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What do you get when you enter one of Caz the Hat’s events?

Some ups (well, lots of ups), then the downs, some boggy bits, some technical bits, and of course an exciting and slightly zany route.

But that’s where the Dip-Dab is a little bit different – there is no route!

You get a map marked with lots of points to get to – plus this time a warning of high bracken! (and he wasn’t joking).

So where do you head? The Waterwheel? The Pointy Rock? Or to the Back of the Cavel?
(There was a lot of chat about “the cavel” after the event – turned out to be “the cave!”)

The Format

This year’s Dip-Dab was across 2 days – 4 hours each day to get to as many checkpoints as you can.

• Start: Llanerch in the heart of the Gwaun Valley
• Landmarks: Mynydd Dinas, Carningli, Cnwc yr Hydd
• Out to: the “tiny tree” on the far side of Foel Cwm Cerwyn, worth 80 points!

Staggered starts, 2 minutes to study the map and plan your route, and then you’re off – running alone or as a pair.

A couple of miles in and you start seeing fellow competitors across the hills – sometimes tracking the same route as you (a carrot or stick), sometimes heading elsewhere (Why are they over there?).

Moments of camaraderie on the hillside to work together to find the kite… before the competition kicks in again and you’re off to the next checkpoint.

Always questioning your choices:
time vs distance? route vs terrain? points vs what’s left in the legs?!

Day 1 – Clockwise Gamble

I chose a clockwise route – different to most – with a plan to hit the remote big points early (including the cavel) and then see how it was going on the slopes of Carningli.

But by the “large boulder” (which boulder?) and “foot of crag” in the truly high bracken, legs and time were running out.

Decision time at 5-Ways below Carningli – what’s doable without going over time? Decision made: down rather than up. Scooped up 70 more points and back.

• Finished 7 minutes inside the time
• 18 miles covered
• Legs pretty spent (right decision – still tomorrow to come!)

Missed two CPs, including “rock in pond” (and yes, that did involve you also getting in pond).

End of Day 1: 3rd place – 50 points off the young Swansea legs leading with a fast clean sweep. 10 off second, also a clean sweep but with a 40-point penalty for going over time.

Day 2 – The Push

Surprisingly okay after a rest (unlike Kev and Lenny who stayed a little longer at the Globe 🍻).

Strong start up to Cnwc, then spent too long locating the “depression” (20 points). Onwards to “tree rock” (50 points), where local knowledge helped. Briefly linked with 2nd place before he bounded off up Feddau.

A slip-up at “small waterfall” (60) – too high, leading to an interesting gully slide. Then across to the “tiny tree” – sweet 80 points!

Next: the dreaded hidden stream (40), somewhere in the mire west of Tafarn y Bwlch. Lots of wobbly circles for 5–10 minutes (there are several hidden streams!). Finally found it (thanks to others).

One more checkpoint, flagged by Arwyn “pretty in pink,” then down – 14 miles, all done, well inside time and just before the rain. 😎

Results & Thanks

Everyone back safe, with tales of trials and tribulations, laughter and smiles pouring over the maps once more – where kites had been hidden, luckily found, or so-close-but-missed.

All washed down with tea, squash, toast, and of course cake.

• The hidden stream eluded 1st place, costing 40 points.
• 2nd place got them all.
• At the top: two young racing snakes tied on points, Swansea boy taking it on time across both days – with a bespoke glass Dip-Dab trophy.
• Me? 3rd place, just 10 points behind – happy with that.

Big thanks to Caz, Carz and Rachel ❤️ – and Tim for the dibbers and the supportive words:

“If you’d just got to one more checkpoint on Day 1… but guess you already knew that.”

Fancy It?

Come on team – it’s a great event right on your doorstep.
Why not give it a go in 2026?

Passing the GOAT and Other Terrible Ideas

Distance: Just shy of 125km
Elevation gain: About 6,000m
Location: One of the most jaw-dropping places you could wear trail shoes.

The Build-Up

The build-up to the race didn’t go to plan. I had tanked a race a month earlier and came here to exorcise some demons, if possible.

The race starts at the sensible hour of 23:00 in Cortina d’Ampezzo. The whole town was out to watch — which was either touching or slightly mad, depending on your caffeine intake. But this was Italy, so naturally everyone was having a post-dinner espresso.

