100 kilometres. Torrential rain. A sleepless night. Rising temperatures. And one very long walk through the Yorkshire countryside.
On Saturday 23 July 2022, I arrived in Pateley Bridge, North Yorkshire, ready to tackle the Yorkshire 100km Challenge.
It was my final major endurance event before heading to Nepal that September for my long-awaited Everest Base Camp and Gokyo Lakes trek. After years of waiting for that adventure, I wanted one last big challenge under my belt.
I'd completed plenty of long-distance walks before, but this one would turn out to be something else entirely.
By the time I crossed the finish line the following afternoon, I'd covered 103.56km, taken more than 140,000 steps and spent an extraordinary 32 hours on the course.
And the funny thing is, I never once considered quitting.
Although, looking back, I might have been wise to reconsider a few other things!
The Best-Laid Plans
I'd travelled up to Yorkshire with my friend David, someone I'd spent a lot of time walking with over the previous few years.
We'd shared plenty of miles, plenty of laughs and the occasional questionable decision about what constituted a sensible distance to walk.
David had been dealing with longstanding ankle pain, but he'd decided to give the 100km challenge a go anyway. His thinking was straightforward enough: see how things went, take it steadily and make a decision if the pain became too much.
It wasn't an unreasonable plan. Although, as we would discover, 100km has a habit of exposing even the smallest weakness.
Also taking part was my friend Mike, who would be joining me on my Everest Base Camp adventure just a few weeks later.
At that stage, the Himalayas were very much on my mind. After years of anticipation, Nepal was finally approaching, and Yorkshire felt like one last opportunity to test my endurance before heading into the mountains.
A Beautiful Start in Nidderdale
The challenge began in Pateley Bridge, surrounded by the rolling hills and beautiful countryside of Nidderdale.
There was the usual mixture of excitement and nervous energy at the start. Walkers adjusting backpacks, checking equipment, taking photographs and generally looking far too cheerful for people about to walk 100 kilometres.
The weather was lovely, the scenery was spectacular, and we were in good spirits.
What could possibly go wrong?
The early kilometres took us through green valleys, open countryside and glorious stretches of purple heather.
Yorkshire really was showing off.
And David and I were doing what we usually did: walking, chatting, laughing and occasionally behaving like a couple of schoolboys let loose on a day out.
One photograph shows David standing beside a sign warning motorists about free-range children. Somehow, it seemed entirely appropriate.
But there was a difference from my usual approach to these events.
We were deliberately taking things slowly.
David's ankles were already a concern, and neither of us wanted to push too hard too early. We adjusted our pace, took our time at checkpoints and enjoyed the day.
At 14km, everything still felt comfortable.
At 25km, we'd completed a quarter of the challenge.
Only another 75km to go.
It's amazing how reassuring that sounds when you're still relatively fresh!
Halfway — And a Difficult Decision
As the kilometres accumulated, David's ankle problems became increasingly difficult to manage.
We continued at a slower pace, taking longer breaks and allowing more time at the rest stops.
By the time we reached the halfway point at 50km, we'd been on the course for approximately 13½ hours.
That's a long time to cover half the distance, but we'd made the decision to walk together and adapt to the circumstances.
Unfortunately, David's ankles had reached their limit.
He made the difficult decision to withdraw.
It was disappointing, particularly after all the walking we'd done together, but there's a difference between pushing through ordinary fatigue and risking further injury.
David had given it a proper go.
I remember him speaking to the Head Trek Master after making his decision. It was a significant moment because, until then, we'd been tackling the challenge together.
Now our paths were separating.
For David, the event was over.
For me, though, there was still another 50km to go.
And now I'd be doing it alone.
A Massage, a Long Rest and a Terrible Idea
With David out of the event, I decided to take advantage of the facilities at the halfway checkpoint.
I visited the massage tent, rested my legs and generally took my time before heading back out.
In fact, I probably spent around an hour and a half resting.
At the time, it seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do.
I'd already walked 50km. I had another 50km ahead of me. Why rush?
Well, there was one rather important factor I hadn't accounted for.
The weather.
Because shortly after I headed back out, the heavens opened.
And I don't mean a little Yorkshire drizzle.
I mean proper, relentless, heavy rain.
In the dark.
On increasingly slippery ground.
Suddenly, what had been a long but enjoyable challenge became something altogether different.
Four Hours to Walk 11 Kilometres
The section between 50km and 61km was horrendous.
Heavy rain made the paths slippery and difficult to negotiate. Visibility was limited to whatever my headtorch illuminated, and every step demanded concentration.
I was tired, wet and moving painfully slowly.
Progress became a matter of carefully picking my way forward, trying not to slip and keeping an eye on the route.
It took me four hours to cover just 11 kilometres.
Four hours!
Under normal circumstances, I could have covered that distance comfortably in a fraction of the time.
But these weren't normal circumstances.
And with so many hours already behind me, fatigue was beginning to take its toll.
There's something strange about walking through the night.
Distances feel longer. Time seems to slow down. The world shrinks to the small circle of light immediately in front of you.
And when you're on your own, there's nobody beside you to share a joke or distract you from the discomfort.
Just you, the path and the occasional thought that perhaps there are easier ways to spend a weekend.
Still, I kept walking.
There wasn't really another option in my mind.
Ripon, 7am — Running on Empty
By the time I reached the Ripon rest stop at around 7am on Sunday morning, I was absolutely exhausted.
