13 Valleys 2024

• Distance: 118.4 miles (tracked)
• Elevation: 22,677 feet (tracked)
• Elapsed Time: 39:17:04 (official)
• Estimated calories: 17,045
• Position: 21st
• Total finishers (within 46.5-hour cutoff): 40, of 113 starters (64.6% DNF)

Round #2

This was to be my second attempt at the 13 Valleys Ultra, a 114-mile trail marathon, starting in Keswick, that heads over the fells to visit all 13 valleys of the Lake District via an established route. It is a challenging route that includes varied and difficult terrain and a substantial amount of elevation. I enjoyed the challenge of my first attempt, and hoped to improve my result this time with better race management. Last year, this was my second 100-mile distance race and the hardest; this year, it was to be my fourth, following the harder Ultra Trail Snowdonia earlier in the year. I nevertheless approached this with caution, knowing it to be a very long and challenging route.

Pre-race

Race day was set to be a long one before I'd even embarked upon the run. The starting venue was the lakeside park at Derwent Water in Keswick. The start time was Friday 6pm. Working backwards from that in my plan, I wanted some time to have a quick nap and do final prep, so I'd need to register and kit check after lunch. Before heading to Keswick, I needed to stop by Coniston to book in at a campsite for my support crew, in order that they would have a barrier card for their late arrival. With total driving time looking to be around 3.5 hours, I'd need an early start.

Even with all my kit ready in advance, I was still slow getting away. My head was buzzing with all the planning and logistics. Sleep had thankfully been decent, but I still didn't feel replenished; it had become clear that my late recce weekend two weeks prior was too much, too close to the event, and I hadn't properly recovered. I dismissed any concerns about being recovered, recalling the sleep-deprived state in which I began the UTS (my hardest race to date); no fixing it now, only training and resolve would get me round.

Arriving at Coniston in beautiful weather

The weather defied the forecast, and I arrived at Coniston in beautiful sunshine, which lifted my spirits. A pit stop at Ambleside for a Cornish pasty, pastel de nata and an espresso lifted them further. Arriving in Keswick, a fellow runner saved me the extortionate parking price by giving me the remainder of his paid time, and I got through kit check and registration swiftly. I drove out to Borrowdale to drop the car at the YHA until my arrival after the race on Sunday, and then caught a bus back to Keswick. The event logistics for me and my supporters were complicated; the plan had been weeks in the making.

Everything was going to plan, but I still found myself fretting over kit decisions; I made about four swaps of items between my race pack and drop bag (which would be available at Grasmere checkpoint around, 73 miles in). At the last minute, I decided to swap from shorts to leggings as the temperature was cool and we would soon be heading into night. This left me with just a few minutes to get amongst the runners at the start line, making it all a bit more stressful. 

Amongst the other runners, I chatted to my friend Rob, who was also repeating the event from last year. We conferred on strategies and had slightly different approaches in mind. I wanted to make an early push, so I wriggled my way up the pack. I knew early track position wouldn't matter on a race of this scale, given we'd be finishing with huge time gaps across the field and that many runners wouldn't finish at all. Still, I wanted to put in some strong early sections.

The race

Leg 1: Keswick - Honister

Friday 1800hrs, 0 miles

Start line at Derwent Water lakeside

The weather had become a little less convincing as the afternoon had rolled on; it was slightly chilly, and rain looked possible. As we headed through the Derwent Water lakeside park, I picked forward a little further as I wanted to be with people of same pace on the early narrow paths, where we'd be in single-file.

The light was fading as we headed out of Borrowdale, and it was dark as we closed in on Honister Pass. I headed up the track to the slate quarry, expecting to be excitedly greeted by my kids and wife, as they were due to have arrived a little earlier.

Heading towards dusk under Cat Bells

Leg 2: Honistor - Wasdale Head

Friday 1952hrs, 9.64 miles

The tables of drinks and snacks were lined up outside the cafe at the quarry. As I approached, I looked around for my support crew, but they were nowhere to be seen. My strategy was to be efficient and effective with checkpoints; this stop required only a quick refill and a snack, so I wasted no time. I set off up the hill in to the darkness. I couldn't worry about what had delayed my supporters - probably sheep blocking the road or something. Claire had a document with all the timings and locations listed, she'd figure it out.

As I ascended the steep slate track, another runner turned round and called out that we'd gone wrong. I'd made exactly the same mistake as last year, and missed the even steeper track off to the left; I hadn't been looking at the route plot on my watch as I was busy getting my poles out. No matter, it was a minor detour.

After a trudge along the slate-covered top at Dubs Quarry came a steep and jagged technical descent beside Warnscale Beck. Runners less versed in such terrain were moving cautiously down the climb, but I was on fresh legs and confident, so I kept a good pace. The roar of the waterfall and the brooding outline of Hay Stacks can be intimidating in the dark, but for me this is part of the fun. We eventually hit the flat of the valley before a brief intersection with the road at Gatesgarth; this was the second planned meeting point with my supporters, though not a checkpoint, and the last before morning.

I cruised over to the car park, expecting to see the van parked up, but again they were nowhere to be seen. At this moment I realised I hadn't followed the plan; as a contingency in case I missed them, I was meant to hand the campsite barrier pass to the marshalls at the previous checkpoint, but I'd forgotten. We had no protocol for this scenario, nor phone signal. I had a minor panic, and stopped where I was, not knowing what to do.

Seconds later, headlights appeared, it was my support crew. Problem averted. My race number had torn and was hanging off, so I grabbed some insulation tape and a knife from the van, and sorted the situation out. A few minutes lost, and back underway. I'd see them in Coniston some time early in the morning after they'd slept.

The first big ascent followed, Scarth Gap Pass, leaving Buttermere behind (not that we could see it) and cutting between High Crag and Hay Stacks. In the next valley, we passed Black Sail Hut, but this year there was no feed station there. I visualised the beauty of the wide stream, reminiscent of the Canadian Rockies, but could see little in the darkness. We began the climb up Black Sail Pass, which was predictably damp but not enough for soaking feet this time.

I kept momentum as I summited and descended the pass, and picked up the valley at the west foot of Kirk Fell along to the checkpoint.

Leg 3: Wasdale Head - Eskdale

Friday 2232hrs, 17.93 miles

The freshness had now gone from my legs. I commented to a marshall that I felt like I'd already done 80 miles. Experience told me not to worry, the way you feel during a run can vary a lot, and is highly affected by state of fuelling. All the runners around me were being purposeful in filling bottles and eating snacks, eager to crack on; I followed suit and tried to be efficient with my stop. I realised that the new shoes I'd worn for the first time today were a little stiff at the back and had been rubbing my achilles tendon, so I took the time to put a blister patch on my left side.

I followed the valley down to Wast Water, and after crossing the valley at the head of it, I knew I'd be entering some more big hills, but a less familiar combination. Even though I'd rehearsed the route on the map, in my already tired state I forgot that Eskdale came next, and was thinking I was on the hills leading to Coniston.

Eskdale Fell was not as boggy as last year, and progress was good. My optimistic timings for this year had me arriving at Dalegarth Station (a different checkpoint location from last year) at around 30 mins earlier; I actually arrived a full 1.5 hours earlier.

Leg 4: Eskdale - Coniston

Saturday 0004hrs, 23.74 miles

This was the first chance for hot food, and I observed that I hadn't been fuelling as well as I might; I accepted the offer of soup and grabbed whatever other savouries I could, as well as a coffee. I didn't rush at this stop, recognising that I wasn't in the best shape; I needed to rehydrate and get some calories in. Fortunately, there were no injuries to tend to or kit to organise, so it was still a fairly swift stop.

The checkpoint had required a little detour from the route, so as I followed it back, I passed a bunch of runners I'd previously been close to. I realised I'd been pulling out a gap, and now had more than a pitstop in hand - fairly meaningless for final standings, but a good reference that my progress was good.

Passing the first marathon distance gave mixed feelings; it indicated a substantial distance covered, but knowing that more than three further marathons remained was intimidating. Having prior experience makes such a difference in these scenarios as you know that whilst it will be tough, it is not as simple as becoming progressively more tired, weaker and in more pain; night time is difficult but morning is easier; good fuelling will pull you back to happier place and make you stronger.

I got chatting to another runner as I worked around Harter Fell, High Tongue and then tackled the long ascent up to Walna Scar. This was his first 100-mile race, and first overnight run; I mused that whilst he was doing well now, there were huge new challenges ahead. I gave him the advice that when you think it is falling apart and you can't continue, you probably just need to eat and drink, and with hours in hand to cutoffs, you can always take a long stop to recover. I hope he succeeded, it seemed a big step up.

As we began the long descent to Coniston, I became aware of a developing niggle in my knee; this was not welcome news. I recalled how last year I had estimated a 5am arrival at the Boathouse, and Claire had eagerly driven over to the checkpoint with sleeping children at 4:30am, only for me to take a very long time descending and arrive at 6am. This time, I found myself entering Coniston village at 4am, knowing Claire's alarm wouldn't go off until 4:30 for her to check my tracker. I tried ringing, but no reply. I would be gone before she even woke.

Leg 5: Coniston - Wray Castle

Saturday 0406hrs, 36.78 miles

Last year, I was feeling quite broken by this point, and had a long pitstop to refuel and manage feet. Dawn was about to arrive and I had been desperate for a sleep. This year, it was a brief and routine stop; I shovelled some rice pudding down, filled my bottles, and set out purposefully again. Claire messaged, and I said I'd meet her at the next planned rendezvous at Elterwater, after Wray Castle and post-breakfast.

