Before
The Steel City 60 wasn’t supposed to be my first 60-mile race. I was close to pulling the trigger on the Beacons Way 100k in 2023 but decided that I hadn’t really got my fitness up to snuff to put in a good effort. Then I saw the marketing of Damian Hall and Co’s charity Into Ultra and noticed that the Steel City 60 had partnered with them. A quick look into the race and I decided that this would make a great alternative. Running roughly around the boundary of Sheffield, taking in the Sheffield Country Walk and then some, it would serve as a nice walk through of my life.
Toeing up the start line I didn’t have the characteristic nerves that usually carry themselves along with me well into the first hour. Instead, I felt confident. It wasn’t ‘I hope I finish’, it was ‘how long do I think this is going to take me?’. To be completely honest, it was weird. All I wanted was to be injury free at the finish line.
Start to Aid Station 1 (Catcliffe)
The Race Director Lee pressed the air horn to commence the start, humorously a police siren, and we were off. The route starts by immediately dropping down a small set of stairs and veering right before another sharp right to join the Blackburn Valley Trail. I let the runners around me pass and focussed on running well within what felt easy. It is amazing what a perceived easy pace can feel like an hour in, let alone ten. The trail undulates through woodland and is easy to follow. It was along this that a small coalition formed. I remember there being Elliot, Joe, and Neil, as well as a couple of other runners I can’t recall. I settled into this group, happy for the company and conversation. Neil explained some of the ins and outs of the route, having completed it the previous year after rescuing Dave from a car park early on. We rotated around, mixing up who was with who, introducing ourselves, where we came from, what we did, and most importantly what brought us all together today. It set the scene for a lovely day.
The route now diverges from the trail over a railway bridge to pick up another path that runs perpendicular but is loose dirt underfoot and not concrete. It winds and turns besides a brook beneath a dense canopy of birch and oak and alder before spitting you out into the urban jungle of Meadowhall. This is thankfully short lived due to the canal path, where you slowly rise towards the golf course before dropping below the A57 and rolling into the first aid station in Catcliffe. It is worth mentioning that in this first 11 miles or so, Dad had appeared around three times with words of encouragement for us all, and as expected he was waiting for us at the crest of the hill to Catcliffe Memorial Hall, camera in hand.
I wanted to be efficient at aid stations. Standing around too long not only wastes time but also stops the legs moving. The longer you’re stopped, the harder it becomes to get going again. I entered the doors and was met with a table right up against the door frame to a large hall. This meant that only one person at a time could get their bottles refilled and grab food from the table. My nutrition plan was simple but largely untested. One High5 gel every five kilometres, a banana every stage, jelly babies to season, and whatever took my fancy at the aid stations with a hot meal of pasta halfway. This was all washed down with water, up to a litre per stage with a couple cupful’s whilst waiting for flasks to be refilled. Many other runners were making the most of the tailwind on offer, but having not trained on it and the disaster that was the Ambleside 50k, I steered well clear.
Aid Station 1 (Catcliffe) to Aid Station 2 (Eckington)
I left the aid station solo, leaving a quick birthday message for my niece. Being solo wasn’t for long though. I had enjoyed the general chitchat so looked back to see Joe leaving the front door, and I slowed to allow him to catch up. The thought of running solo didn’t appeal to either of us so here began our fellowship. I was born in Treeton and spent the first few years of life playing in the surrounding woodland and fields. As we ran, I gave a little tour (whether Joe wanted to hear it or not) pointing out places and explaining where the route would take us for the next section. Dad showed up again on Well Lane cheering us on. We dropped down into Treeton Dyke, seeing two women who had taken a slightly wrong and longer route which all the same joined up to the raised concrete walkway across the bog. We maintained a steady distance from them for a while, running beneath the half-formed archway of hawthorn and willow around the southeastern edge of the lake, its waters an un-natural blue green. As we popped out onto the next small road section, there Dad was again, for the last time until the final 5k asking for an estimated finished time. I had absolutely no idea, I would finish when I finished. We caught up with the two women, Helen and I believe Alison (perhaps Caroline? I apologise if you’re reading this brain fog is real) and bumped back into Neil before he ran off, quickly followed by the pair.
The washlands are a pleasant place to run, flat and solid underfoot with a barrier of hawthorn and other shrubs to hide industry, and sprawling grasslands, scrub, and floodplain marsh. It is also one of the first places I started practicing slacklining, setting up between a pylon and a ratty hawthorn. It wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing place, but it was close to home and I was trying to find different places away from people to practice.
Being close to my childhood home it was no surprise to look up to the A57 overpass and see my Mum and stepdad waving down at me. We spiralled up onto the bridge and they ran with us for a couple hundred metres before separating, us towards Rother Valley Country Park, them into Greggs. Lucky. We caught back up to Helen and Co again after they took a right instead of a left, and we all joined up for a stint that lasted all the way to the next aid station. We passed the first Steel City 60 walkers in Rother Valley, a few hundred metres before the site of Playdale (RIP), and a few more through the nature reserve. This brought us nicely into the second aid station in Eckington.
