The backstory…

… is spread across various blogs (Viadal 6 day: pre-race and LAU: pre-adventure & the next big thing? rehab), but here’s a short summary. After several months of niggles in my right leg, my knee gave way while running on a treadmill. For several days I couldn’t bear weight on a bent leg. It initially seemed to get better fairly quickly, but running, or indeed anything other than moving forwards slowly in a straight line on a level surface, made it angry. Nearly a year after the initial injury (having managed to finish the Lapland Arctic Ultra in the meantime), I finally got a diagnosis: a radial meniscus tear extending into the medial posterior root. Initially, I was under the impression it wasn’t repairable (and I’d need a knee replacement in the near future); however, it turned out that it was.

Week -1

The 10-day gap between being told that a repair was possible and it actually happening was perfect. Just enough time to get everything organised, both at work and at home, without rushing. We bought various useful things (more about them at the end of this blog), and generally figured out how day-to-day life was going to work with one functional leg.

D-Day

After admission at 11 am, there was then lots of talking to different people (surgeon, anaesthetist, physio, doctor dispensing medicine, nurse administering a pregnancy test…) and waiting around before the operation finally took place mid-afternoon. I opted to have a general anaesthetic, mainly because I hadn’t realised that being conscious was an option and hadn’t got my head around that possibility in advance. I came round quite quickly and somehow ended up having a conversation with the anaesthetist about Brian Cox.

There were then several more hours of waiting before I was deemed sufficiently recovered and mobile to go home, with a large bag of medication (paracetamol, codeine, morphine, blood thinners and two different laxatives…). I was wheeled out to the OH’s car and bum-shuffled my way onto the back seat. Thanks to practising in advance, I happily hopped my way up the steps into the house, and then stopped concentrating and nearly kicked one of my crutches out from under me. The OH was tired after a long day, but I was apparently ‘high as a kite’ and insisted on sitting in a chair and eating mashed potato before going to bed.

Week 1

I don’t remember much about week 1. At the time I thought I was fairly ‘with it’, but in retrospect I wasn’t. Fortunately, the OH was able to work from home, so he was able to bring me food and medication. All I had to do was crutch my way between the bedroom, the sofa, and the toilet, and pass the time doing my exercises, watching television, surfing the web, reading, sewing and napping. With the Tour de France coming up, we took out an HBO Max/TNT subscription, so I had plenty of random sports to watch. Fortunately, various blogs forewarned me that post-surgery life on crutches would take a lot of energy, and the downtime wouldn’t be the opportunity for indulging in sedentary hobbies that you might naively think.

The hospital physio had given me a leaflet of exercises and told me to aim for 90 degrees of heel-slide flexion by the 2-week follow-up appointment. True to girly swot form, I had my first go at the exercises before getting out of bed (but post-espresso…) on day 1. The instructions said to use your hands to gently move your leg to start with, so I did, and it bent to 90 degrees easily. I then did it without hands. 90 degrees again easily. The other exercises, including straight leg raises, went similarly smoothly.

Initially, I followed the discharge instructions to take paracetamol and codeine at regular intervals, but after a few days I tapered off first the codeine and then the paracetamol, since I wasn’t actually in any pain most of the time. The one exception was at night. I’m a restless (violent even…) sleeper, so sleeping on my back with my leg in a brace was a challenge. I’d often fall asleep fairly easily, but then get woken up by sharp electric shock-like pains (which morphine didn’t help with) after trying to roll onto my side. It would then take several hours to get back to sleep again.

Week 2

Having spent all of week 1 wearing the same clothes for 24 hours, I returned to civilisation and started wearing ‘night’ and ‘day’ clothes, including a bra during the day. The bra turned out to be very useful for carrying small items, e.g. espresso cups, packets of crisps, toothbrushes. Running shorts were also practical for going to the loo; short baggy ones with built-in pants for days at home, and longer 2-in-1 shorts on rare days out (to avoid inflicting my thighs on other people).

We set up a toasting station on the kitchen table so that I could make myself breakfast and lunch. Not just on days when the OH had to go into the office, but so that I could feel a bit more independent in general. A small zip-up OMM backpack (often worn on my front like a backpacker) proved useful for carrying around items that were too large to fit down my bra. Every trip off the sofa required forethought, like arriving at a checkpoint in a multiday race (‘What do I need to do?’ ‘What’s the best order to do it in?’). By the middle of the week, I was sufficiently bored and alert to unofficially do some very light work (reading some of my very large ‘papers to read’ backlog).