I was wondering where I might grab a short sleep. Last year, I'd found a patch under some fir trees, but this time round some light rain had been falling and the ground was wet everywhere. I thought I'd delay until later.

As I made my way over to Hawkshead, my knee started giving a clearer message - it was very unhappy, and rapidly getting painful to the point where I couldn't run. As the pain increased, I'd been distracted from eating and drinking for a while. My mood was plummeting, but I hadn't quite realised. I'd been running with a small group as the sun rose, but had to slow and they disappeared off. Acknowledging the remaining distance, I concluded that I couldn't run 70 miles in this state, and with the prospect of a new best time evaporating, I wouldn't have the will either. I formed a plan - I'd pull out at the next checkpoint, get Claire to pick me up, and enjoy the remainder of the weekend supporting my friend Rob and the other runners, and sitting in cafes enjoying the views. But before that, I'd try a quick sleep to see if it helped a bit. I dragged myself off the trail, under some trees, set a 15-minute timer on my phone and reclined on my pack.

It wasn't much of a sleep, if any at all. I got up feeling very grumpy and frustrated, and continued planning my retirement from the race. As I made my way along the trail, it dawned on me that my knee wasn't actually hurting much, I was just grumpy and negative. The voice of experience returned and told me the obvious: I hadn't been fuelling. I set about shovelling food and drink in, as well as a couple of ibuprofen tablets.

Sure enough, as I reached the shores of Windermere, my mood was starting to recover, and I was running ok. I took some pics of a beautiful sunrise, and set about getting to the breakfast checkpoint.

Windermere shore at dawn, just below Wray Castle

Leg 6: Wray Castle - Stickle Barn

Saturday 0710hrs, 46.10 miles

The friendly volunteers at Wray Castle brought me food and drinks and filled my bottles. I had coffee and as much food as I could stomach. I took the opportunity for a sock change and re-lube, in an attempt to fend off the blistering I suffered last year. I remained weary as I set out, but was managing to run.

Periodically, the knee pain came and went. I concluded that it was eased by rest, so I just needed to take adequate breaks at the checkpoints and whenever required.

Heading towards Skelwith Fold

I reached Skelwith Fold, and was suddenly on familiar territory; I'd been here two weeks prior to recce the middle section of the race route. I tracked along the waterfalls and the shore of Elter Water, and as I picked up the straight path to Elterwater village, I saw a familiar dog. I called her to me, and got an excited greeting. The kids joined me for some running and I briefly chatted with Claire. I continued on, as she'd be meeting me shortly at the Stickle Barn checkpoint.

Elter Water, looking into the Langdale fells

Greeted by a familiar face near Elterwater village

Leg 7: Stickle Barn - Rosthwaite

Saturday 0909hrs, 53.59 miles

I found myself frustrated at the lack of savoury options at the checkpoint; I avoid sweet foods on long runs as they get tiresome. I only ate some crisps, and continued relying upon the Tailwind I'd brought with me. That wouldn't solve it, as I'd only brought half of what I'd need, expecting to be able to eat more at the stops.

Rob's partner appeared and said he'd had a fall and injured his knee on a rock. He was still going, but not in a good state.

Great Langdale

Dungeon Ghyll, near Stickle Barn checkpoint

Dungeon Ghyll

I headed out along the Langdale valley, knee still unhappy, but also suffering for lack of fuel. It was hard work, even along the flat. The terrain was beautiful as I headed under Langdale Fell, but today I didn't appreciate it much. As I started up Rossett Gill, I found myself frustrated by the number of hiking groups and their incompetence at making space for me to pass. A friendly group offered some encouragement, and asked if I'd like a home-made protein ball; I accepted, knowing I really needed such a thing. It quickly made a difference as the climb got tough.

The ascent to Rossett Pike up Rossett Gill

Looking back along the Langdale valley from Rossett Gill

Weather closing in at Sprinkling Tarn, after Rossett Pike

Above Taylorgill Force, looking down to Borrowdale

Hikers were looking a little lost as the path evaporated, the route requiring a bit of scrambling up by the waterfall until something path-like reappeared; knowing the route better now, I pushed on up to the pike, and continued immediately to descend to Angle Tarn and up again to Tongue Head. Rain had set in, so I had my jacket on and hood up. My mood still wasn't great, but I was making progress and catching up with other runners.

I relished the challenge of the technical descent to Sty Head, the jagged rock field down to Taylorgill Force and the rocky descent beyond. It wasn't the first time I'd done it in the rain and I seemed more confident on my feet than other runners around me. I was still moving well as I entered the familiar youth hostel grounds at Rosthwaite but I had no recollection of the checkpoint venue from the previous year.

Leg 8: Rosthwaite - Grasmere

Saturday 1301hrs, 64.66 miles

Things were going well. Last year, I'd arrived here at 1631. My estimate for today was 1400 but despite my knee issues, I'd arrived at 1301. I was on for a really good race time. I made no assumptions, there was still a long way to go, and the second night presents the biggest challenges.

I made good efforts at fuelling at the checkpoint. One of the volunteers recognised me from the previous year, and I finally started recovering some memories of this point in the race (my tired brain hadn't seemed to keep a good record). As I set out, the rain had started coming down again so I put my jacket back on and hood up.

I was managing the occasional knee pain. I finally twigged that I'd reverted to heel-striking when doing my slow patter, something I'd trained myself out of. The solution was simple; go back to mid-strike running, and the knee pain fades. I had a plan, I could get round.

The section from Stonethwaite up to Greenup Edge was where things got a bit wild last year. I'd been reduced to a plod on the difficult ascent up Greenup Gill, had struggled to track the route up the waterfall and ended up climbing up a steep grass bank in the rain and fading light. Hallucinations had begun, my tired brain failing to interpret what it saw.

I was faring much better today. I passed several other runners, ones who had been ahead of me until this point, as they walked the flats and I was committed to holding a slow jog. As it got steep, I kept a confident pace. I knew exactly what was to come, so I kept it gentle on the steepest bits, but was not stopping at any point.

Looking back from Lining Crag at the ascent, with Greenup Edge to the right. Last year, navigational error in bad weather had found us clambering up the grass to the right

The strange lumps of Greenup Edge, from Lining Crag

This high section and the descent to Grasmere Common were where the horrific rainfall last year, in the darkness, really presented a challenge. This year, the rain was intermittent and light, and it was a long way from dusk, so I was picking along the route with a steady but constant jog. When we hit a section that traverses a bog, with no clear path, other runners were getting confused by the plotted route and meandering around. I knew what to do, but still got caught out by the awkward footing and slipped on a rock, putting some big grazes on my little finger, blood pouring everywhere. I cursed the pointless detour through the rutted grassland, but kept pushing. I led the way for some other runners as we skipped over the stream and tracked back towards a more sensible path. My feet were now soaked through.

I knew I was closing on Grasmere because of the houses, and then I joined the road down to the village. Glancing at the time, I knew it was going well, and I was over 3 hours ahead of last year.

Leg 9: Grasmere - Ambleside

Saturday 1718hrs, 72.88 miles

The tiredness was starting to hit, and this checkpoint was my chance for a sleep, as well as getting access to my drop bag. Having found my support crew, I set about eating, drinking, changing my clothes and doing some foot maintenance. Kit had to be swapped between my bag and my pack, including torch batteries, spare socks, Tailwind powder for my drinks and snacks. It was a lot to think about, and took some time. I ate some lasagne and rice pudding.

Unlike last year, there was no room for sleeping, instead there were a few small tents in the car park. As with last year, it became apparent that nobody was taking the opportunity to sleep - they hadn't even set up the sleeping mats. Claire asked the marshal if I could sleep in our van instead, which seemed a reasonable request given the situation. I grabbed a comfortable 15 minutes.

When I got up, I was surprised that other runners who I thought might have set off again were still at the checkpoint. Clearly, most people were in need of a bigger rest and time to sort equipment out. I wanted to get back on it; it would be a great boost to have passed through Ambleside in daylight too.

I was feeling pretty weary as I tracked along Grasmere and Rydal Water. I remembered them being a ponderous walk/jog in heavy rain last year, and encouraged myself to keep a better pace. I passed my support crew at Pelter Bridge but continued straight on towards Rothay Park.

Grasmere, with Loughrigg in view to the right

Grasmere, looking back towards the village

Leg 10: Ambleside - Hayeswater

Saturday 1824hrs, 77.54 miles

It had been quite a short leg from Grasmere, and having eaten hot food there, I didn't really feel the need to take on much at Ambleside. This would prove to be a mistake. I was also struggling with the lack of savoury choices, grabbing some crisps and a Babybel, but nothing of substance. I paused for a few minutes on a bench to rest my knee and drink a cup of tea, and then set off.

Darkness fell as I left Ambleside and worked my way round to Troutbeck. I passed my support crew near the Kirkstone Pass road, then headed across the valley to join the trail up to High Street.

Windermere from above Waterside

I was now feeling weary, and this trail became quite boring. It was fairly dull in daylight, but in the dark I was wishing for the arrival of the climb. When I got to it, I quickly realised I was very tired and I hadn't been fuelling. The High Street approach to Thornthwaite Crag, via Park Fell, is a fiercely steep and long grassy climb. It was wet and slippery, the grass becoming churned up into mud. I had seen slowly moving headtorches for miles as I approached it, and now on the hill we were all ending up closer together as people staggered around. I passed a group on a shorter race event, who seemed a little out of their depth; I probably looked it too, but as ever I kept pushing onwards. I was getting grumpy and frustrated at the length of the climb.

