the time; one person was doing big, bright, fluffy brown ones, while another was leaving small, dark, dense-looking deposits. Later, when the Immodium wore off, I produced an interesting deposit of my own: dense dark ‘hockey puck’ formations, followed by a huge volume of brighter, fluffier material.

At 32 miles, this was a fairly short stage, and I wanted to push through the night to CP7. IIRC, this section of the route was fairly boring, with lots of lake crossings. I found moving through the snow by head torch while tired very disorienting. Regularly changing my focus, from just in front of my feet to further head helped a bit. However, this was the one point where I really wished I’d brought headphones and caffeine tablets with me. Most other nights, my pulk had ended up with a thick crust of frost, but this night was quite warm, and it didn’t. Several times, I stopped and tried to have a quick power nap on top of Pulkee, but I wasn’t actually sleepy enough to do that. I also tried drinking a hot chocolate and having a dehydrated meal, but made with (by now) lukewarm water, it was unappealing, and I didn’t manage much of it. Eventually, I managed to get 5 minutes of sleep, and that was enough to see me through to dawn when (as usual) I perked up.

The last few km into CP7 at Nattavaara were strange; the route felt like it was curving around so much it should intersect itself, but it never did. (Looking at the map now, it only curved through 180 degrees.) There was also, of course, a lot of short, sharp hills on the way into the CP. Like CP6, I was given huge amounts of food, and got lots of help with sorting out my embarrassingly manky kit (my bowl, mug and spork were confiscated and taken away for a wash…). The building closing issue had been pushed back by a few hours, so it ended up not affecting me (but if I’d been only a couple of hours slower, it would have done). For the first time, I was feeling optimistic about finishing and messaged the OH ‘87 miles to go and 3 days to do it so if nothing unexpected happens it’s doable’ (punctuation was not happening at this point). My feet had developed a bright blue tinge, which initially caused some consternation (blue feet in cold weather are usually a bad thing…). However, fortunately, I rapidly worked out that it was dye from my shoes.

I was shown upstairs where Irjen was sleeping on the floor, and given the option of sleeping next to him or in a small space in the storage cupboard next door. Given the previous snoring/breathing issues, I initially opted for the cupboard. However, I struggled to sleep (I think due to fear of pulling stuff off the shelves onto myself), and I couldn’t hear any noises, so I dragged my sleeping gear through to the main room. Having turned down showers at previous CPs, I now really fancied one. However, that would have involved going outside to another building, so instead I had a fairly thorough sink wash. My face was windburnt and sore, and (for the first time ever) I had chafing on my bum cheeks, so I smeared them (somewhat too generously, it would turn out) with Sudocrem.

Kimberly and Emile had arrived and were eating, but I think they weren’t going to be able to sleep at the CP due to the early closure. I had even more food and offloaded some unnecessary kit into my drop bag before setting out into another sunny afternoon. I capsized Pulkee twice getting out of the CP, but otherwise, the afternoon passed quickly and smoothly. When it got dark, the temperature dropped extremely rapidly, and as I crossed a mist-shrouded frozen lake, my breath hung in the air in front of me. The Northern lights put on another show alongside and behind me. I occasionally turned my head to watch, but didn’t stop to take photos this time.

I arrived at the Polar Circle cabin sooner than expected. It was unexpectedly cosy if somewhat smoky. Irjen had a roaring fire going and had lit candles. He woke up enough to give me instructions about putting some more logs on the first and closing the air intake. I had a dehydrated meal and settled down to sleep. After a couple of hours, I woke up cold and went out to get my sleeping bag. The privacy of my sleeping bag did allow me to remove some of the excessive Sudocrem from my bum cheeks, which had got cold earlier (as we’d been warned on the training course, creams allow heat to be conducted away from your skin…). After a couple more hours, just as I was waking again, Kimberly and Emile arrived and went straight to sleep, while Irjen and I packed up and left. We backed and forth as he (like Kimberly and Emile) moved faster than me, but took longer/more frequent breaks.

It was a warm sunny morning, but the going was generally good. I was still having lower-body temperature control issues. Once the sun was up, I’d have to take my overtrousers off to avoid getting sweaty, but then my bum (possibly thanks to the Sudocrem and/or its surface area) would initially be cold. The solution, it turned out, was to stick a hand warmer down my tights and move it from side to side. What sounded like fighter planes roared overhead, but I didn’t manage to spot them.