I’d qualified into the second elite group — close enough to the front to avoid a 1,600-person wrestling match to get started, but far enough from the real elites to avoid delusions.

Right in front of me? Courtney Dauwalter, Ben Dhiman, Josh Wade, Andreas Reiteter…
I was not going to be racing these people.

Early Miles

They bolted like startled deer. I sensibly let them go and tucked into the second group, ticking off the first climbs and wishing I could see any of the scenery everyone talks about.

First crewed aid station at 42km — I’m in 30th, feeling good. I foolishly told my crew:

“Once the sun’s up, I think I can catch 10.”

This is the kind of confidence that only ends one of two ways: glory… or a slow public unravelling, usually dissected on the Pembs Ultra WhatsApp Group.

Passing Courtney (Briefly…)

A caffeine gel kicked in on the Tre Cime di Lavaredo climb, and I even passed Courtney.
This, I knew, was either a great sign… or an act of pure idiocy.

The sun was rising, the legs felt fresh, the scenery was incredible, and my playlist blessed me with:

• Walking in Memphis
• Say It Isn’t So
• Thanks for the Memories

I charged the descent like the finish line was at the bottom.

The 6km douche-grade climb after that — not flat, but not a proper hill either — felt like a marathon of mild suffering. Into the next aid station, now in 20th, I tried not to look too broken.

Trouble at Forcella

Then came the Forcella climb, and it all went sideways. Bent double, hands on knees, hoping to vomit, I resorted to some well-worn tricks:

• Gels
• Electrolytes
• Negotiating with myself to run 10 steps, walk 20

Somehow, the legs worked again on the descent, and I clawed back places, joining a group of four.

From 85–95km, I was working hard climbing through a valley that was heating up quickly.
Out of nowhere, Courtney floated past me smelling of bubblegum, offering the high praise of:

“You’re doing so good.”

And then she was gone — not to be seen again until her post-race interview.

Into the Best Scenery

The back-to-back crewed stations at Col Gallina and Passo Giau were welcome, though the section in between felt like climbing through wet concrete.

The tourists looked annoyingly happy — and for good reason. This was the best scenery on the course! Even through the graft, I was grinning like an idiot.

The Final Push

The final stretch had a few nasty surprise climbs — perfect for inducing a quiet tantrum.

Running alongside Altra athlete Ugo in 16th/17th, we skipped the last aid station and hurled ourselves into the 10km descent with mutinous toes.

Cortina appeared after 14 hours 20 minutes.
Top 20 in a stacked field.

I found a tree, lay down, and fell asleep for 40 minutes…
The glamorous ending to achieving your goals.

A coastal race in Cornwall in January — close to 165km and 4,500m (don’t believe UTMB, you’ll be annoyed when you’re not at the end at 160km).

We were nestled perfectly between two named storms — one had already churned the place into a mud pit, the next one waiting in the wings to hurl us into the sea. I don’t swim, by the way.

The Road to the Start Line

Back in June, a fresh-faced NBLR-to-be, I was hobbling around Pembrokeshire with a freshly pinned hip and a vague hope of starting this race. So to find myself on the start line, actually wanting to run through the night, felt like a win already.

This race is aptly named for its attritional rate — 50% don’t finish. But those folks clearly haven’t been on a Wednesday night NBLR winter sufferfest.

I’d trained hard, mostly sliding about doing repeats between Amroth and Pendine on the Welsh Coast Path — the “field of dreams,” assuming your dreams involve wet coastal running and questioning life decisions.

A Fast Start (Too Fast…)

It kicked off fast. By “it” I mean I kicked it off fast — a bit like I was running a parkrun and the winner got free pizza. The first 20km is technical, but I was buzzing to be near the front. Naturally, I paid for it.

Eventually, I settled into a group of four and hit the first crew point — aka espresso station number one. Double shot, obviously.

Things got damp, dark, and daft from here. Cramp crept in — partly because I ran too fast, partly because my hip still has hardware in it.

Into the Weather

By Penzance, I’d shaken the cramps and found the three runners ahead of me tucking into snacks.
I nicked a bite, legged it before they noticed.

Fergy (RD) appeared to warn us of incoming weather. I didn’t put my jacket on. I should have!

Lewis Ryan and I slipped away from the others in the bad weather and were now up front, sloshing through the soggy miles. My shoes surrendered somewhere near Land’s End.