Eventually, I arrived at the familiar monument at Thornthwaite Crag. Here my familiarity with the route ended, as my previous recce left the course a different way. I followed the route on my watch over the indistinct High Street summit and onwards to The Knott. I couldn't identify either, and the contours of the hill were not as I expected; I was a bit confused about the direction and repeated ascent, expecting soon to be descending to Hayeswater, but it never seemed to come. I didn't have the benefit of a view of the water below, so was just following a line on my screen.

Thornthwaite Crag, after a challenging ascent

The descent eventually began, and I quickly became frustrated. The ground was now really wet, and the path was very rutted and muddy, rocky in parts. As it got steeper, I was having to take a lot of care not to slip, but also having to really pick my feet up and skip around; my body was feeling very stiff and tired, so this wasn't welcome at all. The path got even more steep and awkward, turning into grassy clumps. My feet were beginning to blister from the constant shoe movements on the uneven ground. My sense of humour departed; I really wanted to get to the checkpoint.

I was aware that a bridge had been washed away in recent storms, so people had been devising alternative routes, prior to the event, to get across the river. I couldn't see an appropriate path anywhere, so decided to take my chances and head for the original bridge location, which still involved skipping across a field of clumped grass. The river was quite wide and intimidatingly noisy, but after a very quick assessment I determined that it wasn't particularly dangerous and I could skip across some rocks. Seconds later I was ploughing on, at least feeling glad I hadn't wasted more time. The last awkward track to the checkpoint was the final straw, and I arrived feeling annoyed and vowing I would never take on this event again.

Leg 11: Hayeswater - Glenridding

Saturday 2320hrs, 90.01 miles

A marshall asked how it was going, and I gave a monosyllabic response, reflecting my disgruntlement. I set about remedying my fuelling mistakes as best I could. I was feeling pretty weary, and felt like I'd gone backwards with my timings. On reflection, I was actually still an hour ahead of my estimate, and nearly 5 hours ahead of last year - it might have helped me to know this. I should have invested more time in refuelling.

When I left the checkpoint, I was not in a good state. I was struggling to persuade myself to jog, doing a lot of walking down the long road to the village. I knew an uninspiring section lay ahead. Eventually arriving at Hartsop village, I picked up the trail to Patterdale, where my family were camping. It took far longer than I'd predicted, and was not as flat as I believed. When I eventually found the van, Claire was surprised that I was later than my prediction; this also led me to believe things weren't going too well. I stopped for a 5 minute sleep in the van, to try and give me a boost.

As with last year, the plod from Glenridding village to the checkpoint up the hill was painfully long and demoralising; at least I wasn't cold this time. I arrived in the room with the roaring fire feeling a bit rough, but certainly nothing like last year. I was trying to refuel, but struggling. Soup and rice pudding proved the best options. 

Leg 12: Glenridding - Threlkeld

Sunday 0213hrs, 95.91 miles

No waiting for dawn this time, I set out into the night. The zigzag path up to Sticks Pass was steep and hard going, but I knew it wasn't far to the quarry. I reassured another runner that once we'd got this over with, it was just the slate path along the top followed by a tricky descent to Thirlmere. I hope he made his own assessment as I was quite wrong, despite having run this route twice before.

After we'd tracked over the old quarry, the actual pass involves repeated zigzagging in and out of the brooks flowing down into Sticks Gill, each followed by a steep climb. As I took on the first, I grabbed my poles out, as with all the steep climbs in the run. One wouldn't assemble, and I realised the lock button had broken. Poles back in bag, my tired legs would be doing this unaided. I cursed myself for forgetting such a significant series of climbs; it wasn't really a problem, but the length of the sequence became another thing to demoralise me.

The descent to Thirlmere was as unpleasant as I remembered. Wearing new trainers helped as at least I didn't fall on the slippery mud, but such steep descents that lack rocks for grip are the hardest on the knees and especially toes as you are pointing feet downwards, relying on your laces to prevent your toes hitting the ends of your shoes. I'd used a lacing technique to hold my heels back in my shoes, but it still wasn't effective against the steepness of this slope. I hoped my toenails would survive yet another battering (my right big one having not recovered from being half killed off in a previous ultra, and further blackened when I broke my toe on a rock a month ago). When I finally got off the muddy slope I breathed a sigh of relief, and my knees rejoiced.

Next up was the plod along the relative flats until Threlkeld. There was some snaking up and down around farms until we hit the floodplain. Wet feet were inevitable. I was feeling rough, but not as weary as last year; I wasn't quite staggering along, but I was slowing.

The route markers indicated that we should traverse what was basically a swamp. I tried my best to skip along the clumps of grass, but it wasn't possible all the way, and I got completely caked in mud up to my shins. As I appeared at a road, Claire arrived just in front of me, so I stopped for a hello and a can of coffee. My mood wasn't good. I was very keen to get this over with now, and knew I was on a decent time.

Leg 13: Threlkeld - Keswick

Sunday 0622hrs, 104.83 miles

At the checkpoint, I was torn between desperation to get to the finish, and acknowledging that there was still a not insignificant number of miles to go; fuelling was required if an extended period of suffering was to be avoided. I recalled my mistake last year in not tending to my bisters, and utterly destroying my feet in those final miles. I determined that my feet were not bad enough to warrant attention; some blistering, but not awful. I'd previously slapped a few Compeed patches on, which hadn't fully held, but seemed to be doing enough to manage.

I took on some fluids and snacks, but didn't carry as much for this final section.

Dawn under Blencathra

I had been dreading the horseshoe that heads north under Blease Fell, and south under Lonscale Fell; with blistered feet last year, it had taken an eternity, made more unpleasant by being able to see the exit point miles before actually reaching it. I pushed myself to hold a jog, and was surprised how quickly I reached the north-most point. The return was a more interesting rocky trail, providing some distraction. As I neared the end of the horshoe, I realised there were still 5 miles to go, more than I expected. I had to tell myself that was fine, just relax and hold a steady jog.

Finish: Keswick

Sunday 0917hrs, 113.44 miles

The descent around Latrigg and down to Keswick was a different experience this year; it was still early morning, and a grey day, so only a few dog walkers were around. The town was quiet, so there were not many people to cheer us to the finish. I was very glad when my kids joined me for the final stretch to the finish. The optimism of the early parts of the race had entirely gone from my brain, and from Troutbeck onwards I hadn't been in a great frame of mind. I just wanted to get to the finish; it had felt like a mammoth endurance effort.

Finish line

The final section had been a slog, and I'd lost some more time, falling a bit behind my estimated finish time of 0900hrs, but I'd taken a full four hours off last year's time. It was a successful mission and despite the knee troubles, three quarters of the race had gone really well. As ever, fuelling struggles accounted for the latter challenges, which seems so obvious when analysing the race, but not so much at the time. At my next race, I'll be making better use of mood as a gauge for whether I'm fuelling well. If it is going wrong, spending an extra 10 minutes at a checkpoint to fix it would be a good investment. In any case, at the next race I won't take any chances, and will be carrying my own cheese sandwiches and sausage rolls.

As I trawled through the events of the race to write this post, looking at my checkpoint timings and finishing positions, I became aware that only 40 of the 113 starters of the 180km event finished, a 65% DNF rate. Given the moderate conditions, this seems very high. This year, the final cutoff had been extended by 1.5 hours, and the interim checkpoint cutoffs adjusted from the inaugural event. Last year, the High Street section was dropped in favour of a bad weather alternative, a change made during the race as the weather was extreme, including some flooding. However, only one person who made it beyond Ambleside this year retired, so this tough part of the route wasn't the reason. Most of the retirees abandoned at Grasmere or Ambleside, over the 24-hour mark and facing the prospect of another night. Recalling my own first attempt, that is where severe tiredness really starts to hit. I wonder if the lack of experience requirements on the entry criteria is a factor; runners may have been surprised by the difficulty level or unprepared for the impact of sleep deprivation. I also wonder why people don't take the opportunity for short sleeps; the benefit is clear to me - after a 15-minute nap, I find that, within an hour or two, I pass the runners I was previously alongside. In any case, I once again found this a very tough event. To any first-time 100-mile runner, I'd recommend starting with something flatter and less technical; this isn't because of the leap in fitness (I'm not sure you need a huge fitness improvement to go from 50 to 100 miles), but rather to get accustomed to managing yourself through sleep deprivation and learning to fuel well for that duration. It is always about the fuelling.

With support crew

Pre-race nerves: 13 Valleys 2024

Here we go again: less than 24 hours until I'll be lining up at the startline of the 13 Valleys race in Keswick for the second time. The nerves have been steadily building in the background of the week; I probably didn't help by packing my race bag and drop bag four days prior to race day, but after a last minute rush in my previous race, I wanted to remove some stress from the occasion.

The approach to this race has been far from ideal. When booking the event, I imagined that doing the Plague (100k race) at the start of the summer holidays would provide a useful stepping stone, and help me to maintain my race-readiness from the UTS in May. I'm starting to understand that it doesn't work like that; training happens in cycles, and you need to time your build up to a race. Additionally, the summer holidays are a busy time, and I found myself emerging from August without having kept up anyway near the training load of the start of the year.

Six weeks out, with training in disarray, I thought I should grab a few weeks of proper training, including a recce of the course; some navigational confusion happened in the second evening of last year's race, and I wanted to avoid repeating that. So I planned some solid hill training, and a visit to the Lakes four weeks before race day, with a view to starting the taper at three weeks out.

