Arc of Attrition 2025

• Distance: 102.8 miles (tracked, missing a section)
• Elevation: 17,703 feet (tracked, missing a section)
• Elapsed Time: 31:44:035 (official)
• Estimated calories: 13,759
• Position: 151st
• Total finishers (within 36-hour cutoff): 259, of 515 starters (50% DNF)

Hell's Mouth, near Godrevy Point

Dire predictions

As the final few days before the race ticked by, the increasing chatter on the event's Facebook group switched from an endless stream of clarifying questions about mandatory kit requirements to something more concerning: Storm Éowyn. The dire forecasts that had residents of the northern parts of the UK fretting were now shifting to include Cornwall, right down to the very tip. The predicted wind speeds looked worrying for anyone owning a roof, and surely would concern those considering setting out along the cliff tops of the Cornish coast. Gale force gusts were set to continue through the first few hours of the race. The six hundred or so runners who had spent their winter training, planning and buying kit were less concerned with personal risk than being unable to start the mission they were so invested in: "I hope they don't cancel".

What is it that motivates anyone to undertake a challenge like this? No doubt, at the time of signing up, there may be dreams of beautiful coastal experiences followed by the glorious sense of a monumental achievement, conquering the extreme distance and terrain. But when the reality hits with ferocious winds, driving rain, cold, pain from every part of your lower body, the despondency of a mind deprived of sleep and adequate nutrition, and the isolation of plodding along in the darkness alone for hours, what would drive anyone to continue? I'm still a bit stuck on the answer, but a 50% dropout rate indicates the sort of battle that it is.

Pre-race

 

With some disagreements between the moving forecasts, the race organisers had bravely decided, with 48-hours to go, that the race would still proceed, barring a further worsening of the situation; it appeared that the worst of the winds would have occurred early morning on the Friday, and it would have tapered to a (debatably) moderate level by the time the runners set off at midday. This left some challenges; the planned festival village would be cancelled, as it wasn't viable to set up all the tents in time, and the finish line would be erected later in the day. It was a good call, and as the time neared, the winds were predicted to pass earlier in the morning. As it turned out, we'd be starting with barely a breeze in the air, and clear skies.

As 9:30am approached, the runners of the 100-mile event were congregating at Mount Pleasant Ecological Park, having loaded their mid-way drop bags onto a lorry. This was the finish venue at Porthtowan on the north coast, and buses were to arrive to transport us to the start line at Coverack on the south coast for our midday start.

Runners gathering at Mount Pleasant Eco Park

The route would follow the meandering coast path around the very tip of England, with the large, mid-way checkpoint falling at Land's End. We had 36-hours to make it round, with nine aid stations distributed along the route where we could refuel; each aid station was also a checkpoint with a cut-off time, and if you hadn't arrived and left again before the cut-off, you would be immediately disqualified.

While the event has run for a number of years, this year was the first under UTMB ownership, and the fixed aid stations replaced the traditional roving support of the "Arc Angels". I was familiar with the UTMB approach from a previous event, and had checked what food options would be available; Penzance (39 miles) and Land's End (55 miles) would be providing hot meals, the rest would be mostly finger food, with soup and rice pudding at some.

I dismounted the bus at Coverack and was ushered to the area for wave 1; my UTMB index, earned from a few previous events, had placed me in the top half of entrants. I was very pleased about this, having heard many tales of people being caught up and delayed in heavy foot traffic in the early stages of the race, where the paths are very narrow. I could set off in the pack, feeling confident that the pace would be at least appropriate, and knowing that my final finish time would hardly be impacted by those first few hours of the race, unless I were to set off at high speed, chasing the very top runners.

Having made the practical and mental preparations for adverse weather conditions, it was a surprise that it was dry, mild and barely even breezy at the sea front. As we waited for the starting time to arrive, I realised that I was going to be far too warm in my running tights. I dress on the side of warm, and will usually be in tights for half of the year, but here I was at a winter endurance event, changing into my shorts.

