Dragon's Back - The World's Toughest Mountain Race 2024
Humans are meaning makers, who continuously try to make sense of their own experiences. The Dragon’s Back is one hell of an experience to unpack. The race was 380kms down the mountainous spine of Wales. Approximately 60km and 3,000m vertical a day over six days. Starting at Conwy Castle in the North and finishing at Cardiff Castle in the South.
It’s been three months since crossing the finish line as fifth woman, with a friend (Kate) made on the first day and an 8cm quad tear. I didn’t have any overwhelming feelings when I crossed the line, Kate and I had shared tears of relief and disbelief a few kilometres prior, but I did crave a Big Mac and hugs.
Matt (my partner) and I signed up for the race in January. It had been on his list for a while. I’d just done my first 50k race in September, so it was completely wild to fathom the distance and vert the race entailed. But my grandma Anny was Welsh (how connected), and I would have hated to sit on the sideline.
I trained hard. Living in Aoraki Mt Cook for the eight months beforehand meant we could eat mountains for breakfast. Two-hour plus sessions a day were the norm, much more at the weekend, in all weather. I ran the Old Ghost Road Ultra (85k, 1800m) and Northburn (100k, 6000m) as build up races and could hold a four-minute plank and do press-ups. Solid. I processed many old and new experiences during the year with the support of my mentor Maria. I was engaged physically, mentally and spiritually.
We spent almost a month in Italy before the race, soaking up the Alps and Dolomites, an Italian (pizza) dream come true. Finally, we did the Matterhorn Ultraks (49k, 3600m) in Switzerland as our peak session before heading to the Land of Dragons. We stayed at my Aunt Fran’s house near Bangor for a couple of nights before the race, quietly preparing amongst the rolling hills, pink skies and slate lined lanes.
Day one – 12 hours 15 minutes, 49k, 3800m (Phase: Overwhelm)
After the choir finished singing, we started running in the rain through the castle. I love the first kilometre of a race - adrenaline pumping - but overwhelm often follows, the “holy shit, we’re off, we’re on”.
The terrain was ruthless, grassy mounds, mud, rocks next to slate walls. I was following the GPX route on my watch and hadn’t had much practise. Matt had said, “stick to it and make sure you back yourself, don’t be a sheep”. Within the first 30 minutes two sets of people had gone off the route in front of me, so I was uncharacteristically trusting the tech. Unlike many other competitors we were going into the route blind. I found a rhythm and relaxed a few hours in, once I’d seen a Welsh pony and passed a few checkpoints (just like a treasure hunt, but for big kids).
A highlight of the day was the 700m climb up Tryfan (pronounced Try-van). Anny had taught me the name of the longest train station in the world in Welsh when I was about eight, but that was the limit of my ‘Wales knowledge and language’. The peak had large stable rocks with perfect natural holds, spidering heaven. The sky cleared a bit to reveal the landscape, dark blue lakes, flat coned hills, jagged rock formations, and mossy coloured ground. No alpine tussock drylands like home!
There was a descent down to the water point where the challenge of the ‘mountain race’ dawned on me. The earth was so heavy from the rain. I kept slipping and getting absolutely battered on rocks that were interspersed in the grass. A guy passed me and provided some welcomed technique tips, “lean forward and short strides”. Any time there was non-technical terrain after that, I tried to put the gas on, realising those were the sections to take advantage of. There were no pretty paths, it was not a trail race.
Crib Goch “the knife edge” was the section everyone talks about, and I’d seen it in the movies. The rocks were wet and the views clagging in, but it was bloody epic. In New Zealand it’s uncommon to do a graded climb as part of a race - it’s high consequence terrain. There were support people to guide you up some of the trickier sections, but you were given enough space to feel like you were figuring the puzzle out yourself. I remember pausing and taking a few deep breaths to get through it.
A girl popped up behind me nearing the end, munching a muesli bar. We were moving at the same pace. The Race Director set some great ground rules with regards to running with others. He suggested participants check in with others to run together, rather than assuming they wanted to. An insight into the thoughtful and compassionate approach of the organisers. Anyway, Kate and I buddied up for the remainder of the day (and the race!).
We went all around ‘the horseshoe’ including the famous Snowdon. Having no real clue where we were going, I naively thought once we’d done Crib Goch we were aiming for “down there” aka the complete wrong direction, more of an S. Wind and rain whipped around us, and a guy trudged ahead with his accordion.
The final descent into camp was so muddy but at least this time I was taking turns with others falling on our arses, brutal! The organisers met me at the finish with my bag and took me to my tent, a super lovely touch. I had heard it was good to have a ‘camp routine’ when you arrive. Great in theory, hard in practise. I had a wash in the river in a dazed state (got just as muddy getting out of the river) and fumbled around with some of my bits. Managed to chug down a protein drink. It was a huge first day and the ‘whelm was real.
