Two months ago I ran the Wild Horse 200 Mid Wales and it was great. It’s taken me ages to write this blog and I’ll be honest, I have really struggled. I think when you start making some sort of (small) living from writing, when it becomes your job, you really can lose the joy, creativity, therapeutic element and possibly the freedom you first found in doing it. I think exactly the same can be said for running. You become hyper fixated on the stupid shit; the expectation, the execution, what people are going to think, how good your result is. It becomes stressful then totally loses meaning. I really don’t want my writing to feel like that. And I certainly don’t want my running to feel like it. I am trying to follow the “motivation follows action” route. Bear with me.
I promised you a Wildhorse 200 blog, and so three weeks, sorry, TWO MONTHS after the event here it is. (Yes, I started writing this three weeks after the event and have only just finished it). I find race reports really fucking boring, so I’ll attempt to do this one differently. I want it to be helpful - a story of what happens when most of it goes right. Something will always go wrong…..
Pretending to listen to Rhys the RD at the start (photo Matt Phillips)
When you have done a few of these longer distances, it’s feels hard to write about them in a meaningful and helpful way without feeling like you’re repeating yourself and/or being a bragging cunt. I’m not generally in the business of making the events I do seem brutal, awful or hyperbolising them to the point of impossibility (aka the ‘male melodrama mode’l) unless they actually are, so I’ll start by saying 200 milers really are fucking brilliant experiences. I’ll follow that up with the caveat of IF YOU TRAIN REALLY WELL FOR THEM and I will follow THAT up with and NOT EVERYONE HAS THE MINERALS TO DO THAT TRAINING. Please note I didn’t mention time or effort, I mentioned minerals. You have to WANT to do this stuff, but you don’t have to dedicate your whole life to it or make it your entire personality. I didn’t do anything longer than an 80 mile week in training. and that was just the once. What I have done is years and years of 50 mile weeks which have developed structure as I’ve been coached, and in the last three years included dog jogs, a session, a long run and a focused gym visit at least once a week. I’ve also reduced my events from quantity to quality asking myself how will taking part in this event help my development as a runner. Three years. That’s a long time to keep consistent. I have loads of conditioning, endurance and race experience, but also life outside that which includes a full-time job, a dog and a little bit of a social life, which I’ll admit mainly revolves around saunas, lakes, and mountain weekends running with my mates. If you want to do this, you absolutely can. You just have to want to do the work and be patient in the process. It’s not that many hours out of your day. You just think it is.
The Wild Horse races are the brainchild of Rhys and Cerys Jenkins. Rhys is an ultrarunner, RD and co-owner at Pegasus Ultrarunning and Cerys does all the actual work. I cannot recommend them highly enough as race organisers – they are fucking incredible. Three years ago, I did the Wild Horse 200 South which ran from Chepstow to Rhossili and was my first 200-mile race. I absolutely loved it. It was an insane and incredible few days. There’s a blog about that here. I wanted to do the mid Wales version because I am signed up to a 300-mile race on the Cambrain Way next year (Canol Lan, another one of Rhys’ ideas) and I haven’t done loads of running in mid Wales, plus I’d love to complete the Wild Horse trilogy at some point (there is a North Wales version I am campaigning to bring back!) Nothing like using a 200-mile race as training for a 300-mile race. Fucks sake have we all gone mad?? I really like 200-miles as a distance. It’s become my thing.
A couple of miles in probably being a twat to Matt the Photographer (photo Matt Phillips)
Writing about these events when they went really well seems very boring and braggy. But this event did go well. So I’ll focus on explaining how I created that experience instead of giving you a blow-by-blow account of the course and how many poos I had. For reference, the course is circular and runs from Machynlleth to Machynlleth via the Glyndwr’s Way, Offa’s Dyke, the Wye Valley Way, various farmers fields in Wales, then Shropshire, then Wales, then Shropshire again, then Wales again, some of the worst bogs I have run through outside the Pennine Way and a lot more road than is necessary. I did between two and six poos. Four of them were in actual toilets. We won’t talk about the others.
