Beacons Way Ultra 2023
My journey to the 2023 Beacons Way Ultra started all the way back in 2021. It was Covid times, I was in the UK to see Patrick for a month after a long lockdown, and on a whim, we decided to sign up to run the 100 miles on the Beacons Way. We both had minimal preparation but we were eager and hungry to finally run a proper race again.
We made it to roughly 100k and quit at checkpoint 7. There wasn’t really a reason for us to DNF other than being slightly undertrained, cold, and tired at night. Impressed by the rough beauty of the Brecon Beacons National Park (Bannau Brycheiniog), I vowed to come back another time, better prepared, and to finish this thing.
In June 2022, I got Lyme disease, and then Covid on top of that, which sidelined me for 5 months. I eased back into training in November 2022 and slowly started building up my mileage again. By December, I was able to run 20k. In February, I started a marathon training plan, to get some form of speed and fitness back. My initial plan was to actually run a spring marathon, but then I discovered a local 69k race in the end of April, the Diespecker LaufSpecktakel, which I found more enticing. I ran it hard, I gave it all, and was rewarded with first woman and fourth place overall (ok, only 13 people actually did the full distance but it was still a nice comeback 😉)
After the race, I committed myself fully to the 100-mile training plan that I had written for myself, based on my previous preparation for 100-mile races. I also integrated some strength training and swimming into my routine. It went well, except for the supposed peak week four weeks before the race, when work turned a bit crazy and extra hours and nightly phone calls meant that I had no time or energy for training for a few days. I managed to get one more high-load week in, 3 weeks out, and was confident that I was well prepared and ready to tackle this challenge, both mentally and physically.
The tapering period went by in the blink of an eye, and soon it was time to pack my bag and jump on a flight to the United Kingdom.
The day before the race turned out to be less than ideal with me being kicked out of my B & B because I was unwilling to take some bullshit from the old witch owner, who had lost my package containing 40 GU gels (worth 41 pounds) that she had specifically agreed to accept on my behalf. Long story short, she neither liked my attitude (a.k.a. claiming a refund) nor my “blasphemous speech” (me exclaiming “Jesus Christ”) and kicked me out. I found myself stranded at Wetherspoons in Abergavenny at 9:30 in the morning, with my 10kg backpack and no place to sleep, while the women at the table next to me had their first pints of the day. Lovely.
Luckily, I got a new place to stay in Crickhowell. Thanks to the incredible generosity and helpfulness of Ryan Flowers, whom I had known via social media for a while and who offered to give me a lift back to Abergavenny for the race start the next morning, and the race director Wayne Drinkwater, who offered to have GU gels delivered to a checkpoint, the day turned out a bit brighter than it had started and I could now fully focus on the race again. If you read this: Thank you again, not only for saving my race, but also for showing some kindness when I truly needed it.
I left my backpack at Wetherspoons (thanks to the lovely ladies working there) and shopped for some last-minute race supplies, before taking a bus to Crickhowell. My plan was to rest my legs (which had been unnecessarily battered by walking around with my heavy backpack again) as much as possible and get a good night of sleep in before the race.
Section 1 – Start to Checkpoint 1 Skirrid Mountain Inn, 7 miles
Ryan picked me up at the ungodly hour of 04:15 hrs on race day. It was a dark morning, but fairly warm, and heaven hadn’t opened its flood gates yet. At the start, I got my bib and the GPS tracker that was fixed to my backpack so that the people at home could follow my race live (and the race organizers could see where I was, which [Spoiler] would become very relevant a few hours on…).
I had two drop bags prepared for checkpoints 5 and 9, each with warm clothes and extra food. My running backpack, which I was carrying throughout the race, contained a rain jacket and rain trousers, maps, compass, a warm long sleeve, a bivvy bag, a whistle, buff and gloves, my GPS navigation device, two headtorches, more food and water. Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly travelling lightly.