As the crowds gathered, I didn't bother to push towards the front; I shuffled in near the back of the group, exactly where my ranking would place me.

Coverack, venue of the race start line

Wave 1 of the 100-mile event waiting to set off

The race

Disclaimer: events may not be chronologically or geographically accurate. My memories are hazy, and I've had to reconstruct the timeline based on photos with their location and timestamps, referencing event-tracked checkpoint arrival times, comparing map locations with images found on the internet and recalling conversations with Claire. I'll make corrections as errors become apparent. I'll also admit that during the race, I barely knew where I was most of the time; the names of places that I've used in this post were mostly deduced from the location of photos I took.

Leg 1: Coverack - Lizard Point

Friday 1200hrs, 0 miles

We descended the road to the sea front with applauding crowds lining the street. This event, along with the UTS, is the biggest I have done, and with over 500 people starting the 100-mile distance, the biggest field I have raced in (aside from some 10k road races many years ago). It made for a fun start. The big pack was soon funnelled in to single file as we peeled of the coastal road on to the path. The up and down began, and a fairly bright day with a noisy, churning sea made it exciting. As we got a little space between us, I started pointing my phone camera at things as I ran.

The sea was mesmerising. Despite living in Cornwall for my teenage years, I have never seen the south coast, or even the north, look like this. Each bay was filled with whiteness, and the waves were coming in closely-spaced and big. It was hard to assess the scale from above, but at points they looked like they could be hitting 20ft. Already this was a worthwhile exercise; turning up at the coast after a storm can be fabulous, and we were set for an epic showing.

A busy start through Coverack

Fierce waves at Black Head

The nature of the trails was much as expected; it was up and down on steep paths and tall steps retained with wood. Hard on the quads going up, hard on the knees going down. I was well-trained for the climbs, and knew the descents would be tough. 100-miles later, they would be really tough.

The downpours of the previous days meant the trails were also muddy. Runners with lesser grip on their soles struggled. We were still running close together when a runner in front of me slipped, falling hard on one of his poles, and snapping it in the process. He'd now have to face completing almost the entire race without this expected equipment, but also having to carry them, as-per the regulations. I was thankful for a shoe failure a week before the race that had caused me to order a new pair; I was on fresh tread, and it was working well. I was also glad of my decision to not use poles, the first time I've undertaken 100-miles without.

The path was punctuated by the small, traditional village of Cadgwith. After dropping in to the village, we headed up the steep road out. A row of supporters applauded the runners. Their enthusiasm picked up as I approached one of them for a quick kiss - it was solicited, of course; this was Claire, my partner who, along with our dog, was my support crew for the weekend. No hanging around for chit-chat though.

The scale of the waves continued to impress, and as Housel Bay, near the Lizard, came into view, I wondered what the locals would make of the conditions. Surely it would be quite a day for them too; the waves were both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Cadgwith

Housel Bay, Lizard

Leg 2: Lizard Point - Porthleven

Friday 1411hrs, 10.5 miles

The cafe hosting the aid station was surrounded by enthusiastic spectators. I hadn't really got engaged in my race strategy yet, and simply defaulted to filling my bottles. I made a token effort to eat some food, but didn't stick around long. It felt early in the race, and I wanted to get moving.

We tracked around the lighthouse and then Lizard Point, continuing enjoying the display of the ocean. We dropped down steeply to Caerthillian Cove. The tide was high, and the water near as we crossed a bridge over the stream. The rocks looked like double cream had been poured all over them, and the whipped up liquid sloshed in and out.

After tracking above Pentreath Bay, I spotted a carpark, familiar from our planning, that we had identified as a potential spectating spot for Claire. As I passed through the carpark, I spotted the van, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. I figured she might have wandered along the path with the dog ready to intercept me. I continued, but it became clear she'd missed me. It transpired later that she'd believed me to be further back on the route as the tracking information was delayed, and was out of sight with the dog.

