briggsy1981

Solo and sustainable – one woman on the Two Moors Way

6th Jun 20256th Jun 2025 briggsy1981

There are three things that stand out as I reflect on my solo run (read *shuffle*) across The Two Moors Way.

The hot pink foxgloves adding pops of colour against a verdant landscape, the 13kg of backpack digging into my left rotator cuff for more than 12 hours a day, and a constant worry that I wouldn’t make my goal destination before nightfall.

A whole life can be condensed swiftly into just a few repetitive thoughts when you have nothing but yourself to worry about, and with the big world worries behind you, you can really start to agonise about the minutiae.

Leaving behind responsibilities – children, dogs, work, and swapping the mental for literal baggage, trying to complete 100-ish miles over Exmoor and Dartmoor, and carrying EVERYTHING I needed on my back, meant I could worry about stuff like whether I had enough water on me, how many gummy fruits I had left at any given time, and how I would deal with the frisky bullocks, all too keen to follow me for miles along the moors.

A solo adventure as a woman feels very different to one that a man might take on. I’ve not yet met a male runner nervous of running as night fell or who gave a second thought to running alone. When my husband says he’s off for a run, he gets a “have a good one”, when I go out, I get a “be careful”.

But this was never about proving that if a man could do it, I could.

I was tackling some of the most remote trails across South West England alone for other reasons.

Let’s take it back a step.

My calendar was blocked out from June 1 until June 9, for a run across Northern Spain with three fellow runners – we coined ourselves Eco Pilgrims. We’d run the Camino the most sustainable way we could. No fly – no new kit (within reason), it would show that runners can be responsible, reduce, reuse, leave no trace, all that jazz.

Only, two of the team picked up injuries and we had to postpone the trip (for those interested, it should be next March!)

With holiday booked, I decided that I would put my training to use, but I could also show my tiny audience of followers within the ultra-running community that you really don’t have to have a crew, stashes of expensive new kit, heaps of dosh, and regular pit stops, to experience life-affirming adventures.

In my bubble; I work for The Green Runners, I advocate sustainability and veganism through my own platforms and I have a podcast where I talk to elite runners and amazing endurance athletes.

I’m witnessing first hand the rise of adventure travel, more elaborate and challenging running events, and seemingly more out of reach records. It got me thinking.

Was it starting to put people off just enjoying a run for running’s sake? Did everything now have to be an FKT, or higher mileage/altitude/distance than everyone else? Would there be anything left to aim for after that?

I suppose I wanted to bring it back down to basics; to run for the fun of it – to do it without burdening anyone else – to be responsible, and enjoy nature without impacting it detrimentally.

So off I headed, up to Lynmouth in Devon, with a cheap room booked for the night before the start of my journey which would see me run all the way to Ivybridge.

The morning began bright, and I set off from the sea wall at 6.30am following the double M signpost, that signified the Two Moors Way and that would become all-too familiar and comforting for the next 100 miles.

Two miles in and I realised I had been hugely overenthusiastic about “running”. The vertical slope leading up and away from Lynmouth had rivers of sweat dripping down my waterproof-clad back, and even walking with the deadweight on my shoulders was like wading through treacle.

My first sightings of the foxgloves came early on, and would pepper the entire route, hinting at a brightness when I started to feel overwhelmed.

Skylarks hovered overhead as tree lined paths opened up to vast moorlands along the exposed Cheriton Ridge, and the Exmoor ponies would come into view on the horizon as the sun came out, before being shrouded in cloud again, and the coat would come off, before going back on again. Constantly. On. Off. On. Off. Infuriating.

I came down into Simonsbath quicker than I had expected, but from then on everything started to go in slow motion. This bag was too heavy. Like, way too heavy. I’d never run with this much weight before, and I gave into fast hiking. To Withypool, Hawkridge, and then climbing up, up, up, into more wind and a sudden overwhelming feeling that I had bitten off way more than I could chew. I rang my husband. He was out having a roast dinner in the local pub, talking was difficult. He said I sounded intermittent. I choked up, swallowed down the tears. Told him I’d ring later.

Two miles or so later and my spirits soared again as I realised I had around seven miles to reach Creacombe where I’d booked a pitch at a naturist retreat. Wild camping on Exmoor is illegal so I toed the line and booked ahead at the naturist spot – the only campsite on the trail in Exmoor. I used the pitch to literally cook my dinner – thanks to Huel ration packs and some hexi blocks, and to sleep, and I was packed up and gone again by 6.20am the following morning without witnessing an inch of nudity. I’d covered 34 miles.

The first night taught me that my tent (without an inner – figured that was just extra weight) was completely sodden and no match should it rain.

