I hear the phrase ‘this event changed my life’ a lot. I wouldn’t say that’s the case with this one. I’d say this one affirmed my life rather than changed it. This one gave everything I’ve learnt in the last 18 months (since my last and hopefully final severe mental health crisis) the opportunity to be put into practice. This event brought everything together. It has calmed me down a bit, it has helped me believe I am good enough just as I am. How long that will last I don’t know. It’s made me believe that doing the work – mental and physical – and doing it well, is non negotiable and will go on forever. I don’t think I so much tamed the Wild Horse as it tamed me.
I signed up for the Wild Horse 200 off the back of the Run Britannia Test Pilot run last June. After spending five weeks running over the length of the UK, over 1000 miles on hills, trails and bogs, I got back to my house and my old friend depression answered the door. He’d arranged a not so surprise party for me, and invited his mates post adventure blues, low self worth, doubt, fear, insecurity – the whole shitty committee – to join him. The bunting was up and everything was in place for me to take my greatest running achievement and rip it to pieces. And rip it to pieces I did. For a few days. But then I decided I’d had enough and politely asked my guests to leave. Depression stayed but moved into another room the minute I started questioning what he was telling me and started looking for a new adventure.
I don’t know what it was that attracted me to the idea of running 200 miles non stop across South Wales. I guess I thought it was the next ‘natural’ progression having gone into double figures on 100 milers. I had what would be my doomed Dragons Back attempt coming up in September of that year, and another crack at the Arc of Attrition in the diary for January 2023 – so doing 200 miles in April 2023 would defo keep my head above water when it came to training. I might even enjoy it. I also love Pegasus as a race company – I think what they do for ultrarunning and accessibility is absolutely cracking. The cut offs were very, very generous. I could walk it if I wanted. But I knew I most definitely did not want to walk it. I wanted to run it. I knew I would be looked after. I knew that the RD, Rhys was a great human. I signed up. I booked in my crew. I had something to focus on when the going got tough post Dragons Back.
Look at that artwork. How could you say no?
We all know how Dragons Back went. It really kicked me up the arse when it came to looking after myself (you can read the blog about that here). The minute I got back from Wales, I signed up for a gym membership – I just wanted to be strong enough to maintain my body on that terrain for as long as I could. I had endurance in buckets, but no strength. And that meant I didn’t have the speed over terrain. You don’t have to be able to sprint, but you have to be able to move forward, up and down much quicker than I was doing.
I have always hated gyms, but decided to think about this differently. I worked super hard to thinking about it differently – it’s an everyday practice - and it wasn’t always easy. Historically gyms have been an excellent place for me to go and compare myself to people I know nothing about and then come home and feel like shit. That’s on me. I decide to do that. People don’t make me do that. I do it to myself. I decided to change that.
I changed my thought process from “I will be shit at this and people will think I am weak” to “I’m learning new skills and I’m doing it to be strong – what other people think of me is none of my fucking business. The gym is the office.” So the gym became the office. Twice a week – once with a PT and once on my own. Go in, get the work done and leave. I started to like it. I started to get better at it, I started to get stronger. I actually love the gym now. And fuck me am I grateful to it for what happened this week.
The training block for Wild Horse started in January. I signed up to the Centurion Virtual slam – vowing to complete 600 miles in the first 100 days of 2023 to keep me honest. I also had The Arc of Attrition to attend to – and attend to it I did. My aim on that was to finish – nothing more. I had Wild Horse in the back of my head the whole time. A little mantra of “this is a training run, this is a training run” running like ticker tape throughout the whole 32 hours on that course. I finished it, and I was not in any way broken. I was elated that the work I had put in mentally and physically got me though it humbled, relieved and desperate to improve on how fast I can move across that terrain. Next year, l’ll be back to take a good few hours off that time, but for 2023 I had smashed the ball to the back of the net and completed what I set out to do, following my plan to the absolute letter and being kind and respectful to myself whilst doing it.
And then the Wild Horse came into view. I recceed at least 75% of the course in the weeks leading up to the event with my friends and of course the Pie Dog. Taking her out on recees with me is invaluable. It makes me feel like I know what I am doing on event. The spirit of Pickle is always with me. It makes me feel safe to know she’s been there with me. When are race directors going to allow dogs as pacers??
Me and Pickle on Table Mountain a few weeks before race day. She looks THRILLED.
The recees were ace but terrifying. South Wales is brutal – I think it gets a ‘nice’ rep because it’s not Snowdonia. But where Snowdonia is the type of killer that puts a gun to your head in broad daylight and laughs as it shoots you in the eye, South Wales is more stealth in it’s gradual breaking of the human spirit. South Wales can kill you slowly and painfully. And believe me it will try.
