Day 1
After a freezing night at the first campsite and limited sleep, the start of the race arrived. 
It was cold and misty but was lifting to hint at sunshine and clear blue skies. This race was already so very different to the only other 6 day multi-stage I had competed in, the MdS with its 1300 competitors and hundreds of support crew felt like a bit of a circus. We were now 65 starters (although there were 3 no-shows) as many had deferred to the following year, which made it feel friendlier from the outset. In the weeks leading up to the race, organiser Dave had been besieged with all manner of queries and had answered us all via email and the facebook group – this certainly made it feel more personal when we finally all came together in person.
Every day started with a traditional Icelandic drum being beaten. Two bangs on the drum (while we stand with arms raised above our heads) and a clap. This is repeated getting gradually faster, until there is much cheering and clapping and it is time for the count-down to the start.
The first day was a reasonably short course of 35km with one big hill and some technical sections. Because of my balance problems (viral meningitis killed off the balance mechanism on one side may years ago), I had decided to use my poles from the outset and given that I nearly fell 7 times in the first few km it seemed a wise decision. I had a bit of a dark moment towards the top of the first climb – not sure why, but I went light headed and dizzy and actually had to stop and sit on a rock to get a gel down. It worked and I was soon attacking the rocky technical section with enthusiasm. With poles to assist my balance, I looked a bit like a demented spider but managed to pick up some speed and was soon going parallel to a steaming lava flow as we ran across the large lava field which stretched out from Herðubreið (known as the Queen) sitting proudly a few km distance away. The Queen is a tuya , a type of distinctive, flat-topped, steep-sided volcano.
Unlike most of our routes, Day 1 featured a vaguely out and back route (more lollipop shaped) and the final checkpoint for the day took us back to checkpoint 1 and only 6 km from the camp. Time and distance always morphs curiously with the final section of any race – whether on land or water – and this was no exception. Those final few km stretched on interminably until after what felt like another 10km, the tents came into view and Day 1 was over.
Day 2
It was a cooler misty start today for our first marathon distance, which would see us skirt round volcanoes and climbing through lava flows. I realised within the first few hundred metres I didn’t need all the layers I had added so after a quick change of attire we each found our own pace and set out. The course is extremely well marked – although at times the shorter of us couldn’t see the next flag if there was a tiny hill in the way, but to my relief there was no requirement to be able to map-read. Had there been, I may still be wandering aimlessly in the lava fields. Even so, you still had to pay attention – before checkpoint 1, I was trotting along quite happily following a dirt road and watching as everyone else veered left and over towards the checkpoint. As I watched the runners in front head in, I eventually realised I was still heading in a different direction and had to cut back over to the CLEARLY MARKED route.
It was a solid day although the mist stopped us from seeing the top of the some of the impressive volcanoes, the lava fields were extraordinary … and interminable. Again, we had the strange situation of the final kilometres doubling in length but apart from bashing my toes hard on the lava it was a solid and successful day. The predicted rain arrived as I was in the final lava-field 
and just as I found a large pair of men’s over-trousers which had been dropped. Draping them round my shoulders, I found I didn’t need to stop to get my own jacket out, so arrived in camp wearing a curious trouser-cape, but feeling very pleased with myself.
We were camped by a small freezing stream, in which some of the more hardy of us dangled their feet and even went for a swim. NB – in case it needs clarifying, this did not include me.
Dave called us all together for a briefing for the next day – it had originally been planned as a 70km day, but thanks to a route variation to allow us to visit the largest waterfall in Europe on the Thursday, the distances had been amended to 63km on the Wednesday and increased to 49 on Thursday. Then he dropped the bombshell. Traditionally, the fastest runners set off later on the long-day and Dave had split us all in half – the first would leave at 8.30 and the faster runners at 9.30. To my utter horror I just made the split to go with the fast group, as had Sarah and Lisa in our tent. Amid much disbelieving laughter from us about having made the ‘Elite Group’ I appealed to Dave to let me join the early group, but I was stuck with the later start.
Day 3 – Aka Hypothermia Day/Davina Day
The long-day, writ large in my memory. Many people have asked me whether Fire and Ice was as hard as the MdS or the DW (125 mile non stop kayak race with 77 portages). When I did the MdS I found the first day tough and although as a whole it was hard, no one day was as tough as I found the final stages of the DW. This day however, saw me dig deeper than ever before, say good-bye to common sense and come the closest ever to being pulled from a race. So was it harder than MdS? Suffice to say, I was never close to being pulled from that event.