We went on our first lunch trip outing and nearly bit off more than we could (metaphorically) chew. We decided to go to a cafe in a park with a car park. Unfortunately, the short walk from the car park (which I’ve run on many occasions) was close to a quarter of a mile, which is a long way to essentially hop. And one of the two benches on the way was (it turned out when I tried to sit on it) broken. With lots of standing rest breaks, we made it to and from the cafe without mishap, but the food was crap (a supermarket bread roll filled with nothing but cheap cheese, followed by ice cream with ice in). But I was left with a sore. shoulder for several days, and if I hadn’t had to devote all of my energy to hopping, I might have attacked the bloke who told the OH that he’d deserve a break after having to do everything for me with my crutches…

The week ended with a trip to the hospital to get the stitches removed and see the physio. Apparently my knee mobility was where it should be 6 weeks post-surgery, and when we told the physio that Nigel knee (see below) had been bending to 90 degrees since day 1, he declared it ‘unprecedented’. The surgeon should get the credit for that, but I’ll take the credit for my ‘excellent single-leg balance’. This was all great news, but I’d gone in expecting to be given new exercises and to have the range of motion of the brace increased, so I was a bit disappointed to be told ‘keep doing what you’re doing for the next 4 weeks’.

Naming your injured body part was one of the things that the (somewhat American) book 'Rebound: train your mind to bounce back stronger from sports injuries recommended. It felt a bit silly, but I think it did help me depersonalise the injury and not get frustrated with the knee.

Week 3

I officially started working part-time, horizontally on the sofa or sitting on the bed (I realised early on that doing meetings lying on the sofa led to a double chin, and the bed was better for sitting upright). The nurse who did my discharge letter put ‘2-6 weeks’, rather than ‘6 weeks’, next to ‘return to work’ after I told her it would just be meetings and emails and promised to take it easy. It took me all of the first day to catch up on emails, which left me surprisingly tired. Later in the week, light upper-body weight lifting two days in a row wiped me out again.

This week included my birthday and another disappointing lunch trip out, to a cafe on the Chesterfield Canal that I’ve run past hundreds (literally) of times. It was advertised as accessible, but there was a steepish slope from the uneven gravel car park, and the elderly clientele weren’t particularly sensitive/alert to the challenges of being on crutches. And the food was only marginally better than last week’s.

Towards the end of the week, I had my first low patch. I think due to putting too much emphasis on being ‘nearly halfway through’, when there was still a long way to go.

Week 4-6

I hadn’t ventured out into the back garden because the doorstep was too wide and high to hop over. However, on a Sunny day when the OH was out at work, I decided to give it a go. I can’t quite do a proper pistol squat. But with something solid to hold onto, it turned out I could do a single-leg squat down, butt-shuffle over the doorstep and then stand back up on the single leg. 30 min outside on my own felt like a big adventure (the lack of independence and ‘possibility’ was the thing I found hardest). I also butt-shuffled my way upstairs for a little bit of one-legged gong and singing bowl playing. [I was very lucky that we have a downstairs en-suite bedroom with AC, so in general I could live downstairs.]

I got the hang of pacing myself, and time passed, with weekdays spent mostly working, and evenings and weekends watching cycling, athletics and football, sewing, and reading (in particular, about the physics of music). There was, however, another low patch, when I spent 10 days entirely at home/in the garden between lunch trips out. And there was more than one frustrating work meeting where it would have been very tempting to hit the barely touched morphine bottle.

The next big step (both literally and metaphorically) is tomorrow, when I see the surgeon and physio to start weight-bearing. Having counted down first weeks and then days, I’m now somewhat nervous. Beginning to get my normal life and independence back will be fantastic. But full recovery is not going to be a quick or linear process. The one plus side of stage 1 was that the duration (6 weeks) and what was possible (very little) were both fixed.

Useful reading material

The aforementioned book: Rebound: train your mind to bounce back stronger from sports injuries

I’ve been reading Jill Homer’s blog/substack for many years, and she had a very similar injury (albeit with much worse initial consequences) earlier this year. Also Sophie Speidel on Substack and Alyssa Godesky on Instagram.

Useful things

IKEA trolley: the most valuable player, allowed me to keep the essentials of everyday life easily to hand.

Waterproof full-leg cast cover: kept the wound and brace dry while showering.

Cheap Amazon crutches: let me practice hopping around and in and out of the house, and also work out the logistics of going to the loo pre-surgery. Post-surgery, they were useful as a 2nd upstairs pair of crutches.

IKEA plastic chair: multiple uses: butt-shuffling into the bath for washing, resting my leg on when doing weights, sitting on to talk to our guinea pigs…

Table top ice making machine: much easier than crutching to the freezer every 2 hours for ice.

360-degree swivel shower chair (actually used it with an over-bath shower attachment).

Charity shop ‘fireside’ chair: I thought I’d spend a lot of time sitting in this with my leg on a footstool, but lying on the sofa was more comfy. It was useful for drinking espresso, though.

Overbed table with wheels: didn’t use this as much as I anticipated, but it was useful for occasionally writing and drawing up sewing patterns.

• Stage 1: 6 weeks non weight-bearing

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 poles). 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.