13 Valleys 2026

Pre-race

A string of DNFs

Last year's 13 Valley became my first DNF in any race, at just 30 miles into the race. The cause was not a new one - I've repeatedly encountered the same problem with my right knee during races, typically within the first 30-40 miles. This played out similarly at the Arc of Attrition in January, and though I attempted to hobble onwards, I had to concede at 46 miles. In between those, I suffered an unrelated failure at the Warrington Way 40-miler, where my day unravelled with an adductor injury, no doubt caused by running an entirely unrehearsed, speedy pace, due to the opportunity of flat terrain. I finally broke the unhappy streak at the Ultra Trail Snowdonia 100M - though knee problems were playing out, a slow pace caused by fuelling dramas seemed to avoid that ending my race. After a speedy, short local race, the Wincle Trout, I was back doing ultra distance again at the Beacons Way 100km, where several over-enthusiastic technical descents ensured a repetition of the usual knee issues, and a DNF at 62km/38 miles.

Months of strength training and single-leg work don't seem to have cured the issue, at least not yet. If anything, the knee has felt generally worse; rather than just causing problems on race day, I've felt discomfort that has reduced my confidence that the knee is capable of the sorts of things I'm asking of it. Yet my sole ultra-distance finish in the past year, at the UTS, had sowed a seed of confidence - with the right management, my knee can manage the distance, just maybe not with the exuberant descents and enthusiastic leaping over technical terrain that I'd like.

Back at the familiar start line in Keswick

Preparations

As seems to be the case with every race, I failed to come up with a good training plan to see me through the summer, and peaking for this event. I had two months, following the Beacons Way, to train. This was eroded at either end by recovery and the need to taper. Just to ensure no meaningful training block would be possible, I was undertaking the Bullock Smithy hike at the start of September, after which yet more recovery would be needed, blending in to some sort of taper. I didn't really train, I carried my endurance strength with me, and threw in a few speed sessions and a couple of long runs. There wasn't much scope to work on my knee.

Approaching 13 Valleys for the fourth time, I was feeling quite casual about it all. I had confidence in my endurance ability, and the logistics for this one were well-known. I had all the kit I needed. Even so, it was careless of me to leave my preparations until the last couple of days, when I should be focused on rest and relaxation. I've read some good advice around pre-race rest, and believe that a solid week of 9-10 hour sleeps would be optimal. I'd had nothing of the sort, and so would be arriving on the back foot. On top of that, my knee had been feeling uncomfortable in a worrying way.

Race day

So late were the preparations that the final packing of my bag was happening on race morning. I had a logistics plan, but hadn't walked through it with Claire, my lone supporter for the weekend - we'd have to do that while travelling. We took turns driving so that I'd have a chance to make my preparations.

We arrived in Keswick at 1330hrs. I sped through kit check and registration. The rush had been unnecessary - I found myself with hours to burn until the 1800 start time. It left plenty of time to eat, chat to friends, and start panicking.

I had a very vague plan - hold back the pace in the early stages. I knew I needed to protect my knee. I believed that my speedy starts were hurting my overall times, so I hoped that a focus on good fuelling and a moderated early pace would set me up for a much quicker second half of the race. Having said that, I was also resigned to this likely being a slower effort, and my target was simply to finish. I really didn't want another DNF. Also, this race could be my ninth finish at the 100-mile distance, a step closer to my target of ten.

Leg 1: Keswick - Honister Pass

Friday 1800hrs, 0 miles

I joined my friend Chris at the start line. Where I normally disappear into my own thoughts for the first couple of hours, having someone to run with and chat to would help stop me pushing too hard out of the blocks. We kept it steady as the pack exited Keswick, along the trails under Cat Bells, and worked its way along the terraces through Borrowdale. The trail was still busy with competitors as we continued under High Spy, and at some point I drifted ahead of Chris. I was starting to lock in to the challenge as the night fell. Where others were delaying a pause to put on their head torches, I seamlessly swapped my headwear and mounted my torch as I ran - experience had taught me to have these accessible, and how I'd stash my cap. It was fully dark by the time we ascended the road and then trail to Honister Slate Mine, which I took at a brisk hike - this was part of my plan to protect my knee, avoiding running where there was no gain to be had.

Derwent Water, from under Cat Bells

Borrowdale, under High Spy

Leg 2: Honister Pass - Wasdale

Friday 2001hrs, 9.5 miles

At the event village, before the race, my face had been appearing on the big screen in the rolling video - they'd captured me here at Honister, filling my bottles. I received no such attention from cameras this evening. After seeing Claire at the entrance, I efficiently did my refills and took a couple more minutes than most to ensure that I'd eaten sufficiently. When I was ready to get moving, my poles came out, and I began the ascent up the old tramway.

Descending the scrappy path through Dubs Quarry brought a few challenges but when things got technical, approaching the waterfalls, the fun began. I really tried not to get carried away, thinking of my knee, but skipping down very rocky and awkward paths is one of my favourite types of running. As usual, I started passing many less confident runners, who were struggling with the combination of the darkness and the challenging footing. The path doubled back onto the loose rocks under Fleetwith Pike, and I'd found my rhythm. Eventually, the path started levelling, along Warnscale Bottom, and I picked up a steady jog. I worried that even that relatively restrained bit of descending would take its toll, but all was good so far.

At Gatesgarth, the end of Buttermere, I passed Claire again, and said goodbye for the night; she wouldn't be following to the west side of the Langdale fells, so the next time I would see her, all being well, would be early morning at Coniston. I knuckled down to ascend Scarth Gap Pass, making good use of my poles. Others around me were going pretty enthusiastically. I tried to show restraint, using a heart rate alert on my watch to tell me when I was doing too much. After a while, everyone's pace steadied as it was a long and challenging climb - it felt longer than when I'd done it in daylight recently.

I was feeling pretty strong as I packed my poles away, passing the marshalls at Scarth Gap. I reminded myself to take it steady - these descents were where my early enthusiasm had aggravated my knee last year. As I continued my steady descent, I unexpectedly heard some soul music playing in the valley. I figured someone had a stereo playing at the YHA lodge in the valley. As I neared, I realised it was live music, being performed by a band. As I approached the lodge, I was greeted with "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", in the most surreal of experiences in a remote valley, in the night. They were pretty good, too. I pause momentarily, and then pressed on into the darkness, initially picking up the wrong path.

From Scarth Gap ascent, looking back at the runners descending to Warnscale Bottom

Surprise soul band at Black Sail

The climb over Black Sail Pass felt tough; it was longer than I recalled, and steep. Despite the recent wet weather, it wasn't sodden as I've known it to be in previous visits. My feet were staying mostly dry. I could still hear the distant music loudly and clearly until I crossed over the hill.

I kept the pace easy as I headed down to Wasdale. I recalled making a lot of overtakes last year, but this time the overtakes were only where people had slowed to a walk. I was happy holding an easy jog.

Leg 3: Wasdale - Eskdale

Friday 2236hrs, 18 miles

I arrived at the checkpoint feeling strong. I recalled my comment to a volunteer, at this point on a previous race, that I felt like I'd run 80 miles; today, the moderated pace and attention to eating meant I still felt fine. I took the time to assemble some cheese and crisp sandwiches, which went down well. No sitting or foot maintenance required this time so after a few minutes, I set off.

Somehow, tarmac stretches always expose the challenge distance-running places on the legs. I picked up the road section down to the head of Wast Water, and my legs felt heavier. No doubt, a contributing factor was that this was bedtime, something my body seem to be gently reminding me of. I knew I'd pushed too hard on this section last year, so this time I just kept it steady. Eskdale Moor was slightly wetter than last year, but nothing like 2023. I couldn't keep my feet fully dry, but neither were they sodden. I creatively used my poles for vaulting the minor bogs, and just kept moving. It seemed easier to hold the route this time, where previously I'd found myself drifting off the path across the moorland.

Leg 4: Eskdale - Coniston

Saturday 0013hrs, 24 miles

I felt weary as I plodded down the short stretch of road to the checkpoint, and was starting to feel the effects of dehydration and a lack of fuel. I nevertheless felt composed and purposeful, and decided to invest time getting some calories in. A few hot food options were available, and I chose curried noodles. I also had some rice pudding and a cup of tea. I wanted to be fully prepared for the next section, knowing it was where my race had fallen apart last year.

As I worked my way round Gill Force waterfall and tracked along the Esk, I was feeling stronger again. The diversion around the Penny Hill property was a late change last year, but this time was well-signed as the new route. As I headed to the foot of Kepple Crag, my mind was very much focused on last year - it was on this ascent that my knee started causing major problems. The first milestone would be to pass that same point where I stopped to take Paracetamol.

It was a tough bit of climbing, as ever, but I felt mildly elated to pass the point of doom, and walked/jogged along the awkward path through the foliage. I knew this to be an awkward technical section, and in a few miles I'd reach Dunnerdale Forest, which sat in my mind as a horribly awkward and long trail that I'd struggled to complete.

Tonight, the trails didn't seem as long or difficult, because I was moving ok, running wherever I could. A section of awkward land had benefited from a new trail that was being constructed, speeding up the effort further. It didn't seem long at all before I was descending the fire roads. I passed a bench at Birks, where last year I'd been evaluating the possibility of resting to help my knee (but choosing not to, as I was cold). I almost didn't notice when I passed the point, joining the road at Great Wood, where I'd DNF'd last year and taken a lift back to Coniston. I didn't even slow, and held a jog for the 1.5 miles on tarmac until picking up the trail that led to Walna Scar Road (the rocky trail over the hills to Coniston).

