UTS 100k. When I first learned about this event several years ago, it seemed fascinating but impossible to me. The level of challenge, the technicality and the beauty of the course called so much to me, as someone who was finding joy in ever pushing to take on a bigger challenge, but it just felt fundamentally outside the realm of what I ever thought I’d be capable of. From a few years of hillwalking, scrambling, peak bagging and wild camping trips I know and love the area so well. It’s also familiar to me that a day here can wind up feeling vastly harder, or taking a lot longer, than expected. In the mountains, 'one mile can be two'.
Fast forward a few years and I’ve gotten somewhat into ultra
running. I now have three 100k’s under my belt - Fellsman, UTYD, and Lakeland
Trails - alongside a decent number of 50 milers and 50k’s. Pacing a leg for my friend John’s Bob Graham Round
in July last year turned my interest toward mountain running. Shortly after that I took on a self-supported
Mountain Goat Circuit in Eryri then a Tea Round in the Lakes, I enjoyed them
both massively. Whilst my main goal was booked
- Brecon Beacons Way 100 miler in July 2026, UTS 100k felt like the right
challenge at the right time for the spring. It would be a significant step-up, I
wasn’t sure I could do it, and I wanted something that felt that far outside
the comfort zone.
I will add on a side note I was never comfortable entering a
race that’s under the ownership of UTMB, as aside from the cost, I don’t agree
with their ethics at all and I’d always sooner be supporting grassroots
running. The challenge however was such a uniquely difficult one for an
organised event in the UK. It was also
an opportunity to see what the experience of running a UTMB series race is like
from the inside. So ultimately, I chose to work through that discomfort,
swallowed my pride, and signed up within minutes of entries going live.
100 days before the start line and UTMB unapologetically
altered 80% of the course, reducing the vertical ascent by 30% and changing the
proposition entirely. After 70km the new
route would give up on mountains and turn to easy valley paths and passes. The
ascent was now frontloaded on the course.
I’d signed up for a course that – as Goggins might say – ‘stayed hard’ -
with substantial climbs all the way through, if anything backloaded.
I was gutted! This would no longer be the step-up I’d felt called
to. It felt no tougher than The Fellsman. I spent 2 weeks ruminating over this
with seemingly every spare moment of my time. I was above all afraid, after 4
months of training and build-up, of being stood on a start line, and putting
all that time and energy into something, with my heart just not being in it.
I asked for a refund. UTMB said ‘non’. They offered deferral
to the same event next year in same or a shorter distance only, or to another
100k race in their 2026 calendar with available space. None of which were in
the UK. I counter-offered – How about the Arc 50-miler in Cornwall - January
2027 – it’s only 4 weeks outside 2026? … or I pay to upgrade to the 100-mile
UTS next year. Or I’d be happy enough if they give me a 30% discount. ‘Rien’ -
no negotiation, no refunds, no apologies. I kept the place (as cancelling for
no refund would only have benefited them, not me). I pondered what else I could
do with the time I’d booked off work and the camping I’d booked.
Just as I was firming up plans to attempt a suitably crazy
self-supported challenge, 19 days ahead of the event, they changed the course
again. Now we were taking in the Moel
Hebog – Nantlle route. I love those hills. Such fond memories traversing the
full Nantlle ridge, visiting Cwm Pennant festooned with bluebells, a night
camping on Moel Lefn, and early morning magnificent Moel Hebog, all to the
sound of cuckoos going off all around. The challenge was back in play for sure,
the course had more the sort of ascent I was looking for with a punchy tail end
again. Whilst It may seem strange to say I felt better about taking on a course
that genuinely scared me, that fear was vastly more appealing than the fear of taking
part without my heart being in it.
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| the start line |
So here we are 5.05 am on Saturday 16th May in Llanberis. The race starts in 25 minutes. I’m at the start in good time, about to queue up for a tea and eat a small snack, when I realise looking around me that all my fellow runners are wearing a bib number, and I’m not. I’d left it in the car! No race number = no race. The car is in a park and ride car park about a mile away and up a hill. I’m running back to the bus stop. I explain my predicament to a marshal and approximately zero care or concern was given. ‘There’ll be a bus soon’.