Day two – 12 hours 19 minutes, 59k, 3000m (Phase: Inspiration)
“I’m a morning person” is a mantra I came up with many years ago as an ambitious antidote to my sleeping-in abilities. Kate and I had decided to start the following day together. 6am start - give us the most time to achieve the objective. In addition to my sleeping strength, I am also a loyal and committed person, so the bags and mouth were stuffed on time.
Coming out from the camp was beautiful, the mist was lifting and there were all the feelings of possibility, even a hint of blue sky. I remember this steep section after a scree ramp, where I sat and bummed my way down as Ceri Stewart gazelle’d past me confidently with her poles. I was inspired. The dark, peat-coloured lakes appeared bottomless.
Kate and I were operating well as a team, taking turns leading the line whilst the other corrected the line from behind. It helped having someone to laugh with when I thudded down yet another grassy hill and to be amazed at times like when Jo Meek bolted fearlessly past and deeper into tall grasses. We adopted a purposeful yet measured pace and didn’t linger at support points, filling bottles up quickly with the help of the friendly team and eating on the move.
The Cambrian mountains gave me my first proper bog experience, exploring one up to mid-thigh. The question remains unanswered, how the hell do you nail bogs: leap, plough, dodge? The male race leaders passed us after navigating a tricky cliff section, popping off rocks effortlessly. Not long after, Matt came bounding down a rock infested face (that I’d just told to fuck off). It was such a joy to see him run terrain at such pace with so much style.
The Rhinogs followed the Roman steps, a section with some seriously steep climbs, uneven terrain and a ‘hole in a wall’ to climb through. I loved getting into the climbing flow and it was one of those gradients you feel like you could climb forever. The heather reminded me of living in Whakapapa, New Zealand and matched with the grey skiies. We risked taking a short cut towards the end (and who knows if it paid off) but fortunately, we found the trusty wall again before the weather clagged in. I was especially grateful as my watch had just died (a lesson in battery life).
The final section down through forest and along a road was runnable and I was confused about whether I should stay with my pal or whip out the map, use the energy I had left in my legs, and take advantage of the easy terrain. Kate and I were noble competitors; we were running together but we both wanted the other to be able to run their own race. In effect, we zig zagged a bit until the last 5km when I was able to empty the tank on the roads. My camp routine was slightly more cohesive the second day. I knew what to expect. Good chips. Good food.
Day three – 11 hours 15 minutes, 65k, 2800m (Phase: Systems)
Another day, another ultra. I confidently led the 6am’ers out of the starting blocks (for about 500m until I took a wrong turn). Humbled, I joined Kate again and we got stuck in. We both hadn’t slept well. The first night I’d slept five hours, second, four hours and for the next three nights, the same pattern would follow, an hour less each night. Most mornings we woke up feeling a little nauseous. But after the first few hours, the body would get used to working again.
Day three was the hardest without a doubt. There was a long climb to begin, shorter 4WD running sections and more slippery grass. It was overcast and windy and the views weren’t inspiring (sorry Anny). It felt as though I’d been there before, done that.For a kilometre or two we had a fun dance with Ceri alongside a stunning Fiordland-esque river. It was thrilling to be racing three women in a row until she peeled away at the forestry block.
Although they were easy kilometres, I do not like forestry running! There’s something about eroded clay banks and sawn-off pines that makes me feel a bit flat. I engaged ‘operator mode’ which is where I just shut off the feelings and emotions, remove any optionality and just focus on doing what I need to, until the situation changes. My goals become more short term. Focus on eating every fifteen minutes. Sip some Tailwind. No expectations. One-foot in front of the other.
Kate and I swept through the township. Some guys who had passed us earlier in the day were confused when they passed us again - no time for shopping lads! I was starting to worry a bit as Matt hadn’t come by.
Massive fighter jets were training overhead as we moved through the gradual slopes of Pumlumon Fawr (not that I knew what it was called at the time!) I remember looking around going “If I weren’t so shagged I’d be loving this”. At least the vista was wide and open whilst I gagged on my gel.
We then took a short-cut which was not short, but adventurous. We waded through knee deep tussock mounds with grasses itching the armpits until we found another trod (track) which met up with the track others were on, about 100m ahead of us. Apparently both ways were shit though, so zero sum game!
As we ran the descent for the last 4 kilometres or so, I was feeling exhausted. Kate pulled us along though, moving as swiftly as ever along the grassy terrain. Upon reaching camp, I burst into tears and got at least four hugs from people before making it to my tent. Matt still wasn’t in, and I was anxious to know how he was. My cup was well and truly spilling over, snot rockets included.