A new confidence was building; if I could get over Walna Scar, I could make it to the Coniston checkpoint. If was still running there, it would feel like I had a shot at finishing. I was just over 30 miles in, so with a huge distance still to go, but based on previous failures, getting beyond 40 miles without problems was absolutely key. Walna Scar was a tough, long climb, and I took it very gently down the rocky top part of the descent. As the path got smoother, I managed an easy jog. I reached the tarmac, which was a long and dull descent to the village, but felt elated as I twisted through the streets and down to the boating club. My knee didn't feel amazing, but it didn't hurt either.

Leg 5: Coniston - Wray Castle

Saturday 0424hrs, 38 miles

It might be tempting to consider this distance to be almost nearing half way, on a hundred mile race. This race, however, nudges over 115 miles, making this point more like one third distance. Unlike every previous race, I had the map screen on my watch configured to show distance covered. I've always felt it better to count off the big climbs and the checkpoints, as indicators of progress, rather than miles - knowing quite how far you still have to go can be very intimidating. I found that it didn't bother me, though; I wasn't fixating on the remaining distance, it was just another piece of info I could use if I needed.

As I sat in the checkpoint eating, Claire indicated to me that I wasn't far off my 2024 pace, which I'd considered a decent effort. I wasn't trying to hang on to that, although hopeful that a stronger showing in the second half might see me overtake it. After about 15 minutes, Chris arrived at the checkpoint. He was pleased to have caught me, and was looking strong. It gave me a little nudge to get moving, so I packed up ready to leave. I hadn't needed to give much attention to my feet, which were holding up well, but I patched a developing blister on the inside of my heel.

The moon was incredibly bright as dawn approached. I felt tired as I worked my way over Monk Coniston Moor, and up to Hawkshead Hall, the woodland and fire trails looking notably similar to Grizedale Forest, which was just a couple of miles away. I recalled how things had started derailing at this point in my ultimately successful 2024 race, with knee troubles, and I'd had to stop and take a sleep in the woods. I assumed that the fact I was still moving well today meant I'd just gained about 30 minutes on 2024 timings, putting me back on track. Today, unlike every previous 100M, I had no plan to sleep. Not that I thought I didn't need it, I just hadn't thought of anywhere suitable to lie down. I hoped that I'd be ok without, like most runners, and could just sleep in night two.

I was still moving well when I reached the shore of Windermere. I anticipated the fairly dull plod along the water's edge - a beautiful spot, but I was tired and it was a grey morning. I forced myself to keep jogging, even pushing enthusiastically up the climb to the castle.

Early morning at Windermere

Checkpoint at Wray Castle

Wray Castle

Leg 6: Wray Castle - Stickle Barn

Saturday 0713hrs, 47 miles

I'd remained wary of my knee, which felt weak all the way to Coniston, like it might relapse into pain at any time. The next leg to Wray had been on easy trails, and my knee had been less bothered. It seemed that my effort to protect it on the difficult stuff was working. My spirits were lifting, with the arrival of morning, and reaching a substantial distance, although it took a feed at the Wray checkpoint to properly bring my mood up. Many runners looked quite settled into their breakfast stop, but I didn't feel inclined to stay long. I shovelled some food and drink in, although the croissant pieces were notably missing this year. I got moving, once again in a gap on my own - this is how I tend to prefer to race, especially when tired and not feeling sociable.

The paths and roads were quiet as I passed through Skelwith Fold, but by the time I reached the waterfall, I began to see a few walkers. Along the shores of Elterwater, some folk out for a run gave me encouragement and asked, "how far to go?". I replied "a long way", which I knew to be true since I wasn't at half way, but I couldn't muster the energy for a calculation. Claire and our dog greeted me on the trail near Elterwater village, but I didn't stop - she'd be joining me at Stickle Barn shortly. The dull trails along the floor of the valley, to get to Lanty Slees, frustrated me. They felt longer than ever, and I really wanted to reach the checkpoint. My low mood and irritability gave a clear indication that my fuelling wasn't quite as good as it should have been.

Looking back at Wray

Sticklebarn

Elterwater

Leg 7: Stickle Barn - Rosthwaite

Saturday 0919hrs, 55 miles

I saw Claire driving past, as I neared the checkpoint, but she was still parking up when I arrived. Annoyingly, a change in checkpoint rules meant should couldn't come in with me, so she stood out in the rain, which had now closed in. I had to hobble out with my food to chat with her, and couldn't have any assistance with my food or foot care. It took me a while to sort myself out. I was feeling pretty tired. 

I was lacking energy as I pulled myself out of the checkpoint and up the rocky path over Stickle Ghyll. I then picked up the Cumbria Way, which continued all the way to the end of the Langdale valley. It was proving hard to hold a jog, confirming both my tiredness and the inadequacy of my recent fuelling efforts. I started the climb up Rossett Gill, going only slightly quicker than some inexperienced-looking walkers, taking on the difficult ascent. I observed their choice of clothing and minimal equipment, and pondered what a difficult hike they were attempting in what were now quite challenging conditions - raining quite heavily, and gusty winds building. They abandoned before reaching the top, which reassured me.

After crossing near to Rosset Pike, I descended to Angle Tarn. My recollection was that I'd shortly drop down to Styhead Tarn and begin the descent down the valley to Borrowdale. This turned out not to be the case as this was a 3-mile up and down section, passing below Esk Pike, Allen Crags and Great End. I know the area well, yet it seemed so much longer, and there were climbs where I didn't remember there being climbs. The wind and rain became frustrating; I repeatedly removed my hood, but then found myself putting it up again as another load of drizzle arrived. The number of walkers on the trail was growing, and they seemed unable to leave space for a runner to get passed. I grumbled under my breath at each group, wishing I had the mountains to myself. I was really grumpy, and I knew what that meant.

The rock fields along Styhead Gill, and the rocky descent to Stockley Bridge are amongst my favourite trails, both for the technical effort required, and the stunning surroundings. They just about held my interest today, but I was desperately in need of food and so my mood was low. I found myself frustrated that another runner, whose poles I'd struggled to avoid in an earlier overtake, was closing in on me. I used this frustration to propel me down the valley to Seatoller, making sure they were falling away in the distance behind me.

Heading towards the end of the Langdale valley

Looking back down the Langdale valley from Rossett Gill

Stockley Bridge, near Seathwaite

Leg 8: Rosthwaite - Grasmere

Saturday 1344hrs, 65 miles

I arrived at the checkpoint, where one of the volunteers called out "it's you again!". He was to recognise me, but wrongly thought I'd been here last year; in fact, it was two years since I'd been at this checkpoint. We had indeed met on my first two 13 Valleys races. The other volunteers in the village hall made sure I got what I needed, which included soup, sandwiches, a cup of tea and some rice pudding. I needed a decent refuelling stop to recover my mood. Nevertheless, I felt the need to get back out in clear air for the long climb over Greenup Edge, so left before other runners in the hall showed signs of packing up.

I mustered some enthusiasm along the valley before embarking on the ascent at Greenup Gill. I'd passed some other runners, who were surprised at my enthusiasm. It proved harder to maintain it as the climb went on; I was slowing down. A combination of drowsiness from sleep loss and an increasing problem of dehydration was making my pace on the climb ponderous - I was struggling. I got passed by a couple of people near the top, as I trudged along the flags.

After crossing over Greenup Edge, I was weirdly disappointed that the route had been slightly modified to side-step a ridiculous swampy section at Birks, instead following the flagged path around it. Previously, I'd guided runners on the vague and difficult route over the marshland, but there was no need today. I felt that the route had been sanitised a bit too much. It was a long trot down to Grasmere. Upon reaching the roads, I was at least aware that I still had a mile to go, which avoided disappointment. What I'd missed was that the checkpoint had moved from the centre of the village to the sports club at the far side. This extra meandering along the trails was annoying, especially as I didn't know when it would end. I hoped that Claire had figured out where she should be.

Entertaining terrain, coming off Grasmere Common

Leg 9: Grasmere - Troutbeck

Saturday 1719hrs, 74 miles

I'd arrived at Rosthwaite, the previous checkpoint, 43 minutes down on my 2024 time. I arrived at Grasmere just 1 minute behind. I hadn't felt quick on that section, but presumably a combination of checkpoint efficiency and keeping good momentum had seen me make up a load of time.

The new checkpoint rules brought extra frustration at this checkpoint, where I had access to my drop bag and the opportunity for a sleep. Claire waited outside while I struggled to organise my kit, as I ate some hot food. There wasn't enough space on the table, and I was struggling to swap things between my bags, not helped by feeling drowsy. I took a long time cleaning myself up and getting changed. Eventually, I headed for a sleep, but all the provided tents were full, so I put some earplugs in and lay down in the corner of the room with the bags. I tried for 20 minutes, but barely fell asleep.

As I faffed around trying to refill my drop bag and my pack, I made some errors. I thought I'd swapped the battery from my torch, so discarded the used battery into my drop bag, but it was actually the charged one. I couldn't find the pouch with my cables in, but determined it didn't matter - I had the torch batteries I needed, and I had the charge pack to recharge my phone - it would be fine. It had been a very long stop, much more so as a result of the lack of space and assistance. My feet felt really swollen and sore as I left the checkpoint, and my right ankle was hurting. From previous races, I knew that kind of ankle soreness was going to stick with me for the rest of the race.