So I stand there for 5 minutes eagerly waiting for another shuttle
bus that simply doesn’t come. I nervously flag down the attention of a very kind
man in a car who was had just dropped his brother off, explained the situation,
and he agreed to run me up to the car park. Once at the car park I saw the
busses and said he could go, and I’d get the next bus back, as he was clearly
needing to get back to the start and parked himself, to see his brother off.
I ran up the hill to my car, retrieved my race number and
ran back to the busses. I was the only runner in sight, clearly nobody else had
left it this late. I explained my situation and they sent one bus on with only me
aboard. I reached the start 4 minutes before the off. Someone on a muted PA was
mumbling some something inaudible. 5.30am
arrives and everyone quietly starts moving, with muted encouragement from the
crowd who had gathered to see us off. Silent start. Why is everyone running
uphill at such a pace? My niggly left ankle needs more of a proper warm-up, I
didn’t get that cup of tea and could do with a bite to eat…
 |
| On us way now... |
Onward up the interminable Llanberis path. This must be one of the most straightforward routes around to gain a munro’s worth of vert. I focus on keeping my heart rate and effort levels in check. As we pass halfway house cafĂ© and reach the upper sections it feels colder and colder, the wind and rain starts coming in. A quick stop to don waterproof shorts and jacket. Up changes to down at Bwlch Glas finger stone, the highest point of the course. As is so often the case, once on the Pyg track we’re sheltered in lee of the prevailing weather, and things immediately feel calmer and warmer.
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| View from the Pyg Track, taken on a nicer day... |
Survival! Protect the quads. I’m very steady going down the Pyg focussing on executing my own race plan. It’s not even 7am but there are so many pedestrians up here that it feels like mid-morning. How is this place so busy when the weather is rubbish and it’s barely daytime. Yr Wyddfa has a draw that often prevails over common sense… Once down at Pen-y-pass the rain has gone into respite. I feel too warm, so I stop to remove the waterproof layers before progressing down easier trails to Gwastadannas - aid station one. I don’t stop long here, just refill fluids, and they had Coca-Cola, so I started the climb with a cupful to sip on…
A steady gravel track now climbs to Pen Y Gwrd with some nice views, being below the cloud level. Across the road and it’s grassy and a little boggy. It’s a long but very steady climb up Moel Siabod. As with the first climb and descent, this leg would run so much faster in the opposite direction. Part way up the rain comes on again and it’s back on with the waterproofs, up into the mist. Once on Siabod summit it’s directly onto Daear Ddu ridge, a steep grade 1 scramble in descent. The rock is slippery and wet, but the trail talons are gripping well. We pass a good number of hikers coming up. This is very slow going. Once off the ridge it’s into very rough boggy ground and progress feels barely much faster. Into the forestry, eventually we reach flat or gently descending smooth gravel fire roads. I find myself in step and chatting away with Scottish accent lady and a younger lad. It feels remarkably good running on this easy ground, this being something we’d not really done much of at all, up to now.
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| Looking down the Daear Ddu ridge off Moel Siabod on a less foggy, colder day... |
Dolwyddelan aid station is welcome. It feels so much warmer
in the valley. I fill my flasks and proudly shovel food in like the cookie
monster. It’s really an eating contest,
don’t you know? I take off my insulated gilet
mid-layer from under the waterproof shell, as the next section does not go as high-up.
I stay on my feet and avoid lingering, walking out with another cupful of cola. On the next climb, tall Dutch lad catches up
and we chat some. Once at the top of
not-quite-mountain Y-Row-Wen, the easy 4x4 track gives way to a grassy trod
with some boggy bits. This section had a ‘Fellsman’ vibe. The rain and wind are coming in head-first
along here, so it feels quite cold and isn’t very nice. The scenery gets more
interesting as we enter the realm of the old slate mines and begin descending
toward Bleanau Ffestiniog. I’d love to someday properly explore, hill-bag and perhaps
camp in this fascinating area east of Bleanau. The latter part of the decent
gets quite funky in places on a narrow path winding through thick rhododendron.