Often described as “undulating” by people I would either call fucking idiots or liars, the Brecon Beacons is where they train the SAS. It’s bleak, boggy, wet, windy, exposed and relentless. It’s hard to navigate at times because you can’t see you hand in front of your face. But the one word I would pick out of all of those to really describe it is relentless. It is fucking relentless. It is also one of my favourite places on earth. It can be majestic - breathtaking in it’s beauty. You get some of the best views in the world from the Beacons. You just need to be aware that this incredible life affirming place can and will turn on you at any minute. You need to be prepared for when that happens because it WILL happen. I liken this to my current mental state. My head is a lovely place to live when I am well, but I need to be prepared for when it turns on me. And on this race I was fully prepared to go to war with both myself and South Wales.
On Wednesday 5th April 2023 at 6am I started running 200 miles from Chepstow to Worms head. It started well when I dropped my tracker at the start line and had to use a spare. I do like to keep a race director on his feet. It was a test and Rhys passed with flying colours. My plan was to do the first 107 miles on my own – no crew and no pacers because I didn’t want to infringe too much on their time and I believed I would be OK without them. My fuelling strategy was based around veloforte bars and mountain fuel gels and shakes for those 100 odd miles plus proper food at sleep stations. I thought I would be able to manage that alone. My goal for the event was as follows:
FINISH THE FUCKING THING.
That was it. I just wanted to finish. It’s really hard to plan times for a distance you have ZERO experience of on some mega vert with some weather involved. I had spoken to a number of mates who had done The Spine and other stuff, and a couple of previous years participants, but I am not them and I had to work this out for myself. So I worked it out as best I could using all my past experience and a good deal of educated guess work. That plan I put together became the ‘Unicorn’ plan – if I could do that I would come in at about 79 hours and I would be super, super thrilled. But the main goal was to finish. I didn’t give a flying fuck about placement, I didn’t know how many people were starting, let alone how many women were involved. This was my race – MINE – and I wouldn’t let anything divert me from finishing and treating myself with respect and dignity as I did. I would not become competitive and throw the plan out the window. I would NOT do that. It would fuck up my race. You’ll never guess what I did……
There were 3 sleep stations along the route. One at about 62 miles, one at 107 miles and one at about 140 miles. These were covered checkpoints where I would be allowed to sleep for up to 4 hours. After 4 hours you had to leave. I decided beforehand to cruise through 100 miles sleepless – I had done that before loads of times. I would then sleep for 90 mins at mile 107 and 90 mins at mile 140. Because you can do that can’t you? Just switch yourself on and off like that and sleep whenever you want. What a fucking twat. Anyway that was the plan. See below for a lovely bit of Owen Delaney art that explain it all.
My crew would meet me after the first sleep station, and I would have two pacers – Joe from LLanfrynach (CP5) to Llanddesusant (CP7) and then Julius from CP7 to CP8 at Llandybie - where I would sleep again – then Julius would come with me again to CP9 at Penclawdd. I would run the last 17 miles alone.
Crew wise, Lorna and Lorraine were on car duties, Joe and Julius were on running and looking after the giant toddler (me) duties. I am so incredibly grateful to have these people in my life. In total there were 9 checkpoints on the route and I could access dropbags at all of them. This was manageable. I was going to have a lovely time.
The first 40 miles were incredible because they followed the route that I had taken back on the Run Britannia Test Pilot in June 2023. From Chepstow out to Monmouth and White Castle, trotting up and down Offas Dyke and the Wye Valley Way. It was just incredible. I knew this terrain - this was my thing and I was loving it. I met some bloody lovely people too and had some ace chats. Lambs gambolled across fields, it rained, it didn’t it was muddy, it was SO fucking boggy but it was great. I was bang on unicorn time and I was having the time of my life. As I came up the Beacons Way onto the Black Mountains, it stared proper raining and I realised I had separated out from the pack quite a lot. It was OK. I was OK. I absolutely LOVE this section. Views of Wales to the left and the garden of England to the right. One of my favourite views in the UK. Despite the rain, I was spellbound and so, so grateful. A group of horse riders came past and one of them told me I was first woman. I absolutely took it with a pinch of salt – I had started at the back and had assumed there were probably 10 women ahead of me. They probably hadn’t seen them. Anyway I didn’t care. I didn’t care, did I? Don’t let anything effect you. On I went.
The rain was annoying now and the ground was absolutely saturated from the rain of the previous weeks – it had been from the start. The climbs were brutal. The downs were muddy, boggy and skiddy and took a lot of work, but I was still running. I felt super strong. My feet had started to hurt because they had been wet since the start. I caught up with James, a vet I had run with a bit at the start, and we had some great chats. I really liked James. I was glad I had company. And I was glad it was him. We kept going to CP 2 at Grwyne Fawr Reservoir where I changed my socks and dealt with my wet feet. No blisters, just wet. It was really fucking raining now. I was hungry. I was living on snacks and had gone through all my proper food already. Crew no due til 107 miles. ARGH. I would get something decent at the next CP at Crickhowell. I had a coffee and a pot noodle (vomit emoji) and cracked on.
I knew this section because I had reccced it - and thank fuck I had. It was tricky. A boggy and steep ascent often on uneven camber up to the highest point on the course – Waun Fach – a mountain ridge that was extremely exposed with some serious drops and an uncanny ability to get you lost even in the daytime. It wasn’t daytime now. It was about 9pm when I reached the foot of the reservoir which marks the start of the ascent.