More and more runners arrived at the start line, which was scenically located at the ruins of Abergavenny castle, and I finally got to meet Gergeley, whom I had also known via Instagram and Strava. Everyone was excited, and a bit nervous about the weather that had been forecasted. I felt astonishingly calm and ready. I was happy to have made it to the start line. My heart skipped a beat though, when a marked car with blue lights arrived at the start line, and I thought it was police for a second – the crazy old witch had sent me a message the night before, threatening me to call police for my “aggressive” behaviour if I kept asking her for a refund. My boss back home, the Chief of Police, had told me jokingly not to get arrested when I said goodbye to her, and I really did not want to have to call her from a Welsh prison. Luckily, it was only the ambulance team that was supporting the race. I was not going to be arrested – I was going to run 100 miles!
The race director made me and other women stand in the first row at the start line to have more women represented there, which I found very considerate. Then we counted down to ten and off we went! It was approximately 90 people who started the 100-mile race, and I quickly settled in at an easy pace somewhere in the mid of the pack.
We soon left the town of Abergavenny behind. Having run the first 100k of the race before and having done a recce of the route up to Crickhowell during our holiday in 2022, I knew the first part of course quite well: up the little road (which has a constant incline that always makes you wonder if you should run or walk it), then across the golf course, heading towards the Skirrid mountain. Immediately after the start of the race, light rain had set in, which now turned into a persistent drizzle. People had said that a common mistake that runners made in this race was to not put their rain gear on in time – so I stopped and put on my rain jacket.
Since the weather forecast had predicted rain for the entire Saturday and the sky to clear up in the late afternoon, I had decided to carry my heavy-duty Fjern Orkan jacket right from the start and to put my lighter Goretex Shakedry jacket into the drop bag at checkpoint 5. As we were approaching the first mountain, Skirrid Fawr, I was starting to regret this decision. Even though it was raining quite heavily, it was still relatively warm, and I got hot climbing up the mountain. The jacket was quite heavy too and that didn’t make it any easier. This was going to be a recurring theme for the entire day, unfortunately.
Quite a few people passed me on the climb up, and it seemed longer than I remembered it, but I couldn’t help smiling when I reached the top and I saw the view – low hanging clouds on a moody day, the valleys below, and the mountains on the horizons - mountains that we would climb later. It was beautiful. With a big grin on my face, I ran up to the trig point and then down on the other side. I thoroughly enjoyed being out there and being able to do this race, after everything.
We crossed a few cow fields, I exchanged a few words with a woman from Wales, and we soon arrived at checkpoint one.
Section 2: Checkpoint 1 to Checkpoint 2, Llanthony Treats Campsite, 13 miles
I was really looking forward to this section, as I remembered it to be incredibly beautiful. Mind you, when I last ran it in the year before, it had been nearly 30 degrees Celsius and sunshine and I had run out of water before I reached Llanthony. This time was a completely different experience.
I had a few cups of water with Tailwind at checkpoint one, commenting on how much I sweated in the muggy weather despite the rain, and then continued, still in good spirits. I reminded myself to start eating now, and took some Cliff blocks out of my pocket. We left the checkpoint and climbed up again, crossing some cow fields on the way. I was glad that the cows were behind an electric fence because they seemed a bit too excited to see us runners go by.
Soon, we were out of the valley again and started to approach the next peak. Once again, the climb seemed hard in my heavy jacket, but I didn’t want to take it off because I knew that conditions would be different further up. And I was right – as soon as we were out in the open again, a merciless wind was blowing, which didn’t necessarily help with the heavy rain. I put the hood of my jacket over my hat and was able to make good progress here, despite the weather. Knowing the course definitely helped here because I had gotten lost on this section twice before. Not this time. I took the right way; I was feeling strong and confident.
After a few miles of climbing up, we took a little trail to our left that led us down into the valley again, were the ruins of Llanthony Priory looked as spectacular as ever. What a monumental building it must have been. But there was no time for sightseeing, as the next checkpoint was just around the corner. I refilled my water bladder and had a few snacks but was in a hurry to keep going, as standing around in my now wet clothes made me feel a little bit chilly.