I'd been awake through the night, battled the rain and struggled over slippery terrain.
Now I was fighting to stay awake.
And, rather unpleasantly, fighting the urge to be sick.
David met me at Ripon with a change of clothes, which was very welcome.
After spending so many hours wet and uncomfortable, getting into something dry made a huge difference.
But my body was clearly unhappy with the situation.
Shortly after leaving, I was a little sick.
Not exactly the sort of thing you hope for when you've still got a substantial distance to cover.
Fortunately, some fizzy drink and a few more energy bars helped settle things down, and gradually I began to feel better.
Was I enjoying myself?
That's probably debatable.
Was I going to stop?
Absolutely not.
The Endless Stone Trail
After leaving Ripon, the route took me along the AD6 Dales Trail, a seemingly endless stretch of stony track through the Yorkshire countryside.
And when I say endless, I mean endless.
The path seemed to stretch for miles, with uneven stones underfoot and very little variation in the terrain.
After walking through the night, battling torrential rain and spending so many hours on my feet, this was exactly the sort of surface I could have done without.
Every step felt like hard work.
There was no conversation to distract me, no David alongside to share a joke, and precious little energy left in the tank.
Just mile after mile of stone.
By this stage, I'd been walking for well over 24 hours, with little opportunity for proper sleep.
The spectacular scenery was still there, but my priorities had become rather simpler.
Keep moving.
Reach the next checkpoint.
Eat something.
Keep moving again.
There were moments when I must have looked utterly miserable.
Fortunately, I have photographic evidence.
Eventually, the trail met Trapping Hill, which would lead me towards the final rest stop at Lofthouse.
By now, I was running on determination, energy bars and whatever reserves my legs could still find.
And after what felt like an eternity, the final checkpoint was getting closer.
Lofthouse — 88km and Almost Home
I eventually reached Lofthouse at approximately 11.30am on Sunday morning.
Around 88km completed.
Just the final stretch to go.
Now, under normal circumstances, 12km wouldn't sound particularly daunting.
A pleasant morning walk, perhaps.
But after everything I'd already been through, those final kilometres were going to require one last serious effort.
I stopped, refuelled and prepared myself for the final push.
The end was finally within reach.
And after walking through the previous night, seeing the finish getting closer was a wonderful feeling.
There was, however, one more surprise waiting.
The Final Push — And the Return of the Heat
After a night of torrential rain, the weather had decided to change its mind again.
The clouds had cleared, daylight had returned, and over the final three or four hours, the temperature had steadily climbed.
I'd spent the night soaked, cold and struggling over slippery paths.
Now I was walking in the July heat.
You really couldn't make it up.
With more than 24 hours already behind me, very little sleep and over 88km in my legs, the rising temperature was the last thing I needed.
But there was no question of stopping.
The final kilometres seemed to take forever.
Every little incline felt steeper, every stretch of path longer, and every kilometre marker became something to celebrate.
At 90km, I knew I was getting close.
At 99km, I could almost taste the finish.
Although, judging by the photographs, I was rather more interested in an ice cream!
And then, finally, after another three hours of walking, I arrived back in Pateley Bridge.
The finish line.
The medal.
The relief.
And the overwhelming satisfaction of knowing I'd completed what I'd set out to do.
32 hours, 3 minutes and 17 seconds after setting off, I'd done it.
32 Hours, 3 Minutes and 17 Seconds
The final statistics told quite a story.
Distance: 103.56km
Total elapsed time: 32 hours, 3 minutes, 17 seconds
Steps: 140,634
Elevation gain: 2,417 metres
Calories recorded: 11,867
Those are some fairly ridiculous numbers for a weekend walk.
But they don't really capture the experience.
They don't show the laughter with David during the early kilometres.
They don't explain why we took our time, or what it felt like when he had to withdraw.
They don't capture the torrential rain, the slippery paths, the exhaustion at Ripon or the endless stone trail that seemed determined never to end.
They don't tell you how much difference a change of clothes, a fizzy drink or a few energy bars can make when you're running on empty.
And they certainly don't explain why anybody would voluntarily put themselves through it.
Although I'm still working on a convincing answer to that last one.
One Last Challenge Before Everest Base Camp
Just a few weeks later, I would be heading to Nepal to begin my Everest Base Camp and Gokyo Lakes adventure.
The Yorkshire Challenge was my final major endurance event before that trip.
Looking back, it was an extraordinary test of patience, stamina and determination.
Not because I walked particularly quickly. Quite the opposite.
The first half was deliberately slow because I was walking with a friend who was struggling with an injury.
The second half was slow because the weather, terrain and exhaustion made it almost impossible to move any faster.
And the final hours brought a completely different challenge as the temperature climbed once again.
But I kept going.
And perhaps that was the most useful lesson I could have taken into the Himalayas.
Not every journey goes to plan.
Sometimes progress is frustratingly slow. Sometimes conditions turn against you. Sometimes the people you start with can't continue alongside you.
You adapt.
You keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And eventually, if circumstances allow, you reach your destination.
Would I do another 100km challenge?
Probably.
Would I do a few things differently?
Absolutely.
Would I quit?
Not a chance.
Happy Hiking!
Thinking about taking on your own long-distance walking challenge? Explore my Challenge Zone for training advice, practical tips and inspiration.
And if you're curious about what happened when I finally reached the Himalayas, discover my Everest Base Camp and Gokyo Lakes adventure.