Day 1

37.46 miles

10 hours 30 minutes

Bruce’s Cave Campsite, Gretna Green to Robert Mouncey’s Farm, Caldbeck  We started off by heading from camp down to the rail crossing, and then doubled back along the track. This brought us up through a little hamlet, and onto the quiet road through Rigg and on to Gretna. By the time I reached the road the other 4 runners had disappeared far ahead and so, happy to be alone with the views, I switched on my ipod, and settled into an easy run. The weight of the backpack had quickly become unnoticeable, as I adapted to the extra load, but it did slow me down, and that was to continue all week.  Through the back of some houses approaching Gretna, and then it was on the road to England. Via the last/first house in Scotland, which had performed 10,000 marriages since 1830, according to the text splashed across the side of the building. How nice to feel so special and unique on your wedding day…  Then a right turn off from the main road, along to CP1, and onto the Cumbria Coastal Way, which is where my first bad patch of the week started. Not even 10 miles into the race. Meh.  It started off ok. Down a footpath, over a stile, along a river. Then the path took you round the back of the farmhouse, and it appeared that no-one had used the path for centuries. The maize was head high, and there was a narrow gap between that and the field edge which was marked as the path. Wading through the thigh high nettles and thistles hiding in the undergrowth was the first of many similar experiences.  Cumbria Coastal Way - There's a path through there. The map says so. On exiting the field, I saw that there was a perfectly maintained (private) farm track heading around the other side of the house, that would have eliminated the need for the nettle wading. If only it hadn’t been guarded by a ferocious sounding farm dog, of course.  Then things took a turn for the worse, as the wide track became a rutted path to make even the western end of the Ridgeway look smooth, added to which it was all boggy, and I got my feet soaked. Given that my main weakness in ultras is blisters from wet feet, this wasn’t a great start, but my feet pretty much stayed soaked through for the next few days.  Cumbria Coastal Way - Yes, of course that's a path, can't you tell? I then crossed the marshy ground to pick up the path that ran alongside the river, but this path itself was not as simple as it sounded. Crossing one of the cow fields where it diverted momentarily from the river, I spent the worst part of 20 minutes trying to pick my way across the soggy ruts.  The path seemed neverending, and I began to panic that I’d gone the wrong way. Ok, I knew that following a path next to a river should be straightforward, but as I’d been there for so long I worried I’d missed the turning. By this early stage in the week, my navigational skills were still at a basic level, and it hadn’t occurred to me to just check my compass to get an idea of what point along the winding river I was.  Eventually my confidence was restored, no thanks to the few passers by I saw that told me I was going the wrong way. It might have been more effective if they hadn’t lied to me whilst standing under a sign that confirmed I was indeed heading to Carlisle.  I reached a farm track, and was informed by one of the farmers passing on a tractor that they’d given up waiting for me at the checkpoint, and that I had to take a diversion. Given the previous ‘help’ I’d received, I ignored this, and followed the 4 inch deep cow poo covered track to the river path. Which was indeed closed and I had to go back along the slurry stream to get to the other footpath.  Cumbria Way - Cows guarding the stile. Yes, the one I had to climb over. On reaching CP2, my grumpy head was well and truly on, and I may have mentioned to Steve and Rachel how much I hated this. Probably not what they were hoping to hear. But at least the rest of the farmer's words were not true, and they hadn't given up waiting for me.  From this point it was a couple of easy miles to Carlisle, and I was so tempted to get on the train there and come home. I was tired, my feet were wet and sore (and stank of cow poo) and it was only Sunday lunchtime. I didn’t want to do this for another week. If it hadn’t been for the sponsorship money, I probably would have stopped there.  Carlisle itself proved a challenge, as the resolution of the map proved difficult to follow along the numerous tiny paths in the park, so I got my compass bearings and found my way out, past the castle, and towards the station.  I managed to drag myself past the station, and onto the Carlisle Way path next to the river Caldew, which wound through urban parkland to Dalston. At Dalston I managed to miss CP3, and needed water, but luckily Andy rang me and caught up with me a couple of miles later at Bridge End. After that it was just me myself and I until the finish of day 1. I could do it. I would do it.  From CP3 the route became extremely pretty, and I started to really enjoy myself. The frustrations of earlier had faded, the sun was beginning to set, and I was running through lovely farmland, next to a trickling stream past delightful places such as Rose Castle.  After Sebergham, the route climbed up through woods, and after a while I heard voices – it was 3 of the crew come to run the last mile with me. I usually hate running with people, but this was a lovely end to the day, and as the track started to descend, we flew down.  Along the road to Robert Mouncey’s farm, and I reached the marquee just as the sun was setting.  Day 1. Over.