We hit Kynance Cove, and the zig-zagging white waves were chaotic and powerful. I mused that anyone finding themselves in those waters would be beyond saving by even the most equipped rescue party. It was a great distraction, but I didn't notice that I was neglecting nutrition, and this was mid-way through a 14-mile section. As the miles ticked by, I started to really struggle. I should have been fully in race mode by now, but I'd made my first big error.

Caerthillian Cove

Kynance Cove

After working around the coves of Mullion, Polurrian and and Poldhu, and around a bit more headland, we dropped down to work along next to Porthleven Sands, a very long beach leading up to the checkpoint. Midway along, we had to cross the sandbar that separates the coast from The Loe, the largest freshwater lake in Cornwall. It was a slow trudge, with the sand giving way to every touch.

Sand bar at Porthleven Sands

Leg 3: Porthleven - Penzance

Friday 1708hrs, 25 miles

The light was beginning to fade. We were nudging marathon distance as we followed the road along the side of the harbour, towards the checkpoint. Many spectators were giving vocal encouragement and, reading the names from our race bibs, were calling out our names with encouragement. Each time they did, the emotion bubbled up and I was struggling not to burst into tears. It was a familiar place to be, but was far too early in a race for me to have tipped over this point. It was a major nutrition failure, and I was falling apart. Claire intercepted me and realised my struggle. I sat down in the aid station and sobbed. I couldn't answer what I wanted or needed, but it definitely included a break. We tried tea, sandwiches, soup, anything savoury, anything to recover the situation. It was helping, slowly.

I caught eyes with a familiar face. As I asked the question "where do I know you from?", he immediately answered "13 Valleys". It is always encouraging to see someone you have been in the wars with. He was on his way out while I was just getting started on my checkpoint routine.

Porthleven aid station. Composure regained after soup and coffee.

When I was feeling more composed, I got up to set off. I'd cooled down a lot, and so had the weather. I realised it was time to switch from shorts to tights. I went back in the aid station. It then occurred to me that foot maintenance would also be prudent. I removed my socks, wet from all the muddy stretches, and cleaned my feet. A fresh smothering of lube went on, and clean socks. This would serve me well as the race progressed. I put on my headtorch, and the mandatory tail light on my pack, and headed out.

After a rocky section around Trewavas Head, we joined the road leading along Praa Sands. The path weaved through the beach car parks. Some spectators were pointing where I should go and calling "this way!".They thought I was ignoring them, but I was approaching Claire for a hug.

It was quite moderate terrain round to Cudden Point and onwards to Perranuthnoe; the headland was not high and rather than exposed edges, we were tracking through the sloped heather banks. No difficult climbs or technical terrain to worry about. I arrived in the streets of Marazion, and spotted Claire parked up in the van. After a quick hello, I continued along the streets of the sea front, entirely unaware that I'd just passed St Michael's Mount.

The coast path headed onto the sea wall, St Michael's Way, which then joined up alongside the railway. I was weary and still suffering from my nutritional errors. I hadn't done the necessary work to recover the situation, so was still dehydrated. I was plodding and aching. A much younger runner was doing a lot of stop-start to cope with the mundanity of the straight concrete. We shared our displeasure, as trail runners. My slow plod loosely matched the average of her pace for a while, until she picked it up and headed off the CP. I was in the warzone already. Rookie error. Damn that stupid concrete.

To amplify my frustrations, as another runner asked a question to clarify the route through the carparks at Penzance with me, my watch rebooted. There was a problem every time I interacted with the map screen. To stop further reboots, I switched to another screen; at least this course was mostly obvious, and otherwise clearly marked with flags. I'd leave it alone to track my race.

Leg 4: Penzance - Porthcurno

Friday 2107hrs, 40 miles

Amongst the various aches that were developing, my right knee was getting sore. I know that resting and elevating it can recover the situation, so I located some bench seating in the aid station and planted myself there. I felt the need to lie down for a few minutes. One of the Arc Angels asked me if I was ok, and even I could hear the incoherency of my affirmative response. She asked what I wanted to eat and drink, and deciding an answer and then formulating a response was proving a challenge. We got there eventually, and I tried out some hot food. Beef casserole with dumplings, on rice, was the choice, and it was pretty good. I think I had a tea or a coffee, or both, as I was trying to pull myself together. I knew I needed this.