Mid-morning, I decided (somewhat decadently) to stop and boil some water to make a hot, rather than lukewarm, lunch. Given my fear of fire and previous issues with the stove, I was happy to have got to the point of using it for fun. The afternoon was more of a slog as the snow felt really churned up again. After the slightly strange experience of seeing some people who weren’t part of the race at a road crossing, I caught up with Irjen, having a sit-down break. Since I was feeling slightly miserable, I parked up next to him, sat down and ate the bite-sized chocolate brownies I’d fished out of my otherwise unwanted snack bags at the last CP.

The rest of the stage was a slow slog, with some long straight roads and hills. The battery on my Garmin watch ran out, and I wasted a lot of time working out how to carry my handheld GPS so that it was easily visible but not losable. (The route was well marked with fluorescent tape, but with long gaps between markers on straight sections, it would be easy to go a long way off route if you missed a turn.) After some more back and forthing, Irjen and I teamed up to grind out the last few miles to the final checkpoint at Rikti Dokkas, a quaint farmstead on top of (you’ve guessed it…) a small hill. I said I thought we could make it before dark. Irjen was doubtful, but we just managed it.

We got a very warm welcome, and another big meal (although I had a longer wait for mine to be warmed up as I forgot to say I was veggie). We were updated on the goings on in front of us. A long-standing ‘bromance’ had broken up, and our recent pairing was described as ‘a late race bromance’. As we were finishing eating, Kimberly and Emile arrived. I went outside to have a pre-bed wee, and Rob (who I hadn’t seen for several days) arrived. We chatted while I wee-d (with my rear end pointed away into the dark), and I said that my (dead) mother would kill me if she could see what I was doing (the race in general, and the weeing in public specifically). It was nice to see everyone, but I was slightly surprised and disappointed that the time gaps behind me had closed.

Having arrived first, Irjen and I had the luxury of sleeping in the two beds in an adjacent room. It was a pretty good night’s sleep. However, I kept waking up thinking I was lying on top of Pulkee, and she was moving down the course under her own steam, leaving my phone behind in the snow. I eventually realised that I could quickly convince myself that I was in fact stationary inside a building by reaching behind my head and touching the wall.

When my alarm went off after 4 hours, I was tempted to snooze it, but I dragged myself out of bed, and Irjen followed suit. Kimberly and Emile were also snoozing, but I managed to pack up and leave first (Irjen later told me he deliberately left later, because he liked having me in front to chase down). We were lucky to do the next section at night. The snow was deep and soft, and there were often deep holes where people had suddenly sunk through the crust. Being fairly small, but wearing big, wide shoes probably also helped me avoid this. When Irjen caught me, I tried to stay in front up a hill. However, I soon realised I was working too hard and overheating and had to stop and let him pass.

I passed him again as he had a sit-down break and made it to the Damkoan shelter first. Having benefitted from other people’s fires on multiple occasions, this time it was my turn to get the fire started. There was only one piece of charred wood, and to my frustration, while I could get it burning, I couldn’t keep it alight. I felt slightly better when Irjen later tried and also failed. I had a final dehydrated meal, and also tried to sort my feet out. Over the last few days, I’d developed half a dozen small but deep blisters that were now really hurting. I’d taken my first paracetamol at Rikkti Dokkas, but they’d now worn off, so I took some more. I taped my feet up (with very long strips of tape, having lost my scissors before the race) and also put on a different, thicker sock combination so my feet would move around less inside the shoes.

Just as Irjen and I were leaving, Kimberly and Emile arrived, and we had a shouted conversation about how I’d parked my pulk in a shit tip (earlier visitors to the shelter had gone to the toilet rather closer to it than ideal). It’s slightly embarrassing to admit, but having been in front of Kimberly and Emile consistently for the last few days, I wanted to be the first woman to finish. So I decided to push a bit harder for the last 20 miles. However, my knee started complaining painfully when I was less careful about how I put load through it, so I reined it in. Getting to the finish was far more important than finishing first.