As I explained above, I had somehow made it into the fast start, which meant I was almost immediately right at the back of the entire field. The weather was shocking, wet, windy and freezing cold, so it was on with the water-proofs and off we went. I knew something wasn’t quite right with my legs from the outset as although I could plod along there was absolutely no speed there. We had two river crossings to do today and I had planned all along to take my shoes and socks off, so despite the freezing weather and the freezing water, I stuck with the plan, took them off and launched into the icy cold. This was my first big mistake.
On the other side of the river, I was so annoyed at being right at the back of the field, I stomped up the next hill still wearing sandals, to find a big rock to sit on to put my shoes and socks back on. Except that my hands and gloves were soaking from the river and I couldn’t work my fingers; after more than 10 minutes I had managed to get on my toe socks and my over socks, but couldn’t work my fingers to tie my laces. I was getting more anxious about getting so far behind everyone else in the race, so I set off with my shoes undone for just over a kilometre, before I managed to stop & tie my laces. I couldn’t get them tight enough and they continued to come undone – this continued until I finally reached a checkpoint where someone could help me. Shortly before this however, catastrophe struck. I looked down and the bottom of one of my wonderful carbon walking poles was dangling pathetically – it was broken at the joint. This was devastating as without it I wasn’t convinced I could carry on. One of the crew who were driving up and down the road stopped and tried to help, eventually exchanging the poles for some heavier ones. This might have mattered had I been at the sharp end of the race, but I am forever grateful as it allowed me to continue. I caught up with Lisa at checkpoint 1 and although my hands had set into giant un-moving bear claws I was otherwise ok, while she was shaking with the cold (I at least carry around my own sub-cutaneous layers of warmth); she pushed on as I was pratting about with shoe-laces and poles.
Some of this day remains vague, but I found the next stretch some of the most personally challenging I have ever experienced. The crew van pulled up to check on me and suggested I add another layer, I remember saying I wold love to put on more clothes, but since I couldn’t move my hands I didn’t think that would be likely. I was pulled into the van, helped to put on another layer and then had two men hold and rub my hands for quite some time until a little bit of feeling started to come back. I was most worried about whether this would disqualify me from the race and although I was told they weren’t happy about my continuing because of the state of my hands, I was still most insistent that I was going to finish. Eventually the hand-holding was over and I was back onto the road. I had passed a handful of people now from the earlier start, but my exceptionally slow pace and extended stops at the first checkpoint and in the van meant I was getting further and further back. Each step took immense willpower to keep going and for a while I composed lengthy blog-posts in my head to keep my mind occupied. I couldn’t take any photos and struggled to even get food out to eat because of my hands and I was too afraid to stop to go to the loo. I wasn’t convinced I could pull my tights down and was genuinely afraid that I would topple over, to be found some time later bare-arsed and in a foetal position on the ground. As I focused every ounce of concentration on moving forward, I had to admit to myself (and my imaginary blog audience I seemed to be talking to) that if anyone asked me at that point’Why?’ I had no answer. I also had my Steve Redgrave moment about now, ‘If anyone sees me with an entry form to another ultra, they have permission to shoot me’. My ability to form cogent thoughts started to disappear and I resorted to counting steps. I counted batches of 50 up to 300 with quick steps, followed by an easier 200 paces. Tiredness was overwhelming and I had to fight to keep my eyes open at times, even resorting to resting my chin on the straw of my drinks bottle. I can totally understand why mountaineers make the illogical decision to lie down in the snow, when their rational part of the brain knows this will end their lives. I am not suggesting I was that bad, but there was a climb, when the sleet turned to thick wet snow, the wind cut through me and I was trying to trudge up what seemed to be a gravel covered mountain and I found myself seriously contemplating stopping to get out my bivvy bag so I could have a lie down and rest. There on the side of a totally exposed mountain in the sleet and snow – fortunately some rational bit of my brain which was still functioning made me push on. Because I had been moving so slowly I was struggling to generate enough heat and was just going slower and slower.