Departing the checkpoint, it felt like rigor mortis had set in. It was still a long way to half distance. I hobbled along in the hope that both my core and my joints would warm up soon, and something more akin to running might become possible. I drew some strength from experience, knowing that things can improve with nutrition and daylight, and that I do pretty well at the endurance side of things. I also pondered that whatever battle people thought they were fighting with those around them, we hadn't got to half way yet. It was obvious to me that Land's End, the half way point, would be giving up time for many; psychologically, it is very difficult to feel utterly broken, yet set out to do the same all over again. I told myself that the actual race would begin when I left Land's End.

Yet more tedium on tarmac as I plodded around Penzance and through Newlyn. Claire was stopped at the roadside in Newlyn to give a moment of encouragement, as supporters were not permitted at the Penzance checkpoint.

Newlyn Harbour

Things get a little hazy from here to Land's End. I don't tend to take many pictures at night, for obvious reasons, and the stretch to Porthcurno is only punctuated by a couple of notable places - Mousehole and Lamorna Cove - but nothing really stuck in my head. I'm sure if I were to retread my steps, I'd be able to correlate some memories of negotiating the terrain.

Leg 5: Porthcurno - Land's End

Saturday 0046hrs, 50 miles

Porthcurno was the halfway point by distance, but with the drop bags and hot food being at the Land's End checkpoint 4.5 miles later, this would only serve as a intermediate stop. The checkpoint was up on the hill, in a marquee.

I wanted to keep the stop brief, and so attempted a small amount of fuelling, as well as filling my bottles. I'd been ensuring that I refilled 3x500ml bottles, at each stop, with the Naak energy drink supplied at every aid station. Whilst it is a complete nutrition drink, it must be consumed at the required rate to cover both hydration and calorie requirements. I hadn't been. Given I was supplementing with food, I should have taken a mixed drink approach and ensured I was getting sufficient fluids down. I wasn't, and the dehydration challenges continued. It seems so obvious as I write this, and from prior experience I know how to handle this approach, but a late decision to use this instead of my own supplied Tailwind powder had impacted my strategy significantly, and I wasn't thinking straight. I left the checkpoint, once again dehydrated and feeling rough.

I forgot to look out for the Minnack Theatre as I headed out from the checkpoint into the darkness. As best I can remember, we were on a section with a lot of clifftop running. The sea was intimidating, roaring and crashing below us. Occasionally, it would hit a cave and a low boom would resonate through the air.

As I navigated awkward rocky paths, scrambling up, between and down rocks, and sliding around in mud, I'd occasionally point my head torch to the side, and be reminded that only the grip on my soles and some good balancing skills were protecting me from falling to my death, either by rocks or being swallowed by the monstrous swirling currents. Miniature flags were used to mark the route, and they were easily picked out with a head torch. Occasionally, a red one would appear, gently indicating the substantial risk of a cliff edge. I slowed my pace when I realised the risk level, but on one occasion I leapt down a rock, steadying myself in some mud, only to realise I was less than a ruler's length from a very big drop. I was glad that we weren't been subjected to high winds, and hoped all the runners would make it round safely.

Weaving through rocks at Nanjizal Bay

Despite the shortness of this leg, I was feeling a bit desperate to reach the Land’s End checkpoint for a proper rest and some hot foot. I could see lights on a high point in the distance, but it appeared a long way off. I kept plodding, and eventually the lights got closer. Just to delay it a little more, there was inevitably a descent followed by a steep climb to earn that break.

Leg 6: Land's End - Botallack

Saturday 0228hrs, 55 miles

Claire was waiting as I arrived. This wasn’t going to be a quick stop, so a different priority order was followed: find drop bag, loo, get changed/washed/lubed, sit, hot drink. I dithered around the next questions about what I wanted to eat; beef chilli appealed, and went down easily. I followed with some chicken soup, which was as much chicken as liquid. I charged my phone, swapped fresh socks and top for dirties in my pack, swapped my charge packs over and grabbed some new food items from my drop bag, though I had barely used anything carried in the first half. I wasn’t wasting time, but inevitably this all took a while.