As I ramped up the training, during the week before the recce, I did a short but tough run up and down a couple of tricky routes on the Edale side of the Kinder plateau. As I descended the second, I caught a rock with my foot and landed hard on my hands, thankfully missing any other rocks. It was a painful hobble back, as it became clear I'd hit my foot pretty hard, and an x-ray the next day revealed I'd broken my right big toe - a partial fracture down the inside edge. Four weeks until race day, build up of last minute training was aborted, no recce, and I was unsure what condition I'd be in for race day.

Two weeks out, and I'd already removed the bandage as I was concerned that I was adapting my walking. No painkillers had been required, and I was observing no ill effects. Following the advice of the nurse to respond to the pain, I did the obvious thing (from my point of view) and tried a short run. The toe wasn't causing any issues, so I launched back in with four days of 10k runs. Still fine. After a day off, I headed for the Lakes to do a recce. I was worried about doing big miles during what should be my taper period, but this was damage limitation; I needed to finish my training, learn the route and convince myself that this was still possible.

It was a mammoth weekend. Given an already busy week of running and little sleep, I pushed myself through a 31-mile hilly route, at steady pace and in grim weather, for the morning at least. It was a good test, getting used to carrying the kit and dealing with adverse conditions. Importantly, I gained some confidence about the route. I felt battered on Sunday morning, but saw this as an opportunity continue the endurance training. My toe was a little sore, but I put on my hiking boots and set out to cover another 20 miles. Ascending the majority of High Street from Troutbeck to reach Thornthwaite Crag was tough. I added to the difficulties by detouring via Stony Cove Pike, complete with scrambling, and a challenging ascent over Scandale Pass. The latter was therapeutic - visiting the scene of last year's race, where the a mid-race route change happened due to bad weather. Scandale Pass was rough but seem moderate on a dry day in daylight, but I could understand why it had been so problematic in horrendous story conditions on the second night of the race.

Back to the week of the race, and my body has not fully recovered from that weekend. Perhaps the hiking day was a bad move. As ever, and despite my best efforts, sleep has been inadequate and disturbed. At least my logistical preparations have been good - a detailed plan for my support crew with a couple of hours spent talking through it, and carefully crafted lists have been followed as I've packed my things.

I shouldn't be this nervous; this is my fourth century run, and for the first time it is one I am repeating, and less difficult than the previous. But the mental battle is not won that easily. 114 miles is a very long way; throw in tricky terrain, two nights of sleep deprivation and potentially difficult weather conditions, and even with the best preparation, a finish is not guaranteed. Beating last year's time might be optimistic, given the chaotic training period, but with experience and hopefully some better weather, it isn't out of the question. I would like to enjoy the experience more than my last race, which means holding a realistic pace, ignoring what people are doing around me and running my own race.

The RAT: Plague 2024

 

• Distance: 100km / 62 miles
• Elevation: 4,010m / 13,156 feet
• Elapsed Time: 15:07:11
• Estimated calories: 8,381
• Total male finishers: 77, of 109 starters (30% DNF)
• Placement: 24th overall male, 4th in age category

Pendower, one of many bays on the race route, with Nare Head in the distance

The past year has been all about the 100-milers; my training has been focused on quantity of time on feet, mostly at slow pace, and building the strength for the hills. With three centuries under my belt now, I feel to some degree experienced in the challenges, but certainly not a master of the art. In amongst them I've repeated a 34-mile race, a distance I enjoy, and completed various 10k-ish races for fun. Yet, I've never done a 100km event; a 56-mile race early in my ultra endeavours was close, and I did a self-planned 100km run as a training goal some time ago, but as a race distance it isn't familiar territory.

The Plague is 100km trail run along a section of Cornwall's south coast, and part of the Roseland August Trail (RAT) festival, which features several shorter distance events and a 24-hour endurance event. For me, this followed on from the hugely challenging 100-mile Ultra Trail Snowdonia in May. At a mere 100km/62 miles it seemed like it should come for free, in training terms. The Plague stretches through one night as it starts at midnight, but doesn't even get near 24 hours, let alone the 48 of the UTS; along with less than half the elevation, it would appear to be the easier challenge by some margin.

The plan

When filling my year ahead with 100-milers, I became fixated on the Arc of Attrition, a race that follows the coast path around the tip of Cornwall in late January. I love Cornwall, having spent my later school years living there, and holiday there often. I had failed to secure a place on the Arc for 2024, so when I discovered a 100km event called the Plague was a feeder event (i.e. one that would offer ring-fenced entry), I began forming a plan.

The festival site would be in Porthpean, near St Austell, and the Plague race would begin at midnight on the Friday. Camping was on offer for the weekend, so we could turn up as a family, I'd clear off for a fun run along the coast, arrive back Saturday afternoon, and we could enjoy Saturday evening at the site and head off to the north coast for another week of holidaying afterwards. Expecting a sunny early-August weekend, this sounded ideal; the prospect of seeing the sun rise as I jogged around the beautiful bays of the south coast; arriving back to be greeted by my family and eating burgers and drinking beer in the afternoon sun, and heading off to find the surf the day after.

The preparation

It is becoming clear that always the worst part of my race preparation is the week leading up to it. It should comprise finalising logistics and a race plan, organising kit, interrogating the route, plenty of rest, high quality sleep, hydration and good nutrition, arriving at the start line with a clear head and fresh legs.

I reached race week with little thought having gone into training; whilst to some extent this one should have been for free, I am learning that the big distances aren't that simple - the extended tapering time before and recovery time after, eats big chunks out of what might otherwise be training weeks. Squeezing three 100-milers into a year has left the time inbetween quite pressured to make meaningful training gains whilst also having time to recce routes and the like, and that is without factoring in family life. The Plague was a bonus event, thrown in the mix, with the assumption I could just turn up and do it.

The few days before, in my reality, were dominated by tying off work concerns in preparation for a change in job role and frantic holiday preparations so that we as a family could get away for a week. I only glanced at the race rules two days before, leaving myself only time for an Amazon Prime order to cover any missing items for mandatory kit, and I didn't even look at the route. My sleep was as poor and inadequate, as usual. 

Race day

Our plan to arrive during Friday afternoon evaporated when loading up took over two hours more than planned, and we headed in to appalling traffic and a 9-hour drive down the M6 and M5. We arrived at the festival site mid-evening. Still plenty of time, but far from the relaxed time I had in mind. I set about eating, prepping kit and grabbing a short nap before the 11:30pm race briefing.

I arrived at the race briefing on time, but it was already in full flow. I'd missed some of it, and didn't really listen to the rest as my head was spinning. I hoped that the combination of following people and relying on a gpx file on my watch would ensure it worked out. I didn't know where the checkpoints were beyond a quick glance when coordinating my supporters.

Waiting for the start

Smoke and a beating drum

Darkness had set in, and after the briefing we all headed for the start line where flaming torches made for an eerie, smoky startline, and a slow beating drum set a serious tone. As we stood waiting, the occasional competitor on the Bring Out Your Dead 24-hour endurance event would appear from the lower part of the field and head to the start/finish line, before resuming with their next repetition of the 5-mile loop.

As with every race I start, I was undecided about where to position myself. This was my first realisation that I had no idea about pacing a 100km run, especially on different terrain. I didn't want to be held up, so I inched forward to be around the top 20.

The race

We set off, and the pace through the festival field and onto the initial road section seemed really fast. In the bustle, I had ended up around 30-40th, and suddenly felt worried that I would get quite tangled in the pack. I stepped up the pace significantly so that I could reclaim an appropriate position before we hit the narrow coast path, and got myself back up to around where I'd planned to be.

The first section of the coast path was enclosed in hedgerow, dry, dusty mud under foot, and various trip hazards of stones, roots and holes. We had to hold single file, but everyone was moving quickly around me. It was reasonably warm and very humid in amongst the vegetation. The path snaked around, switching from downhill to uphill with almost no flat ground.

As my muscles warmed up, what had seemed a very quick pace began to feel quite comfortable and fun; I knew I wasn't racing over two nights, so I didn't need to be as conservative with my output as I had in recent events. I was confidently skipping down the technical trails, and with my poles in hand, I was making light work of the hills.

A few miles in, and I was listening to conversation happening in front of me; one guy was saying how he'd started too far back on this event on a previous year, and almost got timed out as he was caught up in traffic with no space to overtake. I noticed that a significant gap had appeared in front of the bunch I was trailing, and they were starting to slow a bit. Pondering his words, I took the next chance I saw to overtake a few of them, and then set about catching the group in the distance.

It was fun keeping the pace up; I didn't expect to hold this pace for a long time, but thought it would be beneficial to make myself some space before the first checkpoint, and get out in clear air. It didn't take me long to reach some more people, and having got into a rhythm, I started passing them too. My confidence grew, and I kept pushing. I thought I was finding people of a similar pace, and when I made a small navigational error at Dodman Point, I slotted in behind them; from there it was a period of trading places with the same folk for a while.

I was finding my poles quite difficult to manage. On previous long runs, I'd found them helpful when settling in to a long climb, and then folding them up for descents, either keeping them in my hands or, for more technical descents, putting them into my waist band. But on this route, the frequency of changes between ascent and descent was too high to warrant folding poles. They were valuable for the steepness of the short climbs, but a frustration and risk when trying to negotiate awkward descents in narrow spaces. I kept them fully extended in my hands at all times, but I couldn't quite determine if they were bringing an overall benefit.

The humidity was exceptionally high; relief came whenever the path opened out above the cliff tops, but the many sections enclosed in hedgerow were stifling. I was wearing a thick t-shirt, with the event-mandated vest on top. I was working hard to get fluids down, but just an hour or so in and dehydration meant I was finding it hard to eat anything. I reminded myself to keep trying - nibble small amounts, keep sipping the fluids.