The repacking was a little clumsy, but that would get better the following night.

Day two, and I made it to the town of Witheridge pretty swiftly. Only today the weather was different. It was hot. Really hot. Any runner will tell you it’s harder in hot weather, and just when you think things are going well, inevitably they’ll then go really badly. There’s a new housing development being built in Witheridge. It means the trail is blocked, and I spent an inordinate amount of time walking up cul-de-sacs, re-tracing my steps, getting irate trying to find a way out of an urbanised area. Once I popped back onto the trail I started to consider where I could top up my water. I was aiming for pitching up at Drewsteignton, so I’d get around 30 miles in that day, but it was so hot and I was drinking fast.

A slog later I came across a couple clearing wood from their property and I asked whether they knew of any fresh water sources between them and my end spot. They offered me water from their tap. The kindness of strangers never fails to amaze me. The lady told me her mother had walked the South West Coastal Path alone with her dog. How she wished she could do something similar. How amazed she was with what I was doing and how she maybe would try walking more of the path one day.

At Drewsteignton I learned there was nowhere to pitch my tent. I had to plough on; to the deep sided ravines of Castle Drogo, the most breathtaking vistas. Onto National Trust property and the sudden realisation that camping illegally might now suddenly be my only option. I was on Dartmoor National Park, where wild camping is now legal, thanks to a ban being lifted in the last few weeks, but NT property is a different matter. I had no choice. Please don’t arrest me now.

I nestled into the hill snugly among the ferns, in a sheltered spot, where the sound of the wind was more fearsome than its actual impact on my tent.

At around 2.30am, however, a sizeable gust whipped the guide rope from out of the peg and half the tent collapsed on top of me. It wasn’t raining yet. Thank god. A swift nighttime modification had me back inside and into my bag and bivvy where I could cover my head and keep warm for another hour.

And then I was up. Packed up before the rains came. Walking out of Castle Drogo by 4.30am. I’d nailed it.

Until something almost catastrophic happened.

Funny that when you start to feel too smug, the universe has a way of bringing you back down to earth.

I’d reached Chagford, I could crack the back of most of Southern Dartmoor today, I was moving well, things were looking great. Until I slipped.

With sideways rain, I fell, lurched sideways, dragged by the enormous pack (have I mentioned how heavy that was?), and falling, my head struck a rock.

Bloodied knee, throbbing hand, blurred vision. I sat there for what seemed like minutes going over the potential outcome of this fall. I could be concussed. I was close to blacking out. But it was, after all 4.30am, and I was in the back end of beyond. I touched my face and felt the swelling on my cheekbone. But not blood. A moment later, I was compus mentus. The dizziness went. I counted to ten. I talked to myself to check I wasn’t concussed. “Come on girl, up you get.”

With the rain washing my bloodied knees I was pissed off, but I wasn’t down.

For the next six hours, up onto the exposed, bleak hills, I shuffled, ran, did everything I could to keep warm, moving continuously through knicker-soaking rain, knowing that absolutely everything I carried was now sodden through. I couldn’t bear the thought of another night camping, but I also knew I wouldn’t make it to Ivybridge that night.

Then, coming off the hills, the sun came out. And again my spirits lifted. I took some time to treat myself to lunch next to the most gorgeous river at Poundsgate – a village that had a feel of Tarr Steps, only ten times better.

I prepped my meagre rations on my little stove set up on a rock, while a couple of dogs came over to see what was cooking.

With a warm meal in my belly, I had renewed vigour, and despite a new adaptive way of moving – leaning slightly to the left to alleviate a non-compliant hamstring and an absolutely shot left shoulder, I shuffled up and up and up, over bog and tussocks, and onto the Southern part of the Dartmoor hills. A steep climb from Scorriton and some boggy walking and I started to wonder where I’d camp that night.

Then, I hit a farm track. I checked my map again. This couldn’t be the track that led the whole way back to Ivybridge, could it?

I’d miscalculated. Ivybridge was closer than I thought. This track was the easiest terrain I’d hit for the whole journey. I picked up my pace, running again.

And then then farmer atop a quad bike rode towards me, with his entire herd behind him.

A tiresome wait for wayward cattle to follow the farmer who was trying to go cross country to avoid me – with minimal success.

Eventually, as I started to shiver, I was back on my way. And the sun shone overhead and my ego was boosted as I suddenly realised, bloody hell. I’m going to make this in three days.

Sometimes when things seem bleak, there’s a blaze of hot pink just around the next corner.

Three days – Lynmouth to Ivybridge

102 miles (ish)

No new kit

Leave no trace

Unsupported

Me, myself, and I

Aligning running with values

3rd Jan 2024 briggsy1981

Firstly, sorry it’s been a while. I wrote back in November for World Vegan Day, and then I got busy – but in a good kind of way.