Once I was ready to resume, it was decision time about whether I would sleep. With this race only straddling a single night (UTS and 13 Valleys cross two for everyone except the elite), no sleeping provision was made. Yet I know that a short sleep can bring a huge freshness, and earn you more than the time it costs. I found a quiet spot on the floor of the hotel lobby, and told Claire to wake me in 10 mins.

I must have drifted off with about 2 mins to spare. Claire woke me, and I got straight up and headed for the exit. My knee felt a lot better, and I was feeling alert and running well.

Over the next couple of hours, I ploughed forward with a strength that had alluded me for a long while. I caught and passed several runners who had leap-frogged me while I slept. The impact of that short sleep was striking - I was alert and pushing, while others were wrestling with drooping eyelids and fatigue. I barely registered the landmarks; it was dark and I was focused on running. The normally beautiful Sennen Cove went by unnoticed. A technical, rocky section around Aire Point required concentration. Gribba Point round to Cape Cornwall was only notable for the technical level, or where I could hear that I was near a cliff edge with the sea roaring below.

Daylight was gradually starting to appear. Those around me were flagging, and some with poles struggled to negotiate rocky patches and difficult descents. I kept catching such people, and they would willingly let me pass, looking broken. One guy commented that I looked stronger than him, to which I replied “my legs don’t feel that strong”. He followed by saying I was skipping over the rocks like a gazelle. He wasn’t wrong. I caught a group of maybe four runners as we hit a bed of huge, smooth, round stones. The group were gingerly trying to step onto the rocks. I leapt around them like it was a game, and skipped my way across, and disappeared up the path. This was going well; all that training around Kinder Downfall was paying dividends.

Leg 7: Botallack - St Ives

Saturday 0558hrs, 63 miles

Though I’d knocked out a very good leg to Botallack, I’d neglected to keep up the fuelling, and arrived at the aid station once again quite broken. There were no hot food options at this stop, and my attempts to eat didn't work too well, nothing appealed and I was feeling quite sick. I only managed a small amount of food and drink, and wanted to get moving again.

The next section developed into something unforgettable for everyone who had reached this point in the race. I had neglected to study the route or factor in the variable distances between aid stations, and this was the longest. It was also significantly tougher terrain than previous sections. Its first delight was a swampy field on a slope where the path repeatedly gave way to streams, and it wasn’t obvious how to get around them without getting soaking and muddy. I tried, but failed. It was very slow going. The terrain eventually switched to rock fields, requiring much care to avoid injury. I was less agile than previously. Rocks and wet mud combined to make some very tricky going. As the plodding went on, I was aware of runners a way ahead and behind, but we mostly held positions; everyone was finding it hard and going slow. A couple of runners eventually passed; I was unsure if they were on a shorter distance event, which seemed likely.

The terrain was stunning, but I couldn't muster enthusiasm at this point. The rock fields at Bosigran required some effort to negotiate. I took a few photos of the big rock formations near Rosemergy, but otherwise just dug in and willed myself to keep moving until St Ives.

Rock formations near Rosemergy

Technical terrain at Bosigran

Porthmeor Cove

Wild ponies near Gurnard's Head

Above Carnelloe Long Rock

Zennor

Wicca Cliff and Mussel Point

I had conferred with Claire, and it was clear that St Ives was still a way off, which was a demoralising discovery. Claire found somewhere beyond Zennor to park up, and hiked over to the coast path to give encouragement. It was a small boost, but I felt broken, the dehydration really bringing my mood down. I was trying to drink, and managing some, but not enough for the long time on this section and I was once again battling to stay in the race.

I set off moving again, on a very technical downhill section. The leaders of the 25km event appeared behind, moving at a ferocious pace. I had to move aside, and marvelled at the way they leapt over the rocks at high speed. The stream of people kept coming, but as the pace became slower and the path became wider, I had to move aside less and could let them find their own way around me.