When my athletes take on any distance race I ask them to write down the result they would like to create. This list has to be totally within their control, so can’t include stuff like “finish the race” or ‘come top five” because those elements are absolutely not in their control. If you roll an ankle 8 miles from the end or get so sick you can’t take fuel on, you might not finish, and if there are faster runners than you who turn up you won’t hit that podium – none of that is down to you and none of it is in your control. Instead, I ask them to list things they CAN control that they want to achieve in that race. Here were some of mine for this race.
Getting my admin on at CP 4. Photo Matt Phillips
Things I can (try to) control:
· To be super sharp on my admin (in an out of CP’s in 5-10 mins if not sleeping, allowance of 20-30 mins at feed stops)
· To look after myself physically at every CP (feet, arse, vagina (sorry lads) to avoid ALL chaffing, discomfort and hopefully blisters. Wash, air, clean, lube feet, same with all other areas, Clean socks at every CP, clean underwear at every other CP.
· To pace cleverly and consistently, make the most of the 6am start, not go out too fast, establish confident pace I could keep up for the rest of the race. Hike the hills, run the downs and flats.
· Run my own race. Don’t even consider what anyone else is doing.
· To be kind to myself at all times, even when I felt shit. I am allowed to feel shit, and I will allow myself to feel shit with kindness.
· Pet every single dog, cow, horse as long as petting was not against their wishes. Don’t be a trail perv.
· Say thank you to every volunteer and supporter and to be kind even when you feel awful.
· Learn how to successfully trail nap – max 10 mins – when I need to
· To try and honour my sleep strategy
· To eat main meals at mealtimes, Huel at every CP and get through your whole fuel bag on every leg.
· If problems come up, you solve them as best you can in real time.
· Salt and water, water and salt.
· To ask for help when I needed it (extra road support, help from medics or volunteers, call in emotional support if I needed it)
· To be grateful for doing all of the above and looking after myself.
· To run with total joy. Remember this is the best experience in the world.
At no point here do I mention times, positions, actually finishing the race or any of that – mainly because those outcomes are in themselves the result of ticking things of my ‘can control’ list. I have learnt that great outcomes are always the result of doing the boring stuff well and with joy. So that’s what I planned to do.
I started from the front because that’s where women should be. The race started with about 70 men and 11 women – I didn’t know at the time but I wouldn’t see another female competitor over the next three days – that’s how spread out the race was. I hardly saw anyone to be honest. It was going to get warm so I did make hay while the sun didn’t shine and managed to get ten miles in the first couple of hours which meant I could reduce pace in the heat of the day a bit and hopefully not get nauseous.
There were 8 checkpoints on the race, roughly one every 25 miles and I chose not to be crewed or paced as its better prep for the unsupported races like The Spine (I’m going back to the full again in January). However, I did have my friend Danielle on call for the later stages of the second half. She was at looking after Pickle at an air bnb down the road, so she was an option if things got really bad. Rhys (the RD) had also told me Pickle would be allowed to pace me if I wanted which honestly was an offer I couldn’t refuse. In addition, I had one of my coached athletes and good friend Rachel on the course in her van. Rachel is the Pegasus roving trail angel – kind of like a mobile aid station. And she was INCREDIBLE throughout helping every single person on the course and providing a much needed kick up the arse and a Fanta Lemon when it was needed (which was all the time). The Spine has honesty boxes, the Wild Horse has Rachel. I know which one I prefer.
Danielle, a person that used to be me, and Rachel approx 180 miles in….. - my dream team.
I could lie to you here and say the thought of winning had not entered my mind, but it absolutely had. I had (much to everyone’s surprise including my own) won the South Wales 200 three years ago on a very average time, and had definitely had a little daydream about winning all three of the Wild Horse races at some point. However, back to that race psychology for a second. Thinking about winning does not work for me at all. It is not within my control and I had no idea who any of the other females were. If you have one eye on the result you only have one eye on the path and looking at what other people are doing means you’re not focusing on what you’re doing and that’s where, for me, mistakes are made corners are cut and admin goes to shit. Winning was purposefully not on my list of things I had to do that day but it was defo on the list of things I would like to do. Keeping the two separate would prove to be difficult.