The first mental battle began when I started worrying I'd missed a checkpoint. I vaguely recalled Pentewan being mentioned as a checkpoint, but I was heading out the other side and up the cliff; had I missed it? What would the consequence be - disqualification? I didn't really have a solution other than to keep running, so I just pressed on. I also recalled them saying checkpoints were around every 9-10 miles, but I really should have listened properly.

It was a strange feeling, jogging through quiet little harbours in silence, and then disappearing into overgrown paths snaking around the cliffs. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts as the fatigue of the night time set in. I still felt confident, but the heat and humidity was taking its toll. I knew I must stay on top of hydration, but I felt I was sweating out a lot of fluid.

Mevagissey

I arrived at the first checkpoint knowing I was making good time. A volunteer who saw me rushing to get fuelled and back out the door identified himself as a former winner of the event, and encouraged me that to do well, I need to to not overcook it; he pointed out the length of the race, and that moderating my approach would bring rewards. Sound advice, I really should have followed it.

The constant up and down of the paths, combined with a fair degree of technical difficulty, was coming as a bit of a shock; I struggled to believe, after my recent training and events, that it could present a big challenge, but given the faster pace and lack of opportunity to settle in to a rhythm, it was hitting hard. The climbs started feeling tough. As I reached around 1/3 distance (20-miles), some way from ticking off the first marathon, things took a bit of a turn. I began to feel that the pace I was carrying was going to be very difficult to sustain for even the first half, and even finishing that half started to appear incredibly challenging. The terrain was relentless, and unlike the 100-mile events I was becoming familiar with, the checkpoints were not a place for a rest, just a quick refill and pause to eat. I knew that fuelling failures were likely leading me into a difficult place, so I resolved to eat and drink my way back to life.

A few miles from midway I reached the Portscatho checkpoint. I rushed through my refuelling once again, probably too quickly, and set out through the village. At the end of the village, a friend I haven't seen for over 20 years was waiting, at 6am, to wave me through. This was a boost, but I looked a wreck. I'd followed the route plot on my watch in preference to the straight line of the path, finding myself on the (technically correct) coast path, but fighting through 7ft bracken laced with brambles. I emerged with blood pouring down my thighs and shins - quite the sight to present to my schoolmate.

My race plan included a change of t-shirt and socks at midway. I hadn't realised it would be a minimal, outdoor checkpoint, so wasn't really the place to stop for long. Also, as it was a relatively short distance from Portscatho, people were not pausing there, just showing their race number to the stewards and heading out again. I took the opportunity to ditch my t-shirt; I knew running in a vest risked chafing from my pack, but I was sweating out too much fluid and needed to cool down. I saved the sock change for the return visit to Portscatho.

Crossing a short section of sand

I was really struggling. Quite a number of people had passed me. My legs were stiffening up, and I couldn't hold a decent jog. I was trying, but it just wasn't working. I again put it down to fuelling, and accepted that all I could do was just keep putting the fluids and food in, and wait for my legs to return.

Things were improving a little on the return to Portscatho; I gave a more buoyant greeting to my friend, who was again waiting, and then headed into the village to the checkpoint, where I changed socks and attempted to eat a bacon butty and drink a coffee. The butty came with me, but my mouth was too dry to get it all in, so some of it went in a hedge. My legs started to return, and I went in search of the places I'd lost, gradually passing the same people and clawing my way back up the field. My confidence grew, maybe I'd fixed it with fuelling. I just needed to keep this steady pace going to the end.

Leaving the Portscatho checkpoint

I had been moving well for a while, steadily catching up and passing others on the Plague, whilst also being frequently passed by those on shorter distance events that had started in the morning. I was being very efficient at the checkpoints with a quick refill, grabbing some snacks, and heading straight back out. My hope was that I could sustain this to the end, and I was being very focused on holding the pace and wasting no time during the stops. Some of my family support crew intercepted me on the coast path above Gorran Haven, with the rest providing encouragement as I arrived and departed the checkpoint. I was very much in the zone, not much time for pleasantries, and pushed on to try and keep hold of my improved position.

A broad summary of the out-and-back route:

• first quarter: tight, relentless up and down technical paths
• second quarter: steady climbs up and down with the odd beach
• third and fourth quarters: reverse of the above

By the time I hit the final quarter with its relentless up and downs, things had started breaking down again. My legs had gone, and this time I lost my confidence that this could be fixed by fuelling; I knew I'd overdone it early on, and combined with dehydration this was starting to look unfixable. Once again, I was dropping places. I kept putting the fluids in, but I was struggling to eat. I was impatient at the checkpoints, not wanting to lose more time and places, but this wasn't a strategic approach. As mid-morning arrived, the sun was bright, and I was exposed. I was slow to react, delaying applying suncream until much too late, and my shoulders burned.

Struggling up to the finish (with sunburnt shoulders)

I steadily lost more time and more places, but had no fight left to recover them. The ups and downs of the final sections were becoming super-tough in the sun, and I increasingly wished for the finish to arrive, yet those final hills were numerous and brutal. Eventually, after dropping back down to near sea-level yet again, a climb turned out to be the final one. My kids appeared and told me it was just one more field to go. It was a tough final plod. I checked that nobody was about to steal yet another place from me, and as nobody was close behind, I allowed myself a gentle approach to the finish. I still mustered a little sprint at the very end before collapsing in a heap.

Reflections

Broken

The over-enthusiastic effort at the beginning had set an expectation of how well I might do in this event. I'm fairly convinced that a better race strategy would have seen me significantly faster overall; managing hydration better, conserving strength in my legs, capitalising on my hill-climbing strength. It was a quite a disappointment to finish over an hour slower than expected, and especially to have seen all those places disappear into the distance. Despite a difficult week, I think I'd arrived with the legs to do well, but my strategy was a long way from the best. 100km may be significantly less than 100 miles, but it is still a very long race, and fighting hard over positions before 1/3 distance, and shortcutting the refuelling stops, showed a lack of appreciation for the scale of the race.

More important than the result was the experience; I'd picked this out for the beautiful location, and expected to enjoy it, but my failed strategy stole the enjoyment - I'd struggled a lot through the middle section of the race, including the sunrise and many beautiful coves, and the final miles were torturous.

The jostling over position at the start was probably reasonable; getting in the right position is important in order to not be compromised by slower runners, but once I'd got into the right zone I should have backed off the pace and resumed my own race. Maybe then I'd have had a more enjoyable night and day. Some lessons painfully learned, but hopefully that sets me up for a more enjoyable time on January's Arc of Attrition.

Ultra Trail Snowdonia 100M 2024

• Distance: 100.43 miles
• Elevation: 35,359 feet
• Elapsed Time: 45:06:15
• Estimated calories: 18,255
• Total finishers (within 48-hour cutoff): 99, of 260 starters (61.92% DNF)

When you have finished a race, it can take a while to process what has happened; the narrative can change as you become fully aware of the external factors and your own responses to them. In the moment, you may not be able to understand the impact of tiredness, temperature or nutrition, for example. The experience of racing, especially long distance racing, is one of many micro-battles, and that is the story I like to tell. At the end, I also talk from a post-race perspective.

Experiencing the UTS

The UTS is part of the international UTMB world series, and until a few weeks ago, the only one in the UK. It has various distances spread over the weekend, with 100-miles being the longest and most difficult. It is notoriously hard because of the terrain; whilst alpine races can present big elevation and the challenges of altitude, UTS brings comparable elevation over more, shorter climbs, but with very varied and mostly difficult terrain. Many regard it as more challenging than the flagship Mont Blanc event. I expected it to be significantly harder than anything I'd previously attempted, and my various recce visits reinforced this view.

I was a bag of nerves when we arrived at Llanberis Slate Museum, the site of the UTS festival village. I knew what challenges lay ahead with the terrain, and that I needed my very best to get around within the notoriously tight cutoff timings at each checkpoint. I also knew that pausing training for injury had to some degree affected my race fitness, and that the injury may still derail my effort. I had also failed to contain domestic life sufficiently in the lead-up to the race, and so had not slept well for a couple of weeks; I was putting on my pack for the biggest race of my life, knowing I was actually exhausted.

Having arrived early for registration, we'd had plenty of time to wander round the exhibitor stalls before the 1pm start. I allowed too little time for my own prep, and dashed for a short nap at 12. My head was instantly spinning with the complexities of the race plan and stuff I still needed to do. The MC had started his pre-amble and music on the PA the other side of the car park.  I abandoned sleep and started rushing to do my final prep. I couldn't find my safety pins for my race bib, despite what I thought was meticulous organisation. I almost forgot to fill my bottles. Thankfully, my planning had otherwise been good and so I managed to get to the start line with everything I'd planned.

Leg 1: Llanberis - Pen-y-Pass

Friday 1pm, 0 miles

I'm not accustomed to big events, so the big send-off with probably a couple of hundred people lining the road was a novelty. The 100-mile distance was the smallest field, with 260 starters; the total starters across all distances was around 2500, with 1057 starting the 50km race the following day. My nerves remained, well beyond the streets lined with supporters, and I was not ready to chat to any other runners for a good while; I had to let my brain process all the plans that I'd been forming for weeks, and feel settled with how the first few hours would play out. Meanwhile I was jogging up the first ascent of Snowdon with a big crowd of runners who I assume were equally unsure of how fast they should be going. A very long race lay ahead, so squandering energy early on would seem unwise, however with tight cutoffs at the early checkpoints, there was little room for dawdling, and I was determined to build a buffer over the first half a day to increase both my confidence and options should I encounter difficulties.