Matt arrived in after 11 hours 20 minutes, much slower than his previous two days. He had lost his legs about halfway through and was broken mentally and physically when he crossed the line. It really hurt to see him hurting. We were both feeling lots of different emotions and went to bed talking about how tough the race was. I felt fortunate I had someone to meet in the morning. A 6am date with Kate.
Day four – 10 hours 27 minutes, 69k, 2300m (Phase: Let go and find joy)
I was freezing when we got up on the fourth day and it was lightly raining. I asked another woman what she was planning on wearing for the day. She gave me a stunned look and said, “I’m from Scotland, this is normal”. Talk of the weather just didn’t enter the chat the whole week. Stoicism certainly runs deep in the northern hemisphere scene!
We launched head-first into the bogs. Kate yet again proving she could run just as fast over gnarly terrain as on the road. There were a few bushy sections before emerging at the foot of some massive windmills. It was still pretty clagged, and we lost the route a couple of times, only being able to see about 50m or so ahead. Spotted some highland cattle though!
At the aid station I found out Matt had decided to withdraw from the race. I had mixed emotions, but didn’t have much mental capacity, so got on with it. I’d also just managed to choke on yet another mouthful of pork crackling. Do not recommend.
Later Kate and I discussed our “why” for the race. I find that question hard to answer. This deep into the race, I knew there weren’t external factors driving me forward. The drive had to come from within. Yes, I was here to support Matt, and I was also running in my own right. For me, it sat more in the “why not” category. I was still in the game on day four and we had started to believe we could make it to Cardiff. Only two more days.
For at least the last 15km on the asphalt Kate and I really relaxed into chatting and encouraging others ahead of us. We’d made a deal that anything we could run, we would, and so we got about it (to the annoyingly tragic tune “Everyday I’m Shufflin’).
Back at camp with plenty of time to wash and eat chips before the heavens opened literally and figuratively. I burst out crying getting my Dragon Mail. I felt devastated Matt wasn’t there, but I was proud of his brave decision. I’d made a camp friend Clare, and she made me feel very at peace and supported. She’d spent time in New Zealand and there was something quite comforting in that. I went to bed early with a bit of a heavy heart (but a bit more space in the tent).
Day five – 12 hours 31 minutes, 71k, 3200m (Phase: Sunken cost)
Kate and I came out swinging on day five. I was thrilled to be on some runnable terrain, and we ticked off 20kms or so easily (we even ran an extra couple of kilometres, the curse of a good conversation). But on a road section near the reservoir, my quad started to tighten. I was trying to give it a massage, but it just wouldn’t loosen. It was hurting but I couldn’t quite figure out what was going on. “Bugger, bugger, bugger”, I thought.
I tried to hang on to Kate, but I was clearly moving a lot slower and having to push faster than was manageable. There was still a lot of climbing and bogs and the visibility was very poor. I was fine on the ups, but the downs hurt a lot, and I had to use my poles as crutches. It was all a bit shit.
I was really doubting whether I would be able to keep going and wanted Kate to stay in her flow. She was going to Cardiff! I stated that I was going to pull out at the water point, and we had this very dramatic bon voyage on the top of a hill (Fan Brycheiniog), announcing the end of our partnership and respecting the ride.
Stumbling down the hillside in the rain, letting a few tears flow, I wasn’t having much fun. But as I neared the waterpoint, I heard Ceri’s partner yell something. Not too sure what he said but it was like a nudge to stay hopeful. I decided provided the pain stayed consistent, I’d keep going.
The sun started to shine which lifted my mood and made the navigation a lot easier. I could even see Kate in the distance. I shuffled down steep sections on my arse (back to day two antics!) and soldiered on, I was in the Brecon Beacons after all.
I remember looking at my watch, and thinking “wow, I’ve done 50k”, only a half marathon to go. It was just this crazy warping of perspective - appreciating how far you can go in a day out! The fans (hills) looked like big bits of cake with mouthfuls taken out of them. They were beautifully paved with small steps and loads of people out enjoying the views. What a privilege it was. I knew I had time to get to camp, so took the pressure off and even rang Matt along one of the ridges. I arrived as second fastest woman of the day (behind Kate!). Unbelievable. Proof the process isn’t always pretty.
I went to the medical tent to get my leg looked at. I’ve always wanted to be a runner who doesn’t feel the need to “push through pain”. But I was almost there! My values were conflicted. The physio and nurse in the tent were so bright and positive and they made me feel relaxed and excited. They said my tendons and ligaments were okay, so it was my choice to continue. So many others had injuries, aches and pains as well. The overall camp vibe was one of “it’s time to get to Cardiff”. I lay in bed just waiting for the morning to come.
