It’s okay to DNF a race; I just did, and I feel better for it

It was on the Pennine Way, just before Kinder Scout, climbing a gruelling hill after 30 km of running, that I realised: I wouldn’t be able to make the second day of the two-day, 75 km trail event I was in the middle of.

My lower legs were aching, I was parched, and I had almost no snacks left, with around 15k of the day still ahead of me. The Peak District’s immense beauty did little to distract me from how miserable I felt. I was defeated, sad, and disappointed – I’d never quit a race before.

What made it worse was that it wasn’t even a proper race. Peak Divide, or the Great Shuffle between Manchester and Sheffield, is more like a friendly gathering of like-minded people, best enjoyed slowly. It feels like a community event, put on by people who love the Great Outdoors, the Peaks, and just being active.

This was the first year the event was co-hosted by Altra, which made a lot of sense. Known for its zero-drop hiking and trail running shoes with a wide toe box, Peak Divide is the perfect playground for the brand’s footwear. It’s a match made in heaven between event and sponsor.

The idea for Peak Divide came about when one of the organisers, Luke Douglas, asked Stef Amato and Tom Reynolds (the other two organisers) if it was possible to run from Sheffield to Manchester. The seed was planted, and after some research (and a lot of trail running), Peak Divide was born.

From boom to gloom

So if Peak Divide is all sunshine and lollipops, why couldn’t I finish it, an event with a 97% completion rate?

The short answer: everything that could go wrong, did.

The long answer: same, but with more words. Well, sort of.

First and foremost, I didn’t do nearly enough training. I looked at the cut-off times and pace and thought, I can match that easily. Arrogant? Very. I forgot everything I learned from previous ultras, including the Mongol 100. 76k is a long distance, no matter how “chill” the pace.

Speaking of pace, I went out way too fast. Half the first day follows a canal out of Manchester: tarmac, flat, and deceptive. It felt easy, like running a half-marathon on roads. I completely forgot the second half would be off-road, with hills, rocks, and roots everywhere.

I should have researched the course properly, but I didn’t. Always do your research, people, even if it’s “just a shuffle.” If I had, I would’ve paced myself better and saved energy for the big climbs ahead.

Fuelling was another mistake. Peak Divide is famous for its food, and I thought there would be food everywhere. Wrong. The first and only feed station was at 25k, and by then, I should’ve eaten loads.

Apart from a couple of random gels, a flapjack, and some chocolate raisins, I packed almost nothing, and by the time I reached Gnocchi Gap, I was running on fumes.

Gear? Same story. I packed my trusty Leki Ultratrail FX.One poles, only to find I couldn’t use them. The terrain was either tarmac or so rocky and compacted that planting poles was almost impossible.

And recovery? Well, I thought I booked physio in Edale, where we camped overnight, but I wasn’t on the list. I brought cream for my legs but forgot to use it. I meant to pack my massage stick, but didn’t. All these small mistakes snowballed.

All’s well that ends well

The next morning, I woke up broken. Not injured, just drained, mentally and physically. I knew if I forced myself to continue, I’d risk real injury, which would ruin the rest of my hiking and running season.

I was devastated when I quit. Sulking, I made my way home from Edale to the South West. It felt strange knowing I wouldn't “claim” Peak Divide for myself. After all, no one gives you a medal for running half an ultra. (I did get a stamp in my Peak Divide passport at Edale, though.)

But the more I thought about it, the more I realised I made the right call. Sure, I didn’t get the satisfaction of crossing the finish line. But what good would it have done limping around injured with a battered ego?

I might have left Peak Divide early – and it was my own fault (see above) – but I learned more from this DNF than from some of the races I’ve finished.

Most importantly, I feel mentally stronger now. I learned I have the strength to quit when quitting is the smart, tough choice. I salute all the shufflers who made it to Sheffield, and I hope, in a small way, they don’t mind me calling myself a Peak Divider, too.

I’ll be back next year – stronger, smarter, and better prepared. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even sign up for the Peak Divide ONEr… running the whole thing in one go from Sheffield to Manchester. Full send!