Looking down off Waun Fach to Table Mountain on a recee day. It was not like this on event.
I looked at my watch to check I was on the correct path. The watch face was black. I shook it. Nothing. What the actual FUCK? I had been charging it on the go – it couldn’t had run out of battery. I was so convinced I had charged it, that I had left the cable in my drop bag back at CP2. CP two was two miles back. What was I going to do?
I had the map on my phone, but it was raining and I couldn’t charge the phone because there was water in the charging point – it was already in a dry bag drying out. I had 38% battery on it. I didn’t want to waste that battery using maps. I might need the phone if something terrible happened. Plus the phone would get soaked – it was hammering it down. The only option I had was to find some other runners and stick with them for this technical section across the ridge. I couldn’t see anyone.
Because I had already sone this section in daylight, I decided to try and crack on using my knowledge from the times I had been up here before. I checked the tracker o my phone and could see a couple of people about a mile ahead of me - I would catch them up. I put my foot down and started to run as fast as I could (not very fast on that terrain….) It was getting foggy – super foggy. The clag was descending and the wind was picking up. The rain got heavier. After about a mile I spotted a red tail-light ahead – I was so relieved. The flag was so thick that the light kept vanishing but I pressed on, hoping it wasn’t a hallucination. I eventually caught up with Ben and Samuel. Thank God for Ben and Samuel. These two Scandanavain wonder humans had watches and everything! I was saved!
I asked if I could stick with them and explained the circumstances. They were lovely and agreed. To be fair they didn’t have a choice. I also told these shorts wearing life savers that it might be a good idea for them to put on their waterproof trousers. There was a bit of push back (“we’ve never had to wear them before!”) but eventually they did. I put on every layer I had including both sets of waterproof trousers – I knew what was coming – 13 miles of BRUTAL terrain, darkness, wind, rain and clag. And do you know what? That is what we got. A fucking terrible, terrible night on the hill.
That 13 miles took a lifetime. It was just vile. Everyone said it. After what seemed like and eternity we summited Table Mountain and headed down to the checkpoint at Crickhowell – 67 miles in. It was 2am when I walked in. I hadn’t planned to sleep here, but I was exhausted from the hill and the watch fuck up and the wind and rain. Looking at the time I was well up on where I thought I would be, so I decided this is where I would get some sleep. 90 mins here and then when I woke up the sun would be coming up and I would feel better. I tweaked the plan, let the crew know and started getting myself in order to sleep. Then a lovely volunteer whose name escaped me came up to make me a cup of tea. She said “first lady – exciting!” and I immediately felt sick.
I have a big fucking problem with this, and one that I need to sort out. I am NOT competitive. I am happy in the middle of the pack. Very, very occasionally I will go out to win something – or do well at something – and that’s a different goal and a different mindset. That was not the goal with this. I knew that finding out this information would be a huge test – that was why my crew hadn’t said anything on whatsapp. And finding it out was bad. I want to make this very clear – this is MY problem and not the fault of the lovely lady that told me. It is my problem. When people say this to me, I hear “I EXPECT you to win” and the game changes. If I don’t win, I will have failed them.
Long and the short of it – no sleep. I couldn’t. I kept thinking I should go, I should be keeping my lead. Then I would think FUCK THAT. What was I doing? Go to sleep you dick. Couldn’t sleep. Managed about 15 mins of weird half-awake half sleep before I gave up, got up, got changed and left Crickhowell at 4am with half a slice of toast and a coffee in me. Dinner had been mashed potato. A little bit of mashed potato. It was raining. The ascent out of that checkpoint was nothing short of cunty. My feet were KILLING me. I needed my dry shoes. I had 40 miles until I would see my crew. It was dark. I was on my own, I was hungry, I was going to get overtaken.
How I felt leaving CP3…. this is about 5% of the dead stuff I saw over 200 miles.
Hang on what the fuck was that? Going to get overtaken? WHO FUCKING CARES. And there we go. Round and round. Using energy I didn’t have to fight with myself. The dawn broke – it was rubbish and grey. I was 75 miles in and I was hating every single second. Everything hurt. I was being a super horrible arsehole to myself. My battery felt like it was drained to about 5%. I had been running for 24 hours and only got 75 miles. What a fucking loser. I felt like I was hobbling about like a drunk person. I felt like I did when I DNF’d the Arc the first time. I remember telling some people that I caught up with what a shit time I was having. I really regret infecting them with my bad vibes – sorry guys. And then I sat down. And then I had a really fucking honest conversation with myself. It went a bit like this.