As I was marching out of the checkpoint, munching a packet of crisps, some tourists emerged from a cottage next to the trail and asked me what type of event we were doing. I got the usual reaction from them but didn’t really fancy a longer chat, so I said bye and marched on.
Section 3: Checkpoint 2 to Checkpoint 3, Crickhowell Village Hall, 26 miles
The climb out of Crickhowell is a beast, I found it particularly hard on my first attempt in 2021, and even harder on my hot summer solo run in 2022. It was no different this time. I let a few runners pass me on the narrow and rocky trail, as I slowly but steadily moved upwards. One foot after the other. I had noticed that my legs were a bit heavy when climbing and I attributed it to walking around with my heavy backpack for such a long time on the two days before the race. Not ideal. I made a mental note to use a proper suitcase with wheels next time.
But I was still feeling good. Once I reached the top and another trig point, I was able to catch up with the runners that had passed me earlier, and even passed some of them. For a few kilometers, we ran along a ridgeline. The wind and weather were quite nasty up there again. I pulled my hood deeper into my face and zipped up the jacket.
When I had packed my kit for the race, it had been 30 degrees Celsius and sunny in Germany. I knew Wales would be different, but the images from my very hot recce run the year before were still in my head. I had only packed three pairs of shorts and one pair of long tights. Seeing my bare legs being battered by the rain and the wind on top of a Welsh mountain made me regret that decision bitterly, but it didn’t help. I didn’t want to put on my rain trousers yet as they would cook me up, so I had no choice but to keep going in my tiny soaked short shorts. At least plenty of body glide prevented me from chafing.
We went across the ridge line and then down into the next valley, across farmland and country roads. At one point, the Beacons Way crosses a lovely little old churchyard, which has always been a highlight of the route to me. What a lovely place…
Right after the churchyard, we climbed up again. This was another section where I had gotten lost twice before, and I was keen to not make the same mistake again this time. I didn’t get lost, but as I was climbing up on the grassy, muddy path, I slipped and first fell on my knees and then somehow turned around and fell on my bum as well. Brilliant. My shorts were now not only soaked but also had a muddy backside. Lovely.
My mood was still exceptionally good, though, and I still enjoyed myself out there. We went over another hill and then climbed down a bit of a tricky wooden trail into the valley again. This section had seemed incredibly long when I did the recce in 2022. Running it again now, I realized that I had made a mistake by staying on the road instead of cutting through a field – which was the official Beacons Way and saved me a few kilometers. Phew.
As we approached the next ascend towards Table Mountain, I finally gave in and took off my jacket. The rain had reduced to a drizzle at this point, and it made climbing a lot easier, even though it meant that I had to carry my jacket now.
The trail here was an endless maze through the almost shoulder-high bracken. I even got lost in the bracken at some point. Luckily, a few other runners were close-by, and I managed to climb over some loose stones and more bracken and get back on the right path again. I lost a bit of time here, but it didn’t bother me at all. I knew that I was moving quicker than during my first attempt and was 3 or 4 hours within the time limit.
Soon after that, we were on the path down into Crickhowell, were checkpoint 3 was waiting for us.
Section 4 – Checkpoint 3 to Checkpoint 4, Blwch Village Hall, 36 miles
Crickhowell village hall is located right in the center of the little town, which means that you have to go all the way down and then climb all the way up to the Beacons Way again. This little out-and-back section had the advantage that I could see all the other runners in front of us leaving the checkpoint and coming towards us as we went down. We exchanged many “Well done’s” and smiles here.
Checkpoint 3 was an indoor checkpoint. It was really nice to be out of the rain for a bit and to use a proper toilet – the small joys in life 😉. I got my GU gels there, which was lovely. They also had pickles / gherkins, which turned out to be a real treat. I didn’t dare to drink the water though – I am not entirely there yet…
Again, I didn’t want to spend too much time in the checkpoints because I knew that I would need all the time later in the race. So I found myself out in the rain, climbing up the road again, soon after.