Land’s End and Beyond

Cue big aid station stop at Land’s End — shoe change, caffeine, and food. A quick chase after Lewis ensued after he got out of there first. Bad idea. Stubbed a rock. Quad exploded. Brief meltdown. Considered stopping. Didn’t.

Then came the nastiest bit of the course — 25km of Mordor between Botallick and St Ives.
Honestly, I think Tim Plumb designed that section just to see if people would cry. I nearly did.

I kept glancing back, convinced I’d be overtaken.
Every puddle became a shortcut.
Every noise was someone coming from behind to pass me out.
I was running scared.

The Final Push

From St Ives, the path eases off. The infamous Dunes of Doom and The Bitches hills came and went — sounding scarier than they were. Soon after, I saw the last marshal who greeted me with the best thing I’d heard in a day:

“Congrats Dave, you are now off the coast path, turn right, follow the road.”

I still thought I was going to be caught! So the last kicker to the line was one last kicking for me.

2nd place!
It was more than I had ever hoped I would get out of it.

100 Miles on the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path

St Dogmaels to West Dale-ish
Start: Friday 13th June, 12:00 PM
End: Saturday 14th June, 16:17 PM – 28 hours 28 mins
Distance Covered: 81.49 miles

The Setup

Friday the 13th – usually lucky for me. Not this time.

The goal was clear: 100 rugged miles of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, from St Dogmaels to West Dale. The weather promised variety — and delivered it in full: sun, rain, a dramatic overnight thunderstorm, and a sunrise that felt anything but hopeful.

The Crew

Hel: Planner of all things, queen of logistics (and yes, we saw you sneak that nap at Porth Clais 😄)
Susie: Solo cheer squad and jellyfish hat wearer, always cheering — definitely doesn’t need the megaphone

Support Runners / Lifesavers:

• Sam: 42-mile legend, overnight angel
• Domi: Pacemaker and encourager
• Kiri: Cheese connoisseur and spirit booster
• Tim: Holder of world’s nicest chips and lighthouse comrade
• Karen: Surprise morale bomb
• Dave: Master of mangled feet
• James: Stepped in when descending was impossible
• Matt: Support for Sam and photo poser extraordinaire
• The G Unit: Mike & George – Flag-bearers and gods of pure encouragement

Family:

• Luke (The husband): My rock. Endless support. Surprise appearance at 1am with Tyler and Bleue the dog. Told me not to stop, but also respected my decision. Oh — and brought me a kebab in bed when I couldn’t move.
• Tyler (Teenage Daughter): Hug machine. Made me cry at the start line. Told her mates and teachers about me. Turned up at night with Luke. Best comment: “At least I got a Mr Whippy out of it.”

Telephone Support:

• Emil (my brother): Surprise source of encouragement and disbelief.
• Callum: Called before and after his race (which he smashed and won!). I wish I could remember the gibberish I said to you.
• Trig: Confidence builder, belief bringer, always in my corner.

Nobblers

To the ones I didn’t get to see on the route — I’m sorry I missed you. The messages in the social media groups were incredible. I went back and read every single one. They gave me strength, made me smile, and reminded me that this effort was shared — even from afar.

Miles That Flew

St Dogmaels to Moylegrove
Everyone bolted from the start. I stuck to the plan — hang back, be smart. I was literally the last one running up that first climb. But I felt amazing. Slightly ahead of schedule by Moylegrove.

Moylegrove to Newport
Buzzing. Domi joined in. Felt strong and optimistic. Naively thought the hardest bit was behind me. (Spoiler: it wasn’t.)

Newport to Lower Fishguard
Chats, cheese, good vibes. I felt completely in control.

Lower Fishguard to Pwll Deri
Rain began. Still invincible. Flag-bearing Tim handed over to Sam near the lighthouse, as planned. Spirits were high.

When It All Turned

Porthgain to Whitesands
The weather broke us. Torrential rain, zero visibility, thunder and lightning literally cracking over our heads.
Sam asked if it was dangerous — I said no, just before nature answered with a deafening “YES.”
No shelter. Just keep moving.

I messaged Luke: “My brain is telling me to stop.”
He reminded me: “You don’t want to.”

Feet ruined. Humour gone. First tears came. My brain started whispering lies. But I pressed on.

