There’s a moment, towards the end of the film Saving Private Ryan, where a dying Tom Hanks says to Ryan, “James, earn this… earn it”. The pressure. Late on Saturday, as a rag tag band of us threaded up a woodland climb, silent but for the machinations of our own pain, a guy stepped aside and let me pass. He looked at me with that same look, like I should push on and earn it, and I looked back with dismay; I wasn’t sure I could up my work rate to move faster than him. I was as broken as he was. And it was all Karo’s fault. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I’ve got a terrible habit of saying yes to things so when she suggested Monte Rosa Walserwaeg I was all in. It wasn’t until a few months later that I studied the map and... View Article
There’s a rock, somewhere between Malga Travenanzes and Col dei Bos, and every time I pass it, I know that I am fully alive. I know because two years ago, at my lowest point running wise, I lay down on it and tried to give up. Why I thought lying on a rock in the baking midday sun was the solution to my problems is a mystery. Then a fellow Brit went past and told me to get up and get going, and it was a bit awkward. I was embarrassed for the guy because he seemed to think I could continue. Silly. But out of embarrassment for his misjudgment of the situation, I got up and continued climbing to the Col. When I passed the same rock last year, tired but not yet beaten, it was the catalyst for me to push on and turn things around. So, when... View Article
I remember a few years ago going to run the 100m at a local meet. I’d been doing it on occasion but mainly at masters’ athletics and this one was an open meet. I glanced along the start line of my heat as we took to the blocks and thought I should be in with a good shot. The gun went and the other seven took off on the b of the bang. I took off slightly later, but my stride length usually meant I could make up for my slow reaction times. By the half way mark I was third, and a moment after that second. There was only one person in front of me: a fifteen year old boy. I put the burners on and pushed for it, closing the gap with every stride. It wasn’t enough, he pipped me by a fraction of a second. I shook... View Article
There was a shirtless man in a Viking helmet and a kilt, furiously waving a skull and crossbones. I can’t explain exactly why, but I do know he could work a crowd. He started hammering a bass drum and demanding we clap to the ever hastening beat. Next thing you know there’s a tre, duo, uno and we’re flooding out of the town square of Radda and onto a frenzied downhill start. I had no idea what to expect going into this race. Training has been disrupted repeatedly by sinus issues and taper involved a near miss turning my ankle bouldering. To top it off my heart rate had spent ten days going through the roof. On the other hand, this course is far more runnable than most trail marathons. Its 2,000m of vert are spread across near constant undulations rather than the long sustained climbs of the mountain races.... View Article
February 10, 2026,
by Pete
I realised, sometime after reading another rejection email from the UTMB ballot, that somewhere along the journey my relationship to the sport has changed: it’s stopped being so much fun. I remember in the summer of 2018, driving to the foot of Helvellyn, posting a T.S Eliot quote that said, ‘If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?’, and having at it. I’d ran trails but never up anything that big and spent the next six hours bagging Wainwrights after Wainwright and feeling like the whole world lay before me. If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are? The year after, for the first time, I specifically chose a holiday destination so I could run up a mountain. I started with my feet in the Mediterranean and ran to the summit of Pico del Cielo and... View Article
October 10, 2025,
by Pete
I’d never considered that champagne would sting my eyes. It turns out, it does. By the time I found this out, however, my worries were over and there was nothing left to do but smile. I’ve wanted to run Ultra Pirineu for years. It’s one of those races that has a certain mythos in the trail running world. It could be the fervour of the Catalans, the beauty of the Pyrenees, or maybe the fact Kilian Jornet hails from here and still holds the course record. In this year’s plan it was the grand finale: return to ultra running with Lavaredo and then build on it at Pirineu. This was going to be the victory lap at the end of the come back year, or something like that. I arrived in Bagà the afternoon before and made my way to the shared glamping. It’s a small town and accommodation is... View Article
September 19, 2025,
by Pete
There are two races I run most years for reasons entirely detached from the race itself; Blaydon and the Great North Run. I don’t run them because the courses are good, or because I might get a personal best, or even because it’s convenient. I run them because I’m northern and it’s what we do. It’s road running, it’s fast, the stupid shoes make my stupid quads hurt. But it’s what we do. Blaydon was three weeks before Lavaredo and went surprisingly well. As is often the case with Blaydon, it would’ve comfortably been a 10km personal best if only the race wasn’t a 9.6km race, plenty of positives and a lovely little confidence boost ahead of the year’s first a-race. The Great North Run was four weeks out from my other a-race, Ultra Pirineu, and the build up had been turbulent to say the least. At the start of... View Article
The plan was simple really. Have a week’s rest after Lavaredo, take that nicely worked on fitness into ten days of training in Chamonix, then come home and have a bit of fun at Maverick Race’s event in the Chilterns. The medium route (22km) looked just right for a runnable blast around the English country side and I was fairly confident in my ability to get round it fast. Confident, that was, until I got ill in Chamonix. I spent most of the trip in my bedroom, or taking short easy walks. Everyday I saw La Jonction but didn’t get to run up it, gazed along the valley towards Croix de Fer but the day I was feeling well enough to run never came. On the last day I managed a short trot along Petit Balcon Sud, a delight as ever but far less than I’d had planned. Back home... View Article
I would say I’ve had a score to settle with Lavaredo, but that’s not strictly true: I’ve had a score to settle with myself and the Dolomitic mountains that host Lavaredo Ultra Trail were the amphitheater in which it had to happen. Last year’s race was a perfect trifecta of ill health, spiralling over training as I tried to mitigate it, and a complete inability to pace sensibly. Three glorious hours of fun followed by a very long death march. In the year since I had to stop running for a while, get medical help from a specialist sports doctor, and accept that my training had become unhealthy. I was recommended a coach with specific experience in helping people who had experienced over training syndrome and so, since January, I’ve been rebuilding for this weekend. One year on, it was time to go again. Call it recovery, call it redemption,... View Article
The English have a long history of doing stupid things in Tenerife. I’m not just talking about drunk tourists at all inclusive resorts either. In 1797, after trying to seize the port of Santa Cruz, they were beaten, broken and surrounded in a convent but still tried to persuade Tenerife to surrender. So, when I charged through the first aid station several minutes ahead of my best possible scenario time, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was going to be the latest in a long line of Brits embarrassing themselves on these shores. It was simple really, a good friend had ran the route the same morning and told me it was runnable and I’d enjoy it. I took her at her word and decided to go hard from the outset, starting a little further forward than planned and caning the road section at the start. My lungs were... View Article
