Adventure has always been in my blood. From illegal raves and cliff-jumping to long days on the Preseli Hills, I’ve thrived on action with uncertain outcomes. But I truly found my people when I stumbled into the Narberth Nobbler — my first taste of mountain running. Naively choosing the long-distance group on my first outing, we climbed to Cwmcerwyn, gazed over a sea of lights, and I knew I’d discovered something special.
From there, running took hold. What began as 3–5 miles grew to half-marathons, then — during lockdown — a solo marathon on the coast path from Pendine to Tenby and back. Party weekends were replaced by late-night runs, longer distances, and bigger mountains. Soon the names of Welsh peaks — once strange to me — felt like old friends.
The fabled Dragon’s Back Race always seemed impossible, reserved for champions. But after volunteering one year and witnessing the courage of those who dared, I felt compelled to try. With my credits in hand, I entered, trained relentlessly on the brutal Pendine-to-Amroth coast path, and invested properly in kit. I knew this race would demand everything.
From the moment we set off from the castle, soaked in red flare light, it was clear: this was no ordinary race. Each day brought hardship and beauty in equal measure. I crossed swollen rivers, climbed peak after peak in wild weather, pushed through the Rhinogiau and over Cadair Idris, stumbled across cursed bogs, and endured endless road stretches. My body ached, poles snapped, and my feet swelled painfully.
Day Five – Resurrection
It nearly broke me. Ill, weak, and behind time, I thought of giving in. A slow shuffle had set me 20 minutes behind the recommended cutoff. I fell into depths of despair and became overwhelmed by it. In that moment, I thought of how cruel and unfair the world could be. I thought of all the people I know going through their own hardships. I thought of Juliana Bransden and the immense strength she and her family have shown in the face of adversity.
Eventually, I found a spark. I started to run. I put on my hardest drum and bass playlist — the one I reserve for heavy interval sessions. I took painkillers and surged forward into the pain. The pain was replaced by optimism and strength. I started to overtake runners. I told myself, I’m not going to stop running until I reach the end.
I found my tent-mate Tom — I could see he was in a dark hole. I shouted his name from afar: “Tom! Tom!” By the time I reached him, I knew my job. I’d just got myself out of the hole, and I was going to lift Tom out of his. I listened to his pain but filled the gaps with my positive mumbo jumbo, telling him about what I’d just experienced. I kept on at him and, before long, his chin lifted and we both sped up the hill. By the time we reached the top, we were 20 minutes ahead of time.
The day continued like this. I felt unbreakable. We caught up with Emily and Grant, and the team strung together. The day rolled on to the end.
The final day was a long, flat grind. Pain throbbed, but I shuffled on. A bike gang of teenagers followed and mocked my pink shorts as I neared the castle — but I kept moving. At last, I turned the corner into Cardiff Castle, where my children, family, friends, and comrades waited. Tears came freely. I had done it.
I had become a Dragon.