Whitesands to St Davids
Checked into the CP with a pot of noodles and left in tears. I was falling apart.
Noodles hit the hedge. I hit a low I didn’t know existed.
The wheels? Not just loose — they were falling off.

Deep in the Pain Cave

St Davids to Solva
This bit is a blur. Brain shutting down. Sick. Cramping. Blistered. Wet. Exhausted.
I knew I wasn’t eating or drinking enough, but my body rejected everything.

Reached the Solva CP and said to Sam: “That’s it. I’m done.”
She’d heard it before — but this time I meant it.

The crew rallied.
Food forced in.
Coffee.
Dave worked on my horror-movie feet.
Socks. Shoes. Sent on my way again.

Solva to Newgale
Slower than a snail. I lay down at times. Pain was constant.
But worse than physical pain was the disappointment in myself.

G Unit met me on the trail. All light, no pressure. But my knee gave out.
Couldn’t descend steps without sitting. I didn’t stop crying until I knew it was really over.

The End

Newgale. 81.49 miles. My first DNF.

It didn’t feel how I imagined a DNF would.
There was no shame. Just acceptance.

Reflections

I didn’t fail.
Yes — I didn’t finish the 100 miles.
But I did not fail in showing up.
I did not fail in giving everything.
I did not fail in listening to my body and owning my decision.

Lessons Learned

You don’t grow from what goes right.
You grow from what goes wrong.
I learned more in those dark, cold, emotional hours than I have in any finish-line photo.

Will I Try Again?

Of course.
This isn’t the end. Just a plot twist.

What if, it was never about the running?

The expected time? Our own expectations?
What if it’s – I’ve got a shot and I’m going to take it.

GB Beacons 100k was not my A race. In fact, it wasn’t on the race calendar at all. I had entered their Isle of Skye race but life happened – Plan B was made.

I’ve been thinking a lot about life lately. As a cardiac nurse, I’m often reminded how short life can be. This was rooted when we lost our wonderful friend Tash recently; she had a huge, authentic soul for adventure and it was always a fun laugh to be in her company.

This race was never about a start and finish line. It was about a newfound freedom; do YOUR best. No comparison. Thank you, Tash, for leaving me with a piece of you that I’ll forever be thankful for.

Start line vibes were fine, for it was not a race. 90-odd miles in my legs the week before confirmed this and I was happy for a long day out in the mountains – it’s summer holidays for the kids and as much as I love them (most of the time), training can get a little tiiiiight to fit in. A bit of a slog start along the road and some canal path, but I was already relishing in the freedom of a long day out. The weather was a little hot but bliss.

The first tops – Pen Y Fan ridgeline – you know those moments and feelings you just want to pocket for another day (or even the end of race day)? I felt alive, empowered, and a bag of gratitude on my back to be in the mountains at this moment in time. I powered the ups and soared (well, my version!) the downs on the next Fans section, keeping it all steady and enjoyable. There was to be no pissful performance with pissful fuelling – plenty of pisses needed.

What I do love about races is that people are there from all walks of life, and I love hearing their stories. Jamie, Charlie and I made a great team the latter half of the race and I was grateful for their company when the wheels fell off a tad as the stomach said no to food. Poor hubby Rhyds had been chasing me round all day and missed me at every aid station – with a stash of gels that I actually wanted. Doh!

But I still had fire. It wasn’t over until it’s over and I wanted to finish this race the best way that I could. For me, for Tash, for my family.

3rd female baby!!!!

First ever trophy – yes, I celebrated a little victory but also some problem solving.
We pause, we learn, and we grow.

Find your freedom. You’ll be more able than you can ever dare to believe!

Carolyn Watkins (Carz)

Day 5 (evening, it’s getting dark and I am still on top of another bloody mountain)

So here I was, scrabbling around in my pack in the dark on the top of the Beacons, the waves of panic competing with the waves of nausea as my stomach lurched from hunger to God knows what.

“Where the f*%k was my head torch?”

Flashback to charging it the night before, was it now sitting back in the tent, all smug and charged whilst I sat above a very steep, very technical, very dark descent with only an hour before my race was over with no torch?

Finally, I felt the hard casing of the torch in a random pocket in my race vest and it felt like my last chance had just been handed back to me.

