The Un-Training Plan – how NOT to run the EPONA 100 mountain Ultra (Lessons learned the hard way).

I stumble down some scree and kick a jagged rock which sends excruciating pain coursing up my leg. I am on top of a mountain. I have been moving for well over 24 hours and I down my last caffeine gel in a desperate bid to jolt my brain out of the fog of tiredness. I’m out of energy. Out of water. Out of my depth.

I’m attempting the EPONA 100 mile race in the south wales mountains. I have no place being here. It’s two years since I completed the 111 mile Warwickshire ring canal race. And 18 months since I started recovering from a back injury that put me on the bench for months.

A couple of runners and their pacer dance nimbly past me on a difficult downhill section off a peak. Why am I so shit at technical routes in the mountains? I know immediately that it’s because I have not only shunned training in the mountains, but also hill reps. Heck – I’ve even dodged speed work and tempo runs, oh and long runs. I scold myself for not preparing for the race. Ok I was injured but only for four weeks with a random toe issue.

I have only myself to blame. I’ve dragged my wife Susie, and our friend Vanessa out to crew me, to look after me, arrive at various points on the EPONA 100 course, and feed me, give me water, satisfy my random cravings for food. I owe myself, them, and the race more and to get on with it.

I try to keep up with the runners just ahead. I seem to get ahead of them at times but then get the navigation wrong. I have to constantly course correct. My extreme exhaustion is a huge barrier and I find it difficult to push through. I fall behind on the ups and downs. I move well on the occasional flat bits.

After hours since the last aid station at 58 miles I spot another peak ahead of me.

“How can we still be going up? We should be leaving the mountains into the valley!!!”

I plead pathetically to the mountain, the gpx course on my watch and the pacer and runners.

I can’t take it anymore. I pull my old battered nokia phone out. It’s bulletproof. Have I got signal? YES!

I prod at the phone keypad and phone my wife. It rings. It goes to answerphone.

I also fail to get hold of Vanessa.

I message both of them. “PHONE ME WHEN YOU HAVE SIGNAL”.

I know they won’t. But it was enough to make me realise no one is coming for me in the mountains other than a helicopter.

As I stumble along the path in a tired stupor I challenge myself to come up with a believable reason that I need mountain rescue.

“I’ve run out of gels….”? Sure – but you actually have reserves in your emergency pack in your bag.

“I’ve run out of water” Sure – but I’m sure there’s a stream somewhere if desperate.

“I can’t be bothered” Sure – they’ll have a field day when they put that on the mountain rescue facebook page.

“This idiot thought that heading in the mountains on a race was a great idea, until he decided he was bored and wanted to go for a latte and a fry up instead”.

I crack on. I decide that I’m going to quit at the next aid station. If I ever get there.

I spot what looks like a road. I pick my way through bogs and eventually make it to a fire track. I don’t look at my watch. I don’t want to know the time. I don’t want to know the distance. I just want to hug my wife and sit down. 

I wonder whether they could get here. I call them again. Straight to answerphone.

It’s a firetrack and it’s gradual downhill. I see the watch says 2.5 miles until a turning. Maybe that will be the aid station?

I get moving. Feeling every stone. My feet hurt. They are wrecked. No blisters. Just sore.

I’m using my sticks. I’m sure it helps a bit. Eventually I reach the turn. My watch serves up the next instruction.

2 miles to a turn. 

Great…… my watch is now trolling me.

Why aren’t I at an aid station yet?

I’m in a forest. On a firetrack. The heat of the day is building. I’m definitely out of water.

We seemingly zig zag down the lower parts of the mountain. I haven’t seen anyone for over an hour now. But I hear voices. Is it the aid station? No. It’s some day trippers doing some activity – walking? Kite flying? I have no idea. My brain can’t comprehend. 

I eventually find myself on a slightly grassy path. I can see I’m almost down in the valley.

I spot other runners running on a road several hundred feet below and going in the opposite direction.

The aid station must be down there somewhere. I see a couple of women waving at me from below. It’s Susie and Vanessa. So that means I am almost at the aid station.

A few minutes more and I spot a trail marker for the race. It signals for me to go down what seems like a bed of a stream. Directly down the hillside.

Really? Susie urges me to come down. This is the path. Apparently!

I feel like I’m going to fall down there. I use my sticks to help.

I shift my weight from one foot to another. Grabbing tree branches, clumps of fern, wedging my foot against rocks. Then I sprawl across the stream as I lose my balance.

