The Peak District 100: Race Report
The adventure began on a Friday, with a longer-than-expected 7.5-hour drive north. We finally arrived at our Airbnb, where the pre-race ritual of “carb-loading” was perfected with a Chinese takeaway. Sleep was a restless affair, a common ailment for anyone facing such a challenge. Nerves and excitement battled it out until 4:30 a.m., when I gave in, got up, and began to prepare.
The Calm Before the Storm (and Hills)
Registration at 6 a.m. was a hive of nervous energy. A small hiccup—a leaky soft flask—turned into a win. Less weight to carry felt like a minor victory. After the race briefing, the clock struck 7:01 a.m., and we were off. The course was a beautiful, two-loop beast: 50 miles in the White Peaks and another 50 in the Dark Peaks, with Buxton serving as the start, halfway point, and finish line.
My running partner, Tavi, and I had a simple plan: reach the halfway point in daylight. We knew the night section would be a challenge, but we had no idea just how much. We started strong, breezing through the first two checkpoints. At mile 18, we paused just long enough to refuel, determined to bank some time before the real climbing began.
The first loop was a masterclass in hitting our targets. By mile 25, we were on pace to reach the halfway point between 7 and 8 p.m. Checkpoints offered welcome treats like soup and bread rolls, and the simple act of changing socks at mile 40 was a game-changer for my feet. As we closed in on Buxton, Hobie and Zoe greeted us, their cheers a welcome boost.
We hit the 50-mile mark in a remarkable 12.5 hours, feeling great and even started to dream about a lunchtime finish the next day. A forecast for severe rain and wind was our motivation to not waste any time. After a quick jacket potato, a change of clothes, and restocking our gear, we were back out the door at 8:15 p.m., ready for the night section.
The Long, Dark Night of the Soul
The first 10 miles of the second loop went smoothly, with relatively flat trails allowing us to keep a decent pace. But as the clock ticked past 10 p.m., the weather turned cold and damp, and our spirits began to fall. The next checkpoint was a letdown, with a poorly stocked table and an unhelpful volunteer. This was the first hint of the mental challenges to come.
Then the navigation nightmare began. The route turned into a series of difficult-to-find trails over open ground. Our watches showed we were already two miles over the official course distance. We wasted precious time backtracking and scrambling up a steep, slippery slope. The night was a relentless cycle of slow progress, punishing climbs, and morale-draining descents.
By the time we reached Checkpoint 7, a beacon of hope, we were cold, damp, and feeling flat. The volunteers were amazing, and a hot cup of tea and some scrambled eggs worked wonders. Our watches now read over 73 miles, a full two miles more than the route plan. Despite this, the promise of daylight kept us going.
At the top of one particularly brutal climb, the sun began to colour the horizon, a beautiful reward that lifted our spirits. The promise of the next checkpoint, however, was a moving target. What was supposed to be 7.5 miles turned into a demoralising 9.5 miles. It’s mentally tough when the finish line feels like it’s constantly receding. At this point, even a seemingly awful bowl of stew seemed like an adventure. We left with the grim realisation that the last 28 miles had taken us 12 hours.
The Final Push to the Finish
The next section was a challenging but beautiful 14.5 miles, taking us to what should have been the 91-mile mark. This was the point in the day when the rest of the world was getting on with their normal Sunday routines. One group of four guys, probably in their twenties, approached us. One of them asked about our event, and when we told him it was 100 miles, there was a moment of stunned silence. He double-checked, “100 miles?!”, and we confirmed, “Yes, we started at 7 a.m. yesterday and haven’t stopped. We only have about 18 miles to go, so we should be done in about five hours.” In unison, all four of them simply said, “Shit.” It was a moment that made me smile for the next few miles.
My watch read 96.5 miles when we arrived. Then came the final hurdle: a monster of a hill known to locals as “The Matterhorn.” It was a two-mile climb so steep that it takes most runners about 50 minutes to complete.
As we prepared to leave, the rain began to pour. I had a moment of doubt, telling Tavi I was done. But he wouldn’t let me give up.
The Matterhorn was as brutal as advertised, especially the descent, which was agony on my tired quads. But after a couple of ibuprofen and a serious pep talk, something incredible happened. We both found a second wind and started to run. The heavy rain and strong wind barely registered. We just put our heads down and kept moving.
We crossed the finish line with 45 minutes to spare, our watches reading 106.5 miles and our bodies completely broken. This wasn’t my first 100-mile run, but it was my longest and toughest.
Earning that finisher’s buckle was an amazing feeling, a tangible symbol of pushing through the pain and the doubt. And while the words “never again” usually come to mind, this time is different. Why? Because I’ve already signed up for the Lakeland 100 next year!