3 miles away in the valley the glistening lights, warmth and tea of evening camp called as well as the big red clock ticking down to the 10pm cut off…. Torch on, I can see again…the race is still alive.

I had clicked the enter button to Dragons Back Race in 2021, and 35 months later I finally started it due to a succession of back injuries and I can’t even remember what else. Would have loved to say that gave me the time to get to the start line in the best physical shape of my life, it didn’t, but I did get to the start line and knew this was my only chance at this race.

The Dragons Back race is a 6-day, self-navigation, mountain race from north to south of Wales, a long way and as many mountains as they could possibly get in. Everyone I knew who had actually completed it were heads and shoulders above me, standing in Conwy castle at 6am at the start of Day 1 I knew I was “punching”.

Fast forward 5 days of running, falling, cuts, scrapes and one sprained ankle and I was in bits. Had seen Tim and Aubrey who had come out to support earlier that day and the lip was definitely a bit wobbly.

But I did make it down that night and I did make it before cut off (just) to be greeted by friends Carz, Rachel and Mike who were working on the event (lip wobbled a bit then too).

The prelude to day 5 were 4 days of hanging on, day 1 was amazing, ticking off the first 20 or so miles, loads of overtaking, feeling great, I was actually doing it after all this time….hell yeah! That was until the most innocent of holes coming off the Glyders beckoned my ankle in and I found myself on the floor, with an ankle rapidly increasing in size with waves of faintness, for a good while I thought it was all over, but it got me to the end of day 1 and thanks to medics strapping it every morning, it wasn’t over yet….. Day 2 was wild, Rhinogs, rock, mud and a torch finish. Days 3 and 4 I loved, less elevation and familiar from recent recces, I felt I might actually be able to get to Cardiff. Seeing Caz each day at the support points was always a highlight, he steadied the nerves….

After very little sleep and food it was finally the morning of day 6 and just a long 40 odd mile chatty hobble to Cardiff Castle, to family, burgers and beer…. Bliss.

The Dragons Back Race simultaneously breathes life and fire into you but at same time it drains you, the running is one thing, the elevation another, the terrain from the vertiginous drops of Crib Goch to the wildness of the Rhinogs and the endless bogs of everywhere else, it strips you down. Throw in muddy camps, wet tents and damp sleeping bags with minimal sleep this was tough. But this was what we had come for.

It’s a very personal race, people do it for so many reasons and have vastly differing outcomes, there are so many issues to overcome, navigation, blisters, nutrition, broken bones, through to just good old exhaustion. There are hundreds of stories about each Dragons Back race and they are all very different, but they are all epic.

If you really want it and can find the time to train obsessively for a few years then go for it, but if you can’t train obsessively for whatever reason and still want it then go for it anyway. As they say, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog”.

Martin Everett

“You’ve done it Mike, got yourself in the lead just in time to f*** it all up.”

I popped my Beast cherry back in 2023 with the Bach. Twelve months later, with more trail miles under my belt, I tried the WoD edition of the Beast and survived. So when the UltraBeasT made its reappearance this year, I was determined to get the full set of finisher’s coasters.

I reconned the extra loop to Drygarn one evening with Mike Monroe. Considering the freedom to get to the checkpoints using a route of your choosing, we theorised that there was a quicker line than the suggestion on Caz’s map.

Come race day, the first leg through the woods was fast and hectic as usual. The other Ultra runner in view soon disappeared over the horizon.

After many stream dunks of my bucket hat and some water top-ups in Newport, it was time to scale Carn Ingli. Iestyn, a fellow Ultra entrant, breezed past me like a mountain goat—also looking resplendent in a hat of the bucket variety.

We kept trading places for a few miles until we crossed the stream at the base of Feddau. Iestyn shouted that I was going the wrong way as I started half-climbing the hill. I replied that I was trying something different and hoped that I hadn’t chucked a top 3 placing away, as he ran out of sight in mere seconds.

After a long, uphill slog I tied up with the “Golden Road” that sits atop the ridge and was rewarded with ground that could be covered at thrice the speed.

Approaching Carn Alw, front-runner Josh came into sight. At the dib, Martin confirmed he was leading, so it was full gas up to Drygarn. I took the longer but less boggy line to the south and managed to leapfrog into first—Iestyn hot on my heels as I turned for home.