I pick myself up and carry on down.

Susie greets me along with Vanessa. I make the final steps into the aid station.

My watch reads 76 miles. 

“What do you need? They’ve got pizza. Give me your bottles…..”

“I’m not going back out. OK? I am knackered. I’ve had enough….”

Have a sleep. I get into the back of the car with some difficulty. I realise the blood is rushing to my head. I turn around as the car was sloping.

It’s too hot. I can’t deal with this.

I get myself into the front passenger seat. Recline the seat. And try to rest.

“Let’s give him 90 minutes”

I wake up. I instantly feel better than before though I’m groggy.

I remember I am in a race. I also remember I have decided to quit already.

I look at my watch. It is still recording. So – ok let’s carry on.

No. I have decided to stop.

Ok – but I could go again. 

No. You’re tired. 

Ok – but I can get to the end.

No. You’ll get stuck on a mountain.

Sure – but the next bit is road.

Yeah – but then there’s mountains again.

Don’t be a pussy. 

No one cares if I finish or don’t

You felt better at mile 58 after you had a sleep.

Yes but only for an hour and then you wanted to sleep on the side of a mountain.

My brain is having a whole conversation with itself.

I’m aware of my crew getting things ready for me to go back out. They are sure I am going back out. I know they are going everything to help me. I feel like I am letting them down because I don’t want to.

I sit down in a chair. One of the volunteers sits next to me. He is talking away. I’m trying to pay attention. I’m trying to be polite. I’m so tired that I’m sure I just seem like I’m ignoring him. I’m getting offered pizza. Garlic. Cheese. Tomato. I can’t take it in. I can’t decide. 

Whatever. I don’t mind is the best I can do.

Ahhhhhh – taking pizza means you’re carrying on my mind tells me.

No – I fight back. I need food – I’m hungry.

I feel out of it. I feel like a patient who is semi-conscious. Somewhat aware of his surroundings but unable to play a full role in it. People are talking to me. People are talking about me. I’m talking about me. And then there’s my body – happy to move. 

But my mind is resolute. I’m not going anywhere.

I eat part of the pizza. Then give up. I can’t eat any more.

“I’m not going out again” I plead to nobody in particular.

I’m aware that my pack is being topped up ready to go out again.

My crew is so amazing. They know this is the right thing. I would do the same for them.

The volunteer at the aid station is asking me about what’s wrong. Mind or body? Talks about overcoming the mind. I know this. It all makes sense. But I can’t. I’m wrecked.

I rehearse all my excuses. Some of the best ones leave my lips. But they fall on deaf ears. I’m not even convinced by my bullshit excuses.

“Just go out a couple of miles and come back if you feel bad” the volunteer offers.

“You know what the next mile or so is like – it’s on the road – you saw it” Vanessa says.

“Shall I walk up the road with you for a bit” she offers.

I mull it over. It seems like a good idea. But why is my mind saying “no”?

I’ll end up stuck on a mountain. Is what my mind tells me.

“No. Thanks. I’ve had enough. No more. I’m done”.

I drop my pizza and disposable bowl on the floor. Somehow showing that’s my final decision.

“Are you sure?” 

“yes. I’m cooked”. 

Instantly the fight within is over. The tension between doing it and quitting is gone.

A DNF. At 76 miles. In the mountains.

“76 miles is amazing. No shame in quitting now” are the words circulating.

I can’t tell if my mind is telling me that, or whether people around me are saying that.

It is still a DNF. I’ll have temporary relief and then I’ll torture myself over it.

I know in the morning I’ll wonder whether I could have continued. Whether it should have done. Whether I took the easy way out. Whether I was right. Whether 76 miles is really awesome. Or whether its 24 miles or more short of a finish. 

I know I’ll be doing a lot of thinking in the days ahead as the realisation comes home that I didn’t finish what I set out the day before to complete.

But for now I feel instant relief as I unlock my watch and press stop.

And so ends my EPONA 100 adventure for 2024.

Will I go back? I’ve entered already for 2025. Redemption!

Thanks go to

Rhys and Cerys – the guys behind http://www.pegasusultrarunning.com.

The amazing volunteers on the race which means that we can spend our weekend running.

Above all my wife Susie for putting up with my misadventures and friend Vanessa for always being the best crew and ultrarunner could hope for.

Thanks guys!

Will I see you on the start line in 2025?

Let me know in the comments.