I was astonished how well I still felt, especially mentally. I was still in a really good mood, despite the weather. Nothing had gone wrong so far; I was feeling good and enjoying life. I was looking forward to climbing up higher and getting into the “proper” mountains later on.
Climbing up, I took off my jacket again. I knew that most of this coming section was on a small trail through the bracken again. The bracken was high and wide and made the whole experience quite unpleasant. Most of the time, I couldn’t see the ground at all, and I slipped a few times or stumbled over a stone. At one point, my entire shoe got lost in a mud hole there. It was almost comical, seeing my bare sock when I pulled my foot out of the mud. Putting the muddy shoe on again was less funny, but I had no other choice. The feeling of the wet bracken brushing against the sides of my body for miles on end was not particularly enjoyable either. On a positive note, I was glad to be tall so that at least my head was above the plants. Having the wet bracken brush against my face with every step would have been horrible.
After miles and miles in this maze, the bracken section was finally done with. I knew that we had to climb up and down another hill before the next checkpoint, and soon this climb arrived. I didn’t remember this particular climb to be so steep, but it was quite tough. I was running with three guys at this point, and we all took turns in stopping and gasping for air as we climbed up. My jacket came off and on again. It was a constant change of being muggy in the valley and cold and windy on top. It wasn’t easy but I didn’t hate it. In fact, I still enjoyed it.
We ran down into the village of Blwch (I have no idea how to pronounce this one). I was the only one of this group who actually followed the Beacons Way here (it took a little diversion across another churchyard), everyone else seemed to be taking a little shortcut by heading straight down the road. Of course, this annoyed me a bit, but it didn’t spoil the fun.
I was looking forward to this next checkpoint because I knew from my last attempt that they had pasta and tomato sauce there. I was eating and drinking well and wasn’t particularly hungry but I was looking forward to getting something more substantial into me.
The checkpoint was busy, and I was selected for a random kit check. The lovely lady only wanted to see my headtorches, which I showed her, and then I was good to get some hot food and drink into me. The pasta was lovely and delicious. At this point, I was so wet that the water was dripping from me, and standing around made me feel a bit chilly again, so once again I made sure that I didn’t waste any time and left the checkpoint soon after.
Section 5 Checkpoint 4 to Checkpoint 5 Talybont Car Park, 45 miles
I felt really good when I headed out of this checkpoint, knowing that my drop bag was waiting for me at the next checkpoint, and I would finally be able to get out of my wet clothes. I was also getting a bit anxious about the rain and the wind and the fact that we would have to go across Pen y Fan, the highest peak in South Wales, in this weather later. I really wanted to reach the mountain in daylight, but time was working against me.
At this point, the Beacons Way leaves the village of Blwch and follows the canal for a little while. I knew that some flat running and climbing was going to be involved on the next few kilometers, so I took off my jacket once again and put it in my backpack. I ran along the canal, happy that my legs still allowed me to actually run after 50 miles and lots of climbing. Some dog walkers were asking me what I was doing and once again, I got some surprised looks when I told them.
I soon left the tow path and ran across a little field with a handful of Shetland ponies in it. I can’t say no to ponies, even during a race, so I spent a few minutes trying to coax them into letting me pet them. I wasted some time here and a few other runners caught up with me. I didn’t mind that at all. The ponies were worth it 😉
We went through a number of farms here, some of which were looking a bit dodgy, and I was glad that I wasn’t on my own. The entire race has numerous gates and stiles that runners have to go through or climb over, which are a completely alien concept to the average central-German trail runner. While I hate stiles, at least they are pretty straight forward – climb over, done. Gates, on the other hand, are complicated. They have different opening and closing mechanisms which the native runners always seem to figure out immediately, while it always takes me a while to open them. Some are blocked. Some only have wires or a piece of string that closes them. Then there’s the dilemma on what to do with the runners behind you. You are not supposed to leave the gates open, but you don’t want to smash them closed right in front of the other runners. But being polite and waiting for the others to catch up every single time is also not really practicable when running a race. I still haven’t figured out the etiquette here 😉
Once we had left the farmland behind us, I stopped to put on my jacket for the hundredth time, as the weather made another turn for the worse. Wasn’t it supposed to stop raining by now? I scanned the sky for some signs of blue, but all I could see was grey. The wind had gotten a bit stronger too now. Another woman stopped right next to me to put on her jacket, as well. I had seen her a couple of times before and we shared a few miles there. She was lovely, and her cursing at the weather made me laugh.
