Adam in Runderland

*Feeling worn out after messing about and getting dirty by myself in the dales.  Day two in the Yorkshire Dales... Following the beating I experienced on my first day in the Dales, I had decided not to take part in the second recce day. This turned out not to be an option anyway as there was no train to get me to the start line. I'm sure there was when I first looked. However, the sun was shining and I felt much fresher after a good night's sleep and a hot meal. I was keen to get out again, this time on my own. After a leisurely breakfast I headed up the nearest hill from the centre of Settle. This turned out to be Warrendale Knotts, a series of limescale knolls above the town. A steep road wound its way to a gate after which it was muddy, rocky trails again. This time they were much drier and I was wearing a new pair of Saucony trail shoes that had an excellent grip. Skylarks, nesting in the long grass, shot into the sky as I passed, calling out with their melodic whistles. I ...

We began to retrace our steps. Climbing up the mud sleeked slope was just as bad as it had been on the way down earlier in the day. People were falling in the waterlogged mud as the rain hammered down and the wind screamed in our ears. This wasn't what I had signed up for. I felt like a real mardy bum and had my face on. It was time for me to get my head down and go into my shell for a while - 'ear all, see all, say nowt, was my motto. As we re-entered the moor I realised there was noone immediately before or behind me. I was at a point where I could go one of two ways and I had no idea which would take me the right way. Wet, cold, tired, hungry and lost. By 'eck this was turning into a right chuffin' 'mare. ----------------------------------- Another weekend, another running trip. This time in God's own country - Yorkshire. GB Ultras organise a 50 mile event in the Yorkshire Dales every year. It's called the Pennine Barrier Ultra. I was unable to commit to ...

I'm surrounded by thick snow. The trail along with the horizon is no longer visible. A white world lays before me, broken only by the stark black pine tree tops and brooding rocky outcrops. Gale force winds hurl handfuls of hard ice pellets into my face. A clap of thunder causes my heart to skip a beat and echoes out around the valleys below. Visibility is minimal. This is the roaring heart of the snow storm and it has come early. Just an hour into a run along the Pennine Trail, I was beginning to accept that simply surviving to run another day would be a success. Bleaklow was certainly living up to its name. My bare legs were covered in ice crystals, my feet, soaked through from the boggy terrain, were numb, as were my fingers as they fumbled with my phone seeking to check for a signal.  Thankfully, I wasn't alone. Matt S was by my side and I knew he had experience in these hills. Had I been on my own I would have been very worried, but I took comfort both in having a companio...