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 scrambled, 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 the 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 giving a whole load of friendly encouragement at a point when I was more or less 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. I had to just keep trying to eat and drink on the moved, 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 have 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 were into a meandering path through some interesting swamp land. I was back moving well, 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 farmer's field to get to the trail, and then 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 same point we started 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 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, and 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 was slow walking 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, missing final 100m)
• 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.