“Allie. What are you doing? Come on. You have trained so hard for this. You have put so much time, effort and money into this. This is your life. You are living your life RIGHT NOW IN THIS MOMENT and you are ruining it by not switching on and having a calm conversation with yourself. Nobody expects anything of you and if they do, that’s on them. It’s nothing to do with you. I know you feel tired, I know you feel stressed out but it’s all manageable. You are hungry. You know you are. Let’s sort this out shall we? Let’s get you some proper food. Text Lorna. Call Julius. Arrange to meet them on the course. Arrange for them to meet you earlier. We can manage this together and get you a sandwich. I know your stomach is upset but we can sort that out with proper food. Nobody died from shitting themselves on a race. At least I don’t think anyone has. We can google that later. ANYWAY listen to me Allie. Listen. You just need to keep going to the next CP then make a decision. Things can change. You know they can. I promise you that things can feel better. Remember – you are doing the best you can and that is enough. Can I just mention this first lady thing? That’s great but its not defining your worth. None of this does. You’re doing fucking great. Other peoples opinions are their opinions. You’re here to enjoy yourself. Rememeber? You love this place. You love running, you love the challenge. Its OK you’re finding it hard - it is hard! So find it hard, wallow about in it can suck it up. You can’t pay for this type of experience can you? You’re in it. Feel the feelings! Rejoice that you can feel the feelings! None of it, not winning, not being fast, none of it makes you any more or less worthy as a person. Just do you. You are ace just how you are – even when you’re being a rat. OK? Now let’s get up and get to this next checkpoint. Come on. Give yourself a cuddle, and let’s go.”
And THAT is sitting in discomfort. This is what all the books I read talk about – this is what all the practice I have done on my brain looks like in a real-life case study. This is me unfucking it. This is me turning it around. You can’t buy this sort of experience. You have to live it. This is what years of pain and fear of failure and self hatred look like when they are healing. And when you do it, when you put it into practice, when it starts to work – that is so, so powerful. I gave myself a cuddle and I got to checkpoint 4.
When I got there, I ordered two pot noodles and cuddled a dog I found outside. Rachel (second lady) came in and I chatted to her because she is lovely and sorted my feet out and moaned a LOT. Neither of us mentioned placings. We never mentioned it. She left before me and I happily waved her off. Rachel is an incredible runner. She’s done astonishing things. In the time I spent with her I thought she was ace. I’ll go when I am ready, I thought. That’s fucking cool. Total mindset change. It’s food, I thought. Lack of food sends me mad.
I think there are many people who must think that moaning is all I ever do – to them, again I am sorry. I did have a good moan at that CP. Lorna had texted our friend Kirtsen who was camping with her family just up the road – she turned up with two sandwiches and some crisps. I was so incredibly grateful. I ate them. I was full up for the first time in 24 hours. I thanked the incredible volunteers and got on my way. Leg 5 was underway – up Tor y Foel we go!
This section is a bastard because it goes round the reservoirs in what appears to be a pointless loop. It covers Pontsticill, Pentwyn and Talybont and is astonishingly beautiful once you’ve got over the false summiting wanker that is Tor Y Foel. FOUR FALSE SUMMITS! Outrageous! I started to feel better – food was working. My stomach was a mess, but nothing that a small shovel and a load of constant heading into bushes couldn’t solve. My feet were mashed but what could I do? I just had to crack on. I was changing socks as much as possible and reapplying lube but they were just fucking soaked and swelling. I was on my way to meet Joe – That’s what I kept thinking. Just running to meet to Joe – you like running with Joe. On you go.
I met Lorna and Kirsten again at about 100 miles and had coffee and a bagel – more food! And then ran on. Ran. I was still running 100 miles in. I was so chuffed that I felt so strong. I stopped for five minutes for another lunch and marvelled at the beauty of where I was. I felt grateful to the environment and grateful to myself. What a way to live your life, Allie. You lucky, lucky bastard.
I’d met up with James again and we fast walked a lot of the canal section into the the next sleep station. I had always planned to sleep here because I knew what was next – a big remote section across Brecon. My sleep here was fucking ace. I managed a whole hour of deep, undisturbed sleep. My admin was bang on. I got washed and changed, ate and when I woke up, Joe was there and Lorna was there and I had donuts and sandwiches and coffee for breakfast. I say Breakfast – it was 10pm when we left CP 5 and headed up towards the Storey Arms. I’d changed my shoes, but to my absolute horror they felt too small. My feet had properly swollen so I changed them again just up the road. I’d gone Trailfly G270 V2’s to Parkclaws. I love my Parkclaws and there was some decent road sections to be had here, but my feet were just too big. When we saw Lorna I changed again into my Trailfly Ultra G280’s. That’s better. More room. Still fucking blistered and sore AF. There’s a difference between transcending physical pain and mental pain. Give me physical pain any day of the week. Agonising, but I can deal with it. The mental pain is where I can fall down. That was next on the list.
It was an incredible night – still, clear, cold, the moon was full and beaming like a lighthouse ove Pen-Y-Fan and me and Joe had loads to catch up on. Joe ran the Run Britannia Test Pilot with me, so we are very used to running together either chatting or not. He knows how to look after me, and he’s fine with a 42 yar old woman nipping off for multiple poos and the occasional vomit. Which is lucky because that’s what I did. For 50 miles. Which was better than doing it for 35 days, I imagine.