On previous years, the section along Grasmere and Rydal waters to the Ambleside checkpoint was short. For 2025, they'd moved the Ambleside checkpoint to Troutbeck - this made a lot more sense, as it placed it closer to the ascent of High Street, a long and difficult section. I knew I'd lost plenty of time at Grasmere, so determined that, having had a rest and a good refuel, I'd make up some time. I tried to keep good momentum. Aside from a quick pause to put on my headtorch, I kept moving well. It was then I realised my error - I had ended up with a nearly flat battery in my torch, a charged one in my spare, but no other batteries and no lead to charge them from the chargepack. Whilst this battery had proved capable of lasting a full night last night, I couldn't be 100% confident that I'd fully charged the spare.

It was going ok as I reached Ambleside, but I didn't feel quick. I found myself alongside a bunch of other runners through the town, and had to convince some that there really wasn't an Ambleside checkpoint. I was confident with the route through the woods and over to Troutbeck, but I was slowing again. I was feeling really weary. I was relieved when, for once, the checkpoint appeared almost immediately after hitting the road.

A super-bright moon as I neared Rothay Park, Ambleside

Leg 10: Troutbeck - Hayeswater

Saturday 2102, 82 miles

I didn't want to spend long at this checkpoint. I forced some food down, and a cup of mushroom soup. I was about to leave when I realised that I was really quite drowsy. I thought I'd try another sleep: 5 minutes, then head straight out. I lay down on the hall floor with my pack on, and set an alarm. At least if it was that short, I should avoid getting cold.

I wasted no time after the alarm, and headed straight out. I was on my own as I cross over the road, and headed up to join the trail towards The Tongue. It was about 3.5 miles to the foot of the High Street ascent. I was going slow. Other runners were catching me as I passed under The Tongue and neared the ascent. Once on the steep grassy slope, I found people passing me with ease. I'm usually good at this stuff, so I knew something was wrong. I'd been eating, but I just couldn't fend off the tiredness.

It was fiercely steep for a while. The gradient eased a little, half way up to Thornthwaite Crag, but I was staggering around, unable to go in a straight line. My poles were just about keeping me upright. The other runners I'd been with had disappeared into the distance. I knew I was going really slowly.

Eventually, after a very long period of slow and difficult climbing, and with the winds blowing strongly, the rain firing down, and the visibility dropping, I spotted the monument at Thornthwaite Crag in fronto me. Some other runners were clambering on the rocks to bag the summit or take a picture; I just stumbled past. I had remembered the terrain wrongly; I thought there was more steep climbing to come, but it was just the steady ascent of the old Roman road (barely visible) - the highest point on the course at 810m (just shy of the 828m summit).

The weather was really closing in. The winds were strong, it was raining, and visibility had dropped to around 10m. I pondered my situation - the other runners had disappeared off ahead, I wasn't confident in my torch to last the night, this was a very high and exposed place, easy to lose the trail, and the weather was hostile. I saw a torch behind and made a decision: I needed to pair up with this runner.

I chatted to the runner, and he was happy for me to stay with him. I pulled up the OS map on my phone, so I could make sure of the expected terrain. I realised it was different to my recollection, and that we'd descend along an edge above Hayeswater until looping around The Knott, then we'd start the steep descent to the checkpoint. In my drowsy state, I had to work hard to stay with the other runner. I was incapable of chat, but tried to keep clacking my poles on rocks so he knew I was behind. The weather and terrain made it hard to run alongside or converse anyway.

Despite this being my third time in the race, as well as at least one recce of this bit of the route, it still seemed unfamiliar, and even nearing the checkpoint I was confused about the location of things. Finally, approaching the Filter House from a strange angle, we had to straddle the stone wall by some very awkward protruding stones - not friendly to tired legs. The checkpoint was warm, and I collapsed into a chair. That had been a very tough section. 

Leg 11: Hayeswater - Glenridding

Sunday 0120hrs, 91 miles

Despite being on my 2024 timings at Grasmere, I'd arrived at Hayeswater a full 2 hours behind those timings. I wasn't looking at the timings, but I instinctively knew; I'd been slow at Grasmere checkpoint, and my drowsy staggering up High Street had been as slow as it felt. This wasn't helped by the ponderous descent in bad conditions.

Earlier in the race, I'd determined that, if I reached Hayeswater, I'd be able to finish the race. There was still a significant distance to go, and the crossing of Sticks Pass, but High Street was the biggest challenge on the course, and one appearing late on; few people, having made it to Hayeswater, then DNF. I wasn't really thinking such positive thoughts at this point, I wasn't really thinking much at all.

My attempts at eating were inadequate, but I stuck around to try. The checkpoint had felt quite warm compared to previous years, as they had a heater running, although it was draughty. I nipped outside to empty my bottles, and immediately felt freezing and started shivering violently. I wrapped myself up in all my warm clothes, and asked a volunteer to empty my bottles instead. After a while sat refuelling, I headed out, still with all my warm layers on. I figured I'd peel them off as I warmed up, lower down towards Hartsop village.

Heading along the trails towards Patterdale, I ended up alongside some other runners. I wasn't really managing to chat, I was still in a groggy state, and barely keeping pace. I hadn't spotted a minor route change when planning, but realised it was different as I followed the directions on my watch. I realised Claire would be expecting me to appear at a different point on the road, so I called her. I stopped briefly to say hello and put my waterproof layers on, and lost sight of the other runners.

I was once again alone, plodding along the road to Glenridding. I continued to plod along at a ponderous pace. I tried to muster some resolve to catch the other runners, but it wasn't working. I reached the village, and turned off to start the long ascent up to the checkpoint, next door to Helvellyn YHA. It was a mile and a half from the village up to the checkpoint, but at this point it felt like ten miles. I hated that climb, walking up the tarmac through the sleeping houses, and then onwards on the featureless track. I was relieved when I entered the checkpoint. The other runners were there, and looked as knackered as I felt.

Leg 12: Glenridding - Threlkeld

Sunday 0406hrs, 97 miles

Pizza was on offer, so I took four slices. I tried a cup of tea, but their choice of teabags, along with choosing oat milk (better to avoid dairy, apparently), was just not doing it for me. I was trying not to succumb to the weariness, I just wanted to plough on, but the extent of my fatigue was making me incredibly slow.

I tailed the other runners out of the checkpoint, but they quickly disappeared off up the hill; I still had nothing to give. I was ponderously slow up the zig-zags, through the disused mine. Near the top, red lights were dotted along the side of the path, which felt surreal. I tracked around the quarry, and had a good vantage point to see ahead and behind. Nobody was even vaguely near me. I staggered onwards, really struggling to stay awake now. The path was exposed at points, and I was wobbling around, trying to make sure I didn't plant my pole off the side and go tumbling down the mountain. My eyes were rolling back in my head. My pace must have fallen off a cliff, as I endeavoured not to.

When I eventually reached the top of Sticks Pass, a marshall appeared and checked I was ok. I made some reassuring grunting noises, and tried to avoid conversation. I was fine, I told him, and plodded on. I knew the descent was tough; it would start gentle, but get progressively steeper, finishing with a quad-wrecking, toenail smashing, steep drop down the grass and mud. Daylight was appearing by the time I reached the steep bit. I was still alone, but feeling quite strong, so managed the difficult descent better than expected. I was still going slow, but the combination of daylight and the real challenge of staying upright brought a new focus.

I hadn't noticed that, at some point on that pass, I'd cleared 100 miles. Not that it mattered, I was still 15 miles from the finish, and at this point, that was a long way.

My energy once again evaporated when I hit the road at Thirlmere. It was a soulless plod to find the next trail. With the sun now up, albeit hidden in a cloud of grey, I thought it would be good to get some breakfast down. Sticking with the SIS gels, which I've found quite effective and easy to swallow, I grabbed out an orange flavour one. I got no more than a small sip through before I gagged. There was no way that was going down, so I squirted the rest on the floor.

I held no affection for the section along St John's Beck to Threlkeld, remembering it as a series of meandering fields, gardens and swamps. At this point, my brain was disintegrating. I was starting to hallucinate people in the trees, and was probably talking away to myself. I hadn't seen another runner since near the Glenridding checkpoint. I kept checking behind to see if anyone was approaching. I didn't really want to see anyone while I was in this state. I was stumbling along, with my eyes rolling in my head, struggling to stay awake. At one point, I stopped and instantly fell fully asleep on my feet. My brain sensed a strange motion, and I jolted awake as I was falling towards the ground, narrowly avoiding a face-plant.

At some point, I realised we'd taken a new route, which avoided the swamps of 2024. I felt somewhat disappointed, again, that the route had been sanitised. Having thought that, the new route over the fields was actually quite nice. I finally spotted another runner behind who had gained on me, so I used this as motivation to propel me forwards. My enjoyment of the fields was destroyed when the route rejoined on a road, for an extended period - my feet were really hurting now, and this didn't help.

I reached the road into Threlkeld. I recalled the former checkpoint location in the village, but knew that this time it was further up the hill at the Blencathra Centre. I didn't realise it was over a mile away, and such a big climb. It was really tough, especially as I expected it sooner. Plenty of people passing in cars or coming down on foot gave encouragement as I worked my way up, but I just wanted food, and a toilet.

Leg 13: Threlkeld - Keswick

Sunday 0920hrs, 108 miles

The volunteers were giving lots of encouragement. I grabbed a seat, elevated my sore feet (really sore now), and let them bring food and drinks to me. More peanut butter and jam sandwiches. A cup of (disgusting) tea. I wanted a proper recharge, then I'd get this done.

