The final finisher came off the pass after dark in a borrowed jacket, laughing. Nobody had gone to bed. The volunteers had kept the soup hot for eleven hours, and I stayed up to ask them why.

This week I tell the story of the back of the field, the people who spend the longest on the same course, and make the case that the best part of a mountain race is the part nobody films.

Plus: your letters about hut etiquette, a short note on wool socks, and the wrong turn I still can’t explain.