Beginning of EnduranceLife Dorset Marathon

Work for many is a means to an end, a money-making exercise, and of course that’s true for me too – but I’ve been lucky enough recently to land work with people who make me want to skip to work in the morning. That’s because it’s the kind of work that allows me to talk about running, and veganism, and environmental issues – and I just LOVE doing that!

When I document my running life it’s because I want to share with others than being a middle-aged mother who happens to be vegan and keen on planet-saving, doesn’t have to spell the end of adventure; of achieving great things; and of inspiring others.

For every person who tells me they are motivated to go out and run, or try a vegan diet, because they read that I’d done something – then it only spurs me on.

Getting the chance to work with Running On Plants late last year further exacerbated that desire to share with others what great things we can do together, without harming our planet and exploiting animals. And through them I’ve met some absolutely awe-inspiring individuals – including the likes of Paul Youd – 85 years old and smashing out 1,000 press ups everyday (yep, he’s a vegan!); and I’ve been motivated to set goals in place that align with my values and keep me moving.

Dr Iron Junkie Minil Patel, Kate Dunbar, me and Tom Pickering of Running On Plants

The Vegan Fitness Runner podcast has been GREAT. I love doing that (no, I don’t get any money for it!) but it showcases strong and determined runners, activists, and trailblazers. Yes, more of that incoming.

In December I ran my slowest ever marathon, but it was one that had tormented me for years. The EnduranceLife Dorset Marathon was a cold, slippery, windy affair, along the South West Coastal Path. In previous years I’d managed the half marathon, but I’d bailed on the marathon before.

Flanked by my fellow Dragon’s Back comrade Ben it took me a staggering nine and a bit hours to finish – but I goddamn finished the thing! That, my friends, is tenacity!

Hoiking myself up a hill in the EnduranceLife Dorset Marathon

I’m working closely now with The Green Runners who align their running on core pillars of how we move, how we eat, and how we speak out. And with this platform I can speak out to some extent. To whoever might listen!

Yes, there are plans for this year – there’s a focus on me to speed up. And I’ve got a 45-miler Dragon reunion run firmly in the diary for August, and amongst all the training, and the aerial hoop, and the weights and strength workouts, they’ll be the continued message that I’m driving home; you can be happier and healthier and strong and awesome without having to plunder the planet and eat animals. So there.

And absolutely, I get enough protein and I’m not emaciated!!

World Vegan Day – for the animals and for the planet

1st Nov 20231st Nov 2023 briggsy1981

World Vegan Day feels like a big deal to me.

Ten years ago if you’d have told me I’d be a vegan, writing and podcasting about the subject, I wouldn’t have necessarily laughed at you, but I wouldn’t have quite believed it.

My life has been pretty mainstream in terms of lifestyle choices. I grew up eating meat I suppose because it’s just “what we did”. Meat and two veg was a typical Sunday dinner, and milk and cheese were perceived to be the ‘only’ way I could get enough calcium for strong bones – remember those adverts for Petit Filous that encouraged kids to eat more yogurt for stronger bones?

It was all just how it was.

Actively seeking out information is where we discover what actually happens behind the scenes, and my work as a journalist took me from reporting on farming and agriculture, to following furious residents whose land had been trampled by the local hunt. It took me to writing for the Ecologist, attending conferences on subjects such as lobsters being sentient beings, and how ostriches are bred for their feathers in Latin America – in pain, half bald, for most of their lives as the feathers are plucked from them to be used in “couture”.

I’ve sat listening to Chris Packham talk about migratory birds stuck in lime trees by the glue from poachers who keep them trapped for their own entertainment, and how the humble dormice struggles for survival due to the loss of woodlands across swathes of the country.

I’ve learned about how our desperate desire for more and more is stripping our earth of its resources.

Running, and being in the outdoors is a way that I can really connect with nature. I recognise also that I’ve been hugely privileged to be able to not just run, but also make choices including what I eat.

When convenience surrounds us and when the majority is doing one thing, it’s hard to say no and opt for more sustainable choices.

My choice to go vegan was down to the opportunities I’ve had to be educated on the topic. It’s for the animals, and it’s for the planet, and because I don’t need animal products for my survival.

My journey has taken me to a point where I can’t look at my children and tell them that yes, the world is burning, but we did nothing. I have to do the things I can to make their environment better.

When we watch Planet Earth together and my daughter cries seeing the bycatch from a fishing fleet’s nets, or my son questions why we might not see certain species of animals in our lifetime – that’s when I know I’ve made the right choice.