The last few miles to checkpoint 5 consisted of a rocky path, which wasn’t as horrible and rocky as I remembered it from last time, and then an endless flat fire road, which led right up to the aid station. The rain had turned the rocky path into a little stream, and we were jumping from one side to the other, trying to keep our shoes dry – a hopeless cause.
In 2021, Patrick and I had walked the entire long flat there, but I was convinced that I would run it this time. To finish this race, everything that was runnable required running. My legs were starting to get a bit tired now, so I ran most of it and walked a little in between. It was endless. After each bend, I expected the checkpoint to appear, but each bend only revealed another horrible section of flat fire road. The weather was really getting bad now, the wind and rain were quite merciless, despite the fact that we were protected by the trees at this point.
Section 5 Checkpoint 5 to Nemesis – 89 km
When I finally arrived at Checkpoint 5, I was wet and cold. All I wanted was my drop bag and my fresh set of lovely, dry clothes. A dry rain jacket, rain trousers, food, all of it.
Checkpoint 5 was an outdoor checkpoint, consisting of a gazebo in a parking space in the forest. In 2021, they had portaloos there in which I could change, but there were none this time. When I got into the checkpoint, the lovely volunteers there asked me what I wanted – but I wanted to change first. Unfortunately, the only place to change was in the back of the van that contained the drop bags, and it was already occupied. I got a bit too cold at this point and the last thing I wanted was to stand there and wait in the cold. Luckily, a lovely lady who was waiting for another runner offered me the backseat of her car to get changed in a dry and private place, which I gladly accepted. She even gave me a towel and assured me that it was no problem that I would create a bit of a mess with my wet and dirty clothes there.
My privacy turned out to be relative because as soon as I had gotten rid of all of my wet clothes, some guys appeared to get changed at the car right next to me. So here I was sitting in the back of a stranger’s car, half naked, 1.75cm tall, sorting not only my limbs but also my wet clothes from my dry clothes, while simultaneously trying to eat. Putting on my running tights over my wet legs while being unable to stand up and without flashing the guys next to me was a big challenge, but I got it done eventually. Fresh underwear, fresh tops, tights, socks and rain jacket – only the shoes remained the same. I also remembered that the batteries of my GPS navigation device had run out soon after checkpoint 5 on my first attempt of the race, so I made sure that I changed them straight away too. Then I put a buff and my headtorch on my head and donned my rain trousers and was fresh and ready to brave the elements again.
And braving the elements it was, in every aspect.
I walked out of checkpoint 5 feeling incredibly light after having changed into the Goretex Shakedry jacket. Why on earth I didn’t use this one from the very beginning was beyond me at this point. Trying to eat a vegan sausage roll that I had bought the day before, I started to climb up to Craig y Fan Ddu. I was still feeling good, and I was confident that I would make it through the night, despite the weather.
My main concern going uphill was to avoid overheating in my rain trousers, so I stopped to pull them up a bit and took it really slowly. I was the only runner out there, everyone else had already left the checkpoint or was still at it. The weather was harsh, but I didn’t mind it too much in my new dry gear. At the top, I suddenly saw a figure coming towards me. I thought it was a hiker first, but it turned out to be Wayne, the race director. He told me that they were putting on a diversion because of the bad weather, which would make the next section really dangerous due its exposed nature. He showed me on the map where I needed to go from there – follow this path up to the big stream, then turn left, then turn left again once you reach the big stones. Then follow the sheep path down the mountain. From there, I would get onto another path, which would eventually lead me back to the Beacons Way. He also explained that there would be another volunteer directing us at some point (I wasn’t entirely sure where). I asked to explain the diverted route to me once again to make sure that I had understood everything. I was a bit nervous about it, but I was still feeling good - it was still light, and I thought that I had understood the diversion. Big mistake. With hindsight, I should have followed Wayne down to checkpoint 5 again, which would have cost me about half an hour maximum. What I didn’t understand at this point was that the runners behind me were re-routed from checkpoint 5 directly, following the road around the mountain rather than going up.