As Porthmeor Beach came in to view, the first beach of St Ives, I saw people surfing. Where the sea had been intimidating and chaotic along the rocky coastline, here it had eased a little and the waves coming in were clean and big. The sun was shining, and it felt like late May. My spirits lifted a little; what a time to be running this coastline.

Porthmeor Beach, St Ives

Leg 8: St Ives - Godrevy

Saturday 1206hrs, 78 miles

I arrived at the checkpoint feeling quite sick and dehydrated. The expression on my face was easily interpreted by the checkpoint volunteers, and they did everything they could to help. It took a while, but I managed to get various bits of food down, along with a tea and a coffee. I really needed to recover the fuelling situation. Probably the biggest win was a large bowl of rice pudding, putting calories, carbs and fluids back in, along with helpful sugar-boost.

I set out along the streets of the town, now in shorts and sporting sunglasses. Minutes later, I realised that I'd made a mistake by not using the toilet. We were into a busy section of the race, and I was mixed in with many runners from other race distances, so there wouldn't be any easy opportunities to sneak behind a hedge with my trowel. The town toilets were closed for the low season, much to my frustration. I spotted some more near Porthminster Beach, just before heading back up on to the coast path, and they were open. Catastrophe averted.

Porthminster Beach, St Ives

As we passed Carbis Bay, the fake summer showing continued; the sun was shining, and people were everywhere with surfboards. They weren't in winter kit, but I doubt the sea was anything other than freezing. Hayle looked magnificent, and I started thinking about holidays.

My right knee was pretty uncomfortable, a familiar and old injury that occasionally caused me problems, usually if I revert to heel-striking. I stopped for a discrete wee behind a hedge, and then was stuck; swelling in the joint made it hugely painful to walk, let alone run. I lay on a wall for a few minutes, hoping that elevating it would relieve the issue, as it sometimes does. It barely worked, but I hobbled forward.

We turned inland, through the town, heading up the estuary to a point where we could cross. I put on a brave face as we passed some Arc Angels, but immediately started looking for somewhere to lie down again. I spotted a bench and reclined. An Arc Angel came over and asked me if I was ok; she was a bit concerned, but I was familiar with my issue. After a few minutes, I carried on an alternating run-walk, amongst the slower of the runners on the 25k event. At least I was keeping up with them.

It was a 17km section to Godrevy, and far flatter than anything prior. Nevertheless, my knee resented the hard, flat surfaces. That was soon remedied as we entered the sand dunes. They looked lovely in the sunshine, and certainly eased the problem with my knee, but the effort level went up and I was going slow. I ploughed on, up and down, knowing that somewhere, right at the end of this very long beach, was the next checkpoint. Claire would be there to support and, importantly, it was the penultimate checkpoint.

Hayle estuary - pretty, but the tarmac running was torturous

Surf at Hayle Beach

Dunes along the Towans

Leg 9: Godrevy - Porthreath

Saturday 1534hrs, 89 miles

Arriving at Lula Crab Shack, Godrevy

Resting legs in the sunshine at Godrevy (but cold air)

The Lula Crab Shack was visible beyond the last few dunes, and tantalisingly close, yet it took ages to follow the meandering path around to a stream crossing and up the drive. A fellow 100-mile runner caught me and gave me a fist-bump; that act was a boost, reminding me that we had broken the back of this run, and sooner or later we'd be at the finish, collecting a medal.

There was nothing that appealed in the aid station. I headed outside and stretched out on a picnic bench, enjoying the sunshine. There was work to do; I needed to eat. It took a while, and I really wanted hot food rather than the available finger-food. Another runner dashed out of the cafe and vomited over the fence. Even at this late stage, his race was significantly at risk; he would need to take a lot of time to recover. I wasn't doing so bad after all.