The section across Forest Fawr was savage but incredible. It was 1am when we got up there (after meeting Lorna at the bottom for coffee and more donuts) and the climb was once again brutal with sheer drops down to the road, but on the tops the wet grass had started to freeze, and shone in our headtorch light like diamonds. All was still, all was quiet. All was a massive bog waiting to suck you in. Fan Fawr and Fan Lila conquered, we headed down to Ystradfellte to meet Lorna again. It was super fucking cold now. The car windscreen was frozen and so were our feet. Forest Fawr is just bogs – deep, bogs. It can be nightmarish. Navigtaion in the dark with no features to aim for can be terrifying. Joe was ace. Poor Joe. Having him there made the whole thing more fun. I’d thrown up just before Fan Lila which had worried me – not just a little bit – a lot. I was really struggling with food. But that calm conversation came into play again. ‘Come on Allie, you HAVE to get food down. Even if it comes up you have to get it down. Do your best. Salt table, food, keep calm. If you’re sick you will have at least absorbed a bit of food. Do your best to get some food down.’ So I did. I kept eating despite everything that touched my lips making me gag. Despite my whole being saying no I manged to get food down. I wasn’t sick again until much later. But now, the hallucinations had started.
Up on Fan Lila I’d seen some little elephants wiggling their bums at me – CUTE! This was great, I had no problem with this. Long grassy reeds became flag bearing soldiers on horses, but that was cool as well. I can manage this stuff. Joe and I continued towards CP6 at Penwyllt. I had totally forgotten about placings or time or anything. I was having a good time again. I was getting this shit done, but my GOD was I tired. When would the sun rise? Where was it. And then it came, and my GOD was it glorious.
Running down towards CP6 is something I will never ever forget. It was just BEAUTFUL. The sunrise cast everything in purple and pink, the moon vanished then reappeared huge and full over the hills in front of us as the sun made it’s way up behind us, marking the start of day 3. The huge ridge of Fan Hir stood in front of us, lit up in burning red by the sun. It was beyond words stunning. I am so fucking lucky, I thought. I am so fucking tired, I thought. There’s my sister, I thought. I’m hallucinating again, I thought. But I wasn’t.
My sister was there in front of me with her dog. She’d come out to see me into CP6 and I was so happy to see her face. I didn’t realise how close we were to her house in Pontadarwe. I didn’t realise the next section of the course was a bit I had done many, many times before with Pickle. My whole crew met me at the CP where I had a coffee and a banana, did all the admin stuff you need to do and had a proper laugh with my mates. I was strong and happy. I was 48 hours and 134 miles in, and it was going fucking great. I had totally forgotten about meltdown number one just 24 hours earlier. I was living my absolute best life. Take note reader, things can turn around. Just give them a chance. Give yourself a chance. Also take note reader, I’d had 75 mins sleep. In 48 hours. In no way will that bite me on the arse…oh hang on.
Joe and I left that checkpoint strong and I was overjoyed that the route took me up towards Fan Hir and Llyn Y Fawr. Me and Pickle have done this route a few times – it’s a beautiful bastard. It’s incredibly technical in places, steep with some very sharp drops but peppered with incredible views, waterfalls and welsh goodness. It was clear and sunny and my GOD was that a treat. I was on full speed up those climbs. I felt like I was at home. I knew where I was going and I loved it. Up, up, up we went cresting Bwlch Giedd, Fan Foel and Picws Du before circling round Llyn Y Fan Fach and down towards the next checkpoint in Llanddeusant. It was around the start of that descent that I could feel that “fuck this shit” feeling coming back. Absolute tiredness, feet on fire and almost a panic at the distance left to cover. By the time we got to the checkpoint I was pretty miserable. I needed to do something with my feet so I found a river and popped them in there. I swear actual steam came off them. It was 10 mins of bliss. But then I had to put my shoes back on. I needed a crowbar to do it.
We did some rudimentary repairs to my knarled old trotters. Slashing blisters with blades, pouring neat alcohol into them, taping and plastering the holes. They looked like one of the big treats I sometimes buy Pickle from the pet shop. I was worried. They hurt SO much. My feet had never been in such a state. I ate and tried to control the panic that was building. 50 more miles to go. FIFTY fucking miles. I swung between “that’s fine, you can do that” and “fuck my life that is a long way”. I was now about 56 hours in and had still only had 75 mins sleep.
My crew were astonishing as always. No mention on placing or times which was amazing. Rachel came in behind me and I gave her a cuddle. I thought she had already been and gone from that checkpoint. She hadn’t slept – she was planning on sleeping in the car here, at CP 7. I was not planning on sleeping again. I thought I was OK. I thought I could crack another 50 miles without a sleep. I thought so fucking wrong. Pacer number two picked up – it was time for Julius to shine. But before he could shine we needed to get back up the enormous hill we had just come down. And that was horrendous.