I got into the first CP in just under 6 hours and did a really quick turnaround without cutting any corners. The CP was pretty quiet which I always think is a good sign at the start of a race. Water refill. Chuck rubbish. tea, cheese sandwich, huel, change of socks and top (fucking sweaty), wipe down the undercarriage and cover it with lube, grab prepacked food bag from drop bag and out again. 10 mins max. Felt pretty amazing, was told I was flying, laughed at the person who said that, ran into a field full of cows. Channelled my inner Emma Stuart. Much cow success. Met a baby Shetland pony, chatted to some blokes who were faster than me, rescued some lost men from a river (maybe that was later actually), saw Rachel and told he I loved her and boom! CP 2 was there. Fifty miles done. Felt really fucking hot. There had been a lot of road, I was in a mood and there was a man faffing in the female toilet (possibly using the baby change to change his own nappy) so I had a wash in the tiniest men’s toilet on earth, did all the things I had promised to do with feet and arse/other, had a pot noodle, a cheese sandwich, a pint of sprite, new top, grabbed my food bag and off I trotted again. Fifty miles done.
They love a dodgy bridge in Wales. And tiny horses.
For feet, arse and “other” pervs, this is the method I used to keep myself super comfortable. Arse and other – get to the toilet, use pampers sensitive baby wipes plus soap and water if you can, dry yourself properly (use a dedicated buff or small microfibre towel) apply silicon lube, fresh underwear and you’re good to go. Any sore bits put bepanthen on as it works faster than sudocreme. Do this even if there is NOTHING wrong. Keep that area clean. You will regret it if you don’t.
Feet – wash them in cold water with soap or in this case Dettol (they love a Dettol foot spa at Pegasus) , dry them using a microfibre towel and hand sanitiser (the alcohol pulls out the moisture quickly) air them while eating, cover any hot spots with tape, only pop blisters if they are uncomfortable, otherwise leave them. Pop using a green needle or blade – make two holes top and bottom, drain properly, wipe with antiseptic wipe or more hand sanitiser and cover with plaster if open wound, fleecy web if not and KT tape. Silicon sex lube on feet (AFTER you have dressed blisters, tape won’t stick to lube) clean socks on and good to go. Powders tend to not work on heat as they ball up and cause more harm than good in my experience. Trench, Squirrels nut butter, Bodyglide - all these products are water based and will sweat off. If your shoes are wet, waterproof socks can allow some respite and keep them dry for the next section. I alternated between merino socks and waterproof socks to allow feet to breathe and have some respite from the wet shoes but not get too hot and swell. It worked a treat – my foot problems were not blister based. My other areas remained very comfortable. I had no chaffe anywhere at all.
Always house hunting…..
I have no idea of timings at this point, but it was still light when I left and I planned to sleep at the next CP about 75 miles in. That section was glorious. Super hilly, massive ascent out of the CP, a great sunset and I really did feel amazing – I was eating and drinking really well and it was getting cooler. I made it to CP 3 at about 1am and I’d planned to have a sleep (get it in early!) but guess what? I just wasn’t sleepy. I ate some porridge, sorted feet etc, had a wash, cleaned my teeth, got changed and lay down for 20 mins but my brain was having none of it, so I got up and ate more porridge and cracked on. The issues with nighttime were navigation (which I’m really good at, it just slows stuff down a bit in the dark), and the fact that the cooler nights made the very long grass, ferns and overgrown trails very, very wet. Even though there was no rain, the dew soaks everything and the grass in almost every field was knee to thigh high which made the foot situation even more important to stay on top of. The long wet grass gets quite boring, quite quickly. I also felt pretty lonely – being at the front of the pack is all well and good, but there aren’t a lot of other people to hang out with, and I could have done with some LOLs at 3am. I only had myself for LOLs and I wasn’t that LOL worthy.