After I'd been sat for maybe 10 minutes, the runner who'd been gaining on me arrived. He was quick to refill his bottles, grab some food, and set off. I sensed that he had seen a chance to gain a place on this last section, with me sat there. It was just the little nudge I needed to get out, and get running. At this point, only finishing mattered, but it helped me to have the motivation to not lose another place. I set out with a simple resolve: I'd run everything, except the few small climbs, until the finish. This seemed ambitious at this point, but I'd woken up.

It took me around 10 minutes until I caught up with the other runner, but I passed him and another runner who were now just walking. I kept a brisk stride up the one climb at the end of the horseshoe between Knowe Crags and Lonscale Fell. Once on the rocky terrace path, I was jogging, regardless of whether it was rocky or not. I was moving really well, and feeling strong. I tracked around the bottom of Lonscale, closing in on the woods near Latrigg. I passed the runners I'd lost sight of much earlier at Glenridding. Everyone was walking now, but I was determined to run the full 7 miles to the finish.

From the path under Lonscale Fell, looking back over the Blencathra Centre

I felt good descending through the woods, all things considered. My feet were painfully swollen, but I was ignoring them. I had good mobility, and was holding my running form. Following the meandering route through the town, I was getting plenty of encouragement from folk out around the shops, making me feel heroic. The leading runners from one of the shorter races passed me at speed; I knew I wasn't racing them, but I also didn't want to cross the line with them - we needed our own moments. I arrived at Crow Park, just a minute or two from the finish, which remained out of sight, the other side of the mound. I picked up the pace, not to a sprint, but to a good speed. I still felt strong. I had a sprint if I wanted it, but no need now.

Somehow, I crossed the finish feeling stronger than on any 100-mile race I've done. I expected to be disappointed that, despite that strength, I was 2:10 behind my 2024 time, but I actually felt really pleased to manage another finish. After all the challenges this year, and a difficult race where I just couldn't shun the tiredness, I'd finished my 9th 100-mile race of 11 starts, and fully put to bed the string of DNFs that has blighted the last year. I'm still looking for a much speedier 100-mile effort that I feel I have the strength to achieve, but that has to come from good prep (especially sleep) and good racecraft - pacing and fuelling. 100-mile races are complicated beasts, so I'm happy to walk away with another finishers medal.

Finishing strong

• Distance: 191km / 118.7 miles (tracked)
• Elevation: 6,792m / 22,283 feet (tracked)
• Elapsed Time: 41:27:20 (official)
• Estimated calories: 17,004
• Position: 43rd
• Total finishers (within 46.5-hour cutoff): 84, of 204 starters (59% DNF)
• 13 Valleys Ultra homepage
• Race route

Ultra Trail Snowdonia 100M 2026

A false start

The race had started, and the pack of runners was moving up the Llanberis path towards Snowdon summit. I was nervous, hoping that my preparation had been adequate and that everything was in place. It wasn't long before I arrived at the first checkpoint. The setup was different to last year; this time we entered a tent, rather than the outdoor drink refills. It was already dark outside. My feet were feeling very sore from that first leg, so I decided to do some foot maintenance. I slipped off my shoes, then set about locating my medical kit, which was somewhere in a dry bag in my pack. With the tight cutoffs at each checkpoint, I was concerned to be losing time already, and was in a rush to get moving again as soon as possible. I went to grab my shoes, but they weren't there. I looked around, but couldn't see them anywhere. Someone had stolen my shoes. Who the hell steals smelly running shoes? I was panicked and in disbelief. This race had cost a huge amount of my time and effort and a sizeable chunk of money, and was now falling apart right at the start. I didn't know what to do,  I was about to have to set off barefoot. Then my alarm woke me, and it was time to pack my stuff up and get to Llanberis.

Race start in Llanberis

All-consuming

Big races consume you, for a while. As the number of days until the start line ticks away, prioritisation of life's concerns steadily shifts towards the immovable target. You must be on that start line, with everything in place. There are mandatory equipment requirements to meet - things need to be bought, and you need to figure out what to carry and how. Fuelling plans are necessary. The logistics are complex when the race spans days, with travel, accommodation, timings; you need a detailed plan of what and who is going to be where, and when. Discussions are required to play through potential scenarios, and considerations, with mitigations for things that could go wrong. You need to prepare yourself physically - the training may be tapering off, but sleep is required. Ideally, some consideration would also be given to food and drink choices over a period of days, though on this point I've usually run out of mental capacity to address it.

As the pack of runners sets off across the start line, I find the importance of everything that I've done, or not done, in preparation for the race plays through my mind; the choices and efforts over the previous weeks are now immutable. The challenge is to execute, adapt, and persevere. Over many hours, the way I thought the race might play out is unlikely to be reflected in the reality. I find myself troubleshooting repeatedly, just to keep the show on the road. As the adversity ramps up, and a fatigued body and mind are put to the test, my motivation is questioned. Why am I doing this? It might be true to say that a lot of the many hours on the trails, at best, have their enjoyment muted by discomfort or pain; it is probably true to say many are simply not enjoyable at all. But those hours are not fighting for attention, they have it in full. I am there to do one thing, and it is all I think about.

The race has me in its clutches for those hours, and nothing else is allowed to matter. It is only in the post-race decompression that I start to realise how much I've been consumed by it all. Having the chats, reliving moments with friends and acquaintances, chatting on forums, trying to convey to the non-runners what these ultra things actually are, and that is the fun. It is a huge, immersive, and overwhelming experience that blasts everything else out of your brain in a way that no package holiday will. The medal may be a pathetic token, but what it represents is huge - the achievement of something out of the ordinary, something that most would consider unachievable. It is addictive and, in the weeks following, I find myself wanting to relive not so much the race but the whole experience, however challenging, gruelling or painful.

Motivation

This is the first time I've been clear that I'm done with a race. This time, it tested my motivation to the limit. It has clarified that I have an exceptional ability to subdue pain and push through the mental challenges to reach the finish goal, but as Damian Hall frequently emphasises, you need to know your "why". It remains the hardest race on my calendar, and is often cited as the hardest 100-miler in the UK, possibly Europe. With two finishes from two starts, in 2024 and 2025, my "why" was definitely getting questioned. I needed the motivation distilled, to carry me in the dark hours of the race. Pinning my hopes on a personal best time seemed too risky - my training had been patchy due to injury, and I was still unconvinced of my knee's ability to complete it. Once a PB is off the cards, during the race, it can all come crashing down if you've run out of other strong reasons to suffer. I'd had 3 DNFs at other races, and no finishes, since last July. I wanted to break the streak, on my hardest race; 3/3 on this one would feel like something extra special. It would also mean extra UTMB points, increasing my chance of getting a place on the flagship Mont Blanc race. It would be my 10th 100-mile start, and could be my 8th 100-mile finish. But it was the 3/3 that stuck out; on such a difficult race, with a 50-60% DNF (did not finish) rate, it seems unlikely that the number of 3-time finishers has reached double digits, if it has been done at all. That was the target in the front of my mind when I set off for Wales.

Race day

Pre-race

Compared to previous years, it had been a relatively relaxed start to Friday, the race day. We'd stopped over at a different campsite this time - Tan-aeldroch, near Dolwyddelan, and had arrived late at night. The morning greeted us with beautiful sunshine, revealing a stunning location in the valley with a stream running through the site. After breakfast and coffee, we left the campsite, a little later than intended. We were not going to be in Llanberis for the start of my registration window, 1000-1200, but it didn't matter; we were still in plenty of time, and the race was to start an hour later than previously, at 1400. I wasn't even too worried when I realised we'd driven 5 minutes in the wrong direction - it gave a chance for me to point out the Dolwyddelan checkpoint location to Claire, my wife and support crew (along with Nala, our dog), in preparation for her night support duties.

I was confident in my kit preparation; I had everything on the list, checked and double-checked, and organised into shopping bags for the contents of my race pack and belt, my half-way drop-bag and a support bag for Claire to bring to the checkpoints that allowed support crew. I headed for the marquee with my race pack contents, very familiar with the UTMB kit check and registration process. Once equipped with race bib and tracker, I had a few hours to spend at the event village. For once, I felt relaxed enough to savour the moment, enjoy the build-up, and spend money on kit and merchandise at the stalls. I even had time to sit and chat to a friend, Chris, and eat a nice lunch from one of the food vans.

Tan Aeldroch campsite

The weather had decided to be kind, while we were awaiting the race start; those few hours were spent in sunshine, as with previous years, but I was under no illusions - this was not going to be a dry race. The forecast had indicated rainfall through much of the weekend, with temps falling to low single digits on the peaks overnight. This left me a little unsure about what to wear for those first few hours - it was unclear whether shorts or longs were the best option. I made a last minute decision to switch to shorts, given it was still warm and we were heading up Snowdon first, but it seemed likely I'd be changing again relatively soon.

Leg 1: Llanberis - Pen-y-Pass

Friday 1400hrs, 0 miles

As I stood in the start line funnel waiting for the race to begin, my mind was pondering how ready I was for this challenge. I had accepted my first DNF, which occurred at 13 Valleys in September - at that point, I had done little to address my knee issues, and I hadn't prepared well to deal with that specific challenge in the race. Similarly, my exit from the Warrington Way in November was an unsurprising adductor issue, given my lack of training at such a speedy pace. But I was still lamenting my failure at the Arc in January. Once again, knee problems had hit, but this was after a period of months consulting with a physio and doing strength work. Although I'd continued this strength work, my training in 3.5 months since had lacked focus or intensity; I hadn't been putting the miles in like previous years, and had got a little complacent about being able to run these distances. The cancellation of the Northern Traverse had avoided a run I probably shouldn't have been attempting so close to the UTS, but I hadn't capitalised on the training space it had put in my calendar. Granted, I'd done a speedy run up Snowdon at Easter - that reassured me that I still had power in my legs. I'd also done a couple of longer runs, including a significant one over some tough parts of this course, but somehow it didn't feel like I'd been training properly. To cap it all, my HRV (heart rate variability), reported by my Garmin watch, had nose-dived without obvious reason, in the past few days; I figured my body was fighting off an infection. I didn't feel bad, but neither did I feel prepared, given I knew this race to be the hardest challenge I've undertaken. Experience certainly helps in these situations, but a finish is never a given on a course and distance of this difficulty.