At the top of the worst climb in Wales ™ is a boulder field. And it can go fuck itself as far as I am concerned. Totally unnecessary. It was now late afternoon. The reality of another night of running was starting to dawn on me. I was FUCKED. I was yawning, tired and in a lot of pain. Pain management wise I had been using paracetamol and asprin and trying to keep ibuprofen to the absolute minimum. I was still running but my gait had changed because my feet were so sore. I was getting very cold even though it wasn’t cold. I was just dog tired. But I’d been a dick and changed my plan. I thought I could get away with no more sleep. I’d like to blame this on tiredness and stupidity but I think that competition/expectation element was creeping in again. In fact I know it was. I was losing my marbles bit by bit. The longer I ran, the more tired I got, the more marbles fell out of my ears.
That boulder field. Just no fucking need for it.
I was trying my hardest to run as much as I could. I can’t explain how I felt in words – almost like I was kind of gliding along but gilding along in pain. I could no longer appreciate where I was. Julius and I kept going across the unforgiving and often pathless terrain of the black mountains. There was a lot of chat about every climb being the last climb. None of them were. It was a stunning evening but I just wanted it all to end. Julius is an incredible friend and pacer and stayed a few steps ahead of me – not pushing me, more pulling. I stared entering a strange counter universe in my head. I could feel parts of me starting to shut down. First went to ability to hold a conversation, then went the ability to look up at anything. Then came the hysterical laughing, then came nothing. My battery light was blinking. I was running out of power and we still had almost 40 miles to go.
It all gets a bit mashed up from here. I became obsessed with being overtaken. By ANYONE. Obsessed. There was nobody about for miles and miles, but I refused to believe that I wasn’t going to get overtaken. WHY?? Why did I care? I honestly, hand on heart did not care about winning. I just didn’t want anyone overtaking me. It was like my mind focused on something that could really fuck me up and that I didn't;t have control over and zoomed in. I was too tired to have any type of calm conversation with myself. I was reaching the very edge of my capabilities at this point.
Lorna met us as we came off the black mountains and gave me everything I needed to make sure I didn’t have to spend more than a second at the next checkpoint. I didn’t want to go in because I didn’t want to be dragged into the idea of sleeping when the terrain was so runnable down there (Llandybie is in a town – at least 4-5 miles of road running to be had). Plan was to go in, check in, have a wee and leave. I was running quite well because the pain management had kicked in, I was in a zombie like state, just following Julius wherever he went. I was not enjoying myself. I was just existing. And the hallucinations had started up again, but this time they had taken on a far more sinister edge. You may well ask why Lorna didn’t suggest I sleep. Because that’s not her job. She is fucking great because she doesn’t push me to do stuff, she just supports my decisions whether she thinks they are good or bad, and then is there to pick up the pieces if they turn out to be the latter. That’s what she is my friend. That’s what she is my crew. She’ll advise, (please eat that) but she won’t make the decision for me - that’s for me to do and her to support.
The man I had to “follow to the library.” More on that later.
I ran into CP 8 at Llandybie, went to the loo (where a man burst in on me applying nappy rash cream to my very sore bumhole – sorry man) and then left. Total turnaround, about 90 seconds. And we started running again. Running at 10-11 min miles with 37 miles to go. I just wanted to get it finished as fast as possible. My brain was failing and I was seeing things everywhere. They started OK – Julius magicaly stepped through a 7ft aluminium fence which was AWESOME, little animals ran across the path, and I had to duck a number of things that weren’t there. I said ‘WHAT’S THAT?!” a lot. But as we progressed the visions got worse and worse.
Now ‘they’ were everywhere. I could see things everywhere and it was scaring me. I didn’t want to talk to Julius about it because he would say I was being stupid wouldn’t he? I was silent. I decided to just look at the floor and nothing else because then I wouldn’t see things. I felt like I was in a prison camp. Maybe I should go to sleep? No, don’t go to sleep – you’ll lose time and someone will overtake you. Again, what the actual FUCK? I was prioritising something that I have no care for in the real world over my own health and well-being. I was NOT thinking straight and I am actually really embarrassed about this behaviour. My crew weren’t going to argue with me – they were there to support me in my decision making, not make decision for me. That’s why they’re incredible. They reminded me there was nobody for miles and ignore me the I accused them of lying.
The real darkness came in the section between miles 164 and 176. Fucking HORRENDOUS. I have never, ever been more fearful on an event. The terrain was a mix of bogs, fields, bogs, fields and bogs and monsters. It was dark. It was bleak. There were huge swathes of marshland to cover and my feet were falling to pieces. We went the wrong way a few times and had to back track. I was now on about 1% battery. I couldn’t look up for fear of seeing giant men with bleeding pigs heads. I’d focus on Julius’ feet in front of me. Focus on the feet. Don’t look up. When I did look up confusion and horror abounded. At times I felt like I was chained to him like a prisoner, marching to a workfield. It all seemed so real. It seemed like this would go on forever. Just marching across sodden ground in silence, in the dark. I didn’t know where I was or why I was there. I just knew it was agony.