Made my bed, did lie in it, got up again. No sleep at CP3. Note big bag under legs to keep them eleavted - top tip to avoid swelling.
I got to CP 4 at about 11am and to my absolute joy Chris Hewitt was there. Alone. Drinking tea. Apart from Chrois, the CP was empty. Chris is the co-RD on this race and he’s also private paramedic who knows everything there is to know about feet, terrible accidents and injuries. My feet were SORE. They had started to swell a bit in the heat and they were wet – there was no way to keep them dry overnight so the skin on the bottom had become very delicate and then smashing it on the road and hard tack sections has made them really, really sore. I needed to sort it out but wasn’t sure how. I had a cup of tea, pot noodle and cheese sandwich (standard fayre by now) while Chris took a look at them and taped them for me – I couldn’t actually reach the bits that needed to be taped and I was super grateful to him for taking the time to do that. I had also now started to get a bit of sleep deprivation madness and had started to believe that I was being chased by second place lady. So I very helpfully started acting like a dick. I asked Chris where “she’ was and was told she was 14 miles behind me “I’d better go now then!” I said, panicked. Because we all know how possible it is to make up 14 miles in ten minutes don’t we?
“LET ME SEE THE LEADER BOARD!” Acting like a proper twat. Photo: Matt Phillips.
I tried REALLY hard to come to terms with these ridiculous thoughts, accept they were there and revert back to ‘it doesn’t matter what anyone else is doing.’ When you’re tired, that is easier said than done. I did not enjoy the next section because I was being awful to myself. And that is on me. It’s something I need to work on, but that’s why we do these things – to identify the problems and solve them.
The section out of that CP onto Offas Dyke was MENTAL. About 5-6,000ft of vert in just 23 miles and it was very, very hot. I didn’t see anyone else at all on this section, often wondering if I had taken the wrong turn, day hallucinating and being bitten to shit by horseflies. After 5 hours of running up and down some ridiculous hills on my own in 27-29 degrees I finally saw the van of dreams – RACHEL!
She had Fanta, she had a hug, she had dogs. And I needed to lay down in her van – so I did for about 5 mins. She had also got me some spinach, boiled eggs and a cold huel – I was desperate for proper food that was not yellow. I did a bit of moaning and cracked on – I’d see Rachel at the next CP where I was planning to have a proper sleep. It looked like I’d get in at about 9pm – perfect for dinner and a nap.
Thank Jimothy for Rachels’ van……3 min nap.
With the sun almost giving up on it’s assault for the day and some Fanta in me, I trotted on towards CP5. Joy of Joys about a mile and a half out I was joined by Danielle and Pickle – seeing both of them was unreal and powered up my battery by about 50%. Theres nothing like seeing your dog running towards you full of pieness. I had some dinner – a delightful plate of beans on toast and went to bed for an hour. Went to bed, but did not sleep because was another competitor making noises akin to those of a dying man in a WW2 film in the bed next to me. He was so fucking loud. SO LOUD. Every time he moved, he sounded like a trapped farm animal. Eventually I gave up and went to get some breakfast. Night leg incoming. It was 2.30 am when I left.
Straight out into a forest on my own. I like forests I am a witch. But this one was claggy and hard to navigate. I was having audible hallucinations and at one point came face to face with a very large badger. Wrong turns meant I found myself stuck in bramble over the top of my head and ferns that were just impossible to hack through. These things don’t panic me, they are part of the game, but you have to keep your cool in times like these – especially when the three devices you are using to navigate ALL say you are ‘on route.’
Hello darkness my old friend…… Wrong way? Right way? welcome to Night Wales.