I don’t recall much more until I came to the final check-point at 49 km (I think). The wonderful Hayley was there and as I thrust two bottles at her with the instructions “hot water in that one and hot water with a recovery shake in that one” I was again put into a van to warm up. There was some more discussion about whether I should keep going, but I was not going to stop at this stage. The hot drink helped and I held the other bottle against my chest until my hands and I warmed up. I added a final layer of clothing, & was finally able to go to the loo knowing help was at hand if I toppled over and off I set. The warmed bottles and knowledge I was on the final stretch did something and I found a level of energy I hadn’t had all day. Because I was so late in arriving at the last check-point I had to go a different route – the same distance, but on easier terrain (a 1 hour time penalty was added to make up for this). I was totally going for it at this stage, and managed to completely miss the turn, striding very happily along the road until Dave and Joruun discovered me a km past the turn and took me back to where I went wrong.
I found Isabelle at this point who was still pushing on, but we were both aware that there had been a huge number of drop-outs this day. I won’t knock anyone who was pulled out or who chose to drop out as I know it was the sensible decision and would have been the right thing for me to do. Common sense didn’t seem to be functioning for me that day and although I questioned myself at many points about whether I could continue, I did. At some point in a future race I may need to make a different decision and I need to know that it is ok to do that. For those who did realise they couldn’t go on, I think it was the toughest choice to make.
I left Isabelle as I was able for the first time that day, to speed up a bit and I wanted to maintain some of the warmth I had dredged from the bottles of hot water. A little further on and I saw Ron. He had just crossed a small stream and he was standing looking in every direction for the flags. I called out and pointed to the route and he explained he was having trouble seeing. I didn’t think too much about it and we pushed on. After a while, when he was following close behind, he apologised and explained he was relying on me because he had no vision on one eye and the other had just gone too, since leaving the last check-point. I slowed a little and together we covered the final few km, with me leading the way. Memories came back of covering a climb with sheer drops on the MdS behind ‘Blind Dave’ who had his guides, one of whom described the course in detail to him, but Ron assured me he was ok to see where to put his feet, he just couldn’t see where to go. Unlike previous days, the last few km flew by and before long we saw the photographers and knew the camp must be imminent. 
Like a gentleman Ron let me cross the line first, while he did his traditional cart-wheel, despite not being to able to see! Volcanic dust had damaged Ron’s eyes and he was pulled for two days, but became the most amazing supporter and crew member out on the course.
Crossing that line that night meant so much to me, I knew I had plumbed the depths to make it to the end and I was on an absolute high when I reached the tent. We swapped war stories, and found out that so many people hadn’t been able to finish that day. Unlike the MdS where you are shipped out if you don’t make it, some had to call it a day, others took a day or so to rest, while others joined back in the following day.
I struggled to eat that night. 
Almost 13 hours in the freezing cold, sleet, wind and rain and all I could get down was a single mouthful of re-hydrated food. This would have a big impact the following day, but all I wanted to do was sleep. That is until the shout went up ‘Northern Lights’. We dashed outside to see a strangely moving white cloud. I was very confused. Where were the colours? The dancing lights? I didn’t realise that sometimes the colours are only visible in the photographs, although they can still often be seen with the naked eye. We were given our emergency drop bags that night and I was finally able to strip off some wet kit, going to sleep in an unfeasible number of layers. I wore fleecy leggings, thermal leggings, 2 pairs of socks, long sleeved top, short sleeved top, warm mid layer, thermal marino long sleeved top, down jacket and another kayaking Buffalo fleece jacket over the whole lot, gloves, a fleece band and a fleece hat, a silk liner and a a sleeping bag. It was still cold.
Day 4
It started positively, I was on a high given that I was a.) still alive and b.) had managed to complete the day before. We set out and I soon realised I was totally over-dressed, so stopped to remove my jacket.
Energy drinks and gels play havoc with my stomach after a few days and today was the day. I had increasingly severe stomach cramps and eventually managed to find a little bit of privacy behind a group of rocks. Things were not good! But I carried on until checkpoint 1, where I managed to get some imodium. Helen the doctor, wouldn’t let me leave until I had had dioralyte and then (because I admitted to having barely eaten the day before) made me pull out some food and get it down. Cheese-strings (don’t judge me) were my treat of choice and after eating two of those and a mini peperami, she finally allowed me to go. What a difference some electrolytes and food makes (!), some speed came back into my legs and I made really good progress. By the time we reached the waterfalls (Dettifoss) and Ron cheering us on, I had hit a speed and didn’t want to stop, even for a photograph. I came into checkpoint 2 in good form and headed out. Everything went well until I came to a long long …. long dirt road. It was simple terrain, but at one point I looked down and realised I was only wearing one glove. I knew I must have dropped it when I stopped for a ‘comfort break’ and given the state of my hands from the day before, I couldn’t manage without my gloves, so back I went. I added 1.5km onto the day’s total! The road went on and on. And on. And on. It wasn’t difficult, it was just tedious. I am fairly good at assessing distance now so was ticking off each of the 18km in my head. Finally, when I knew there were just under 3km left of the 49 we were doing that day, I saw Hayley waiting by a van. ‘How far to go now’ I asked … ‘just over 6km’ she replied. I swore at her. ( I did apologise later, but this was undoubtedly the moodiest I was in the entire race … I gather I was not alone, Hayley was sworn at a lot at that checkpoint!) It was not difficult in the way that the Wednesday had been, but to discover I had to do more than 3 more km that I had been expecting in my head, was hugely upsetting.
