As I thought, the route was nearer 12km. That’s the only thing I was right about:

It won’t be any more difficult than the Karrimor Great Trails Challenge. Wrong . I’ve just run two half marathons – how bad can it be? Very bad. I’m going to have to carry all that mandatory gear in my backpack. Wrong, I’ll be wearing it. The weather forecast says it’ll rain for the duration. Wrong (not my wrong but the Met Office’s) it only rained while I was on the boat – that I noticed. My knee will be alright. Very wrong.

This race marked the end of the Lakeland Trails 2013 Series (there were actually four races over the same course and mine was the penultimate) and started with a half hour steamboat ride from the finish to the start. The kit list (cagoule, over trousers or tights, hat and gloves) was mandatory because half an hour in running kit on an open boat in the Lake District in November would have overloaded mountain rescue and the local hospitals with hypothermia cases and corpses. One fool in shorts and a vest was turned away.

The steamboat was a little late which meant that the cafe on the pier was packed with runners keeping warm – the weather had just turned cold after a reasonably mild spell and, as if to underline this, some of the higher fells were capped with white. It all looked very pretty, especially with the contrapuntal blue skies and thunder clouds. Even though I live and work at the edge of the Lakes, I rarely get to see the beautiful views, so this was a real treat particularly as the tops (and bottoms) weren’t in cloud.

We were entertained on the boat ride by some geezer with a guitar who sang stuff like ‘I am sailing’ while we cheered runners in the previous race occasionally visible through the trees and were informed that Patterdale Mountain Rescue were en route to attend a suspected broken ankle.

As we changed course, the sun went behind clouds and the rain came down accompanied by cold wind. At that point my full body covering started to seem insufficient and I wasn’t the only one shaking with shivers. Soon, though, we docked and were tipped off the boat to make our way to the start. Without great ceremony we were walked up the road fifty metres and sent on our way. From here it all started to go horribly wrong.

I like to warm up gently for a kilometer or so – it takes that long to beat my achilles tendons into submission. The first 500m was on road up a moderate hill that became footpath on a less moderate hill. As we progressed the path deteriorated and became rockier and steeper. By 1 km I was pooped and walking. I’d passed a parked mountain rescue vehicle earlier and now someone passed me in the opposite direction who I assumed to be a MRT member (he had a radio clipped to his backpack). After about 2 km I’d warmed up enough to take off my gloves and cagoule. I was worryingly close to the back of the field but eventually we reached some downhill and I was able to make up some places, overtaking runners who were picking their way more cautiously along the rock strewn path.

It was now becoming clear that my knee wasn’t as well recovered as I’d thought, but it wasn’t bad enough to stop me running. I had no intention of DNFing this race – my philosophy was WFW (will finish whatever). All I had to do was keep going. Walk up the hills if necessary.

Very soon the hills became rocky scrambles and the downhills the same or very steep gravel paths. Running downhill was, for the most part, no longer an option, not helped by my knee which was perfectly mobile but reluctant to lock. Just keep going. Somewhere around here another MRT woman with a front slung nitrox cylinder jogged past me in the opposite direction. I asked her if they’d sorted the guy with the ankle injury and she said she had and was now on her way to treat a woman somewhere behind me.

After about five kilometers I got into a tussle with a couple of other runners, swapping places as we each reached terrain that suited our strengths. This lasted quite a while with the lead swapping a few times until my knee finally called it a day and I had to back off. I kept telling myself “I’m here to run” and every time I had the opportunity I did just that, pushing through the pain until I hit another scramble.

As I reached the bottom of what was the last real climb I spotted the photographer and managed what I like to think was a smile and a wave (it doesn’t look like he caught the moment). I was actually running at the time which was a bonus.

The climb was a steep walk. Every now and again I’d manage to run three or four steps, mostly to try to keep my knee working. The top was a bog then a rocky stream bed. A runner wearing a bib number streaked passed the other way, on his way, it turned out, to inform the marshal at the beginning of the hill of another casualty. I trundled on and as I reached the bottom of this particular bit there was a guy with a bloodied face who had slipped and tumbled face first. He was being looked after so I kept going. I was worried that if I stopped I’d become another casualty. Another kilometer saw another MRT woman in running kit with a pack and a sheepdog running to help him.

I could hear the announcer at the finish line now. I could even see the inflatable gate, but I knew it was at least two or three kilometers still to go as I had to run a big loop down the hill then back into the village. I’d been suffering with cramps in both legs for the last two or three km and the spasms were making my knee problem worse, but I knew I had to keep going or the cramps would take over. As I limped down the hill – too steep for my knee to run – backmarkers started to pass me. I knew the last part was a level run in and I was determined to do just that. Although I had to stop doubled over with leg cramps two or three times and stagger out of the way of an oncoming mountain rescue Landrover, blue lights and headlights flashing, I managed just that – a running finish through the park and across the finish.

I picked up my bag containing a Cartmel sticky toffee pudding, a weird little Asics vaseline pot and something that may or may not be a medal or a keyring. The shirt I’d picked up before the run, so I needn’t have bothered with the agony. No free hot drinks or sports drinks were to be had but I got a cup of water and found a seat to collapse into.

I wish it ended there, but no. It took me about half an hour to cover the quarter mile to the car. My knee injury had emerged from its adrenaline suppressed state and was biting back big time. Plenty of people kindly asked if I was okay, one of them advised me to walk back to the first aid tent (nice idea, but the car was closer). What I really wanted was a carry. I knew I’d be okay to drive as the problem was locking my knee to walk. All I wanted was to get some dry clothes on, get home eat and have a bath. Which is what I did.

A night of rest didn’t improve things and I had to ask Jane to drop me off at A & E in the morning. Surprisingly, for a nation that saves up its weekend injuries to scam a morning off work on Mondays, the hospital was very quiet and I was in and out in an hour. The doctor, who uncharacteristically seemed to know what he was doing, twisted, pushed and pulled my leg and poked his thumbs in all the soft bits of my knee, quickly concluding that my cruciate ligament and iliotibial band were okay but I seemed to have some damage to my lateral meniscus that didn’t really concern him. In other words I had damaged the cartilage in my knee. His lack of concern suggests that it is bruised rather than torn. Can I run? No. Can I row? No. How long for? Until it’s better. Rest and plenty of fluids then. Doesn’t look like I’ll be running for the rest of the year. That’ll be 2 DNSs to my name.

Was it a good run? Uh..yes? Will I do it again? Hell aye. As a mate pointed out, it’ll be an easy PB next year. Something strange has happened to me. I enjoyed pushing myself through all of that. I didn’t once think, “What the fuck am I doing here?”. It’s a difficult thing to explain and to reconcile given that I’ve spent my life hating running. But, looking at the title of the blog, I’ve achieved my aims. I ran two half marathons within a month and I am now enjoying running.

Support your local mountain rescue: Three Runners Rescued within Three Hours