Day six – 8 hours 46 minutes, 65k, 1300m (Phase: Relief)
We woke to mist and light rain, to which I’d become accustomed on my Welsh journey! Kate, Elsa and I left together at about 7.30am, a later start to make sure Jo crossed the finish line first. I had to grit my teeth to keep up with the girls and couldn’t quite along the grassy sections. Luckily, I could play catch up on the roads. Hours and hours running on my own training to the meditative “one, two, one, two” was paying dividends.
We were coming up through the field and it was special to talk and share some words with other competitors. It all felt quite absurd. I don’t think there was anyone feeling particularly fresh. We saw Ceri struggling with a shin injury. She is such a strong competitor, and it certainly proved the race was one of attrition.
We started passing members of the public through towns and I shed a few tears. Kate exclaiming “it’s too early for that!”. We lost each other on the way up one of the final steep hills of the race. There was a pile up of people finding a line through the brambles.
With 30km to go, I ran on my own for a bit, embracing the motion and the cool breeze on my skin. I had these feelings of wanting it to all to end but also appreciating we had lived in a beautifully simple, parallel universe for the week. Suddenly Kate appeared as I rounded a bend. “Ah thank God” she said, “I’ve been looking out for you, I thought you’d gone ahead!”. We laughed and trundled along.
Urban life sprung up around us - shops and pubs, cars and pushchairs and it was not long until we had 10k to go. The kilometres felt the longest they had all week. The flat pavement was punishing, and we kept working hard. We linked in with another runner, and each took turns at the front, with a bit of a walk in between sets.
Not far from the castle, as we were running through the gardens, Kate and I tearfully celebrated, “we’re here, we made it”. The finish in Cardiff was never guaranteed and we choked up a bit. Suddenly we were through the gates and into the overwhelming crowds. We crossed the line together with our hands in the air. What a run!
After thoughts
Resilience and systems
I feel privileged to pursue such challenges out of choice. I am grateful for a capable body and that the only chaos I regularly encounter are the thoughts in my head.
I think when times get tough in a race, that acknowledging my feelings is such a beautiful thing to do. I know the feeling is going to pass and I don’t like burying anything too deep. Letting it out (usually in the form of babble) and staying light is the goal!
I also default to eating something. Your body and brain need fuel to keep going. Big races are just massive eating competitions! And then it’s putting one foot in front of the other and looking up and out. Out of yourself and into the surroundings until something triggers a change within. Sometimes I count my steps as well. It makes me remember I’m moving forwards and gives my brain something to control and focus on.
Partnership
I give and get a lot of energy from others. The highs are higher, and the lows aren’t as low when shared. When I have someone to encourage and the need to “show-up” it takes me out of my own head. We’ll never know if I would have done as well if it weren’t for Kate. We didn’t talk loads, but she provided massive psychological support on the journey.
I had to be aware of my emotional response when Matt withdrew from the race at the end of day three. Because we had this goal for so long, I was disappointed it wasn’t the fairy-tale ending, and I wasn’t there physically to support him on the days following. We’d gone into the event knowing we were going to run our own races. I accepted the reality and stayed focused during the day and thought about him more in the evenings. Knowing he was out there somewhere, meant something. And I knew he’d be in Cardiff.
Injury
On day five I got my quad injury and chose to continue racing, but not without some mental chaos. The confusion highlighted a clash in values between goal-orientation and well-being after the race. The race was objectively a huge feat, and my physical body didn’t last the test. It did however highlight the strength of the mind.
I am pleased to have got to Cardiff although there have also been some days recently where I am frustrated with my choice. I ended up with an 8cm quad tear so have not been running for three months. But challenges will always come in life and my injury is simply my new challenge. The race taught me how much power comes from how we perceive a challenge, and I am practising applying the same mental tools I did in the race. Acknowledge. Accept. Set small goals. In embodying this and realising all challenges require the same tools, I feel limitless.
Value of running
Over the last year, my relationship with myself and running has grown massively. I have learnt that running is my medium for curiosity, exploration and growth. I run to test and challenge my inner workings and grow spiritually. It affords me time out in nature, on my own and with others, and in doing so, it gives me purpose, structure and clarity.
But my injury has taught me that my relationship with running isn’t fixed. Who knows if I’ll able to run forever. Who knows if I’ll try something else instead. Setting a goal like Dragons Back has shown that it’s not just the running that’s important, but how we welcome and accept challenges in life.
I do want to get back running soon though, my fire is burning!
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