But I didn’t know any of that, so I followed the path as instructed. I started to feel a bit uneasy here but was still confident that I would find the right way. I turned left by the stream. I was still on the Beacons Way. All the rain had turned the path into a multitude of little streams now, too, and I gave up trying to keep my feet dry. I found the big stones and knew that I had to look for a small trail on the left, which would lead me down the mountain again. I found the path, but it was tricky to follow. But I was descending, so that was a good thing, that meant that I was right. Or so I thought…
I turned around a couple of times to look for other runners but didn’t see another soul out there. I was starting to feel a bit more uneasy now… I was alone on a Welsh mountain in dangerous weather, and it would soon be dark. I tried to concentrate on the route only and block out anything else. The path turned rockier now and I had to use my hands a few times, as I was climbing down into a little gorge. Water was coming down the mountain from all sides now, and all these little streams were flowing into the big stream down in the gorge, which was roaring to my right. At times, these side streams became quite tricky to cross. I didn’t fancy falling down into the gorge, so I took my time to make sure that I had a secure foothold crossing these. I was still climbing down the mountain at this point, and it was a long way. I started to wonder whether it was in fact the right way because I did not see anyone else. My mood started to change a bit and the swear words came out now.
I finally reached the end of the gorge. There was a paved trail to my left, the roaring stream a couple of meters down to my right. What to do now? Had Wayne said that there would be a volunteer showing us the path here? Was I even on the right path?
I consulted my GPS device and saw that I would have to cross the big stream to get back into the direction of the Beacons Way. But even if I managed to cross this roaring beast – would this even be the right path, the diversion, or would this still be the dangerous section? I cursed some more. Getting my paper map out of my backpack would have been useless in this storm and rain. I climbed down to the riverbank and tried to assess the situation. Was it safe to cross there? What would happen if I fell into the river? Would I be swept away and die? Would it be safe?
After deliberating my situation, I eventually came to the conclusion that I should go back up again and see if there was another trail that would lead me down on the other side of the river or if I would meet another runner to show me where to go. I cursed some more and climbed the long way back up. It seemed like the only reasonable thing to do because I wasn’t entirely sure if I was on the right path and, in the worst case, I would get deeper and deeper into wilderness.
Days later, when I was consulting with Patrick, I learned that the paved trail to my left was indeed the diverted route coming from checkpoint 5, and following this paved trail would have probably led me straight back to checkpoint 5 at worst and right into the arms of fellow runners at best. But I didn’t know this back then. I took out my phone for a second and saw that I had a few missed calls and messages but no signal.
As I climbed back up, it got darker, and I switched on my head torch. The wind and rain seemed to get stronger every minute now, too. What situation had I gotten myself into here? At some point I thought that I saw another runner coming towards me and was beyond relieved, but it turned out that it was just a bush moving in the wind.
I left the gorge behind me again. Luckily, it was still light enough to make out the stones in the distance, where I had turned left. At this point, the trail itself wasn’t recognizable anymore due to the masses of water that were coming down. I took out my phone again. Surely, the race organizers had seen me getting lost and would tell me what to do now? Could I call them? No signal. I cursed some more.
Then I was back on the plateau, at the stones. I turned around to see if there was another track further ahead and that was when the scariest thing happened – for a moment, I lost all orientation. I didn’t know which direction I had come from, which direction I was meant to go, which direction was the Beacon’s Way. This wasn’t good. This was really bad. This was how all the bad stories started.