And there’s no way I’d ever look back.

I’m excited to say I’ve come on board with The Green Runners – a bloody brilliant bunch of runners who are standing up against climate change and corporations seeking to capitalise on the destruction of our planet. We’ve put together a blog post for World Vegan Day that aims to help people who are interested in a plant-based diet. You can read it here.

I’m also working with Running on Plants, a fantastic campaign that encourages people to try plant-based living for their health and for the planet. Sign up for free, and see the changes it can make for you.

And of course, there’s also that podcast, where I talk to awesome people who show how strong vegans and vegetarians can be, and the incredible things that can be achieved. My guests are all totally inspiring and it’s a great listen for your long run.

Let’s take one step at a time, because if everyone made one positive change, our planet would be better for it.

Join me today and for as long as you can, in making choices that improve our world, not continue to destroy it.

Going forward, I’ll be using this platform more to provide information, recipes, news and tips on both plant-based and running-related content.

Here’s wishing you all a wonderful World Vegan Day!

A Hatchling is born

15th Sep 202315th Sep 2023 briggsy1981

Trying to encapsulate last week’s experience on the Dragon’s Back Race is like trying to bottle lighting, but then I like trying hard things so I’ll give it a go!

Ascending Llanidloes. Photo by No Limits Photography

I’ve been waking up at strange hours – around 4am – which would have been when my alarm went off on camp; ready to grease my feet, check for blisters, deflate my sleeping mat and repack my camp bag, have my breakfast of hash browns, beans and vegan sausages, grab a banana, get my kit checked and make my way to the day’s start line.

Of course I don’t have to do that now, yet it feels like I’m grieving its absence. Not just the strange routine, but the people too.

The day before we got the bus up to Conwy and the start of the race, the weather had been pretty standard for the UK – end of summer, schools due to go back. It was turning autumnal, nights drawing in and the prospect of a perfect, temperate climate upon the mountain tops of Wales.

But much like what happened to me in 2022 for my Macmillan Way run, on the Monday a heatwave struck.

This impacted me, the other runners, and the event organisers, in ways that we hadn’t anticipated.

It meant that on day one, despite running well out of Conwy Castle and up to Tal Y Fan, as the sun came up and started beating down relentlessly by the time I reached Pen yr Ole Wen I was moving much slower. I could see the half way check point below me at Ogwen Support Point, but the time was slipping away.

I had options. I could bust a gut and still reach the cut off if I really ran like the wind. But if I did that I’d still have to face the climb of Tryfan and the Snowdon Horseshoe, most likely not make the next cut off, and inevitably ruin myself and scupper my chances of hanging in for the full six days. The other option was to take on the half route, which this year for the first time has been renamed “The Hatchling Course”.

To put it in context, the full Montane Dragon’s Back Race covers 380km (236 miles), and 17,400 metres of height gain (57,087ft). As a Hatchling, you can choose to either run the first or second half of the day – so still getting in some serious mileage and vert by the time you finish in Cardiff.

For many runners, day one saw them off. The heat was brutal and stripped them of all reserves. To drop down to the Hatchling was, for some, never an option. They were here to become fully fledged dragons. That was their only goal.

But plenty, like me, took stock and reassessed. We still had another five days to get to Cardiff, maybe even in a more enjoyable way now that we were running half the distance.

In fact what happened next was unprecedented – where in previous years those who’d attempted the dragon and failed early on would go straight home, this year saw 134 Hatchlings complete the event, and 87 complete the full Dragon’s Back.

Although 45% of the 298 didn’t make it to Cardiff this year, thanks to the option of the Hatchling, 195 of the 298 starters did make it.

As I sat at the day one halfway checkpoint at Ogwen, I recruited my first fellow Hatchling Alison. She was ready to quit. She told me she wanted to just sit on the mountain and not move until someone had come and got her. I asked her if she’d keep me company for the rest of the week, no pressure, and we’d try and make it to Cardiff together.

That promise proved to be the best move I’d make.

Later that day I learnt that two of my other friends (people become friends very quickly in situations like this) had also come back to the halfway checkpoint having been beaten by the steep climb on Tryfan. Clarice and Ben became the next two in our team of five.

Graham came next, on day two. He’d timed out on day one, but was going hell for leather again and we met him on a steep ascent early on in the day. He didn’t look his usual self and the five of us sat and took a moment together on Cnicht.

Revived, we continued on together as, what one described as “a strange version of the Fellowship of the Ring”, the photographer even capturing what would then go on to be our “poster shot”.