Waiting for the race start at Llanberis

One hill at a time. There is no use in counting miles on a race like this, it is an impossibly long distance, and the miles are not the same - the hills and terrain vary enormously, the weather changes, day and night take their turns, and the body fluctuates in energy levels (very much affected by intake of calories). I prefer to measure my progress by the hills I've ticked off. On this course, I can name all of the significant hills in order, and know where all the biggest challenges lie. Knowing what was ahead of me, and feeling neither strong nor energetic, the challenge was daunting, maybe even terrifying, but experience was telling me I just needed to tick off the hills, and keep eating.

After a brief jog through Llanberis with the pack, and the crowds cheering us on, we started up the stony trail towards Snowdon summit. Runners grappelled for their poles, but I followed my normal mode and didn't bother while we were still close together. I found myself getting irritated by others waving theirs around without grace or skill, so any passing moves were being made off the side of the trail, to avoid being spiked. The snake of runners stretched a long way up the mountain already, but I wasn't competing for the win, and this initial pace meant nothing in the scheme of such a huge race.

We'd crossed under the mountain railway, and the pack was thinning. The early (and possibly naive) enthusiasm from some had been given a reality-check; this was a long ascent, of course, and everyone was slowly acknowledging this as they found their real pace. I'd started a long way back in the pack, so had found myself passing a lot of people, and felt happy I was doing the right thing. I could truthfully say that I knew my pace better than most, for this exact course; statistically, I knew that being a twice-finisher here put me in a tiny minority. My confidence was growing, even knowing how hard this would become.

As I reached Bwlch Glas, my choice of attire was becoming questionable; it was already fairly cold, and I was in shorts and t-shirt. The course headed down the Pyg track, not touching the summit yet, so I knew I'd quickly find myself in warmer air. I'd been using my poles for the later section, so tucked them in their quiver on my pack, took a selfie with a marshal while spectators were giving their encouragement, then set about the rocky descent above Llyn Glaslyn.

Ascending Snowdon, for the first time

Bwlch Glas

Rocky terrain is my thing. I love technical trails with the jumping, skipping and scrambling. If I need to use my hands, it has reached my preferred level of difficult. Living on the edge of the Peak District, I get plenty of practice at it too. It was time to focus on where I was putting my feet. As usual, I found myself skipping past other runners, including some I'd been chatting to on the ascent, feeling a good deal of confidence as the trail became more difficult. As it flattened, and passed over some bigger rocks, I stepped up the pace. I knew these were the places I'd gain time, but also have fun. After a while, I could see I was nearing Pen-y-Pass, where I'd be able to refill my bottles. It was going well.

Leg 2: Pen-y-Pass - Glan Dena

Friday 1544hrs, 12km

I didn't rush filling my bottles, as some were. Efficiency at checkpoints is important, but ensuring you take on sufficient fuel is also key - mistakes can be very costly. The next section was not long, but it was certainly difficult. Claire waved as I crossed the road, and then started up the tricky, steep climb.

I recalled previous races when the ascent of Glyder Fawr in the heat was causing some people significant issues. Last year, after a speedy first leg, I was the one suffering heat-related nausea on this ascent, losing a bunch of places. Today, I was going OK at first, though not feeling particularly strong. The race field was still fairly close together, so any slowing was punished by people passing - it shouldn't matter at this point in a long race, but mentally it can make you feel like everything isn't working well.

On the Glyders

I had a bold nutrition strategy this time. Where previously I've used Tailwind as my mainstay for both electrolytes and carb intake, today I was embellishing it with various other running nutrition, including SIS gels. My hope was that a higher carb intake would stop me hitting the same nutrition-related dip at 25 miles that had regularly seen me sobbing in a checkpoint - something caught on camera by the UTMB videographer at the Arc and subsequently posted to Instagram.

It wasn't hot today, so heatstroke was not a worry, but I was starting to feel sick again, and slowing down. Same hill, same feeling. This was really frustrating. It was probably something to do with fuelling, so I figured I'd just ride it out. When I eventually reached the summit, I was getting cold, so I took a minute to hide in amongst the rocks and get changed. The marshals stationed at the top checked I was ok - I wasn't, but I didn't want help. I knew not to rush, so took enough time to get a little food and drink in.

Back on the move, I felt a little better, and the terrain recovered my mood - this was stunning terrain. I'd been a little miffed that this year's route would not descend Devil's Kitchen, but the new route over Glyder Fach was stunning. Leaping across the huge rock fields was fun, requiring a good deal of attention. I was in my element, again. I mentally bookmarked the location, resolving that I must return here for a hike or run to fully appreciate the terrain.

I was enthusiastically tackling another technical descent, when I realised I was in close company with Sanna Duthie - an exceptionally talented ultra runner, who I wouldn't expect to be near to at the finish. This was a nice little boost, an encouragement that I was in exactly the right place in the race now, regardless of other runners that had sped by some while ago.

Leg 3: Glan Dena - Llyn Eigiau

Friday 1740hrs, 21.1km

The Glan Dena checkpoint was in a slightly different spot again this year. I recalled suffering from the heat on the previous year, with my crew trying to help me cool off, refuel and regain my composure. This year, supporters were not allowed at the checkpoint. I tried to be efficient, but knew I needed to have a decent feed. Sanna arrived a little after me, but moved through like a pro. I was still eating and drinking when she left. I took some more time for a toilet stop. After already hitting nausea issues, I knew I needed to make sure I was back in good shape before starting the next section - a big loop over the Carnedds, this was one of the longest sections of the race over some very high summits.

The climb up Pen yr Ole Wen is long and challenging, but rewards you with some of the most beautiful and iconic views in Eryri. As ever, I had to stop and take that photo of Tryfan, Llyn Ogwen and Devil's Kitchen. I marvelled at the rugged terrain, and put my poles away as things got steep and hands were required. It was as tough as ever, but eventually I reached the first of the summits. The sun had taken refuge behind the clouds, as the north coast came into view. I was feeling ok, and ready to run along the edge.

That photo of Tryfan

Steep scrambling up Pen Yr Ole Wen

Looking onwards from Carnedd Dafydd

Carnedd Llewellyn summit

The summit of Carnedd Dafydd (1044m) passed without drama, and I tracked along the edge of Cefn Ysgolion Duon. I remembered being humbled along this section by a younger runner with cheap attire, feeling pointlessly demoralised on that occasion. I reached the rockfield at Bwlch Cyfryw-drum, and took a good deal of care skipping over the rocks and afterwards, recalling last year's fall, which resulted in painfully sore knees. The clouds were blowing over the summits, so long distance visibility was disappearing. I passed over the highest summit of this range, Carnedd Llewellyn (1064m), and the forgettable Foel Grach (I actually can't remember it, even after a second visit), then started the grassy descent to Llyn Eigiau.

As I descended, I recalled the morsel of encouragement last year, when I chatted to some hikers that my brother-in-law had been out with. Today, the encouragement came from my legs working. I put the hammer down, and found myself passing plenty of folk who were feeling a bit worn down by the long section and struggling for grip on the swampy bits. I was skipping over them with some confidence, as I trailed another speedy runner. I had one little tumble in the mud, but no injury, and set about holding my pace when the path turned stoney. I knew the checkpoint wasn't very close yet, but I was determined to maintain my enthusiastic pace until I arrived there.

Leg 4: Llyn Eigiau - Capel Curig

Friday 2050hrs, 37.3km

I'd gained several more places on the way to this checkpoint. Last year, I'd found myself struggling on the descent from Foel Grach, but I was moving better today. The checkpoint was a small marquee, with several seats around the edge, tables full of the usual food snacks and race fuel options, and both hot and cold drinks available. I was purposeful in what I ate and drank, and decided it wasn't a time to sit down for long - no hot chocolate for me this year. The following section to Capel Curig was relatively short; there, I'd be able to have hot food and change my socks, so this stop was just a quick refill point.

The dark was closing in as I left the checkpoint. It was a similar time of day to last year, but we'd started an hour later, so I knew I was moving well. I was almost alone as I left the checkpoint, but quickly caught up with a couple of other runners who had not regained their momentum yet. I was a little irritable, and relishing the solitude, so was quite happy when I moved ahead and they were out of sight. The trail meandered through undulating, heather-coated moorland, my headtorch now picking out the small, reflective flags that marked the course. It is a peculiar feeling to be alone on little used trails as the darkness closes; even being in a race, you can find yourself entirely out of view of other runners for long periods. The view opened up as I crested a hill, and I could see a trail of headtorches near Llyn Colwyd. I was still in my own space when I passed the head of the reservoir, but when I overtook another runner, I was keen to once again be alone.

After some unexpected woodland (I'd forgotten this bit), I hit the road near Capel Curig. I knew the checkpoint was still a little way off, in the woods near Plas y Brenin. Another runner seemed confused about the checkpoint location, so I told my story from last year where I was circling around looking for it, convinced it couldn't be in the woods, eventually phoning race control. It was nice to arrive at the venue, a good-sized building with plenty of space to sort your kit out, hot food available, and proper toilets.