On arrival at Blaenau Ffestiniog the warm indoor checkpoint
is very busy. Lots are getting crewed. I’m in and out quickly, just filling up
flasks, putting some food in the gob and more in bags to go. I’m focussed on getting to the next aid
station, Croesor at pretty much half way, for my drop bag and a proper regroup.
 |
| On the route out from Blaenau Ffestiniog (taken on a less rainy day) |
I walk out and along Blaenau high street in the rain sipping on a welcome cup of tea. Leaving Blaenau I catch up to Scottish lady again and we share more conversation on the way up lovely Cwmorthin. Man who’s a fast climber but struggling to run on flat due to injury joins us for a bit. I shuffle away on the flat, then he blazes past me on the climb, then off in the wrong direction at the misty Bwlch; but I only realise this too late and he doesn’t hear me shout. Rhosydd quarry is another intriguing place to pass through, even in the fog, and once through here, the contouring traverse on the slope of Moelwyn Mawr is a fabulous section with views over Llyn Stwlan, although less runnable than I’d hoped as it’s quite rocky and rough.
 |
| Rhosydd quarry - taken on a less foggy day |
Ascent up the south ridge of Moelwyn Mawr is steep, rocky and even hands-on in places but fairly brief. Shame there’s no views today as we’re in the cloud again. I’ve fond memories from of this area from the time when I bagged all the Moelwyn mountains with an overnight camp on Moel-yr-Hydd in high summer. I remember sitting out watching the sunset special steam train puffing along the narrow-gauge railway way below; then the next morning spotting Moel-y-Gest by Porthmadog, deciding it looked like such a cool hill, and shooting across to climb it too that afternoon, on tired legs, drenched in blazing sunshine. Today it was cold and grey. Descent off Moelwyn Mawr was spicey. I pass a few folk who are struggling for grip on the steep grassy and muddy slopes. My Trailtalons were serving me very well here though. I’m surprised to find the route down here crosses a very questionable unofficial wall corner ‘stile’, and then over a concerningly rusty locked gate.
 |
| the time I camped on nearby Moel yr Hydd, the sun setting over Cnicht |
I’d known this descent would be difficult and steep, so it felt good to put it behind me and roll into Croesor in pretty good condition. I was proud of how well I’d managed my race so far, consuming food, electrolyte and fluids better than ever, and ensuring I was running my own race. Now for the halfway regroup and reset I’d been keenly working towards.
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| Moelwyn Mawr when it's not shrouded in fog and rain... |
Off with the wet shoes and socks first, so the feet can dry
a bit whilst I tended to everything else. I drank a Huel, ate the bean chilli
and bread, changed to a dry base layer, re-faffed my kit and restocked fuel
into my pack. I’d been carrying a backup
USB-battery for my mobile, but I still had 75% charge on the phone so I
jettisoned this into the dropbag. In
hindsight it’d have made more sense to just put the charger in the dropbag for
halfway instead of carrying from the start. I also wouldn’t take the bean chilli again as it was just so
high in fibre and used up valuable energy to digest.
I saw the volunteers explaining to a runner beside me that they
were concerned he was showing signs of hypothermia, and they would take him to
a warm room in the building with blankets to get warmed up for half an hour. It seems chilly here in the tent, the sky
outside darkens and a heavy rain shower comes through whilst I’m in there. This
prompts me to swap the waterproof shorts for waterproof trousers, as I know
it’s a long boggy section much of which is high-up and exposed coming next. I hand over the drop bag and double check
I’ve got everything, making jokes about how I seem prone to forgetting something
with the volunteers, then strike outwards and onto the next climb. The rain’s
off and it feels brighter now. In fact I feel a bit warm, but I know it’ll get cold
soon enough once I’m higher up. A good
few hundred metres uphill from the aid station it becomes apparent that I had
forgotten to refill my water bottles!