Throughout the next few days we’d continue to wake ridiculously early, check in and meet as a group ready for the start line, and if not run together, know that we’d be looking out for each other. There were times when we cried with laughter – bum sliding down hills, or making jokes that are only funny when you’re totally sleep deprived and exhausted. There were times when we gritted our teeth, finding something, somewhere that would pull us through the tough bits. Alison had a knee injury, so did Ben – which later transpired to be a torn meniscus; my shoulder kept cramping from the weight of the pack and constant use of poles, and Graham and Clarice, like all of us were just downright knackered.

At the end of our running shift we’d have to make sure our camp admin was bang on. Eat, wash in a cold river, get kit ready for the following day, charge devices, check our Dragon Mail from keen supporters, sleep. I had a wonderful bunch of tent mates too – I was in a tent of international super talents. The runners I shared with were absolutely phenomenal; the likes of Sanna Duthie, Silvia Trigueros Garrote, Caru Coetzee, Margarida Bagão, and Catharina Rennie. Feeling comfortable in your tent makes for a smoother experience, I can tell you.

We battled through the searingly hot days, carrying more water than we’d anticipated to (training runs were not geared to hot weather), and we continued, one foot in front of the other over mountain ranges including Cadair Idris and Bannau Brycheiniog (The Brecon Beacons), where shade evaded us and our only relief from the heat was to dip our clothing in the rivers.

A special mention has to go to the crew on this epic race. From the water stops and half way checkpoints to the catering staff, friendly faces at the finish line, those who put up the tents and ferried runners from place to place, and everyone in between. This race is a logistical puzzle and race director Shane Ohly (he’s over on my podcast!) worked through insane conditions to make everything come together. A display of epic teamwork both behind the scenes and in the foreground.

Crossing the finish line at Cardiff Castle (all five of us made it) was a surreal and emotional experience. To become a Hatchling had become something more than I’d anticipated. No longer did I see myself as a failed dragon; instead I’d worked through a whole host of emotions and doubts to come through to the end as something better.

The Dragon’s Back Race is not just a run. For me, certainly it was a life experience that I’ll never forget, and from which I now have friends who, sadly for them, may never see the back of me.

I can’t write this blog post without special mention AGAIN to RAW Adventures and their recces throughout the year, without whom, I can hand on heart say I would not have managed to complete the race to Cardiff. Their support has been invaluable and I would recommend anyone with an interest in mountains, running and adventure to get in touch with them

Next I have to tell you that entries are now open for Ourea Events Dragon’s Back race 2024. Whether you choose to take on the full dragon or the Hatchling I can tell you with certainty that you will not regret it.

Pre-race panic sets in

22nd Aug 2023 briggsy1981

It’s normal to be nervous before any race, but the sleeplessness and constant churning in my stomach these past few days is a direct correlation to the looming Dragon’s Back Race, for which I now have my official number.

It’s a good number. 36. It sounds rounded and wholesome, and I’m happy about that.

I’m also happy about how I feel generally. I’ve made it this far – I’m fit and healthy and I’ve almost nailed the packing.

But however much training and preparing you do, physically and mentally, the pre-race nerves can be a shocker.

Everything I know, I suddenly think I don’t know. My mind is telling me that during this tapering period I may actually forget how to run entirely.

I’ve looked down the list of entrants. There are strong runners in the field. There are people travelling from across the world, there are those who’ve competed in this race before. And there’s me.

I can’t control the nerves, so I’m focusing on what I can control.

I’m being methodical about packing, revisiting the GPX files and the digital map to feel more confident about following it over the week. Organising my camp bag for minimal time wastage, and most importantly ensuring that I have suitable food for the week (yes, that includes peanut butter and jam).

What is both wonderful and terrifying is that I have people rooting for me. If nobody knew, I could sneak up to the mountains without any pressure, but they do, and they are.

One thing I’ll promise you. I will leave absolute everything out there on those Welsh hills. I will give it my all. I will bust my metaphorical gut. I will do this for everyone that has put their faith in me.

I can’t promise anything beyond that.

So, number 36. Let’s make it a good one. And thank you for everyone for believing that I should even be on the start line. It’s humbling and overwhelming all at once.

So until then, friends, this is it. September 4th. Let’s go get that dragon.

A 24-hour relay and an unexpected win!

13th Jul 202313th Jul 2023 briggsy1981

I’d factored the Hope 24 Trail Running Festival into my training. It offered hills, time on feet, and sleeplessness. All things that I’ll need to be able to deal with on the Dragon’s Back Race.

It all seems so easy in the first few laps!

Off I headed to Newnham Park near Plymouth to meet up with my team and to join the camp which included a bunch of friendly faces from the club I used to run with, The Langport Runners.