Back I went to counting steps as the road were on and on and on. Of course the end did come and because of the route change to take in the waterfall, we were driven the final short stretch to that night’s camp. Where I had finished whooping for joy on Hypothermic Wednesday, I was utterly shattered on tedious Thursday. Once back at camp, I managed to eat and to my utter delight, the medics made ‘house-calls’ to our tent and as I had managed to get my first blister (because I had had to change out of my toe socks because they were so wet) I was unbelievably grateful for their help. I fell asleep for a couple of hours when the ‘Northern Lights’ cry went out. Once again I was leaping to my feet and was relieved to feel how much better I felt even for such a short sleep. Tomorrow would be ok.
Day 5
We were all awake very early on Thursday and I made the mistake of looking at myself on my phone – cue much hilarity as Sarah, Lisa and I vied for who could take the worst selfie. I believe I won hands down. This is what Day 5 of a 6-day ultra looks like!!!
Beyond horrific, but it kept us highly entertained and bordering on hysterical at 6am…
Outside it was a beautiful sunrise and a glorious day to set out. 
Having survived the past two days, I was getting confident that I might make it right to the end, despite broken poles, sleet, cold, stomach upsets and so on. I just had to stay upright!
We were warned that while the ground looked gentle, there were several km of heather and to be careful. They were not kidding. The heather hid a deeply undulating ground and was ridiculously difficult to walk or run through. Speaking to Jacob later, he said he hadn’t been able to run on it at all, which made me feel a little better about my slow progress. I totally turned my ankle at one point, so much so that I was waiting for the crack, but it was a minor twist and didn’t stop me much at all. I managed a slow motion face-plant when the heather entangled my foot at one point, but that was simply amusing for those around me and caused no pain at all. Once the heather was finally finished, we followed an amazing route with trails through rocks or lava, some plants, even a few fat sheep. It was a beautiful day and more the sort of trails I am used to using.
At the final checkpoint I was told the distance to the end was further than I was expecting and I still had a climb to manage, but what an amazing view. I suspect they deliberately suggested it was further to the end so that the final descent came as a wonderful surprise.
I was on top of black volcanic sand and as I crested the hill, 
looked down onto the most extraordinary luna landscape – even with a small silver pod like a landing module near the bottom. I stopped to take photographs before throwing myself down the ‘sand dune’ like a small child and up the other side. In my head I thought I still had quite some distance to go, but at the top of the next hill, I looked down onto the Myvatn nature baths, steam rising, nestled into the volcanic rocks and tonight’s camp. 
For the first time in the race, I admit there were a few tears at this point, as I would also be seeing Guy and Gabi. I know I charged down that hill and ran across the finish line, knowing I would make it through to the end.
Although Guy wasn’t there yet, I was able to make contact with them for the first time all week and within an hour 
we were all sitting in the steaming baths while I watched the ‘normal’ tourists eating and drinking.
We were still confined to what we were carrying and wouldn’t be eating proper food until the next day.
Day 6
Dave likes everyone to finish within an hour of each other on the last day, which meant that our starts were staggered from 5am. I was due to set off at 6.30, some 3 hours before the fastest competitors would go! Each group had their own Iceland drum blast to set them on their way and finally it was our turn. My left leg had been bothering me for a few days, with a curious swelling up the front and I really struggled at first on this final stage. 