 |
| Approaching The Welsh Matterhorn - Cnicht - this was hidden in cloud on the day |
I took inventory; I had about 350ml of plain water left, and my electrolyte drink on the other side was empty. I was carrying filter flask spare. Remedial action was to use the filter flask and I had plenty of electrolyte pills to work with. I didn’t find a source for water to filter until after climbing Cnicht and I’d felt quite thirsty up on the climb, having to ration the water. I think I stayed calm and dealt with this well though.
 |
| The start of easy scramble approaching the top of Cnicht, taken on a much nicer day |
As expected back at height it felt cold, it was foggy with some light rain here and there. The areas through Ysgafell Wen and around Moel Meirch are extremely boggy and rough, very slow going. I very slowly gained and passed a small handful of people thorough here. Tall Dutch bloke followed me, later he thanked me for showing him a way through to avoid going deep into bog, he just didn’t have much practice on this sort of ground. I guess I’ve learned over time what the worst bits look like and when it’s worth adding the bit of distance to go around and avoid them. I was pragmatic and poked the poles in to test bits I was unsure of. I think this section spelt the beginning of the end for quite a few folks.
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| Ysgafell Wen area on a less foggy day, before the serious bogs begin |
I could see the light was starting to go. I wanted to get to the aid station without needing to stop and get the torch out. Descending off the ridgeline into upper Nant Gwynnnant, the dusky views down and across the valley were marvellous. The rain had gone and I assumed, based on the forecast, I’d seen the last of it, which boosted my mood. Into some woodland on a technical path, I really needed the torchlight but didn’t want to stop as I was so close to the road now, so I carefully picked my way through the twilight. On emerging from the woodland and reaching the road crossing, I stopped to get the headtorch out. I’d anticipated being one whole section ahead, in Beddgelert, before darkness fell – so I was about 2-3 hours behind where I expected to be, but I was going OK and well ahead of cutoffs so I didn’t let it concern me. Two French blokes looking out for one of the runners behind me said ‘Bravo’ and I was kindly offered a seat in a car whilst I sorted my kit, but I declined, as I wanted to keep moving once the headtorch was on. Things all started feeling quite surreal to me from this point and onwards.
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| One of the few photos I took on the day itself. Descending into Nant Gwynant at last light |
Another brief muddy descent through a field then onto more tarmac and under torchlight I shuffled the 800m or so to Gwastadannas Farm and the aid station, which was a large tent. Again a heater in here would have been appreciated, but then I didn’t want to linger long anyway. Strategy of focussing on alternating aid stations to properly regroup was working alright for me so I wanted to push on to Beddgelert. I declined soup but agreed to a bread roll filled with jam which went down well. I ate more bits and pieces from the fuddle whilst drinking more coke and bagged up a handful of the broken up Naak vegan stroopwaffels to go, as was becoming my custom.
It was warmer down in the valley and I knew the next section
was mostly at this level. Convinced the rain was long gone, I removed my
waterproof trousers and jacket, to avoid becoming a boil in the bag. A quick
stop in one of the rather grim portaloos on my way out, and I’m surprised to
hear the sound of heavy rain hammering on the plastic roof. I dash back into
the aid station and swap out my softshell gilet for the waterproof jacket and don
the waterproof shorts. I set out into the rain and darkness.
I didn’t know the section through Nant Gwynant, I’d assumed
it would be a friendly, well surfaced and mostly flat tourist track. It wasn’t any
of these things for the first few kilometres, it was very waterlogged in
places, twisted through rocky, rooty woodland, and climbed more than one might
expect from a path following the valley downstream. Eventually it did turn into
that friendly, flat, path and the rain went away for good too now. Consistently
runnable sections like this were few-and-far-between on this course, so I
capitalised by mostly shuffling with little walking breaks here and there. I found myself passing at least 10 others on
this section. It worried me that they
appeared to have resigned themselves to walking, or perhaps death-marching, at
this stage.