At one point I convinced myself that what was actually happening was that Julius had to return a library book that was late, and I had promised to go with him. But the library was 7 miles away, across these fields and bogs and marshes. I started to get annoyed because I had a 17-mile run the next day (the last leg) and he knew this, and he knew my feet were fucked, yet he insisted on taking me across this hell to the library. Not only that, but I convinced myself that he was acting like it was all my fault that the book was late. So I kept quiet and followed him. At one point he morphed into one of the contestants from Married at First Sight Australia. I told him this and added that the bloke was “a bit of a cunt”. That was nice of me wasn’t it??
Nothing was making sense and everything was frightening me. I felt like a kitten. I was seeing things that weren’t there and misinterpreting things that were there. I was seeing people standing against fences and gates, I was seeing weird animals everywhere – elephants mainly and people on horseback. The taller reeds became massive closed gates. I felt like I was floating out of my body. At times I was crying - not sobbing - just letting tears roll down my face. I was very quiet. I was just trying to do my best, but I was so scared of looking around me.
I didn’t want to tell Julius because I didn’t want an intervention, but about 6 miles outside Penclawd it all fell to shit. Everything was moving now. The bins jumped up and ran away when I looked at them, there were people in trees and noises I can’t really describe. I told Julius I needed to go to sleep. He stopped and looked at me. I told him I was scared and I coulnd’t go on and needed sleep. I cried a bit. He hugged me. He text Lorna and arranged a meeting point where I could get in the car – we would have to keep walking towards it.
As we kept walking, relief swept over me, but as I looked up ahead in search of the car, I saw four or five huge machine like creatures. They had red eyes and massive scissors for hands, and they were repeatedly stabbing cradles in front of them full of babies. There was blood everywhere. There was no noise. It was silent. I was fucking terrified. I literally leapt to the right and then started properly sobbing. It was one of the most terrifying moments I have ever had sober. I KNEW it wasn’t real, but it was so real in the moment. I think I scared Julius. He knew we had to stop NOW. I was a proper mess, shaking, sobbing, unable to walk. Lorna suddenly pulled up on the pavement and bundled me in. “DON’T MOVE THE CAR, DON’T’ MOVE THE CAR” was all I could say. I was terrified she would move the car and people would see my tracker moving at speed and I would be DQ’d. 70 ish hours, 75 mins sleep. I got in the passenger seat, was covered in blankets and passed out. It was 4.18am.
Yeah. I needed that.
When I woke up it was light and I felt like shit. I could hear Lorna talking to Julius. I sat up and opened the door. It was 7am. I had to move.
There was never any thought of not keeping going for me. My first thought was ‘you are going to be ok. You are doing your best. Get back to work’. I got out the car and was amazed that my legs worked – albeit slowly and sorely. My feet however, were like two rotten hams just hanging onto the bottom of my legs. I hadn’t taken my shoes off and they were numb, swollen and not working at all. I needed to go to the toilet. The type of toilet you can’t do on a residential street. I calmly explained this to Lorna who, without batting an eyelid, produced a Sainsburys bag and some toilet roll. She then escorted me down some steps, out of sight of early morning commuters, and I proceeded to shit in a carrier bag in front of my best friend and then hand it to her for disposal. That’s what happened. I didn’t care. There are no photos of this happening.
Lorna made me coffee and a mountain fuel shake that I promised to drink and put her dryrobe over me. She gave me a cuddle and said she would see us in a mile or so. And myself and Julius left for CP9 at Penclawd.
This is not me walking home from a big night out. It’s me ‘running’ a 200 mile race. Leaving the safety of the car for Penclawdd.
It was unbelievably slow and painful. I took some more drugs and ate a banana. Whilst I had come back to life, I felt fucking rancid. The feeling reminded me of when I use to drink and would blackout and wake up somewhere weird with no memory of what I’d done and have to find a way home. I felt like I’d done something really wrong and needed to apologise. My face was swollen, my mouth was swollen, I had ulcers and my tongue was cracked. But I was moving forward. And the more I moved, the easier it got – only a bit easier, but the easier it got. We met Lorna a few more times – every mile or so she was there waiting, just so she could look at me, but before I knew what had happened the Dryrobe was off and I was marching at a decent pace again – albeit in pain and not really knowing what was going on. And then I started running. Only a bit. But there was running. And then we got to Penclawd. The final checkpoint before the end of the race. Only 17 miles to go. And Joe was waiting to pace me home.
When I got to that checkpoint I ordered two porridges, a tea and a coffee. I was starving. I went and washed my face, cleaned my teeth and changed my top. This was it. I was going to finish this fucking thing. I felt 100% better than I had just 7 hours earlier. I couldn’t understand it. I had thought it was all over. I had though my race was over. But it wasn’t. My crew hadn’t told me what to do, they hadn’t threatened me or pushed me, they had supported me to make the best decision to carry on. We had unfucked it. We had unfucked it together. We had turned it around.
The last 17 miles were a painful joy. The weather was brilliant, the scenery was amazing. There were some super unnecessary hills, some ridiculous mud and bogs and everything hurt. But I could still run. I was amazed. Joe and I ran/walked to our final crew stop, just 7 miles from Worms Head where I had coffee and donuts and then we were away – 7 miles of sand, hills and clifftops all the way to the end. All the way to the finish of a dream. All the way to a reality I never allowed myself to believe could happen.