Leg 5: Capel Curig - Dolwyddelan

Friday 2259hrs, 49.5km

I got some hot food (probably pasta) and a coffee down. The timing of this stop is important, falling late in the evening; it is a chance to sort yourself out for the overnight running - refuelled, clean feet and fresh socks, and any other bodily maintenance to ease the challenge of running when your body starts to resist the idea. I was 1.5 hours ahead of last year (adjusted for the different start time), an hour ahead of my optimistic schedule, and a full 4 hours ahead of the checkpoint cutoff. Things were going very much according to plan.
I embarked on the hike up through the woods to join the trail up to Moel Siabod. It felt even more familiar this time, having hiked over in the opposite direction just a few weeks prior. I was very much in my thoughts, as usual, reasoning about life and motivations. As I joined the trail, I wasn't feeling quite as strong as I hoped. I was, once again, in clear air, pleased for the solitude. I knew some runners were a little way behind, and hoped that keeping a steady pace would avoid me ending up alongside. There are times in a race where it is nice to chat, and others where I just want the space to think or not think. I was pleased when I got out of the woods, onto some clear trail and could see that I was actually in a very big gap with nobody close in either direction. I was very steadily closing in on the runners ahead.
The weariness of the night was beginning to hit a little earlier than usual, as I reached the summit. I was looking forward to descending the scramble over Daear Ddu, which was steep and technical. Today, I was seizing up a bit, not feeling fresh in my limbs, and my mood had sunk a bit. I was frustrated that the course marking was even worse this year, on a section where I would consider it to be essential. Even knowing the course, I was drifting off the line, unable to see the next flag. Other runners were convinced the route was more to the left or right, and ended up on more difficult scrambles. Despite my stiffness, I was relatively quick and passing a bunch of people, finding clear air again as the trail levelled out, at least until I had to make an emergency detour into the woods.

Checkpoint at Dolwyddelan

The fire tracks were tedious, but I brought to them the same resolve as last year - keep running until the checkpoint. Such straight, easy trails are a great measure of your condition, by which I mostly mean your mental state resulting from fuelling. That is, if I find myself walking on a trail that is easily runnable, most likely feeling negative and grumpy, I know something is wrong, and that something will only be fixed by food and drink. No problem this time - I'd been forcing the Tailwind drink down, and periodically taking a gel or energy bar. I knew that being fuelled meant being quick.

Leg 6: Dolwyddelan - Blaeneau Ffestiniog

Saturday 0224hrs, 60km

This year, I'd changed the race and support plans I'd made with Claire - we'd decided that, given she didn't have children in tow, she'd support at the overnight stops too. With the timings of the checkpoints that allow support, she'd otherwise not see me much, so whilst not the most fun for her, it meant her support would give a bigger boost to my race. I decided to capitalise by running lighter; previously, I'd treated her support as non-essential, carrying what I needed and putting anything additional in my half-way drop bag - this meant that, in the event of car issues or other problem, it wouldn't derail my race. This time, I'd let her carry some stuff including additional food and clothes changes, which meant I was just a little lighter on the trail.

It was good to see Claire at the checkpoint, which was outdoors in a tent this time. I was still doing well on timings, but as it approached 0230, I was starting to feel tired. My stomach had been starting to feel bad, hence my forest detour. I managed to shovel in a couple of portions of rice pudding, hoping the fatty calories would help get me straight. My knee had started complaining, and a previous attempt at using Rock tape had failed, so I put on the support sleeve Claire had in her bag. I wasn't feeling hugely revived, but nothing was going to fix it right now so I decided to press on, knowing a short sleep would be possible at dawn when I reached Blaeneau Ffestiniog.

Conditions weren't too bad over the often marshy Y Ro Wen. I recalled a previous recce visit and race where it had been seriously muddy, but today I wasn't getting too wet, and had an easier time following the trail than previously. This bit of the route is not on a footpath, rather on access land, following an ancient trail over the bleak moorland. Wet feet are inevitable, and it is slow going on the uneven, soft grass. Daylight gradually appeared as I worked my way over the almost endless trail, hoping for coffee but knowing that it was a long plod to get there.

The first of the disused quarries appeared sooner than I expected, as I spotted the deep pit to my right. I felt a certain confidence as I started negotiating the slate-covered trails through the site, fully confident in where I was going. The trail felt almost eerie through Cwt-y-bugail and along the side of Llyn Bowydd, with the landscape decimated by quarrying, and the trails abandoned to fall apart. Navigating the former roads can be tricky; they are broken up and muddy, and on previous occasions I've resorted to simply running through the water. This time, I was managing to keep my feet relatively dry, sometimes picking along the bank at the side, or sticking to the track where it was not too wet.

Llyn Bowydd at a disused quarry above Blaeneau Ffestiniog

As I passed the lower, disused quarry at Maen-offeren, and was nearing Blaeneau Ffestiniog, I found myself with some other runners. We crossed an access track and headed down a trail. After a couple of minutes, I realised we'd missed a turn. I shouted to the others, and headed back up the steep hill to correct. Some were a long way down the hill, and didn't hear others shouting to them. I knew they could correct the mistake by picking up a track further down, and I took a lead for those that had realised the mistake, and picked up the trail through the vegetation that tracked around the side of the hill.
I was frustrated by a runner who was in front, but moving cautiously, with no chance to pass. I probably should have just asked, but I was too tired to communicate so I just waited, and passed when the trail opened out. I got myself in clear air again for the descent to the town, and pulled my party trick of holding a run until I arrived at the checkpoint. As a strategy, it works well - people regularly lose a lot of time in the mile or two before a checkpoint, as they are fading and in need of nutrition.

Leg 7: Blaeneau Ffestiniog - Croesor

Saturday 0510hrs, 72.3km

I arrived in the hall and found a spot to sit. Claire was nowhere to be seen, so I gave her a call, then set about my tasks. Coffee could wait, as I'd have a sleep here. Over the previous section, my stomach had been getting more unhappy; I'd started feeling a bit sick and had been struggling to drink. My fuelling plan wasn't working well, but I wasn't really analysing what was happening. I had a cup of tea, and Claire kept prompting me to eat, but nothing appealed. I took some imodium, and decided to attempt a sleep.

Feeling rough at Blaeneau Ffestiniog

Setting out after a sleep

My attempt at sleep was disturbed by talking. I felt quite irritated, but realised that this area was also being used by medics - not the best arrangement. It felt like I hadn't slept at all, but the speed at which the 15 minutes disappeared suggested I'd at least had a few minutes. I managed to force down a couple of sandwiches and some soup before heading out.

I was very much on my own as I plodded across the town to pick up the Snowdonia Slate Trail at Tanygrisiau. It was a long, solitary march up past Llyn Cwmorthin and through the old quarries. Another runner trailed at a long distance, but was falling back as I found my momentum. I started reeling in some others as we were leaving the top of the quarries and heading across the grassy trails to Llyn Stwlan.

Llyn Cwmorthin

The high trail above Llyn Stwlan is on the side of a steep slope, and old track supported by crumbling slate structures. In places, it has collapsed down the hill, leaving precarious gaps to skip over. I was in a daze, having to take care with my footing so as not to have a big tumbling incident. My tired brain was musing that the dam structure in the distance looked like something out of Halo 2 (showing my age here), and I should look out for snipers.

I was clearly not as weary as on previous races as I fairly quickly reached the foot of the ascent to Moelwyn Mawr. It was an unforgiving scramble for my tired legs. Once I hit the summit, I knew what pain awaited me - a steep grassy descent followed by a brutal, direct route down an old tramway. In previous races, this had been a horrible test of my knees, and I'd slowly struggled down. Today, I was picking down the first bit with a reasonable amount of confidence. I was holding my own compared to the pace of others who were now nearby. I straddled the awkward end of a slate wall to clear the fence - the most odd and unsafe of crossings - and headed over to the top of the tramway.

A direct route down a steep hill is never fun for your knees or toes, especially 50 miles into a brutal mountain race. This one was fascinating and torturous in equal measure. I loved that I was running down a piece of history - an elevated track that was once used for trucks carrying large quantities of slate off the side of Moelwyn Mawr down to the slate trail to Croesor. My knees, however, were not fans, nor my toes. At some point, despite my best efforts securing my shoes using the Runner's Knot, I'd felt my right big toenail crack at the base, and the sharp discomfort made it clear that a year of trying to persuade my messed up toenail to regrow to its full size and straight had just come to nothing. Despite this, I was moving better than previous years, and was getting down the track at a decent pace. I struggled over the big gap in the path in the middle, but even skating down the sections with loose slate on didn't seem as tricky this time, and I quickly reached the slate trail.

Just as at previous checkpoints, folk were plodding down the easy trail for the last mile to the checkpoint, but I pulled my usual trick, enthusiastic for a sit down, some hot food and some clean clothes.

Leg 8: Croesor - Gwastadannas

Saturday 0845hrs, 84.6km

With access to my drop bag, I took the time to clean myself up and put on a full fresh outfit. I attempted to eat a decent amount, but my stomach wasn't keen, despite it being hot food. I wished they'd had simpler options than whatever stew was on offer; some pizza would have been great. I set out again, but I had been a bit eager - I hadn't taken on enough calories, and still wasn't eating or drinking well. This would prove to be a significant error.