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| Looking back down the path into Nant Gwynnant in a different season. All this was in darkness. |
A left turn and it’s directly into the comparatively short (230m) climb up and over to Cwm Bychan. No shuffling here, in fact I find it surprisingly tough going. If going uphill felt like this now, I was pretty concerned about the Hebog-Nantlle section that would follow after Beddgelert. There was around 1300m+ of vert on that stretch kicking off with 750m or so straight up Moel Hebog. It was after midnight and I reminded myself that the body hits a natural low at this time. I trusted that this would pass and once we past 3 am I should find renewed energy. I paused to look at the cool ruins of the quarry ropeway, and took it cautiously on the downhill to Nantmor, bearing in mind it was dark. I passed and chatted briefly with one lad going into the fishermans path, he was mentally in a less good place than me – a theme I’d spotted with the folk I’d been passing. I tried to share optimistic encouragement about working through the nighttime low but I’m not sure how well it was going down.
 |
| I caught glimpses of these remnants from the quarrying in my torchlight |
I found the rocky technical riverside path good because it was mentally engaging, if slow going. The last guy I catch up to isn’t so willing to let me pass, and we chivvy each other along, shuffling on and off over the easier last km or so into Beddgellert aid station. He’s a faster runner than me but he’s another that had been held up for 45 mins at Croesor to get warmed up as he’d gotten dangerously cold. He was concerned he was in risk of drifting off to sleep on his feet and might have had to get a little sleep at the aid station. I think it’s possible he’d fallen asleep in the gents but it was OK because the volunteers let me use the ladies.
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| The Fisherman's path towards Beddgelert was enjoyable in darkness and torchlight |
When we arrived at the aid station, I myself felt as wired as Mark E Smith and rejected the offer of a bed for a bit of sleep. What I wanted was food and lots of it. The wonderful volunteers gave me a small bucket of pasta with tomato sauce. It’s a bit bland but I work through it in between faffing with kit, drinking a miso soup, and refilling my pockets with stroopwaffels for the road. I walk out with a cup of coca cola. I decide to just walk up to the foot of the Hebog climb ‘to conserve energy’. I felt like a lamb going to the slaughter but at the same time there was no doubt I was continuing. I was unaware at the time but 55 of the 365 starters would withdraw at Beddgelert, in addition to a further 68 who withdrew at earlier checkpoints.
We’re 80km and 4,00m of ascent in at this stage and the 750m
steep climb straight up is a frightening prospect. I’m experiencing something I never have before. My heart rate has gradually dropped, which I
know is to be expected, but I seem to be breathing so much just to move upward
at a slow plod. As if all cylinders just
aren’t firing. Is something wrong with
me? I decide that just taking it steady
and chipping away at the climb is about all there is I can do. It’s amazing seeing all the reflective course
markers stretching right away up the hill. Tall Dutch lad gradually catches then and
passes me going up here. He’s looking super strong and it’s the last I saw of
him. The guy is a legend, but he’s
thanking me for saving his race by showing a way through the bogs earlier. I explain I’m OK but I just need to take this
super steady. Part way up I stop to put
on an extra layer, after this and as the climb becomes more rocky, technical,
and mentally engaging instead of a grassy plod, I start to feel more like
myself again. Perhaps digesting all that
pasta had stolen away too much energy and I just needed an hour for it to
settle…
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| Looking back down Hebog toward Beddgelert, on a spring morning |
Darkness gives way to twilight. Nearly at the top and I’m guided in by constantly ringing cowbells. ‘Welcome to the summit of Moel Hebog’ says one of the summit safety team. I thank him for the brilliant cowbell and continue alone straight into the descent which is steep, grassy and a bit slippery. I fell over a couple of times during this stretch but landed softly on the grass. The Topo Mtn Racers I’d changed into half-way just don’t grip as well on this ground as the Inov8’s would have. As a side note the Trailtalons had done noticeably better on wet rock too, despite how many people I hear seeming to swear by Vibram megagrip, and slate the Inov8 G grip…
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| What the steep descent off Hebog would have looked like with the lights on |
The ascent up Moel yr Ogof goes through a particularly beautiful area. Light was good now so I put the headtorch away. Every so often a boulder, a rock or a fluttering course marker looks like a tent. Perhaps someone out wild camping? A spectator or marshall? I like the idea of speaking with someone as I feel very alone here, but they all transpire to be mirages and the hope of someone to chat to sinks again. I can’t see any runners ahead, I’m aware of a headtorch some distance behind me. I could go off course looking for Owain Glyndwrs cave to see if he’s in but I decide against it.