Being in the lead was an unfamiliar and ultimately unenjoyable experience. Without the carrot of runners ahead, there was only self-doubt and the indignity of “f***ing it up” occupying my thoughts; imposter syndrome personified!

Overheating and shedding my lucidity with each mile, I marched unconvincingly up to Feddau and Cwmcwerwyn. I arrived without company and permitted myself some momentary belief that I might actually win something.

Tying up with the Beast and Bach runners was a welcome distraction through the woods back to the village. Running into town with the Beast Buggy, horns blaring, is a memory that will persist for a very long time. I finally allowed myself a smile.

In the last 100 yards, I spotted Tim Mills on the pavement, and through more luck than judgment, we shared the crispest high five Maenclochog has ever witnessed.

The best part of the day was being greeted at the finish by a contingency of animated NBLRs. It was lovely to win—but it underlined how much more enjoyable it is to enjoy the scenery and company…

Mike George

Jesus Ankle.

Billed as ‘a 3-day mountain journey with two nights camping and a variety of courses to choose from’, the GL3D 2025 did not disappoint. Excellent weather provided glorious vistas, quality courses led us through interesting and varied terrain, and top-notch craic maintained a positive vibe as always!

Being relatively new to running—and definitely a newbie to organised race events—the past 3 years have been a thoroughly enjoyable and educational introduction into multi-day mountain running. With varied length courses on offer and the freedom to choose your route ad-hoc, there’s less pressure to meet cut-off times.

The formula is simple: on registration you’re issued the weekend’s course map, an electronic ‘dibber’, and an emergency GPS tracker. The course map reveals the secret overnight camp location.

Day 1 starts at the event centre. Complete your chosen route within generous allotted times and finish at the overnight camp, greeted with smiles and a complimentary beer! After making camp and food, there are various evening activities including talks, films, a pub quiz, and even massages for those sore legs.

Day 2 offers circular routes finishing back at the same camp—rewarded with free cake on completion.

Day 3 heads back to the original event centre, with reduced mileage and elevation to ensure a timely finish.

My Course: The Wainwright

I chose the ‘Wainwright’ course, averaging 27km and 1800m elevation per day—personally achievable without stress, while still considering the conditions over three days. My goal was a fun, fulfilling weekend rather than chasing PBs.

Day 1

A beautiful circumnavigation of Blencathra: Bannerdale Crags, up the valley to Skiddaw House, over Lonscale Fell and Latrigg, then on to Castlerigg before reaching the overnight camp below Great Dodd. Superb conditions, well-defined paths, steady elevation, and good open fell for navigation made this a highly enjoyable opener.

However, below Mungrisdale Common, following the River Caldew towards Skiddaw House, I had a moment of complacency—a rolled ankle! It crunched but was still weight-bearing, so after a quick food break I pressed on with caution.

Day 2

A stunning loop over Helvellyn, down Grisedale to Glenridding, and back via various Dodds to camp. Huge thanks to the incredible medical team who strapped my ankle and made sure I had an exit plan if the injury worsened.

I reassessed at lunchtime by Grisedale Tarn. Everything felt good, conditions were again perfect, so I kept going. Little did I know that in the next few hours, a trail apparition would appear—an image of Jesus Christ, no less, worthy of comparison to the Turin Shroud!

Day 3

The finale focused on Blencathra (Saddleback), an iconic Lakeland fell with a formidable ascent from any direction. The weather held up—cool breezes at altitude helped regulate temperature. The route: a slow, steady ascent via Blease Fell, then a technical descent via Doddick Fell ridge, ending with a warm-down along the River Glenderamackin back to the event centre. A five-star finish!

Final Thoughts

The GL3D is a brilliantly run event catering to all experience levels. Whether you’re looking to build confidence, practice mountain navigation, or simply enjoy running in the fells with solid logistical support, I thoroughly recommend it.

This event is a fantastic opportunity to explore and appreciate some of our most beautiful upland areas. A must-do for any trail enthusiast!

Dougal Stewart

Fifteen miles in, and I already knew I was in trouble.

We’d only just topped the first of four mountain passes, and my legs were having none of it. Altitude: 9,000 feet. Temperature: 25°C and climbing. Legs: medium-rare. And the valleys? Hotter still. Think oven door opened in your face, but with cowbells.