Not long after the shelter, I met a friend of Irjen’s who’d come out to meet him. Shortly after Irjen passed me running, and I didn’t see him again until the next day (running wasn’t an option for me). After a pleasant start to the day, the temperature dropped, and I had to put some layers back on. The last 12 or so miles were the reverse of the start of loop two, and I’d forgotten how long some parts were. Crossing the tarmac of the E10, it became clear how much the snow had melted in the last few days. The return to traffic, houses and people was also slightly jarring. At the start of the last long river section, it started raining, and I got disproportionately grumpy that I was going to have to get out, and finish in, my waterproofs. Thankfully, the rain soon stopped. I’d been hoping to make it to the finish without putting my night layers back on, but as the Sun set, the temperature (as always) dropped. I did consider just gutting it out, but I didn’t want to arrive at the finish cold and appear incompetent. In the end, I stopped twice in the last few miles to add first a jacket, and then overtights, a hat and a 2nd pair of gloves.

As Överkallix came into view, I had very mixed feelings. I was really happy that I was, despite all the issues, actually going to finish. But I’d loved the isolation of the 2nd loop, and would have quite happily kept going. As I neared the finish, a drone hovered overhead, and I could see a crowd of people waiting. I managed to get Pulkee up a narrow snow ledge without capsizing her, but then nearly went the wrong way just before the finish barrier. After photos, congratulatory hugs and a large bag of sweets, Pulkee and I were walked back to the finish building, and a lift back to Jockfall was arranged for us.

Race day started with a bus ride to Överkallix for the start. There wasn’t much time between our arrival and the start. Not having to stand around outside for long was sensible, but it didn’t give much time to go to the loo and reattach my pulling shafts. I also underestimated Pulkee’s turning circle, and sllightly embarrassingly capsized her and emitted my first ‘for fucks sake’ at myself. The route started with a long section along a frozen river. The underfoot conditions were good, and it was fairly easy to move at a decent (~3 mph) pace. As usual, most of the field pulled away into the distance, but I did have company at the back. In the first few miles, I chatted to Wendy (whose name I recognised from a Facebook group for academics) before she and her husband Richard (organiser of various interesting races) pulled away. In a pattern that would continue for days, I backed-and-forthed with various people, including a 30-something Dutch couple (Kimberly and Emiel), as they moved faster but took longer rest/eating breaks.

A couple of challenges appeared. There were some short, sharp climbs and descents as the route temporarily climbed onto and off of the river banks, and Pulkee wanted to descend faster than my right leg did. After a couple of hairy moments, I learnt that sitting back into my harness (and telling Pulkee sternly that we were going to go at my speed, not hers) fixed that issue. The tougher issue was body temperature control. It wasn’t particularly warm, but I soon started overheating. Eventually, after removing outer layers and opening all zips, I resorted to stripping down to my ‘base’ layers (a thin top and fleece leggings). However, because I’d already sweated too much, I then got cold when the temperature dropped sharply as the route went into shade.

After about a half-marathon, the route came off the river and started climbing, gently initially, towards the first checkpoint, Laxforsberget, on top of a hill/mountain at ~23 miles. As the Sun dropped behind the trees, I took a break to eat a dehydrated meal. Almost all of the handful of people behind me passed while I was stopped. I wasn’t bothered by this, though. Given the issues I often have with eating in the first few days of multi-day races, I was happy to get some calories down while I still had a decent appetite. Eventually, the Sun set, and I discovered that my red light fitted quite securely onto the pocket at the back of my harness (a solution to a problem that I’d worried about, and failed to solve, for weeks). The route passed along a forestry track, and there were some patches of ice. I inched my way across them OK without stopping to put spikes on, but ‘what if the rising temperatures lead to lots of this’ became my next thing to worry about. The last mile or so to the checkpoint was quite steep. Hauling Pulkee, who was somewhat overloaded/overweight, up the hill was hard, but I was expecting this and quite enjoyed it. I also overtook a couple of people who’d stopped to have a break.