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| That time I camped on Moel Lefn |
Moel Lefn comes soon enough too, the path narrowly skirts around the summit. I take in magnificent views and peer out over the Nantlle ridge, back-tracing the route that I’d backpacked along a few years ago. Then it’s a not-overly-runnable descent through heather and rough ground to Bwlch Cwm-Trwsgl which is very pretty. I make a mental note to avoid strolling over the edge into the massive chasm that sits right beside the path at the Prince of Wales quarry. I stop and peer for a moment through entrance to a mining level, perpendicular to the path. I feel a genuine relief that the course markers didn’t lead me into the pitch-dark interior of the hillside on this occasion, as if there was a good chance they might have done.
 |
| the chasm |
Out of the quarry and the climbing starts again. I start feeling the worst dread I’ve ever known. Any climbing now seemed to demand so much oxygen it was as if the air had turned thin. I so badly wanted to just stop, sit down and rest. I could see my route with 350m of ascent stretching impossibly into the sky. I felt so alone, and so far from help.
I refused to allow myself to stop though, because that
seemed scarier and more dangerous to me than continuing. Between the rock and the hard place I just
took it very steady, one foot in front of another. What was up with me? I had to be pragmatic. I thought about the messages of care and
support I was getting from family and friends and drew strength from them. I thought about all the people I’ve met in
running, all the stories I’ve heard and that have inspired me. I knew there was a safety team along the
ridge at the top of this hill, then it was downhill to the aid station at Rhyd
Ddu. I just needed to get to Rhyd Ddu
and see how I felt then. Slowly but
surely. I was aware of the person behind
me gradually catching me up on this climb, which added a little to my fear, but
all I could do was focus on survival and manage what I did have left to give.
I later learned that what I was likely going through was to
do with muscle breakdown – as you get deeper into a race and the efficient
muscle fibres you usually rely on break down, you start needing to use less efficient
muscle fibres that simply require more oxygen to give the same output. The
heart rate stays low because the body is protecting itself. The fear and primal urge to stop and rest is
again the body wanting to preserve itself.
I’m not that versed with the science but that is the gist of it… All this was new to me and unexpected.
I was almost surprised to find I did reach the top of Trum y
Ddysgl eventually. On the mercifully
brief additional climb up to neighbouring Mynydd Drws-y-coed, the runner behind
me catches me up. She’s speaking a language I don’t know. Spanish? I stop and
get google translate on my phone. She speaks no English. She is asking to use my phone to make a call. I oblige. I wonder why she didn’t have her own phone. The number she’s typed in doesn’t connect. I try calling it too. Doesn’t connect. I speak into google translate to explain it
doesn’t connect. OK, never mind. We keep going. I reach the summit safety team
just ahead of her and explain to the team of two that she speaks Spanish,
doesn’t speak English, and I’m not sure what is up. They offer me water and encouragement, I’m
still good for water but take the encouragement as well as I can. A hot spot is forming on my outside left heel
but I decide it’s not that far to the aid station now where I can tend better
to it.
 |
| Part of the scramble, photo from May 2019 |
The next section is a grade one scramble in descent. 90+km in this is a serious obstacle. I’m glad I do have plenty of experience on this sort of ground, I might not have moved with any respectable speed over it but I feel OK on it. Glancing back, I saw someone behind me, possibly Spanish speaking lady, has gotten stuck, and the safety team had come to assist them.