I forced myself to keep calm and took the path that looked like it was the one that I had come from earlier that day. I looked at my GPS device and it seemed to be right. I was now getting really scared and figured that the best thing to do was to try to get back to checkpoint 5. I knew that the steep climb down the mountain in this weather was going to be a horrible affair, but I had no other choice. I briefly considered lying down in my bivvy bag and waiting for help, but the plateau was completely flat, there was no shelter from the wind and rain. I would surely die of hypothermia if I stayed up here.
I stopped thinking about the race at all, I stopped wondering where all the other runners were. My only concern was getting down that mountain quickly, and in one piece. Walking back along the edge in heavy side winds was horrible. I ran a bit, but the wind and rain were really strong. Some sheep were staring at me, and I couldn’t help wondering how many of them were swept off the mountain in this weather. I hope none.
The actual climb down back into checkpoint 5 was horrible. Heavy rain and horrendous side winds meant I could only move at minimal speed. I forced myself not to panic. I needed to get down. One step after the other. Don’t slip. You can do hard things. You got this.
Finally, I was down far enough to be able to take a breath. The wind wasn’t as strong down here. I had made it.
When I returned to checkpoint 5, it was a completely different world from up there. Only a little wind, relatively sheltered in the forest. There was rain, yes, but there was a gazebo. And most importantly, people. They looked at me in disbelief when they saw me again, and it took a while until they understood what I had happened. I didn’t even think about the race anymore, the experience had shaken me so much that I knew it was over. I was not going to get out there again. On top of that, I now noticed that I was completely soaked through, down to my underwear. And I was getting really cold really quickly. The guys pointed at another runner and said that he was about to leave and I could go with him, along the road. I said that I was not going to continue. I needed to get out of these clothes and get warm.
Luckily, I still had my emergency long sleeved top and a spare pair of rain trousers that I could change into. The checkpoint guys let me sit in the car with the heating running, wrapped in a dry coat, while they waited for the last runner to get through and broke down the checkpoint. It had felt like a short time, but I had in fact lost three hours up there. When I checked my phone, I still didn’t have any signal, but I had messages and calls from the race HQ, Patrick, Dany and Tilman, who apparently all had seen me wandering around the mountain at night.
The guys at checkpoint five were lovely. After they had closed the checkpoint, I got into the van with a big soft black Labrador named Angus, who put his head into my lap and snored. I was still shaken from the experience, and I was still shaking from the cold, but I was safe.
The owner of the black Lab drove me to the finish line, where I could get a proper change of clothes. I put on two long sleeved tops and my warm jacket, but I was still cold, so I ended up getting my bivvy bag out. It was 3 o clock in the morning, and I tried sleeping on the floor of the sports hall that was the finish line venue. Slowly but steadily, more and more runners, who had also DNF’d the race, arrived, all cold and shaken with stories similar to mine. It had been brutal. Only 33 people finished the 100 miles in the end.
In the morning, I talked to Deborah and Ian, two runners who had taken the diversion from checkpoint 5, and when I compared my track to theirs, I realized that I had indeed been on the right track. I would have had to cross the river. They had been helped across the river by Wayne later on. If only I had known that. It was multitude of unlucky circumstances that lead to my DNF but in the end, I was lucky that I make it back in these circumstances.
Of course, I was disappointed to once again not having finished the race – but I know that I would have been able to finish under different circumstances. I had reached a point where the race itself had become completely irrelevant.
After spending a few hours drinking coffee and talking to other runners at the checkpoint, Patrick’s dad was kind enough to pick me up. Driving back was when I finally warmed up again.
Unfinished business is terrible but at least it gives me a reason to come back next year. I may or may not have already submitted my application for 2024 😊
A big thank you to all of you for your messages of support before, during and after the race, it meant a lot to me. Thank you to Carmen, Uli, Nicole, Tilman and Lena for running with me around and up and down Schwani countless times before the event. Massive thank you to the fantastic crew of GB Ultras for organizing this beautiful race and to the countless volunteers at the aid stations who looked after us runners – it would have been impossible without all of you!
And last but not least thank you to Patrick and his parents, who took care of me for a week after the race.
See you next year, Bannau Brycheiniog!
RSS Feed