We were vague on strategy. The concept was a five mile loop, a baton, and only one member of the team allowed on the course at any time, over 24-hours.

We made it up on the hoof. We would all run one lap, two or three times, then do a double when it got dark to give the others a chance for some sleep, and then finish off with whatever we had left.

What worked so beautifully is that as a team of four ladies, all over the age of 40, we were evenly matched and we can all run sub one-hour loops. We just kept going.

The course was beautiful. I’d say undulating, but probably most would say hilly. After the sixth lap there were parts that I was less than pleased to see again.

As I took on my first five miles of the double, at half past midnight, it became clear at mile four that I’d “misplaced” the baton. You know, the crucial thing with the timing chip in it, that would be the make or break of us getting a time at all. It had jumped out of my pack at some stage of the loop, and was nowhere to be seen.

My stomach dropped. What the hell would I tell my teammates, who were currently snoozing away, none the wiser? After deliberating and slowing considerably, I made the call to carry on and hope that the Race Director would understand my plight.

The look of someone who has lost the baton, somewhere, in the middle of the night

Luckily, he was sympathetic and took a note of the time, photographed my number, and asked me to find the baton on my next loop round!

And just like that, it appeared in the first mile, like a beacon!

Crisis over and approximately one-a-half hours of sleep later, I completed a total of seven laps – 35 miles, and my teammates ran a similar race. We managed to have someone running at all times throughout the day and night, so 24 loops later we were all tired but happy, and went off to collect our giant-face-sized medals and can of Erdinger.

Imagine then our surprise, when on top of all this we were hailed as the first all-women team! We’d come with no expectations and finished on a real high.

Well done to the Vegan Runners as they were strong in numbers and performance on this event, also to the lovely Vicki Trundle, who I’d met at the Hilly 50 and recommended Active Root to. She racked up 30 incredible loops, 150 miles, over 36 hours, which quite frankly blows my mind!

Find out more about Hope24 by clicking here

Crib Goch conquered

6th Jun 20236th Jun 2023 briggsy1981

It started with a nightmare. The evening before Operation Crib Goch (OCG), my tired quads were already twitching, but the nightmare was intense. Apparently I was mumbling and screaming in my sleep. Perhaps I’d built this up in my head far more than I realised.

For someone who will take on most things, Crib Goch had manifested into some kind of death-monster in my brain.

Naturally, on the morning of OCG – it was hard not to be excited. The sun was shining fiercely; I’d tackled Tryfan and the Glyders on the previous day to bolster my confidence, and it felt like that monster I’d conjured up might be quietening.

Friendly faces gathered at the Nant Paris Park and Ride, the Place To Be for mountain junkies, Duke of Edinburgh participants, Scouts, people carrying poles, ropes, and wearing grippy shoes.

Four Mountain Leaders for this RAW Adventures expedition – these people are like superheroes – human form, but with mountain goat/ballet dancer/fell runner qualities. You can feel safe with them.

And so, we began. From Pen Y Pass, toward the looming beast. We were taught the mantra “Crest is Best”, and our guides pointed out the line we needed to take.

There’s a school of thought that suggests if you don’t overthink it, don’t look down, don’t hang around too long, that it’ll be over before you know it. Well anyway, that was my school of thought. I like big rocks. There are hand holds, and I feel safe holding on. I have the strength to haul myself up, and I’d rather face big rocks than the dusty scree you can easily slip on – there was plenty of that later.

Up we went. Helen, one of the superheroes, reminded us to keep our nose, hips and feet in line. “Make sure you can see your feet” – that way we’d be more stable. The urge to hug the rock was great – but this was not the suggested approach.

Approaching the infamous ridge to Crib Goch, the Red Ridge, John, another of the superheroes looked at me, “Laura, try and remember to breathe.” Oh, what sage advice! Things are much easier if you continue to breathe, and I’d genuinely forgotten to do so.

Now I was breathing again, watching my feet, finding my hand holds and getting my groove. The ridge suddenly felt very do-able. Remember we had glorious sunshine. There was little wind, and if I did it again in higher winds, then yes – I’d be more nervous.

Ten minutes to traverse the ridge.

That was all.

Ten minutes. Ten intense, brain aching, gripping on for dear life minutes, but still – only ten minutes.

Next, more technical terrain. On to Snowdon, to complete the horseshoe. We got the poles out. Turns out I need to get a damn sight quicker going downhill (and there was I thinking I liked down!)

It’s fear, trepidation. It holds you back, tells you you’ll turn an ankle, fall, die. But when you can breathe, and gain some balance, tell yourself to just go with the mountain, you can move quicker. This is what I need to work on.