Now the only serious difficulty left to conquer on the
course was the steep grassy descent to Rhyd Ddu. The sun was out, it felt like
a beautiful morning, and a few hikers were coming up. The normality of seeing
and saying hello to people felt such a world apart from an hour earlier when I
felt so completely alone and scared. Oddly on coming off the steep descent I
caught up with around three or perhaps four other runners. In lovely weather with cloud free summits
(except Yr Wyddfa) and beautiful views, the contrast with the preceding day and
night was stark. The feelings of fear and dread abated. It was like suddenly arriving on a different
planet.
At Rhyd Ddu aid station I take a layer off and fish out my sunglasses
for the first time. I put some compeed
on my left heel. Being 28 hours in at this stage, my feet have stayed wet for a
long time, they’d done really well apart from this one issue. I haven’t taken the
MTN racer shoes over a longer distance than 22 miles before, nor tested them in
such wet ground conditions. Between the
insole and the shoe had pinched my macerated skin. If I could go back I’d have swapped at halfway
to a 2nd pair of Trailtalons instead.
I felt so much better now. I’m still plenty ahead of cutoff
and ‘only’ 11km and 400m ascent separate me from the finish line. All ground I’ve covered before, I know it’s
easier going and I know I can do it. I
think it’s very telling of just how brutal the preceding leg was that so many -
33 of 365 - starters withdrew here, despite having come this far and overcome
all the true difficulties.
I learn that the Spanish speaking lady was from Brazil, and had
lost her phone somewhere out on the course. What a tough break to be in a
foreign country, not speaking the language and being without a phone after 28
hours on your feet. One of her running
poles was bent too. None of this was defeating
her though, she was pushing on regardless and finished ahead of me.
 |
| Taken on the day, looking back at skyline I'd traced from Moel Hebog to Y Garn left to right |
It’s turning into a beautiful day. Approaching the top of the climb I can see an endless stream of runners coming off Foel Goch and running in both directions down the path. The Eryri 25k was underway. As it turns out, their course had been altered at the very last minute due to risk of thunder on Yr Wyddfa, so they’d been sent up the Moel Elio exposed mountain ridgeline only 2 miles to the north-west instead, which would be safe as houses apparently. The day felt glorious, with thunder seeming an unlikely prospect, but I learned it might be coming later and could have affected the back of their field. I felt a bit sorry for all these runners many of whom had probably come some way to run up and down Yr Wyddfa, they mostly seemed in good spirits though. I shuffled ever so gradually along one side of that easy descending gravel path in Maesgwm whilst the 25k runners, who had started in different waves, zoomed by; some going at a pace with big strides that had me afraid for their ankles. Many offered encouragement as they went by - having so much support and being made to feel like a hero was really quite humbling. I smiled and gave encouragement to them as much as I could too. I passed 2 of the other 100k runners who’d teamed up and were walking it in, chatting briefly with them. I was also really privileged to be able to chat a while with 2 of the 100 miler runners on this section which was super inspiring.
Soon enough I’m on the steep tarmac into Llanberis. I really
need to pee but there are people just everywhere so I focus on getting to the
finish, shuffling on amongst the torrent of 25k runners. There is a 900 dogleg across the valley and
back to reach the finish line on flat roads, which I knew was coming but felt
further than I’d been expecting. Reaching
the finish line, I was full of emotion, tears, pride and happiness. It was a magnificent moment. In my mind I felt very zen but with such a
volume of runners coming in around me it seemed very chaotic. The volunteers congratulated me, handed me a bit
of slate, a white finishers windproof type jacket which is decent if a bit
short in the arms, a metal medal with a somewhat ironic Carneddau pony emblem, a
small slate coaster and a bottle of beer, then I was funnelled into the event
village. I was either entitled to or had
paid for a meal in the canteen tent, but had entirely forgotten about this and
didn’t even see where it was anyway. I
found a spot to regroup, packed away my souvenirs, remembered to pick up my
drop bag, and had a chat with one of the 25k runners who was working towards
the Apex Everest. I was astonished with
how lucid I felt. After visiting the loos
and noticing there was no soap, water or hand sanitiser left, I decided against
getting something to eat from one of the outlets, so headed for the shuttle
bus. I stopped for food on the way back
to Idwal Cottage where I was camping, showered then slept a couple of hours
before making my evening meal then more sleep.