Just before the end I stopped to throw up and do other unspeakable things to a public convenience and had a little cry. I didn’t want to cry at the end. I wasn’t sad. I was just incredible proud, incredibly proud and so, so relieved.
Julius, Lorraine and Lorna were waiting with Pickle just before the finish line, and we ran in together. Pickle hadn’t got the memo - so 7 min miles was the order of the day for her. I was overjoyed to see her. My baby. She dragged me to the gate and jumped all over me. I finished the Wild Horse 200 in 81 hours and 18 minutes. I had come in first female.
I fucking finished it.
It’s been a few days since that finish and there’s a lot still to think about. This blog is already over lengthy, but I wanted it to be helpful to future participants. I hope it is. My lasting feelings from this event are enormous pride and disbelief that it’s done. That I did it. I have purposefully written this while its fresh in my mind because I have a tendency to play stuff down after the event – I seem to think that If I finish things they must be ‘easy’. This was not easy. This was probably one the hardest things I’ve ever done – and one of the biggest tests of my recovery post breakdown.
There were two instances on this where the work I have done on myself, on my thought processes and my brain was tested. Once at 75 miles and once when I woke up after that sleep in the car. Both times it was me who got myself back on track. Me. I did that. I have the most incredible crew – all very close friends who stand with me and support me and facilitate and direct me and make things happen, but I made that decision to keep going. I am incredibly proud that I did that. It was not easy.
My squad. My loves. My saviours.
Shit went wrong on this run. I was told by many people to eat before I was hungry and sleep before I was tired. I didn’t stick to the latter. I changed my plan based on a thought about something that was not true - ‘people expect me to win, I will let them down if I don’t’. Nobody thought that. I thought that. Me. Although I am of course thrilled with the outcome, it does not define the experience in any way. It’s a nice added bonus. What defines this experience is that I managed to unfuck my mistakes and sort out the shitty committee part of my brain when I needed to, because I have worked tirelessly to be able to do that. That is more of a win than coming first will ever be. In changing my plan I almost fucked up the goal - to finish the fucking thing. It was only that 3 hour sleep that saved me. It was only the fact Lorna could get to me that saved me. It’s turned out fucking great , but I have still learnt so much. We never stop learning, us ultra runners.
The gate. Thank fuck for the gate.
Other shit that went wrong I dealt with. Feet, weather, terrain, shitting myself, throwing up – all awful, but it was throwing the sleep plan out the window that really pushed me to the edge of my endurance. I have found the edge now. It’s awful and terrifying. I don’t really want to go back to it again. I have a deeper rooted respect for sleep than I have ever had. I also have a deep rooted respect for how I dealt with it. I asked for help. I carried on.
He’s a twerp but I love him. Cheers Rhys.
Finally (I know, long right) to my crew. I love the fucking bones of you. Without you I wouldn’t have had the support to turn it around. Your love, support and the fact you gave up your whole weekend to help me is something I will never forget. Joe, Lorraine, Julius and Lorna from the bottom of my heart THANK YOU. Rhys Jenkins, you bastard. Thanks for not telling me how hard this event was when I signed up because I wouldn’t have done it. It’s fucking hard. But I’d also like anyone thinking about doing it to know that it is doable. With the right amount of work, both physically and mentally, you will get there. The Pegasus family will support you to the end. They want you to finish this. I am happy to talk to anyone who wants to chat through any element of it. You cannot wing this, but you can do it if you do the work.
To all the volunteers, medics and Pegasus family – you’re incredible. The love and care I received at checkpoints, the amazing sense of camaraderie and humour - it was just ace -amazing support. Especially Kyle. You’re a legend, mate.
I learnt more about myself in this 81 hours than I have in years of reading, coaching and therapy. I used this event to put all the stuff I have learnt into action. It was a case study. I am a coach – I talk to people about this stuff all day every day but to put it into action myself and to see it work was all powerful. And don’t forget the gym kids, Physically the gym has changed the game. No soreness, no injuries, no muscles problems. My recovery to this point is bang on. My feet, however, look like exotic dog treats. But they’ll recover. We do recover.
A few links here to further stuff on this event.
Pegasus Running – amazing events and great people
Kelp and Fearne – Daily videos from the event that were ace
My Instagram Highlights - to relive the horror
Kit wise I used all INOV8 kit and I thank them for being the best sponsor I could ask for. All of it held up to some pretty shitty conditions.
Bag – Race Elite 2 in 1
Jackets – Stormshell and Venturlite during the day, Thermoshell at night.
Trousers – Winter running tights, race elite tights and trailpant waterproofs
Shoes – Trailfly G270s and G280s
Socks – Thermo outdoor sock
Gloves – Extreme Thermo Mitt
All the gear…..
Fuel wise I used Mountain Fuel chia and caffeine gels, Veloforte bars in Mocha and Classico and Veloforte Doppio gels. Plus a fuck tonne of real food.
Next up – The Lap in May. 45 miles of Lake District Joy. I’ll leave you with some pictures I didn’t use.