With many difficult climbs featuring during the race, I didn't really consider Snowdon itself to present much of a challenge, especially the first pass via the Llanberis path. Yet it seemed longer than I remember. I had been glad of the sunny but moderate forecast, but the weather actually turned out to be significantly hot by Friday lunchtime. I'd realised at race start that I needed to treat this as a hot summer's day, and had started with cap and buff on, with factor 50 on my exposed skin. I was already working hard to keep fluids going in, knowing how important that would become.

The first pass over Snowdon didn't hit the summit, instead dropping down the Pyg track. Unlike the wet and icy conditions I'd experienced during recces, we were skipping over dry rocks and it felt easy. Foot traffic was lighter than expected, and hikers were being generous in letting us through. My nerves settled, and my confidence was building; after tackling so much of this route in very difficult conditions, the dry conditions were so much more mangeable and, I assumed, quicker. I saw my support crew waving as I approached Pen-y-Pass. At such an early stage, this checkpoint would just entail a bottle refill and quick additional drink.

Snowdon, with left turn to Pyg track in the foreground, and the summit beyond

Leg 2: Pen-y-Pass - Glan Dena/Llyn Ogwen

Friday 3:12pm, 7 miles

With location options for my supporters limited by checkpoint rules and proximity to roads, that would be the last I would see of them until around 24 hours in. My plan was to get focused, minimise my time at checkpoints and keep moving well in order to build up a buffer from the checkpoint cutoffs; I didn't want any unforeseen circumstance to cause me to be timed out, and one such apparent risk was now heat - I may need time for cooling off.

We headed straight up Glyder Fawr via an unforgivingly direct route. This set the tone, with a climb that I'm sure most hikers would consider tough. Today, it was one of many but still a shock to the system. I found my rhythm, and was enjoying picking my way over the rocks as we headed off the top. I'd already chatted to a slowing runner, who was being affected by the heat. I was buoyant, and enjoyed skipping down Devil's Kitchen. I didn't feel as agile as normal, with my lingering groin injury, but with the rocks being dry it wasn't a difficult descent. As it flattened out, I had a chat with another runner, but then felt I was missing a chance to press-on with one of the few easier sections, so I sped off. I was passing a lot of people, but knowing my endurance pace well, I didn't feel it was an inappropriate pace; I could sustain this, and I'd back off a lot for the climbs.

The heat started catching up with me. As we looped around the south of Tryfan, over a not insignificant climb, I stopped to cool off at a waterfall by dunking my head and wetting my cap. As I reached Glan Dena, I realised I couldn't rush the stops too much or I'd overheat. I loitered in the tent, eating cheese and pickle sandwiches, and decided that a cup of tea would go down well; it seems counter-intuitive to have a hot drink, but I find that when it’s hot enough to struggle to drink, a cup of tea, coffee or soup will be more easily consumed, and help me get straightened out.

There were signs at the checkpoint reminding us that the Tal-y-Braich checkpoint would not be operational, so we'd have a longer next leg, and should ensure we leave with full fluids. The mandatory amount of fluid capacity was 1.5L; I filled 2L. I was exclusively using the provided Naak energy drink at this point, to cover both electrolytes and the vast majority of my carb intake - it promised 250 kCals per serving, more than the 200 in my normal Tailwind. Both flavours, lime and watermelon, were tolerable, but I didn't care much for either. I was carrying a fair amount of Tailwind powder, but less than half of what I would require at my normal rate of 500ml per hour, over potentially 48 hours. I'd planned to use a combination of the two, but review how I was managing on the Naak stuff; I’d consider whether I need to carry so much Tailwind powder and potentially not take the full amount I’d put in my half way drop bag.

On Pen yr Ole Wen, looking back at Tryfan, with Devil's Kitchen to the right

Leg 3 & 4: Glan Dena - Tal-y-Braich - Capel Curig

Friday 6:06pm, 14 miles

I feared this next section. A failed recce on Pen yr Helgi Du in horrendous conditions had highlighted quite how technically challenging, as well as physically exhausting, this sequence could be. Yet this was early in the race, in daylight and the weather was dry and still. I felt that conquering it with some confidence would be a boost for the rest of the race.

The opening hill of the sequence round to Tal-y-Braich was Pen yr Ole Wen. This is a climb on a similar scale to Snowdon, but completed in less than two miles; for the first part, straight up the fairly tight contours, then steepening with some scrambling on the higher section. If the tricky descent down Devil's Kitchen had failed to convey what sort of run this is, then the reality could not be missed here. Looking up at the rocks, I folded up my poles and put them in my waist band, as I'd be needing both hands.

The heat effects had been building, I was feeling a little wobbly and dehydrated. Experience told me I needed to cool down. I thought I'd get to the top of the climb and take a short breather. As I reached the summit, I realised it was only just in time. Some other runners were taking long breaks, lying down at the top. I'd already passed one who was struggling with sickness, and another who had stopped and vomited. I sat for around 5 minutes, and my slight nausea passed. I was following my normal strategy to keep forcing the fluids in regardless, and add in morsels of salty snacks to make it tolerable. It was tough, and I didn't feel like eating anything, but I know those dangers well - if you don't eat and drink, everything will quickly get very hard, and you won't finish.

Feeling a bit more normal, I continued the difficult sequence around Carnedd Dafydd, Carnedd Llewelyn and Pen yr Helgi Du. They were intimidating to look at, as you see the full skyline of hills wrapping around, but feeling confident on my feet it was ok. The official route at Pen yr Helgi Du had changed late on, so the route would not go over the rocky summit, but instead track around the narrow track on the loose, steep side of it that had scared me on the failed recce. Still not a route for the faint-hearted, but I wasn't phased in daylight with dry ground.

As I reached the bottom of the hill a few hours later, I felt I was fading because of the hours in the sun. People around me seemed to be going quicker. I knew what was required, so I slowed to a very gentle jog, kept sipping the fluids, took on a caffeinated gel, and waited for my energy to return.

I expected the checkpoint replacement, a water-only stand, to be a short distance beyond the original location; I'd misunderstood, it was at the far end of Llyn Cowlyd reservoir, nearing 26 miles, and in the only leg of the race route I hadn't recce'd. This didn't present a problem other than my expectation. During that time, the ground along the reservoir was boggy, and the daylight disappeared. It was a tedious trudge, but my efforts with nutrition paid off; sure enough, I started passing lots of people at what felt like nothing more than a gentle jog. I made the briefest of stops for fluids, knowing that Capel Curig wasn't far away.

Onward from Pen yr Ole Wen in the heat

Leg 5: Capel Curig - Dolwyddelan

Friday 11:25pm, 30 miles

I used the Capel Curig checkpoint as my first proper maintenance stop. With a bag drop at mid-way, I had allowed the quarter and three-quarter distances to be my interim change stops; I swapped t-shirt and socks for spares in my pack, cleaned up my feet and put fresh lube on them. I used only Vaseline between my toes because it was the only small container of lube I had; at the start I'd used proper runner's lube and put it all over my feet. The checkpoint was serving hot food, so I had veg curry and a coffee.

Feeling replenished, I set out in the dark to tackle the significant climb up Moel Siabod. I was feeling ready. I woke Claire up with a phone call at just after midnight, as she was camping down in the valley. She could see me flickering my head torch a couple of hundred metres above. I could have been intimidated by the descent that followed the summit; on my last visit, conditions were horrific, and it was dangerous scrambling down the awkward rocks in the dark. This was very different; my shoes were confidently gripping the rocks, and the route markings helped ensure I didn't get it wrong. Previously, I was fearful of the big drop to the left during descending, without really being able to see a route across a field of large rock formations and boulders. The only glitch was where I passed one of the reflective flags, but couldn't see the next one. I carefully trod down a tapering slope that looked like the correct direction, but didn't seem safe; as it looked like it dropped into an abyss, I decided to head back up and check. Sure enough, I managed to find the next marker on another rock formation. It was a reminder that there are significant risks at points on the route.

I had been moving briskly down the difficult bit, and passed a couple of people who were finding it tougher. As the incline eased, but still had minor scrambling and rock-jumping, I was in my element. Another runner appeared behind me, and commented about the time it would take the other runners to get off the hill. We got chatting, and had a fun, if slightly speedy, section until we hit the forest fire roads, then we resumed a steady pace. A seasoned hiker, he was walking with big strides and using poles, I was mostly doing a light jog without poles to hold the same pace. He was less experienced than me with this type of run, but had great skills from orienteering that gave him confidence over the rocks. I attribute my skills with leaping across rocks to growing up in Cornwall and rock hopping at the coast, running round the High Peak and trying to keep up with Rob (see previous posts).

I'd tried to be efficient with my stop at Dolwyddelan, but I wasn't as efficient as my new buddy, so set out five or so later, and wouldn't see him again during the race.

Leg 6: Dolwyddelan - Blaneau Ffestiniog

Saturday 2:46am, 37 miles

The 8-mile section to Blaneau Ffestiniog looks unremarkable on the map; the only peak is Y Ro Wen, at 594m, with only one steep section. My prior experience of that section had been in awful conditions with bogs underfoot, and high winds driving rain in my face; it seemed to take an eternity. This time around, it was a warm night, and the bogs had reduced a lot. However, there was still much bouncing along soft ground, which makes running tough, so it was once again slow going. Getting deep into the night, and having started the race exhausted, my body was giving all the signals of wanting a rest. Knowing a quarry was ahead, I thought my best option for a sleep away from the insect nightlife might be on some smooth lump of slate. As I eventually reached the outer edges of the huge old quarry at Blaneau Ffestiniog, I started looking in the decayed slate shacks for options. Eventually, as the sun was rising, I found a huge timber lying nearly flat in some ruins. I made no efforts in preparing the spot, I just took my shoes off, lay on my front and set an alarm for 15 mins.