CP1 was a handful of teepees, plus a small cabin where the race crew were boiling water to refill bottles. Despite being at the back of the field, it was very busy, but well organised. The biggest issue was parking Pulkee. I was using a kakau, a bag which sits between the rigid poles and can be accessed without removing your harness. However, this meant I couldn’t fold the poles backwards (without risking breaking them at least), so she needed a long space. I was told that I was ‘the last athlete in the 500km race to reach CP1’. This annoyed me. Firstly: I wasn’t last (I’m also not an athlete…). One of the people I’d overtaken on the climb was doing the long race. And secondly, ‘so what?’. I’m often last, or nearly last, at CP1, but I rarely DNF or finish last. I tried to keep my annoyance to myself, but it did give me a potential title for the ‘running’ autobiography I’d like to one day write: ‘Last to checkpoint one’. In retrospect, I suspect they were indirectly trying to warn me not to get a false sense of security from being surrounded by lots of people doing the 185km race, since their time limit was (relatively speaking) somewhat more generous.

I was allocated a spot in one of the teepees and given some hot food and a hot chocolate (the first of many). I took my gloves, shoes and socks off for the first hand and foot check. They were fine, but I was concerned about how much steam was coming off my wet (with sweat) jacket. I decided to ditch my front pack to hopefully let the sweat evaporate better. This required some rearranging of kit, from the front pack into the kakau, and from the kakau into the pulk bag. I also took advantage of the long drop toilet to change my tampon in relative comfort.

The route down the mountain was a bit steep and windy, but I managed to keep both myself and Pulkee upright. Over the next few hours, I started passing people who’d stopped to bivvy. I’d initially planned to keep going through the first night and stop to sleep for the first time at CP2 at Jockfall. That plan had been binned due to the lack of sleep in the preceding week, and instead I intended to stop at around 2 am and get ~3 hours of sleep before starting moving again around dawn. After passing someone setting their tent up in what appeared to be a high, exposed, frozen bog, I decided to stop a little bit early, at ~1.30 am, when I spotted what appeared to be a suitable spot: a flattish area in woods, with a gap between the trail and the trees.

My first ‘sleep out for real in the Arctic’ was, literally, a bit of a shit show. Unthinkingly, I parked Pulkee some way in front of the patch of snow I stamped down with snow shoes to pitch my tent on. This meant a lot of back-and-forthing as I transferred gear and also contributed to the subsequent ‘poo incident’. The temperature had dropped significantly. I’ve no idea how cold it was (I tried and failed to find a cheap, compact thermometer which can handle Arctic temperatures). Other people are saying it went well below -20. I’m not convinced that it did (the air didn’t feel colder than it does in Stockholm at -20), but it was definitely cold. I knew the sweat that had collected in the empty fingertips of my gloves had frozen. However, I wasn’t expecting showers of snow/ice to fall out of my jacket when I took it off. The water in my insulated Nalgene bottle had also started freezing, so I added hot water from a thermos to try to warm it up so I could use it as a hot waterbottle. I changed into dry ‘sleeping’ gloves and socks and put the damp ones down my fleece tights to dry. My shoes, gaiters, outer tights, waterproof socks and jacket went into separate heavy-duty bin bags at the bottom of my sleeping bag to stop them freezing. This didn’t leave much room for me. I had also inadvertently pitched my tent on a slight slope, with my head facing downhill, so I ended up curled in a ball in the top half of my (special short…) sleeping bag. After a couple of minutes of shivering, the ridiculously over-the-top -50 rated sleeping bag did its job, and I fell asleep quite quickly.

After an hour or so, I woke up with stomach cramps and an urgent need to poo. Unfortunately, I’d left my ‘poo and period kit’, containing tampons, wet wipes (individually wrapped so they can be defrosted in an armpit) and dog poo bags in my pulk. Getting it would require putting on socks, shoes and snow shoes, which wasn’t going to happen in time. Fortunately, I was using a piece of yoga mat as a door mat for standing on when removing and putting on shoes and socks. So I rapidly scrambled out of my sleeping bag and crouched on the mat in my socks. I didn’t fancy getting up in the morning to a pile of frozen poo on my doorstep, so I used a snowshoe to flick it into the woods. On stuffing myself back into my overcrowded sleeping bag, I realised that my ‘hot’ water bottle was decidedly cold, so I removed it.