Weather starting to turn after Godrevy CP

Hell's Mouth

I'd have liked this to be the last leg, but at least the last two combined were less than a half marathon, around 12 miles. I could cope with that, I just needed to keep plodding. I didn't relish the finish that would now be in darkness, and I knew that the sub-30 hour finish (for a gold medal) I'd hoped for was now impossible, but finishing at all would be a great achievement.

More cliff tops, more stunning scenery. The sunshine finally gave way, and shortly after we got a brief drenching. I wasn't bothered. 

Leg 10: Porthreath - Porthtowan

Saturday 1805hrs, 96 miles

The final checkpoint is always easier. There was around 5 miles remaining, so no need for all bottles to be filled. I needed to eat and drink a little, but it was far less critical now. Claire joined me at the aid station, and kept giving encouragement. I was hurting and still dehydrated, but I could finish this on my hands and knees if necessary, I wouldn't be stopped now.

With headtorches on, we were headed up to higher paths once again. Once up there this was flat and easy. I picked up my pace, despite the pain, and pushed on to get it done. Frustratingly, my head torch battery died. I stopped and made the change, but as before, stopping gave my knee the chance to swell, and I was back into problems. I lay on the grass briefly to give it a chance, but then accepted my fate - this was going to hurt. I started running, and wincing in pain. I hoped that warming the joint would ease things, as well as the paracetamol from the previous checkpoint kicking in.

Fresh mud and slippery paths

With a fresh smattering of rain, the mud paths hard turned to slippery slime, and we were skating around, trying to stay upright. I attempted to skip around muddy puddles, but it really didn't matter. After an hour or so of relatively easy paths, lights came into view, and I knew Porthtowan was near. We had quite a long, stony descent down, and then on the road down to the village. Volunteers directed us along the road for longer than I expected or wanted. I was waiting for the final installment; I knew the finish venue was on a hill.

Finish: Porthtowan

Saturday 1944hrs, 101 miles (102.8 miles tracked)

I'd traded places a few times during the last leg with some familiar faces on the 100-mile event. I thought they'd have dropped me by now, given my struggles, but I was still near them. We were directed off the road, and we soon hit a seriously steep hillside and some tall wooden steps. We might have expected our quads to be dead at this point, but the knowledge that the finish was above us released a new gear. We were racing up a path that would be leg-burning to hike, and we weren't backing off.

Given the enthusiasm of those in front, I didn't expect to catch them, but it was great fun, and I certainly didn't want to lose any further places. I kept pushing, and my legs felt strong. The hill was done and we were zig-zagging around the park to get to the finish line. A runner in front, on a shorter distance, dropped his cup shortly before the finish. With no prospect of gaining a place, I paused to pick it up, then made my dash to the finish. I stopped, and my knee instantly seized. I hobbled to collect my medal.

Knees no longer working

Conclusion

As I finished, I already knew the DNF rate on this year's event was high, and there were over a hundred still out there behind me, some of whom wouldn't make it. Ultimately, only half of the field would make it, despite the modest weather conditions. It was a very challenging course. The interviewer had asked me if it was as challenging as the UTS, and in the moment I couldn't really say conclusively. It didn't take long for my brain to start whirring afterwards though. No, not as hard as the UTS. It had taken me a full 13 hours less, which indicates quite what a huge physical challenge the UTS presents. Did it feel as hard? Quite possibly, mostly due to my repeated failures with hydration and fuelling.

I feel frustrated that I succumbed to such fuelling issues, given my experience in this area. The last minute decision to work with the Naak drink was a mistake, and I could have changed my approach during the race. Ultimately, it cost me the gold buckle. Nevertheless, it is still a monumentally hard race, and as I read people's tales of their experience, I feel proud to have pushed through and finished it despite the challenges. On top of ticking off this notoriously difficult event, it marks the fifth 100-mile race I have started, and the fifth I have finished. Of those five, four are amongst the most difficult 100-mile races the UK has to offer, and all have had DNF rates exceeding 50% on the years I have competed. I feel those statistics justify me taking a minute to feel proud.

Related links

• Event homepage (includes elevation profile)
• Race highlights video on YouTube
• Race highlight images on Instagram