Unlike previous attempts at sleeping mid-run, this one failed to provide the benefit I was hoping for. I didn't really sleep (no surprise there), but neither did it lift the lethargy or replenish my legs; when I resumed, my quads felt battered and lifeless, my feet had swollen and I still didn't feel awake. I was struggling, and started questioning the wisdom of my fairly speedy descent of Moel Siabod; had I just overcooked my legs? Was it revealing weakness after my paused training? The mental battle had really begun, and I started questioning whether I could actually sustain this. I had a fairly miserable plod down to Ffestiniog, and drank coffee at the checkpoint.

Disused quarry near Foel Ddu, above Blaneau Ffestiniog

Leg 7: Blaneau Ffestiniog - Croesor

Saturday 5:29am, 45 miles

I knew this to be a significant section with a big ascent through the quarries around Foel Ddu, the awkward track above Llyn Stwlan, the brutally rocky Moelwyn Mawr and a very steep grassy descent to the valley. As I headed out of the town, I passed some other runners, which made me feel like I wasn't going too slow, but my muscles still felt dead and I was weary. It was slow going through the quarries. My pace felt ponderous as I continued above Llyn Stwlan, and my stomach wasn't happy. The fierce clamber up Moelwyn Mawr felt really tough. It was warm at dawn, but it didn't initially get hot; it was windy on the tops, and I had to take care going along the edge. I was struggling.

The drop down to the midway checkpoint started with a very steep descent on grass; these are very unfriendly to my knees, and I realised I was getting heel blisters from movement in my shoes on such downhills. I planned to do a proper maintenance stop at the checkpoint, swapping kit from my drop bag, and doing a full clean and clothes change.

I started pondering a pre-race discussion with a Naak rep; he claimed that their solution included protein so was suitable as mountain fuel, where Tailwind does not. I realised that with heat the previous day, and the very warm night, I had kept forcing liquid down, but not followed my usual habit of eating cashews and other snacks alongside. For several hours I had been just drinking Tailwind, and had ended up with muscular struggles. Recalling my own mantra, "even when you think it isn't fuelling, it is always fuelling" (or something to that effect). I decided to try and eat my way out of trouble. I ate a caffeinated gel and opened my cashews rather than waiting for the checkpoint

The steep descent was hideous. My toes were hitting the ends of my shoes and my knees were screaming at me. I was feeling very grumpy. when I finally reached the bottom of the slope, it was a gradual descent down to Croesor on a farm track. I was keen to get the checkpoint, but had to will myself to jog rather than walk.

Leg 8: Croesor - Gwastadannas Farm

Saturday 8:26am, 53 miles

Heading out from the checkpoint in fresh clothes, I realised that it was shaping up to be hot. I wore a cap and a Buff, and creamed up any remaining exposed skin. The checkpoint changeover had gone well; unlike my last event, I had no confusion over what to do, swapping my kit around and doing my various maintenance tasks. I had put Compeed on my heel blisters, but my feet didn't seem as bad as I expected. It had taken quite a long time, but I was still doing well against my estimated timings.

Having followed my plan to eat some hot food at the checkpoint, my muscles and energy levels slowly began to recover. I had to continue to take care in the heat though.

Cnicht felt more brutal in the race; a long climb that gets steeper and turns to a scramble for the last section. The wind had picked up, and I had to take care heading along the edge, as I descended from the summit.

I wasn't looking forward to the next section; judged by map contour, the moor passing Moel Meirch over to the road near Llyn Gwynant looks fairly innocuous. But it is an up and down slog and spongy moorland that is only partially runnable, energy-sapping and tedious. It was draining both my energy and my joy. The sun remained strong. When I eventually crossed the A498 and picked up the small road up the valley, I was feeling the effects of too much sun, and struggling to maintain a jog, and it took a frustratingly long time to get to the checkpoint.

Leg 9: Gwastadannas Farm - Beddgelert

Saturday 12:46pm, 61 miles

I'd kept the pit stop short, not needing much beyond the refuel. Immediately afterwards, Claire and the kids greeted me and I took the opportunity to stick my head in the stream. I soaked my t-shirt, cap and Buff. My feet needed more attention; more blisters were developing, and the ones on my heel were worsening. I was slightly delayed, as I realised I'd dropped my sunglasses in the checkpoint. I set off down an easier section of the run along the lakes, before hitting the climb over Grib Ddu to Aberglaslyn.

Cooling off had helped, and I was moving well, but still feeling the impact of the heat. Some runners disappeared off ahead after the checkpoint and I ended up alone for a good while. The climb up Grib Ddu felt hard, and I felt battered on the descent too. When I got to Aberglaslyn, it was surprisingly quiet for a hot day, which was a relief given the narrow track around the rocks above the river. I was going fairly slowly along the rocky section, and looking longingly at the clear river, wanting to jump in.

My young supporters greeted me on the trail, and my daughter ran with me to the checkpoint. Claire passed me an iced latte as I neared the entrance. This was the first checkpoint falling during daytime that allowed supporters, so Claire joined me to assist. I was indecisive about what I wanted in terms of drinks, food and refuels; my head had gone a bit because of the heat. I sat on the floor, trying to give my feet a break. We spent some time patching up my increasingly bad blisters; this was becoming a race-threatening problem; running was getting difficult, and I was failing to prevent them worsening. I wanted to continue and get things done, but I knew I was hot, and that the next sequence of hills was the most intimidating of the race, so I didn't rush from the checkpoint.

Aberglaslyn

Leg 10: Beddgelert - Rhyd Ddu

Saturday 4:14pm, 70 miles

I was in fear of this section. Falling at 70 miles and around 30 hours into the race, Moel Hebog alone is an intimidating prospect; the cocktail of steep and technical peaks that follow comprise a substantial and difficult trail run on its own. I knew this section would take hours and be super tough, but even worse it was far from the end of the challenges - it would be followed by a summit of Snowdon, the brutally steep Mynydd Mawr and the torturously long ascent of Moel Elio; there was a huge amount of work still to do.

It was still hot in the early evening. Masses of bluebells cover the lower part of Moel Hebog, but even at this point it begins steeply, on the grass. After a while of tough plodding, one of the most extreme parts of the race arrived - the fiercely steep approach to the summit is blocked by fields of huge boulders, and the course markings just picked a straight line up across the rocks. This was some difficult scrambling, and inevitably slow - my kind of fun, but a scary amount of effort to put in during a race this long. As hard as it was, my brain continued to ponder what was to come afterwards. I continued over Moel yr Ogof and Moel Lefn; they were difficult and draining, but I was looking ahead to the dramatic Y Gyrn, Trum y Ddysgl, Mynydd Drws-y-Coed and Y Garn.

I didn't rush, and kept the fuel going in. A chat with some marshalls after Moel Lefn gave some encouragement, and I was feeling quite strong. As the impossibly steep grass climb up to Trum y Ddysgl came in to view, I kept eyes on another runner very slowly working up it. When my turn came, even having done it before, I couldn't believe how steep it was; if you fell, you'd end up rolling all the way down. The final section before Rhyd Ddu got very technical; by this point, my sense of humour was fading; I didn't enjoy the very technically difficult and risky scramble round and down the rocks. Daylight was coming to an end, but fortunately I was on the fairly runnable descent by the time darkness closed in. It was still a long and difficult descent, made worse by my now very sore, blistered feet, and exaggerated by my desperation to get it over with. I was ready for a rest and refuel.

Foot of Moel Hebog

Moel Hebog summit

Descending Moel Hebog, looking at the five peaks before Rhyd-Ddu

Leg 11: Rhyd Ddu - Bron-y-Fedw Uchaf

Saturday 9:54pm, 78 miles

I arrived at the checkpoint expecting my support crew to greet me, but they were nowhere to be seen. I rang Claire, and it became apparent she was at the next checkpoint (there are three checkpoints along the same road, so this is easily done). I got stuck into my maintenance tasks, and they arrived soon enough.

My blisters had been getting worse and worse, and were now so painful that I couldn't envisage how I was going to keep running for much more time. I still had over 20 miles remaining, and probably 10-12 hours given the hills and my tired state. I said to Claire that I didn't know whether I would have to pull out, or just face the pain, ignore the post-race consequences and run on despite them. She encouraged me that it was ok if I couldn't continue; I said I had so much invested in this that I desperately wanted to finish. We assessed how many patches we had, and what could be protected. Some plasters were hopelessly slapped over the remaining sores. They were a mess.

Refuelled, I felt surprisingly ready for the climb up Snowdon. Once on the ascending trail, I set a brisk hiking pace. As the trail steepened, I kept pushing. I passed another runner, and I knew I was moving well. It took a long time, longer than I remembered, but I had to remind myself that whilst Snowdon isn't highly technical on this route, it is big. As I reached Bwlch Main, the one risky section of scrambling, I caught a couple of other groups of runners. I was still pushing, and passed them before the visitor centre at the summit.

It had been a great climb, but I knew what came next; with my feet in that state, I couldn't descend. Going downhill on uneven or steep terrain felt I was ripping the skin apart on my blisters. I made some effort to hold a jog down the first gentle section, but it hurt a lot. As it got steep, I was reduced to a walk, and all the people I'd passed returned the favour and headed off into the distance.

Once off the steep rocky section along the Ranger path, we were heading down a private farm track to the checkpoint. I picked up a painful jog. It went on forever; I could see the lights, but they never seemed to get closer. I got encouragements from other runners I passed who had been reduced to a walk. Once again I was doing well, but with much suffering.