In my head I was in my own little race against others in my age-group and I had wanted to be top-ten women. As a result, I was trying to push on hard, but the more I pushed, the harder I struggled to breathe and my leg became more painful. In the end I had a serious talk to myself and decided today would be about finishing and enjoying the views – I would be a tourist. I slowed down and took the first few hills very easily and stopped worrying that I was getting behind the others I had started with. When I came to the boiling mud (reminiscent of Rotorua) I took many pictures and decided I should only focus on trying not to let the faster runners catch me, rather than passing anyone else. 
The course was amazing today and in no time at all I was at the foot of the volcano we were going to go round. The climb was ludicrously steep and I kept falling forwards until nearer the top, where the path was marked in a series of very sharp zig zags. I could have been heard muttering something along the lines of ‘no view is worth this much agony’ but I finally reached the top with associated screams of joy.
Even I had to admit that being able to look down into the crater of the volcano, was indeed very very cool. I ran around the volcano and towards the end started to meet tourists who had come up the more gentle slope on the other side. I drew some curious looks as I charged down the path, grinning from ear to ear like a total madman. In my head the volcano was right next to the camp but after a km or two of running, I realised I may have been a little hasty in thinking the finish was just round the corner.
Finally the nature-pools came into sight again and I genuinely was nearly there. Three later-starters came past me shortly before the end but in no time it was my turn. I took my New Zealand flag (bought for me as I was the first Kiwi to compete) and ran across the line shortly before 11am. I had finished quite a bit ahead of my predicted finish time and Guy and Gabi were literally parking the car when they heard the cheering for my finish and arrived to find me, massive medal round my neck and kiwi flag in my hand.
What an event. I loved the personal nature you can have with a race this size, I have met amazing people from all over the world and I hope to see many of them in the future. As for my Steve Redgrave moment on Wednesday? Suffice to say that by Saturday night I was throwing my name into the pot to try and win a free place on a future ultra.
What an event. What a place. What amazing people. Out of 63 starters, 43 managed to complete the whole 6 days and I am damned proud to have been one of them. It appears I have minor frost bite in my fingers and toes and a dodgy swollen leg which might be an infection in the soft tissue, but I wouldn’t change a bit of it. Except the taking my shoes off bit and wearing better gloves.
And next on my agenda? Looks like I might just be off to Nepal over Easter… Annapurna here I come. Ultras definitely get under your skin.
I did rest my foot and the numbness remained. I had a go at a nordic walking half marathon and did brilliantly for the first 10k, before an excruciating pain hit for the next 11km and I had to slow markedly. It also became obvious that I was still a little tired post Iceland, as there was not a lot happening in my legs. Since then, I have only run sporadically and as time has gone on, have struggled to motivate myself at all. I’ve been back paddling a bit, as I am entering a team of my girls from school into the DW (for my non canoeing friends, that’s 125 miles of paddling and 77 portages over the East weekend), but on the land-based front, nothing doing.
We jumped into a cab and shot round to the other tiny terminal where everyone else who had been able to follow the instructions, was waiting! To my absolute horror we were led to what can best be described as a toy plane, I seem to adhere to the bumble-bee principle of flying, bigger is better. Due to my ‘just-in-time arrival, I was seated in 1A, from where I could not only clearly seethe pilot, I could have reached out and tickled him had I wished (I didn’t, as I was too busy gripping the seat arm pretending this tiny lump of metal that was attached to two propellers was actually a sensible mode of transport).
We had a good evening the three of us – swapping stories and looking forward to the race to come. Danielle had started the race the year before and despite falling and breaking her leg within the first 10km of the first day, had continued for another 60km on a broken leg! Despite trying to hide from the race doctors they found her and after monitoring and seeing the level of swelling (with potentially life-changing results) she was shipped off to hospital for admission and immediate treatment. So Danielle was back to take Iceland on again.
Following a long journey over rivers, through rivers, round volcanoes and through lava and dust, we eventually arrived at our camp – a collection of green tents, but with flushing loos and running water. There were 8 of us in our tent – two extremely experienced US runners Corky and Garth, 3 other Brits (Sarah, Heidi and Lisa), Thorsten, who we discovered lives near me in the UK but of South African & German origins and the ‘youngster’ 23-year old James from Jersey. In a bizarre coincidence, he had been to the same school as my eldest daughter, although had left the year before she arri
ved.
carry successfully. I had pre-ordered my food and had a bit of a cull as I knew from the MdS that I struggled to eat 3 or even 2 meals each day. Although I wasn’t totally sure what it would be like in cooler weather, the Saharan heat had certainly not made me want to eat much.