This one was laid out much better. A large church hall with long tables set back to allow for the running hordes to descend on the delectables on offer. These included bananas, titan and racer bars, sandwiches, grapes, orange slices, custard creams, Jaffa cakes, and more. Tasty. I had my water refilled, downing some whilst I waited, and grabbed a banana for this section. I also had a titan bar because why not?
Aid Station 2 (Eckington) to Aid Station 3 (Totley)
Joe and I left the aid station together. We tentatively made our way down a long set of brick steps, wet with the previous night’s rain. We had been warned about a particularly slippery set of stairs just before the race began, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember where they were. I assumed it must be these. We traced The Moss through dense woodland canopies. Everything was going swimmingly. Then I made the only mistake of the run. The official course diverts slightly left out of the tree line and across a field. Unfortunately for me, and by extension Joe, I wasn’t paying attention to the map and went straight. I quickly realised my error and made a U-turn to now take a right. The path had been blocked by a fallen tree and overgrown scrub, no wonder I didn’t clock it. Looking back at the track on Strava this appendix-like nubbin mocks me (about 33.2km in for the voyeurs who want a peek). Due to this Helen and Co caught up to us and our merry band of runners was a whole once more. A dog walker cheered us on as we cross The Moss on a solid plank V-shaped bridge. My navigational prowess came in handy once again as I steered us the correct side of a pond, like a CBeebies Ernest Shackleton. We managed to slightly catch another pair of runners in Whinacre Wood who had taken the wrong path to the right instead of the left most. This made route choice much easier as I had been contemplating exactly which way to go on the map. This is a semi-steep decent with some deep and slippery mud patches. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted this section for the upcoming Dronfield Relays. A long, gentle climb through agricultural fields brought us into Coal Aston on Wilson Road, where my sister Esmé had parked to give some words of encouragement. She had arrived too late at Eckington, narrowly missing us leave so had to jump on ahead to catch up. It was a short time till we rounded the corner to descend the drive of Totley All Saints Church Hall.
Entering it was action stations. This was the one stop where I would allow myself a little extra time. This was also the first time since the start Fiona made an appearance which was a big boost. I felt good. I refilled my bottles, had a drink, and requested a plate of pasta from a volunteer. I didn’t even clock that there was pizza on offer, which would’ve been a nice throwback to the Minster Way. I then cleaned out my pockets of all rubbish and got to changing my shoes and socks, a luxury I thought I might as well take advantage of for the mental boost. I also had a bit of a clean with a couple of wet wipes whilst I ate. I also grabbed my headphones in case I wanted to break any monotony with music. To quote Captain Raymond Holt, music is a crutch. I looked over to Joe and he was ready to roll. First half (and a bit) down.
Aid Station 3 (Totley) to Aid Station 4 (Moscar Top)
There wasn’t much running to be had in the first couple kilometres of this section, and neither of us really seemed to mind. A steep climb through Blacka Moor brought us onto the tilting flat that dropped down past Fox House and on to Burbage. The masses were out in the valley, with hikers, runners, cyclists, and climbers all enjoying the clear weather. It was up here as we power walked that the first 30-mile runners overtook us. They flew by with a nod and tore off up the hill. Crossing the ‘bridge’ at the top of Burbage I told Joe a story of a DPFR club run that came in the opposite direction from Stanage Edge, our next goal.
Our group were happily running, following the leader and chatting before the path slowly started to become more and more overgrown before fully disappearing. Being a fell running session, this wasn’t too concerning but it wasn’t ideal given we were meant to be following the path today. We had however managed to end up in a bog. What followed was a few hundred metres of trudging towards ambulance lights that marked the Burbage car park and our salvation.
Stanage Edge is one of my favourite places to run. Hopping from rock to rock over puddles on a gentle descent is just so much fun. We managed to get some good running in here dodging the weekend crowds. It was around High Neb the first female 30-mile runner passed us and she was gliding, quickly disappearing from sight to be followed soon after by a couple more runners. A tactical wee break was had by the both of us before heading past Moscar Lodge to the fourth aid station where Fi was waiting for our arrival.
This was the only one not in a building but within a tent entirely manned by what I assume was a family, the Dad looking out for runners, the Mum in the tent helping us weary runners, and the daughter sitting guard in a deck chair. We were offered refills and snacks, both of which were taken advantage of, though I do regret not swiping a piece of the homemade cake!
Aid Station 4 (Moscar Top) to Aid Station 5 (Worral)
Leaving this aid station was a big mental boost. We only had two sections left and all the trails were known to me. It wasn’t too bad at all. We ran through farmland and apologised to a few sheep startled by our sudden explosion over a stile. A large group of 30-mile runners caught us as we dropped down past Boot’s Folly that sits above Strines Reservoir. I was worried the ground here would be tricky. I had walked this section recently on a two-day bivy trip and the mud was wet and deep. There had been a heavy rain the night before the race but surprisingly it was easily passable ground. Some members of the public cheered us on as we pattered on through Low Bradfield to begin the long climb up through High Bradfield and beyond. A 60-mile runner passed us on this climb using poles and as much as we wanted to keep up, it was a waste of time.