I’d also not done a great job on my feet at the CP, so was forced to sit in the forest and sort them out by head torch light. Even sitting there for 20 mins doing my feet in the silence, I still saw nobody. The I got ‘that’ feeling that something was wrong. It’s like a witchy feeling of utter unease, a bad juju feeling that comes with the tiredness, but also a sixth sense that requires a double check of the map and of reality. I looked at where I was and saw that to the right of my was a small lake known as Black Water. I stuffed everything into my bag and ran as fast as I could to get out of the woods whilst singing Girls Aloud songs to myself.
Black water is a term used by dowsers to describe underwater streams that carry negative, harmful or stagnant energy and that part of the woods was not right. Something bad was happening there. I had the same feeling in Byrness on The Spine Race – have done both times I’ve been though there. Not cool, but does show I can move my arse at pace when I need to. Horrible feeling but running at 9 min miles to get out of there probably did me some good.
As it started to get light on day three, it became pretty fucking obvious I was going to need some sleep. The only thing I had been shortcutting was sleep – mainly because of things out om my control like crying man babies and brain kerfuffle. I was tempted to stop every time I saw anything resembling a bench but I was also painfully aware of slowing down too much. At this point I was about 140 miles in and had had maybe 90 mins sleep total? It was a lovely morning, so I decided to get my bivy out and just have a fucking sleep. So I found a field of long grass and wildflowers and did.
Night Night.
And that 15 mins was glorious. So glorious I became obsessed with doing it again. I also stopped taking photos at this point so my timings with regards to this blog are fucked, but I do remember getting to the next CP which I think was a rugby club and totally fucking up sorting my feet in favour of eating cheese sandwiches and melon. The fact they had been wet for days now and the skin on the bottom was like tissue paper meant I had two blisters forming on the balls of my feet. I did a half arsed draining attempt, then taped them and left the rugby club, only to be in agony as I rounded the next corner. Because I was tired and lazy and couldn’t find a clean blade, I then sat down and attacked the bottom of my feet with a blunt penknife I had in my emergency kit, which resulted in my cutting my finger and bleeding over everything including myself, my n umber, my snacks and the bus stop. Never mind, on we go. This is why you should sleep on these races, bad decision were being made, corners were being cut.
I don’t remember the next section, but I DO remember seeing Danielle, Pickle and Rachel at some point and being very happy about this. At the next CP I had the best bolognaise I’d ever, excellent bants with Danielle and Rachel, had kept up my foot and bumgina regimen as well as getting changed for my final big night out. If I could just get to the next CP I would be home and dry. My feet were fucking killing me and there was nothing I could do about it. I think everyone was in the same oat – the fact everything was so dry and hard underfoot plus your feet getting wet and swelling meant you couldn’t avoid it, you just had to manage the soreness as best you could. It’s not that far, I thought. Only about 40 miles to go. I was in for a fucking horrible surprise.
Feet, Food, Face at CP 786
The next section was nothing short of diabolical. It started super steep and then became incredibly boggy trail that had been used to graze cows on through the winter resulting in very deep cow shit filled holes and craters that made running impossible and were very difficult to navigate. If you fell in one of these shit craters, you’d be in over your knees, It was very slow going. It stank and it really tested my sense of humour. I could feel myself getting annoyed and for me, getting annoyed means getting nauseous. I had managed myself so well for the whole race not feeling sick, but now, as I went into night three I felt very sick. Then I WAS very sick and sent a photo to Danielle to prove it. She’s a lucky girl.
Constant naps, Barkley throwbacks, dead sheep and 8 miles of hardcore bullshit - literally.
That slow awful section went on for about 8 miles, and it started to get dark, and then it started to rain. Proper rain. Proper wind and proper clag. I LOVE WALES. Myself and my friend Kirsty often refer to what happens on night three as “Night Three Behaviour”. In reality, I want to get good enough at 200’s that I don’t have a night three because it’s always horrible. It’s like the pinnacle of tiredness, the portal to the underworld, the fulcrum on which reality and hallucination balance. If you go the wrong way mentally on night three, you can literally tip over the edge into madness. It’s a balancing act and it’s a hard one.