OCG wasn’t to be taken lightly. I’d never take it lightly. You need to plan, check the weather, have a good level of fitness and know what you’re doing, but it’s achievable and the rewards are massive. What a feeling. Kind of like you’re superhuman…..

And as for that monster – right now, he’s having a sleep.

Other things to note about the day:

Kate, super hero number 1 bagged up a human poo and removed it from the rocks of Crib Goch. Normal humans, please don’t poo on mountains. And if you do, take it away.

We picked off two empty Stella cans from the ridge. John peeled off a sticker. There was garish bright pink graffiti on one of the trig points. Again – not ok.

There was a queue of people waiting to have their photos taken on Snowdon summit. They could have just gone straight up to it from a different angle. The Brits do love a queue, don’t they.

It was hot. At mile 9.5 – unknown to me we were nearly back at the bus, but I was withering. That’s down to a lack of water. Always take more water.

I also need to give a special mention to superhero Jade, whose hat with its wide brim became a focal point for me in times when I felt myself falling back. That hat – was epic.

Trepidation for new adventures

1st Jun 2023 briggsy1981

It’s a biggie this weekend.

The first section about The Dragon’s Back Race that’s maybe making me the most nervous (of course, there are many), is Crib Goch, the ‘knife-edged arête’ over which us foolhardy participants must scramble, located in Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon).

Translated from Welsh, Crib Goch means Red Ridge – it stands proud at 923 metres above sea level. Many of my compadres and fellow dragon-slayers have already recced it – this weekend will be my first time. And just like most things first time around – they can be terrifying.

Googling Crib Goch in itself can be fatal.

There are plenty of articles suggesting one slip and it’s game over, or check out those videos taken with a fish eye lens that make it look like the climber is standing on a hairs-breadth ridge. Becoming “cragfast” – literally frozen with fear on the rock face – can be the downfall of the uninitiated.

For now, I am the uninitiated, which is why this is paramount for my training. Confidence building and making the unknown more familiar is all part of the process. Having booked on, once again with the fabulous Raw Adventures, I’ll be taking this part of the mountains all too seriously, and will make sure I do it right.

Reports to come later. That is, of course, unless I fall off.

For further Dragon’s Back tips from the man who organised it (yes, it was his idea that Crib Goch was a good plan!), Shane Ohly is over on the podcast talking to me about how to tackle this beast and how to finish the toughest mountain race in the world.

What does 50 miles feels like?

17th May 202317th May 2023 briggsy1981

When you push your body and mind to its limits, it can feel euphoric when you cross the finish line. You can also just feel exhausted!

I’m always humbled when it’s Marathon time of year – you know, all those inspiring people who’ve won a place at the start of London Marathon to raise money for charity and spread awareness for good causes, those who earned themself a holy grail ticket to run Boston Marathon because they’re just phenomenal runners, and all the others in between. With the rise of the ultra, it’s easy to forget just how far and tough a “normal” marathon really is.

I first ran one in 2009. It was then the Flora London Marathon. I was in my early 20s, before I was married with kids. I’d done the absolute minimal training, I certainly wasn’t a regular runner, and I hate road running. No surprise really that it took me 5 hours 35 minutes, and I felt very underwhelmed at the finish line.

That was well before I got any kind of real love for running. My trail adventure running came much, much later. As for road marathons – that was it for me. I’ve not done one since.

Now though, I understand the need for training. That you can’t just throw a pair of shoes on and hope to get a good time, or even to feel good at the finish. While a marathon is tough, really tough. How exactly does someone then go and run 50 miles?

I’ll try and explain. I’m a back of packer, but I know that all I need to do is throw one foot in front of the other. I can be quicker, that comes with very specific training, but at the point in my training for the Dragon’s Back right now, I know I just need to up the miles and the elevation. Really, the elevation is the killer here.

Training has been consistent but not quite where I’ve wanted it to be, given time constraints of family life and juggling work, dogs (not literally juggling them – they’re far too heavy), and children. I was ill in April too which threw me totally and messed up my plans for any quality running.

Talking to Dragon’s Back Race Director Shane Ohly over on the podcast – he had already told me, you mustn’t go into this event underprepared!

So when the Albion Hilly 50-mile ultra marathon popped its head up, I figured, I need to do this.

I know what you’re thinking. Not much training again. Why would you do that?

Here’s why. Because I’m going to have to do something tougher come September and putting myself outside of the comfort zone was necessary. For my confidence; to get the miles in my legs; and to just get some serious elevation – away from the flats I’m used to. This route would take us from Minehead up all the hilliest hills Somerset could throw at us – Bossington Hill, over to Porlock Weir, Webber’s Post, to Dunkery Beacon and back again.