Plodding up the road to find the trail to Cnicht, I got chatting with another runner called Sam. It was a welcome distraction. When we reached the scramble, she suggested I press on as I was a bit quicker on such bits. The incredible views from the summit were a bit wasted on me, feeling a bit rough, and I rallied myself for the 5-mile moorland trudge that came next.

It was as tedious as I remembered, though I was initially quicker. Up and down, with the landscape seeming to repeat itself. The ground was very wet, and some of the bogs were bigger than on previous occasions. I found myself alongside other runners, not knowing which way to navigate around some huge bogs, or how big the risk was if trying to run through - some bits were wide to cross, very wet and potentially very deep. My sense of humour was disappearing, no doubt because I wasn't fuelling. The rain had set in properly, and my legs weren't working as I wanted when there were awkward stony bits to skip down. After what seemed like hours, (because it was - basically from Saturday breakfast until late lunch), I began the descent to the road near Llyn Gwynant. I'd been showing a group a clean pair of heels until I saw a familiar face holding a camera (Andrew), and stopped for a quick chat.

Emerging from the boggy moorland onto the Llyn Gwynant road

Popping out at the road, Claire greeted me, and it became apparent I wasn't in a good state. I was talking about a lack of motivation to suffer through this, and my face was showing the pain. It wasn't just that I'd suffered the worst bit of the route, I was at the beginnings of a major fuelling failure.

Leg 9: Gwastadannas - Beddgelert

Saturday 1246hrs, 98.2km

I was glad to get under cover, but wasn't managing to eat anything the checkpoint had to offer. I nibbled at some crisps. I was trying to drink, trying Coke and water, but given I hadn't been emptying my bottles at all for hours, I wasn't even close to plugging the gap. I kept trying, and felt utterly miserable. The rain was hammering down on the marquee, and I felt no will to exit the checkpoint. I got chatting to Sam again, and we realised we had mutual friends. She somehow lifted my mood up enough to get going, though I felt horrible.

I probably moaned a lot as we trudged through the beautiful wood above Llyn Gwynant. Eventually popping out between the lakes, I passed Claire, parked up on the road, and had to knock on the window to wake her. After a quick chat, I carried on in the rain with Sam and probably bored her with incessant talking about these trails I'd run so many times before. She suggested I plough on at my pace, but I really wasn't feeling like doing anything quickly, so we ran together along Llyn Dinas.

I was going OK up the very familiar Grib Ddu climb, but my agility was slipping on the descent. I still wasn't fuelling, and my predicament was worsening. I didn't want to eat or drink the things I was carrying. I think I'd peeled off from Sam at some point. I was plodding along the beautiful river at Aberglaslyn, not quite realising how much I'd slowed. I arrived at Beddgelert 15 minutes behind my timing plan, though still a full hour up on the previous year.

Ascending Grib Ddu, looking back over Llyn Dinas

Leg 10: Beddgelert - Rhyd-Ddu

Saturday 1632hrs, 112.2km

It was time for some more foot maintenance.  I'd developed a couple of blisters, despite my regime of Rock tape on my heels, a smothering of Trenchfoot cream over everywhere else, and use of Injiji toe socks; the swampy section before Gwastadannas hadn't been great for foot condition. I was seriously behind on my nutrition plan; I hadn't been eating or drinking and was getting very dehydrated. I needed calories, but wasn't managing to put much in at the checkpoint.

I'd spotted a friend of a friend as I'd entered the checkpoint. Rosie was supporting her partner, who was also in the race. I'd met her last year when she was doing an amazing job of getting round the 100M race. She came in for a chat, seeing my sorry situation and gave a whole load of friendly encouragement. I needed this boost, I was falling apart.

I somehow gathered myself, having failed to eat or drink enough to recover the situation, and knowing that I was about to start the hardest section of the race. The clock was ticking. Last year, I had only just got to the end of the Nantle Ridge before dusk, and this year the race had started an hour later; I'd arrived at Beddgelert with an hour in hand, but that had already been slipping. Just after I left the checkpoint, I realised I'd made a big mistake - my gloves were soaked, and Claire had my fresh ones. I'd got progressively colder through the day as the weather worsened, and was definitely going to get colder again over this section. I phoned Claire, and she returned with the gloves - a few minutes lost, but an important save.

I felt pretty strong on the initial part of the Moel Hebog ascent. I knew Sam was about 15 minutes ahead, and thought I might catch up. I was again quick compared to people around me, gaining a few places as I pushed up the long and difficult climb. When I reached the trickier scrambling bits, the path was less clear, and other runners were struggling to follow it, as I had on previous occasions. I wasn't any more clear than them, but was confident that I could plough up and correct the course as it went wrong. Gaining more places, I took the lead from the other runners, feeling strong. It didn't last. My chronic lack of fuelling suddenly started to hit, before I'd reached the summit. I found myself grinding to a halt on the very last bit of the scrambling, feeling shaky and very tired. I was broken.

Sometimes, I feel like a machine - it might be difficult, unpleasant or painful, but I'll just keep going, even at a plod. This was different, I actually couldn't. I just felt exhausted like I couldn't move. I took a break, and the other runners passed me. I knew what was happening. I'd been feeling nauseous for hours, and the idea of drinking Tailwind was repulsive. I was so dry that eating was very difficult. Still, I forced in small nibbles of energy bar, and the smallest of sips of Tailwind - I had to. I think I even managed to force a gel in, narrowly avoiding vomiting. A few minutes later, I was back on my feet and plodding towards the summit.

I was thankful for my shoe swap at Beddgelert; I'd had a pair of my favoured Topo Mountain Racers re-shod with Vibram Peak District tread, and the grassy descent from Moel Hebog, in the wet, was the exact situation I wanted them for. It was on this descent, on a recce a couple of years prior, where I'd fallen over twice within a few seconds, giving myself minor whiplash. Today, I had full confidence of grip, and headed straight down the grass. It was still an awkward descent, but nothing like the trouble I'd had before. I plodded over Moel yr Ogof and Moel Lefn confidently, having hiked them a few weeks prior; there was no gratuitous scrambling over the summits today, just follow the race route around.

I ended up alongside a group of runners as we descended to Princess Quarry. Despite my familiarity with the route and usual confidence in dealing with the technical descent, I was slow. They passed by as we negotiated the swamp field before the quarry, and I simply couldn't stay with them. I was running out of fuel again.

At the foot of the horribly steep sequence of climbs up to the Nantle Ridge, I propped myself against a wall. I had to fix this. If I couldn't eat now, I needed to abort; the option of heading down through Beddgelert Forest would be my only chance of escape. Otherwise, I was taking on a really tough climb followed by a difficult, technical ridge, heading towards sunset. It would be stupid to tackle it, knowing I couldn't make it. Feeling utterly sick, I started nibbling and sipping.

I'd done enough to power my climb up to the ridge. The fear of taking on the difficult ridge in the dark (not to mention wet and windy) was enough to push me forwards. The scrambling was slow and awkward, and to avoid scrambling down the bigger drops, I held the "path" nearer to the big drop to the west at Mynydd Drws-y-coed. My special tread wasn't helping now, as it was less confidence-inspiring on wet rocks. I just had to be careful.

I was feeling a little better by the time I reached Y Garn. I was running ok, and was happy hit the grassy trails. I knew a really awkward descent was ahead, but my special tread was certainly the solution to the loose, muddy stuff that awaited. It was a horribly long and awkward descent, the same as ever, but I was happy to have working legs and grippy shoes, 76 miles and nearly 32 hours into the race.

Leg 11: Rhyd-Ddu - Bron-y-Fedw uchaf

Saturday 2213hrs, 126.9km

I was 45 minutes behind my target time when I arrived, but nearly 50 minutes ahead of the previous year. I was horribly dehydrated, still feeling sick, still struggling to eat. The checkpoint served hot food, so it was a chance to try to eat. They served a veggie chilli soup, but it was ridiculously spicy. Like most other people, I couldn't eat it, and I barely ate a crumb of anything else. I figured a sleep might help, so I slipped into a side room and tried a 10 minute nap. I felt worse, but colder, as a result, and still couldn't eat. I was slumped in my chair, feeling despair. I listened to the jokey interactions between the volunteers and other participants, and just found myself irritated. Nothing was getting resolved here, the only solution was to eat and drink on the move, so I set out.

15 minutes later, and some way up the Rhyd-Ddu trail to Snowdon, I reached for my poles. There was only one there. This was bad news. Not only were they expensive, but I really needed them for these last few climbs - both Snowdon, and the incredibly steep Mynydd Mawr. I had to call it - I needed to retrace my steps, I had probably left it at the checkpoint or dropped it on the way out.

Another 15 minutes later, I was back in the checkpoint. No pole. I wasted more time asking around, but to no avail. So that was it, I was finishing the race without poles, having now squandered all the extra time and feeling terrible. I saw the funny side, and set out again. I'd come this far, it couldn't get much worse, and I wasn't accepting a DNF again.

Except it could get worse. I had caught up with another runner on the later stages of Rhyd-Ddu, and was plodding along behind him as the weather started feeling a bit inhospitable along the edge of Llechog. Sideways hail arrived and started blasting us, and we just had to soldier on. It was his first time on the course, and he didn't really know what to expect, but these were tough conditions to find out. As we ascended towards Bwlch Main, the precarious ridge before the final ascent to the summit, it was getting much colder, windy and the visibility was rapidly disappearing. Knowing that this was a tricky bit to negotiate, with dangerous drops in places, I volunteered to go in front.