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| selfie at the finish because the official photo cost £30! |
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| stats... |
I’m exceptionally proud of completing this. It was far and away the toughest thing I’ve ever done. Only 57% of those on the start line made it to the finish. There seems to have been some consensus that this new course was not any easier than the previous one. There was less vert but not by that much, the distance was longer, and certainly the addition of the two grade 1 scrambles taken in descent adds a dimension. To say the ground on the section after Cnicht was substantially rougher and boggier than anything you’d expect on the previous route would be an understatement. How churning wide swathes of bogs up with hundreds of runners was considered an environmentally sounder choice than going over better-established, well-maintained, rocky, and generally harder-wearing paths in the Carneddau and Glyderau, I will never understand.
What did I think of the race? The experience up to the start line was tough
on the noggin with the goalposts moving so much on multiple occasions with little notice. From my experience, UTMB seem to have a very unapologetic
‘computer says no’ approach to customer relations. If it hadn’t been for the last-minute inclusion
of that Hebog-Nantlle section, I would not have taken up my place. I was going to take on a substantial solo self-supported challenge closer to home. I’m glad they did in the end raise the level of
difficulty back to something more akin to what I’d signed up for.
On arrival, the race registration process and kit check were a
breeze, but not being allowed to leave the drop bag until a different, later
time window meant having to pass an hour and
a half reading a book in Llanberis on the Friday evening when I just wanted to
be getting on with setting up camp and getting settled for an early night.
The event village had a good atmosphere, but it’s a shame they hadn't kept on top of having soap or sanitiser available in the toilets. I'm sure some runners will have been dealing with funny tummies and the last thing you want is to catch a bug when your body is trying to recover from an effort like this.
I encountered some phenomenal
support from the volunteers, especially in the aid stations where they were very caring and helpful. This said, at the moment when I really was in need - with my race number blunder at
the start - I sought help from and was basically shunned by the volunteers, one of whom seemed more preoccupied with a phone call to their family. I had to rely on the kindness of a member of the general public to save my race.
My fellow competitors seemed a bit less friendly than what I'm used to on races, but that could just be because a proportion of them
were international and spoke less English. I often find myself with a new friend or two on Strava or Instagram after a race, but not this one.
The aid stations had no shortage of food and drink, but almost
all of these were in tents – 5 out of 7 – and those tents were unheated –
including the tent where you stop longer for the drop bag. On such a long race on a cold wet day like
this, heaters in the tents would have been so welcome.
Would I recommend it? No, not unless you really specifically want to run the toughest 100k race currently available in the UK. I'd recommend finding something less corporate, with more heart and soul. You will have a better experience, will feel more valued, and less like a number. I so wish I could have run this race before UTMB bought it. What a fantastic event it would be if it weren't caught beneath the corporate overlay.
The nearest other options in grassroots have similar metrics but are less technical like Rasus y Bannau which I hope to do next year. The currently defunct Skyline Scotland 100k may
be tougher if it ever gets back off the ground but it might also be very vulnerable
to bad weather. A Bob Graham is the step-up,
but a 24-hour cutoff is very tight. Between
that and the admin involved, compared to signing up for a race where it’s all
taken care of, a Bob is such a different proposition. I also wouldn’t want to do something of this
scale in the mountains without having some support, either a crew
or it being part of an organised event.
My experience was fundamentally bittersweet. I’ve overcome the greatest challenge of my
running life or perhaps my entire life to date, but the victory sits in the shadow
of a big-money running interest that I dislike all the more now. Despite wanting to do the UTS 100 miler so
much, I would have to think really carefully about ever going back to a race
that is within UTMB’s ownership.
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