This was a bit of a make or break moment. Could I actually cover the distance over 8,300ft?

I hooked up with a fellow runner, who was trepidatious about it too. We made a vow that we’d get each other round. Having that kind of pact makes it harder to quit.

For the first three miles we went off too fast. Ten minute miling maybe. That’s because there were runners up ahead who would break the course record – it’s easy to get swept along in that kind of frenzy. My runner partner and I however, are not those people! I pulled right back. I know my body and it takes me about five miles before I’ve got into any kind of stride. The uphills were walked, the downs and the flats run. We took photos in the sunshine. For 25 or 30 miles it was glorious.

Eating frequently and taking on fluids is vital. The weather was hot, and you can easily forget to fuel if you don’t feel like it. It’s a matter of forcing it down. With such wonderful checkpoint volunteers, they advised that one stretch would be an 11-mile uphill slog before the next aid station, and that we should eat as many Marmite sandwiches and pickles as we could before attempting it. I took their advice. I frequently ate.

Although this was a partly way marked course, you had to have your wits about you and navigation was key. We took a couple of wrong turns. Trying to ascend to the summit of Dunkery Beacon (highest point in Somerset), while having chosen the incorrect path, saw my mood dip and I snapped at my compadre – I was getting tired and we were going the wrong way.

After we righted ourselves and hit the top of the Beacon in dazzling sunlight, we sailed through the next few miles. The sun dipped and our next challenge was getting through the woods before nightfall. We made it, but with darkness comes new challenges.

It was hard to see underfoot. Bumps look flat, and hills look hillier, sheer drops you can’t see at all! I fell once, but luckily it was a soft landing. A good head torch gives you confidence in the dark.

I’d anticipated some niggles in my legs, and especially my feet, because I was trying out the shoes I’ll wear on the Dragon’s Back Race. The niggles never came. This told me that although I didn’t feel I had trained enough, what I was doing was paying off. If anything, it was my back and shoulders that were starting to stiffen. Wearing a pack and leaning into hills will do that.

The final eight miles were both a mental uplift and a total physical slog. By this point I felt nauseous at every sip of drink – Active Root sports drink – or every nibble of food. The pace was slow. My partner’s knee was starting to hurt. Nevertheless, by this stage, you know you’ve done it.

We powered on. We fast hiked the final mile, and finished feeling – erm, quite good actually. Euphoric? Maybe not. Knackered? Most certainly – it was 2.30am, after all!

Huge thanks to Albion Running for such a gorgeous event. The volunteers were fabulous and the food selection was dreamy for a vegan!

Albion also offers a Flat 50, and the 100 (if you fancy doing both hilly and flat!), as well as other fab races, which you can find on their website.

Why mindset is half (or more) of the battle

2nd May 20232nd May 2023 briggsy1981

Believing we can achieve a goal can help us just as much as the physical training

I’ve been lucky enough through my work and running to speak and meet some incredible people, who have shown me that believing in ourselves is one of the most powerful drivers to success.

“Speeding” through a 20 mile run last week

Don’t get me wrong. Training for the Dragon’s Back Race has meant that I’ve been throwing my heart and soul into running, not just reclining on the sofa and hoping my brain can do all the hard work – but it’s also worth knowing that what I think, eat, and how much I rest, is equally important.

For my new podcast I spoke to the fabulous Nikki Love – she’s taking 65 days to run across Australia. It’s been a lifelong dream of hers, and now in her 50s, it’s through determination and a headstrong nature that she’s got to that start line.

For all the planning, training schedules, coaching, and grinding out the miles; if we don’t believe we can achieve something, then the likelihood is we’ll give up before we have to. We get knocked down in training so often. It’s entirely normal to have a “bad run”, to sustain an injury, to be slower than hoped, to get sick, but all these knocks can throw us off course. This is where it’s important to believe in yourself in spite of these knock backs.

I like to fall back quite frequently on my laid back attitude. I think I’m writing this post because in two week’s time I’ll be “running” a 50-mile ultra around Somerset. It’s crept up on me, but my plan is not to overthink it. I’m not injured (yet), I feel strong (ish), and it’s going to be a bit like ripping off a plaster. It’s probably going to hurt a lot. I might come in last. BUT – it’s going to be a lovely day out, and I’m going to get round. I say that, because if I believe it then I can do it.

The years approaching Nikki’s Run Australia attempt have seen plenty of knock backs for her. She broke her pelvis, hit the menopause, was restricted financially, and latterly she was knocked back for sponsorship on this challenge – mainly due to her age. But you know what – she’s out there right now, running it.

It’s a hell of a cliche, but please remember that even if nobody else is believing in you, believe in yourself and they’ll soon catch up.