I heard a few people passing by in the night, but slept fairly well until my alarm went off at 5 am. The socks and gloves I’d stuffed down my tights had dried off overnight, and my shoes and waterproof socks hadn’t frozen. But other kit hadn’t fared so well. My water bottle was now mostly full of ice, and the sweaty jacket was now a frozen lump. Thawing the icy water used up a lot of my remaining (now not so hot) water. I had a spare, dry mid-layer jacket. However, drenching and freezing jackets on a daily basis clearly wouldn’t be sustainable. ‘You need to get your shit together’, I told myself, out loud.

By the time I’d packed my kit up, and struggled with frozen ratchet straps, I was a bit cold, but getting moving again soon warmed me up. My first goal for the day was the Björkadamskojan cabin. The route meandered through woods, and it took longer to get there than I thought it should. I passed several people who had stopped to melt snow, but I had just enough water (albeit now fairly cold) to get me to the hut. The hut was quite busy, with half a dozen people eating or resting. It was mid-late morning and quite warm, so I happily melted snow outside. The race photographer appeared, and got a good photo of my stove, and purple-duck-tape wrapped thermos flasks (they’re much more photogenic than I am…).

melting snow outside the Björkadamskojan (2nd & 3rd photos: Jonas Palsson)

After eating a dehydrated meal, I set off for CP2 back at Jockfall. My initial ‘no sleep to Jockfall’ plan had me arriving there early in the afternoon. Having stopped to sleep on the trail, I was hoping to get there before dark. The afternoon was a slog. The trail had been chewed up by the footsteps of all of the people in front, and it was like walking through damp, lumpy sand. The route undulated fairly gently, but it felt like it was almost all uphill. I was also having to be careful about foot placement. My knee was mostly fine, but if I put weight through it at a funny angle, it twinged uncomfortably.

Before I even reached the river, and the final few miles to the CP, I had to put my headtorch on. A snowmobile with a sledge-like trailer on the back passed in the opposite direction. Shortly afterwards, it overtook me with a retired racer and their pulk in the back. I felt jealous. Eventually, I reached the river. The place where we’d stopped and set up camp on the final day of the training camp would serve as a ‘not too far too go’ marker. I kept convincing myself I could see the flattened patches of snow in the distance, but they took forever to actually appear. I eventually arrived at CP2 after 7 pm. While I was organising stuff from my pulk to take indoors, Emily and Nathan came out, on their way to a cabin to sleep. We agreed that this was proving much harder than expected.

Inside, I organised charging various devices, removed damp kit and ate a large ‘athlete’ meal. I was already considering changing into my backup shoes, as snow was accumulating on the tops of my boots. On taking the boots off, I discovered that, despite being essentially new, the uppers were already splitting. I hadn’t had time to break in the backup shoes (they were a last-minute panic buy, in case it was really cold and I needed larger footwear that would accommodate toe warmers), so the boots went in the pulk in case my feet and legs didn’t like the shoes.

During multi-day events, I usually rely on autocorrect to correct my tired, reading-glasses-less typing. However, I’d switched my phone to Swedish to search for place names in weather apps, and now I was sending the OH gibberish (“Knee tvingas occasionsöly.”).

Having slept on the trail on the first night, I had originally planned to press on for a few hours before sleeping on the trail again. However, I now switched from plan B to plan C. It was dark. I was tired. Indoor sleep here should be quicker and better. It would put me way behind my original schedule. However, at this point, I wasn’t worried, as I knew that Karl and Harriet had had a long second stop here. What I hadn’t yet realised was that I was moving far more slowly than they had.

Olov from the training course was at the CP, checking in on people. He asked if I’d had issues with condensation when sleeping out. ‘No’, I happily, and truthfully, replied, and kept the multiple sleep stop issues I did have to myself. Wendy and Richard arrived at the CP having dropped. We had a quick conversation about how hard the conditions were. They wished me luck. I said I’d need it.

Kimberley and Emile had arrived at the CP a while before me, but were ready to sleep at the same time. We were led to one of the ‘wilderness’ cabins with two bunk beds and one prior occupant. It wasn’t the greatest sleep. Nobody snored, but someone was breathing loudly, and I was conscious of my breathing syncing with theirs.