Martin E and I had arrived in Verbier the day before. Flew into Geneva, got the train up the valley – all very civilised. But being in a ski resort with no beer and no mountain biking feels like being grounded at a theme park. We killed the afternoon wandering about aimlessly, trying not to think about what we’d signed up for.

The race?

UTMB Verbier 100k – also known as the X-Traversée. Point-to-point, starting in La Fouly and winding its way up, over, and around the mountains back to Verbier. Just a casual 48 miles with 17,000 feet of elevation gain.

Race morning started early with a gondola ride down to the valley, followed by a UTMB shuttle bus with the sound of multi-language chatter and the smell of nerves and Tiger Balm. At that point in time it all felt like a very stupid idea, obviously. As an unindexed runner, we had to start in the last start wave at 9am. The sun had already well and truly clocked in.

The first couple of miles were on road, the soundtrack provided by a small group of extremely enthusiastic Swiss alphorn players. Then the trail kicked up, and things got real. That first climb gave us 3,200 feet of gain – a mere warm-up, apparently.

The route was beautiful. Ridiculously so. But it didn’t care about your feelings. Every climb was long, every descent steeper than it looked on paper, and the air up top was thinner than I’d expected. The crux at the end of the route was a 5,000ft descent straight into the biggest climb of the day – a final 4,000ft slog when the tank was already empty.

It was, without question, the hardest event I’ve ever done. I’d underestimated the altitude, and it came back swinging. Spent most of the day somewhere between awe and survival mode.

Even when everything hurt, and I felt completely wrecked, I couldn’t help but look around in quiet wonderment. It was brutal, but I knew how lucky I was — lucky to be there, and luckier still to have a body and mind stubborn enough to keep moving forward.

Crossed the line dusty, crusty, broken, and grinning like an idiot. 18 hours 15 minutes. Smack bang in the middle of the pack with 20% DNF’ing. Martin finished half an hour before me afer we split up near the end whilst I dealt with my quad cramps.

Would I do it again? Obvs.

Tim Plumb

Cheesy Chips.

He was used to it by now, and just smiled at me – waiting patiently behind the counter in a makeshift meal tent at the finish.

“So… shall I put gravy on top of the cheesy chips, or – ?” he gently repeated.

It was the nicest thing I’d heard in over 30 hours – and I’d met some absolute beauties at the feed stations along the way.

He decided for me. I limped out into the bright mid-morning sunshine to rejoin George at the picnic bench, where we sat in silence, smiling vacantly at other runners and spectators for an hour.

That was the end – and it was glorious.

UTMB is on my list, and you can’t just sign up for that one. You need to complete a similar-distance race, earn some special tokens, chuck them in a hat, and hope your name comes out. Think Sonic the Hedgehog running with Harry Potter, but French. I know.

UTS would give me those tokens. Plus, it’s bloody lovely in North Wales – so I was in.

Geek stats: 64 miles (104 km), 21,325 ft (6,500 m) of climbing. Not particularly runnable either – steep up, steep down, technical, and loose. Exactly what you love and hate about North Wales.

After hearing from a few of the Nblrs that the route was no joke, I started training six months out. As any ultrarunner knows, there’s always a point in a race where you’ve had enough, thank you very much. My goal was to push that moment as far back into the day as I could. Driving up the day before, I felt good.

At 5am, after a slightly awkward, resident-friendly ‘silent start’, we jangled our way through Llanberis and up Yr Wyddfa for the first of two ascents that day.

The route follows a kind of figure of eight: over parts of the Glyders, into and out of the Ogwen valley, up to Carnedd Llewelyn, then a loop around to Capel Curig. Back up Yr Wyddfa, then a couple of amazing tops that were new to me – Mynydd Mawr and Moel Eilio.

We climbed and descended for 27 hours. A brutal, dusty, technical, and relentless day. The hot sun was always there until our second ascent of Yr Wyddfa. Sometimes I felt amazing and wanted to move to Llanberis. Sometimes I hated everything and began mentally listing all my gear to sell on Vinted. But most of the time, I just looked around in quiet awe.

At around 8am we hobbled across the line. I was shattered. Everything hurt. Someone must’ve been chopping onions nearby too, because my eyes were wet. Weird.

It was beautiful. Get into it. It’s a gift that you can run at all. And you’ll love (hate) it.

Matt Badger