Our next challenge was a series of A-frames over dry stone walls. I was careful in my movements on these. Moving my legs in one way, rhythmically forward, I was unsure how they might react to sudden changes. Thankfully, we negotiated these with ease and took a brief wee stop to enjoy the view. After Holdworth there is a small patch of woodland, and in here I was passed by Steve from Steel City Striders. I had, rather foolishly, done a sprint session with him a week prior and pulled the left hamstring because I do not usually sprint.
The exposure of our position on the crest of a ridge made me oddly thoughtful here. I ran on not really thinking about what we had left to do, just enjoying the far views and the light breeze that combated the humid air. We had been battered by a cold wind over Stanage so this was a relief. I lost a foot briefly in wet farmer’s field and squelched into Worrall. Coming across the playing field I heard my name, it was Diesel, and then once I made it inside the aid station Ryan came bounding in having nearly missing me entirely. We chatted briefly about how I was doing and the following night’s camping plans as I repeated my ritual of refilling and refuelling. It was good to see them and aided in bolstering my spirit to record highs. We were so close to being done!
Aid Station 5 (Worral) to Finish
It’s the last push. We have done five of these so what is one more? Worrall is very close to home in Hillsborough, and I have run about half of this final section. I did do a recce run but used the previous year’s gpx file which took more roads. This year had been switched to trails, for the better. We dropped down to Middlewood where Fi was waiting for us on the bridge. I grabbed a charger for my watch as I foolishly thought the battery lasted longer with the full GPS and maps in action (just a reason to have to run faster next time!). We climbed up a long flight of steps and over a stile into the expanse of farmer’s fields. We climbed and climbed through grazing fields and carefully negotiated around two horses who stood steadfast at a stile.
I was met by Fiona’s Uncle Mark about 13km from the finish line. As we approached the crossing at Oughtibridge Lane along Birley Edge I spotted him chatting to a family waiting for the Mum to come through. I think he expected me to be going a little bit faster as he essentially walked beside my run. He had walked the route in reverse to meet me so the navigation was easy as he told me about the different routes you can do around the area. It is a beautiful place, and I was amazed at how little I had explored the whole Wharncliffe, Beeley, Wheata, Grenoside woodland areas. It was somewhere within the upper sections of Wharncliffe that I split from Joe. We had been discussing that a sub-14-hour was on the cards, but I needed to get a leg on and pulled away. I had also got a large group on runners in my sights who had coagulated into a walking pack. Like a wolf with its prey in its sights I began to grind up the hill and close the gap, each step bringing me closer and surely enough I passed five runners. I am getting better at keeping the start of events chiller to allow myself a push at the end, and this was no more evident than in the final 5km. Having Mark run beside me as I made my slow, shuffling way forward reignited a fire within. Walking up the hill into Wortley Dad recorded my emergence from the alley which seemed to bring forth new energy reserves I hadn’t yet been able to tap into, a metaphorical renewal. My left leg no longer felt awkward, I began to run, not caring about the possibility of my legs cramping but whole heartedly knowing that they wouldn’t. It felt like 4:30/km but was around 6:30/km as I pounded the gravelly track. I could see another runner in the distance and instantly recognised him as the guy who passed us on the Bradfield climb. My goal now was one last overtake. I could see he was in a rhythm of run walk run walk and the gap was gradually closing. Within about 2km I passed him and continued into the woods. The paths in here were thick with dark wet mud which slowed me to a sliding power walk as I focused on staying on my feet. Small saplings reached across the path, and I had to duck and weave to avoid hitting my face. The last real obstacle was a staircase of around 20 steps which led to crossing three lanes of the A61 on a pretty blind bend. I couldn’t see nor hear anything and dashed across, whipping my head side-to-side. I had put bone conducting headphones on at halfway but hadn’t used them until this final 5km. The adrenaline boost from music blasting made me run faster and faster. As my watch said 500m to go, Extermination by Upon a Burning Body began to play. It is a song that never fails to get me hyped up with the harsh intro of save your pity for the weak. I ran faster and faster, making the final few turns and powering up the stairs I had started down to finish in 13:37:30.
After
Finishing was such a relief. Though in that last 5k there was no doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t finish I don’t think there was a point during the day that thought came into my mind. I ran well within my limits which allowed for the final push but had the distinct knowledge I could’ve kept going. Better feeling good at the end than injured!
Stats
Elapsed time: 13:37:30
Distance: ~ 60 miles
Elevation: 1862m
Average Pace: 8:25/km
Average Speed: 7.13kmph
Calories: 8,804
Average HR: 147bpm