I woke at ~1 am. My alarm hadn’t yet gone off, but I was feeling OK, so I decided to get up. Apart from some indecision about how much hot water I needed for the short, 17 mile, stage to CP3 Polar Circle Cabin, my departure was fairly efficient. The rest of the night was fairly uneventful, plodding forward with occasional stops to remove and re-add my jacket as my body temperature fluctuated. Around dawn, I got sleepy and stopped for a hot chocolate to try to wake myself up. Kimberley and Emile passed me and disappeared into the distance. In another recurring theme, it took far longer to get to the CP than I was expecting. Hours before I got there, I started looking out for cabins tucked away in the trees.

Towards the end of the stage, there was a lake crossing, with a cold, snowy wind blowing across it. Putting goggles on would have been a good idea, but when I ditched the front pack, I moved them from the kakau to the pulk bag. Rather than stopping and rummaging in my (at this point) not yet optimally organised pulk, I cinched my hood in, pointed my face away from the wind, and wiggled my eyelids around to stop the eyelashes freezing together. Some of the race snowmobile team stopped as they passed me and said the CP wasn’t far after the end of the lake.

Just after the lake, there was a small cabin, with Kimberley and Emile’s pulks parked outside. Thinking this was the CP (despite having written in my notes that there was a small emergency shelter close to the end of the stage), I squeezed Pulkee into a small space and went inside. I thought it was strange that there was no race crew there. However, Kimberley and Emile were settled in with shoes and socks off, so I went outside to get my thermoses and a dehydrated meal. At which point another, potentially race-ending, shit show ensued. For some reason, I’d taken all of my gloves off and, thinking that it wasn’t that cold, I started undoing the bungies and straps on my pulk with bare hands. And then I didn’t spot the ice just inside (yes, inside) the cabin door and slipped and landed in a heap on the floor, clutching my thermoses. Just before I headed back out to gather snow to melt, I said that I was surprised that this CP wasn’t crewed. And Kimberly told me that this was just a cabin, and the CP was a km and a bit further on. As I was reloading my pulk, Emily and Nathan came past, having left CP2 several hours after me.

CP3 was small and quite crowded, with 5 participants there at the same time. But the race crew were there as expected, providing hot water, hot food and chocolate balls. After an hour-long stop, including another luxury long drop toilet visit, I headed off. I was somewhat embarrassed to realise that someone had kindly placed the mitts I’d carelessly left on the ground on my poles. It was snowing steadily, so I put my googles and snowshoes on. The snow was beautiful, and it smoothed out the trail so that Pulkee started gliding really nicely. Walking for hours in snowshoes was challenging, however. I kept treading on and tripping over my own feet. I also had a panic on seeing what looked like loose, fluid-filled skin on my fingers (had I got frostbite from touching metal with bare hands?). I quickly realised that, fortunately, the temperature had risen significantly, and my hands were just too hot and sweaty in 2 pairs of gloves plus mitts.

Not long after dark, my head torch batteries ran out, somewhat sooner than expected, given I’d changed them at CP2, and it wasn’t that cold. I dug out my backup ‘bulletproof’ headtorch, but the sling for its massive battery pack broke, and I ended up shoving the battery pack down my tights.

I soon arrived at the Tarasjarv shelter and stopped to have a dehydrated meal and change the batteries in my main head torch. I shoulder barged the stiff door open, disturbing Rebecca and Lee, who were resting and trying to dry their clothes. Lee had done the race before, and they gave me some useful advice, including a suggestion of a good sleeping place on level sheltered ground up a small hill just after the 3rd of the upcoming lake crossings.

I was expecting the lake crossings to be cold, but actually, I was fine with just a baselayer and thin-ish fleece jacket on. The three crossings passed fairly quickly, but I developed an unnecessary habit of taking my harness off when having snack stops. Someone else had already pitched their tent at the start of the level, sheltered ground, so I kept going for another 100 m or so before stopping. Setting up camp went much more smoothly this time, and I had a pretty good 4-hour sleep.

As I was lying on my back, with my legs in the air, trying to get my over trousers on, Emily and Nathan appeared over the brow of the hill. Patrick, the occupant of the other tent, also emerged (hopefully my alarm didn’t wake him; I probably should have camped a bit further away). Not long after I’d started moving, he overtook me. The trail descended onto a long lake section, marked by wooden poles with red crosses on. It was daylight, but the Sun hadn’t yet risen, and a cold mist rolled in, and Patrick vanished into it. It felt like a scene from a polar expedition film. At the end of the lake, there was a tent, wedged in just off the trail. I felt glad to have been tipped off about the sheltered area before the long lake.