There are sometimes moments on these races when even the most adventurous of us start questioning the situation. I pushed away thoughts of "this is bloody mental", and tried to focus on the task in front of me. Was this sufficiently dangerous that we needed to turn around? What would that mean? Follow the same route down? What was the correct safety protocol from a race point of view? I persuaded myself that the risk was not immediate, and the footing not too difficult, it just required care. I took my time at the difficult bits, and continued on. I tried to avoid thinking about consequences of any mistake.

At some point along the ridge, there were tents tucked into the rocks, and some volunteers popped out to check we were ok. I had nothing else to respond with, so opted for "fine thanks" and carried on. At least I wasn't camping out here. I hoped they had very good sleeping bags.

I figured we were nearing the final ascent, but visibility had gone. Things were getting pretty icy, but thankfully we still had grip under foot. Finally reaching the steps up to the visitor centre, I caught a glimpse of the building. The icy wind meant it was brutally cold at the top. I was really cold now, and fearing the consequences of a fall. Runners were descending in groups, a natural response to the conditions, but I was too cold - I had to get off the mountain as quickly as I could.

After skipping down the first section, passing a bunch of runners, I could barely spot the turn off to Ranger and almost went wrong. It was hard to follow the scrappy path with such little forward visibility; I was holding my arm out so I could glance at my watch to correct my direction, but without losing sight of where I was putting my feet. The terrain was rocky, and I couldn't afford a mistake. Progress seemed slow, but from my run a few weeks ago, I knew I could descend this pretty quickly. I was far less nimble on the more tricky bits today, but still moving well. The temperature rose with every minute, and I started to feel safer.

It seemed a long while until I turned off the Ranger path, onto the descent across private land to get to the checkpoint at the farm. I recalled quite how long it took me to cover this grassy section on the previous year, and braced myself for some suffering. Last year, some strange weather effect had meant it got significantly colder as I descended into this valley. Thankfully, that didn't happen today. I was moving ok for a while, but as the trails became more defined, the fatigue of running through a second night started to hit. I was alternating walking and jogging, but actually falling asleep as I did it. It was the motion of starting to fall over that woke me up, then I'd repeat the cycle. I just couldn't shake the weariness, even by shaking my head or slapping my cheek. I really needed to get to the checkpoint.

Leg 12: Bron-y-Fedw - Betws Garmon

Sunday 0437hrs, 139.1km

It was good to have Claire around at this stop. We were in a huge, open-sided barn. Sitting there, I was quickly cold, even having thrown on an insulated jacket. Claire was encouraging me to eat and drink, but yet again I was struggling. I managed a  little rice pudding and water. It seemed implausible that I'd run so far on so little food and drink - a fraction of what I'd normally consume. I needed something extra to finish this race, so I went for a 15-minute sleep. The volunteers provided me with a sleeping bag and hot water bottle.

Broken and cold, before the medic assessed me

Setting out for Mynydd Mawr, dressed warm

When I awoke, I was freezing. I felt awful. Claire was trying to get me to eat and drink again. A medic was a bit concerned for me, and wanted to assess me. He took my temperature, and checked my blood sugars. Nothing was critical. There was only one thing left - get running, get warm. The previous year, I'd left in my insulated jacket, keeping wrapped up until I was warm again. It worked similarly this time. By the time I'd exited the wood and started the Foel Rudd climb, I was warming up, but not that well.

I had no poles for these climbs. My legs were strong enough to manage but they needed fuel, and of course I'd consumed very, very little. I plodded on, and still found myself passing a couple of people. My memories of this section, bearing in mind I'd done it twice in the race before, said that Mynydd Mawr immediately followed Foel Rudd, but this wasn't the case. I found myself following an altogether unfamiliar section. Clearly, I was more lucid than on previous occasions. I knew where I was, because when the clouds blew out the way I could see the valley below. The descent was much more familiar. My legs were working, and I was managing to run down where I was sure I'd only managed a walk before. The swamp at the bottom was easily negotiated this time (I copied a guy ahead).

The route took a 90-degree turn over a wall, and we joined a meandering path through some interesting swamp land. I was moving well again, and started grabbing places from people who were flagging. I continued well through the woods, and as we reached the tracks to Betws Garmon, I found myself overtaking more people. Things were going better, although I was now an hour behind last year, and nearly three behind my target. Losing a pole hadn't helped.

Leg 13: Betws Garmon - Llanberis

Sunday 0750hrs, 147.4km

Claire was camping on the site where the checkpoint was hosted. She came to offer encouragement, but wasn't allowed to support or come in the tent. I was managing to nibble on some flapjacks and drink some Coke. I still had a few hours to go, so fuelling was important, but this was the last leg. I'd finally got some calories and liquid in, and knew I could finish the race.

The route was a bit different from here -it didn't cross the same private field to get to the trail. It also took us through an old slate quarry. I pondered how wasteful it seemed that such mountains of broken slate were everywhere in Snowdonia. Why was so much discarded? How could we not find more uses for such an amazing resource?

I picked through the jagged woods, and out onto the fields. I didn't spot wild horses this time. I was once again happy to be in my own thoughts as I trotted along the grassy trails, with people fairly close ahead and behind. When I reached the quarry, I spotted a large rock in the distance, which was certainly the subject of my hallucination the previous year. I was in better mental shape today.

Runners on the 25km race were feeding in at the foot of the Moel Eilio ascent. I had a good chat with one, who offered lots of compliments and encouragement. Then I settled into a slow plod, watching these energy-filled youngsters fly by, followed later by some less energetic ones, still easily passing me.

I was moving slowly, but I knew I couldn't be stopped. I also knew that there were two more peaks, something that had thoroughly thrown me the previous year, when I thought this was the last. All I had to do was keep shuffling along, and the time didn't even matter, I just wanted a finish.

The weather had warmed up, and the sun was getting strong. After nearly being frozen overnight on Snowdon, I had to pull out my suncream. I was steadily cooking as I headed towards Foel Gron. I'd stripped back to a t-shirt, but was still in my tights. I'd once again misjudged the route as there was another, unnamed peak before Foel Gron. I was plodding, and hundreds of runners on the short race were passing. Some gave encouragement, others expressed concern. I was going really slowly. I just about managed to descend Foel Gron. My knee was ok so I could still do this, I mused.

I slowly plodded up Foel Goch. Once over the top, with working knees, I figured I should be able to get down to Llanberis, but it proved not to be that simple. On the descent, I traded places with rookie runners on the 25km event, who were struggling to know how to handle such a steep, rough descent. One took a tumble. Others couldn't seem to do it at all, or were in the wrong footwear. I was just struggling for energy and feeling stiff. I tried to zig-zag out wide on the grass, to make it easier, but that just meant I was just going slowly in the wrong direction instead. I stopped for a break. Even with gravity on my side, I had so little energy that I couldn't keep going. I had to sit, and try to eat. I'd learn later that Claire was getting really quite concerned about my lack of pace, as she tracked my location on the course.

With a very small amount of food in, I finally got down the steep section, and picked up the easy gravel trail. I was jogging again, although it felt tough. The lack of fuel again meant I continued to struggle to keep moving, but I just kept pushing myself. It was getting hotter. After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the sharp right turn to cross the shallow valley and join the small tarmac road that descended all the way to the town. I slowly walked out of the valley. I just needed to get on that tarmac.

I had been spotting other 100-mile runners. A couple had passed me. It was wonderful to get to that tarmac. I normally hate running on tarmac, but at this point, I knew it meant I could hold a run. I also knew I was less than 2 miles from the finish, and only downhill remained. I started a run that I was determined I would hold until the end. I was passing a lot of people, including those on shorter distances. The 100-mile competitors I'd traded places with for two days must have felt miffed, but unless they were prepared to pick up their own pace, they'd be finishing behind me. These positions meant nothing, but it was a great boost to me at that moment.

When I came into the town, I went up a gear again. It was quite early for any kind of sprint, but I wanted to show what I still had, even at this point. I was going quick on the road to the slate museum, still passing people. The cheers and applauds kept giving me a little boost. This was nuts, I didn't have to do this, but I wanted to. I followed the signs that turned me back towards the park where the finish line was. With the finish gantry in sight, I put the hammer down and sped over the line. I broke. It was an epic and special moment. 3 finishes from 3 starts on what is widely regarded as the hardest 100-miler in the UK, and an end to my DNF streak.

An emotional finish

• Distance: 174km / 108 miles (tracked)
• Elevation: 11,804m / 38,727 feet (tracked)
• Elapsed Time: 46:03:04 (official)
• Estimated calories: 23,255
• Position: 92nd, 6th in age category
• Total finishers (within 48-hour cutoff): 112, of 280 starters (60% DNF)
• Ultra Trail Snowdonia homepage
• Route map

Reflections

It was not the race I'd wanted, and turned out to be hard beyond anything I've ever experienced. I knew the immense challenges this race could bring, but doing this with major fuelling challenges took it to another level, along with the extreme conditions we experienced overnight on Snowdon. I had to dig so deep to get round, and the motivation of a third finish here was barely enough. I'd still love to smash my best time and, on reflection, I had it in the bag for most of the race, but for gut problems resulting from my fuelling plan. I'm still not sure what happened - it could have been excessive sugars or electrolytes because I hadn't coordinated my choice of gels with the powder I was using in my drinks.

3 out of 3

I vowed several times during the race, after the finish, and in the weeks after that I'd never do this race again. I couldn't put myself through that. I couldn't do it without a really strong motive, and I already have three finish medals. I have nothing to prove here. Yet even having retrodden this gruelling journey to write this account, I just can't let it go, and I feel a buzz just knowing that I did it, again.