This was a big checkpoint, and filled with many runners doing both the 100-mile and 100-km distances. It was late in the night, and some runners were sleeping, many taking their time fuelling and others seemingly just having a lot of chat with support crew (mine were elsewhere sleeping). It was tempting to settle into the atmosphere, but I mostly stayed on my feet, got refuelled and geared myself up to continue. Then I spotted a bed being freed up, and realised this could be a shrewd move; I set a timer on my phone for 10 mins, and got my head down. After a rest if not a doze, I was straight up and heading back on to the trail.

Leg 12: Bron-y-Fedw Uchaf - Betws Garmon

Sunday 2:15am, 86 miles

As I set off from the checkpoint, I got chatting with a runner who was doing the 100k distance. We headed into the woods and beyond to Mynydd Mawr. I had perked up a lot. As we started ascending, the weather threw me; it wasn't quite so mild, and it was windy. I expected it to be cold on the tops, so I stopped to get changed. I over-egged it with leggings, two top layers and a jacket. I was slow up the very steep climb, but managing. The downhill was once again horribly painful.

The tiredness was finally getting to me; I was getting confused about what I was doing. I knew that I had to finish the event by 1pm, but I wasn't exactly sure what it meant to finish; I thought I had to have ticked off the various sections, and that I had ticked some off, but I couldn't seem to grasp that I simply needed to keep running to the end. I found myself planning how I was going to tackle this section, then realising I was actually already doing it. I'd also been pondering whether it was ok for me to continue to run on my heavily blistered feet, except I thought they were Claire's feet, and I needed her permission to abuse them in this way.

I hit the familiar fields towards the checkpoint sooner than expected, probably because I hadn't been fully conscious. A member of the event staff asked me what I wanted in my bottles. My answer was kiwi, which caused some confusion; my family pointed out that I am allergic to kiwi, and I actually meant watermelon. My feet were such a mess that I didn't want to look, and of course I was weary. Even so, knowing this was the last leg of the race perked me up; I was well clear of the cutoffs, I could walk the last 9.5 miles if I needed to, but I wanted to get it done.

Final leg: Betws Garmon - Llanberis

Sunday 5:32am, 91 miles

I immediately stepped up the pace. I wanted to get this last leg done in under three hours, ideally nearer two. The pine forest section wasn't quite as ridiculous as on the recce; we had flags to follow, so there was much less getting lost clambering around fallen trees, and a reduced risk of impalement. The following grassland trudge to the quarry took less time than expected too.

I'd hit a problem with my bottles. I tried drinking from one, filled from the energy drink mix at the checkpoint. There was something wrong with the mix; it tasted horrible and gritty, and then blocked my valve. I switched to another bottle, and the same happened. I only had three, and third was also disgusting. It left a foul taste in my mouth and grit on my tongue. I couldn't drink it. This was a bad situation, given a section of potentially a few hours and a hot morning.

We hit the long climb I dreaded, Moel Elio. During the recce, I tackled this one at a point of fuelling failure, and it was gruelling. This time, I was really starting to fade with tiredness; I was staggering around and my eyelids were drooping. My brain couldn't quite compute what was happening; I wasn't sure what I needed to do in order to finish the event. I was going super slow, and seemed to be getting nowhere. I stopped and laid down for a minute and instantly fell asleep. Fortunately, I awoke not long after, but the runners around me had disappeared. I realised that I if I didn't get to the end, I wouldn't complete the race.

I carried on staggering, trading places with another runner doing exactly the same thing. We chatted and reminded each other to keep going. When we had finally cleared the top, I had to stop; I was too warm now the sun was up, so I went back to shorts and t-shirt. The grassy descent was torturous; while other runners skipped down it, it was so steep that I could barely walk. The final steep grassy section of Foel Goch was immensely painful, and more runners disappeared away from me. I wasn't bothered about position, but I did want to finish.

As we hit the stony trail pointing back to Llanberis, I noticed that my watch had died. So much for tracking the whole event. I set Strava tracking on my phone. I was desperate to finish and feeling more awake, and realised my legs still had plenty in them. I picked up a jog with a flat-footed technique that avoided my blisters burning too much. I was parched; I had tried drinking more, but it just made my tongue feel horrible. I'd just have to get to the end for a drink.

The jog was in some ways easier than the mental pain of a drawn out walk, so I kept it going almost constantly back to the start of Llanberis town. I'd passed a lot of walking runners who were surprised to see me attacking it. As I neared the town, I rang Claire to make sure she was ready at the finish line; actually, my pace had surprised her, and it was looking like I might get there first. As I entered the town, I had to drop to a walk to make sure she was there for my arrival. I lost a couple of places, but I wasn't bothered - I was getting back in three hours clear of the 48 hour cutoff, time 10:02am, a total of 45hrs 6mins 15secs.

It was a brilliant finish, with crowds, noise and celebration of every runner arriving. My daughter ran along with me until I peeled off into the finisher barriers. Somehow, I'd done it, and I'd finished strong, holding a run. I needed a drink, and I didn't dare look at my feet.

Post-race perspective

After months of training in adverse conditions, the forecast mild conditions were a surprise; on the day, the sun was far more intense. This caught a lot of people out very early on; there were plenty of DNFs by checkpoint 2, and ultimately, 62% of starters would not complete the course. Having done three ultra races, including a 100-miler, in extreme heat, I could read the signs of trouble and was responding well to them. That is, I was relentless with the fluids, covered up well, took opportunities to cool off, and backed off my pace where it was getting harsh. I still found myself suffering from the heat at points. I wasn't, however, eating well, assuming the complete nutrition fluids would be sufficient.

On Saturday morning, after my attempt at a sleep, things got really tough, and this continued quite a long way into the day. I could have lost confidence, with my legs seeming to lose all their power, but I've learned the lessons about fuelling the hard way. It did knock some fun out of a run through some spectacular places in beautiful weather; I'd hoped to enjoy my time out there more, but Saturday was characterised by the battle to fuel.

No sooner had the nutrition problems passed, and I'd hit feet troubles, just like my last 100-miler. Though not a wet race, the tough terrain was causing my shoes to move around a lot. This was probably the race I should have been experimenting with preventative foot-taping and better lacing techniques. Foot problems nearly cost me a finish. I was really pleased to be finishing with the strength and energy to hold a run, and it was clear that the foot struggles had also cost me a lot of time; I'd had the strength on all the climbs, but my overall pace was hamstrung by the hours when I simply couldn't run downhill. I will be trying various ways to deal with this, though it is hard to reproduce in training; the problems occur when getting into 24hr+ runs.

It was unquestionably a savage course. The big elevation numbers are only a small part of this; even sections of the course that appear little more than undulating feature difficult, energy-sapping terrain. The tougher sections include scrambling and clambering that it seems unthinkable to include in such a huge run. From my recces, it was hard to believe it could all be done in succession. I'm glad it was a dry weekend, even though the heat caused challenges.

It was hard to turn up with a potentially race-ending injury, and knowing my training had been compromised. But endurance strength is built over a long period, and not quickly lost; if I'd been racing sub-marathon distance, I've no doubt such a training interruption would have scuppered my result. Here, I'm not sure it made any difference; perhaps the time off my feet allowed my muscles to be rested enough to finish.

Would I do it again? It was a huge investment in training, planning and kit, and dominated my life for a good portion of the year. I know that even having completed it, a similar level of training would be required again. I fear undertaking this race in bad conditions; some of the rocky sections could get pretty scary at night in bad weather, as I discovered on my recces. But it is a great course and a great event, so who knows.

1 day until UTS-100M

In 24 hours I'll be on the starting line of the UTS-100M. This will be the toughest physical and mental challenge I’ve undertaken, and I’ll admit that I’m nervous. My brain has been churning for days with concerns around kit, strategy and logistics, and I've had at least one bad dream about arriving without the right kit. My sleep has been inadequate, and whilst my injury has improved, it isn't quite healed. Having backed off training for weeks, I really have no idea if I'm ready. Yet I'm excited to be doing this, racing alongside many others in such a beautiful and challenging range of hills and mountains.

People often comment to me about how difficult or unpleasant running can be for them; they'll also expect there to be little enjoyable in these events I undertake. I can understand why; the quest to complete a marathon can often be a single lifetime attempt to overcome the physical obstacle of the distance, and the reward comes from crossing the finish line and the great sense of achievement that follows. My perspective is a little different.

It has long been popular to use exercise to get in shape, look good and fend off the effects of aging. I have no age-defying physique or special abilities, running has failed to pay me back with a shapely body and I doubt anyone would look at me and judge me to be athletic. But I don’t do this for exercise, it is not a means to some other goal; neither do I consider this “type 2” fun, where the reward comes after. I love doing this, the training is fun, and the big events and adventures are a reward for the work put in. On race day, I love the apprehensive early miles, the endorphins flowing as I get in to my stride a few miles in, thinking about strategy and how to best use my kit, digging deep as the climbs get hard, trying somehow to keep moving through the night and in the periods of severe fatigue, forcing down food and drink constantly regardless of any feelings of thirst and hunger (well, maybe I don’t like that bit so much), seeing many, many amazing views and new perspectives in all weathers, running alongside others having their own battles, running alone and feeling solitude and sometimes dangers of the hills, inventing mini competitions in my head to motivate myself and then crossing the finish line knowing that very few people would have even considered coming to the start line.

I’d love to finish this race. The platitude “it’s the taking part the counts” doesn’t mean a lot to me; it doesn't need to count - the taking part will be fun and its own reward, but conquering it would be the icing on the cake.