I became obsessed with this giant gantry I could see to my right. It was like the gantry’s you get over motorways with the signs on, but this one was over a valley and inside it were flats with huge glass windows– the people that lived there were having a party – I could see them moving about and see the disco lights flashing and hear the music. I really wanted to get closer for a look or maybe to use their loo, but there was a fence in the way. I took my headphones out so I could hear the music better. It sounded like LCD Soundsytem/Daft Punk, that wort of thing. I ran past it but it never got any closer. Because it wasn’t fucking there.
It was really windy and wet and I just wanted to get to the final CP. I was super hungry and super tired and needed to have a rest. I was finding navigation really fucking difficult, and in my tired state I started to get scared of being on my own. I don’t get scared of being on my own anymore. I like being on my own, but I was so tired I’d started to shut down a bit. Feeling like this reminds me of when I used to drink because it feels like being really pissed and then the grass started talking to me telling me how fucking useless I was. I had a sudden jolt of “get off this hill now” and got my phone out – If I came very slightly off route I would hit the main road where there were street lights and the light would make the voices stop – do I decided to do that.
When I got into the final CP, Rachel was there with a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich. I thought about going to sleep but I also felt like I was very close to the end of the race. I must have spent about 40 mins there – but it was so worthwhile. Chris turned up and had another look at my feet as well as getting some anti-nausea medication down my neck which worked like a dream- I was feeling very, very sick. My feet were very, very sore – but he really helped by giving them a massive squeeze and laughing at me. What a wanker. Then he retaped me up and Rachel kicked me out. Last push. I think it was about 4 am when I left – I’ll be finished by 9am I thought – WRONG.
Not all heroes wear capes - some wear yellow and are called Chris.
The last 20 miles took me fucking ages, my feet hurt, I felt sick and I was exhausted – I really need to nail by sleep strategy for this 300 next year – but I was moving forward. And that’s something. There was loads of moaning, lots of sitting in a chair with a blanket on my head having 90 second naps, and lots of Danielle trying to keep my spirits up – She and Pickle joined me for the last ten miles and it was proper ace and I’m sorry for being a misery. Lots of conversations like this….
D: “want anything to eat or drink?”
Me: “anything as long as its not orange flavour – I never want to eat orange flavour stuff again”
D: “Ok, do you want a calippo?”
Me: “Yes”
D: “What flavour?”
Me: “Orange please”
Fucks sake. Runners in the later stages of ultras are a waste of space and nothing they say should be trusted.
I got a teeny bit needy in the last few miles…..
Then finally we found the end, and I ran in with Pickle and I could stop. 77 hours, 33 mins. First woman, 8th overall – always nice to get that top 10 overall finish when you think your performance was pretty average - which it was – average but strong. Apart from the sore feet this race had been amazing. It had been joyful fun - a proper adventure. I loved 90% of it. And the 10% I hated involved roads, cows, and my bloody sore feet which were in the best condition I have seen them in at the end of any race. I’ll work on the soreness. And if I can’t solve it I know I can cope with it. Sleep is something I need to adress - I got about 3 hours total in the end. This is not enough. But I know I tried my best.
A me, a D and a Baby P finish the Wild Horse 200 2026. Photo Matt Phillips
I’ve not go much else to say except thanks to all the wonderful people that helped and hosted me – all the volunteers, Rhys, Cerys, the media team Matt and Paul for some great photos and bants but most of all Rachel and Danielle for putting up with my shit and looking after Pickle – and my sister for looking after me at the end. 200 miles races really are my favourite. If you’re thinking about doing one of the Wild Horses, just get on with it and sign up. You’ll find out so much about yourself. In all honesty I preferred the South for the incredible route, hills and views but I am South Wales biased. I love it there. This was just as joyful in a totally different way.
My team. I am so grateful.
If you have any questions about this or any of the other races I’ve written about feel free to drop me an email – next up a 10 day jaunt across Iceland and 100 miles on the Cambrian Way.