I decided to stop for brunch just after the next lake, and discovered that Nathan and Emily had had the same idea. Emily kindly offered to boil some water for me, but they were clearly nearly ready to leave, and I needed water for both eating and drinking. Emily also broke the news that Roisin had had to pull due to illness. This was a surprise; with her experience and all-around air of competence, I’d thought she was a ‘slam dunk’ to finish. I checked the tracker and discovered that another 2 of the 5 women who’d started the 500k had also stopped. Since we were in a ‘me in front’ phase of my back-and-forthing with Kimberly and Emilie, this meant that (somewhat surprisingly) I was currently the first-placed woman.

Next up was an undulating climb underneath power cables. I slowly closed in on and passed Evangelos, who was struggling with a heavy nosebleed. Shortly after, as the route meandered through forest on slow trails, I started to struggle, and he repassed me. In particular, my feet began to really hurt. On taking my shoes and socks off, I discovered that in the warmer temperatures, my feet had overheated in the 3 thickish pairs of socks I was wearing. They weren’t yet macerated, but they were very soggy, and a lot of dead skin had come off. I let my feet air dry for 5 min before putting on thinner dry socks. I stupidly stuck the wet socks down my bra to try to dry them out. After a good start, eating had also become a problem. I was struggling to eat the Swedish cashew nuts and sweets, and had resorted to picking Never Stops out of my snack bags.

The route finally topped out, and there was a good view followed by a long, not-too-steep descent out of the forest. My pole setup meant I couldn’t sit on my pulk and sledge it, but it was still good to make fairly rapid progress. As the Sun began to set, I started really struggling due to a combination of lack of calories and getting cold. I had multiple stops to, variously, layer up, force food down, and remove the wet socks from my bra. Kimberly and Emile passed me and disappeared into the distance. Eventually, after multiple lake crossings, the lights of Överkallix came into view. A headtorch started closing in on me from behind, which pushed me to try to move a bit less slowly.

There was a short, sharp slope up to the CP. Going up wasn’t too bad, but I wasn’t looking forward to going down it again on the way out. The CP was moderately busy with finishers of the 185 km there too, but thanks to my slow afternoon, Emily and Nathan had already left, and Evangelos had had time to eat and go upstairs to sleep. Irjen, whom I’d spend a lot of time with later on the race, was getting ready to leave having slept. I got a gentle telling off from the race crew about my soggy feet, but my hands were deemed fine. [I also got a deserved, less gentle telling off for getting over enthusiastic and talking too loudly, given that people were trying to sleep nearby.] After eating a decent meal, I put my outer layers back on and made a ~15 min round trip to Co-op to buy more Never Stops. I got the impression that people thought this was a bit odd, but if I was going to finish, I needed to find a way to get more calories in. Going somewhere without Pulkee felt really strange.

Just as I was getting ready to go and sleep, Rob arrived. While there were quite a few 185 km participants behind us, he was the back-marker in the 500 km. He complained that the only person he’d seen to talk to all day was the race photographer. Ironically (given my somewhat antisocial nature), I’d seen lots of people, thanks to moving more slowly, but spending less time stopped than everyone else.

I was shown to an oddly normal-looking bedroom with two single beds close together in the middle. Later on, Rob would occupy the other bed. Unlike various other people I shared sleeping spaces with, he slept completely silently. Hopefully, my somewhat disturbed night didn’t disturb him. First, I got up to go to the loo. Looking in the bathroom mirror, I looked absolutely awful, with giant red bags under my eyes. Later, I woke up in a panic with no sensation in my hands or feet. In a half-asleep panic, I went and asked one of the medics to check them for frostbite. They calmly pointed out that my extremities were nice and warm and had probably just gone to sleep. It was 1 am, and my alarm wasn’t going to go off for another hour. However, I was now wide awake (and very embarrassed). Given the forecast rise in temperature to +6 degrees, I decided that it was best to make the most of the rest of the colder night. Before leaving, I had one of my dehydrated breakfasts to try and get more calories in.

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.