30th August to 1st September
The Ring O’ Fire race consists of a full loop of the Isle of Anglesey and Holyhead, totalling 135 miles across 3 days of running, walking, and swearing at pebbled beaches. Taking in the coastal path route around the circumference of the island, always keeping the sea to the left and following the signs with a tern on them. The start and subsequent finish sits in a flattish basin just below Holyhead mountain.
Incidentally 135 miles, or about 40 leagues, isn’t too far from the distance Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn chased down the Uruk Hai in Lord of the Rings The Two Towers. They did that distance in just less than 4 days, making the race cut off quicker than the trio trying to rescue the Hobbits before they reach Fangorn forest.
The run-up to the race wasn’t the smoothest for me, as many of you will already know I fell and needed surgery on my knee not 5 months ago. I put in a lot of work to get back to running distance and with the help of Jess Lishman to coach me with strength work and movement through a slightly dodgy 9 stitch knee. Alongside that I’ve been a regular recent visitor to ICC and then the Firth Ward of the Northern General to visit my mum who had been there for close to 3 months.
I arrived bright and early to a glorious morning on Anglesey. Parked up, dropped off my overnight bag, collected my tracker, buff and t-shirt (a proper Scimitar one) and ate a Magnum. As the race briefing started, I received a photo of my mum sat at home, not in a hospital. So with tears of relief and nerves streaming down my face we all set off into the high sun to the bell of the local be-tricorned town crier.
The first day consists of two races – the first leg of the full 135 mile loop, as well as runners embarking on the Firelighter, a single day of 35 miles. It means that it’s difficult to pace in comparison with fellow runners as not everyone is up again in the morning to run about double the distance. The route starts relatively flat and the running is quick for the first half of the day and it became easy to get a bit carried away, until Church Bay check point when the going became slower due to some steep coastal steps and more rocky outcroppings as well as half a mile of pebble beach. The check points themselves sit between 5-12 miles apart throughout the route and the people manning the water are the reason the event is wonderful. Regularly seeing the same handful of happy faces during the weekend was awesome.
We had a cut off of 9 hours to complete day one, which finished at Amlwch leisure centre where I’d sleep for the night. Just as we headed off from the coastal path into town was an honesty book to take a page from (how very Berkeley), the first of about 7 over the weekend just to prove we weren’t cutting corners. A missed book over the weekend resulted in a 3 hour penalty, a very large amount of time to overcome. Page successfully handed in, day 1 took me around 7hrs15 which gave me time to inhale a lasagne and a few slices of pizza from the canteen as well as a handful of kabanos, and set up my roll mat and sleeping bag for the evening after having a communal shower in the classic leisure centre block. Awkward.
After a crap night’s sleep I started day 2 with two peanut butter honey and chilli flake bagels and a banana, eaten to the tune of Ring of Fire played from a small speaker by Q the race organiser. 65 miles were on the cards for today, back to the coastal path following it south west to the Menai Strait then eventually to our resting place, Aberffraw Village Hall.
The day proved too much for many; we started with about 80 runners and finished with just under 50. The heat of the day claimed some, the fatigue of the miles took a few more and the inability to retain nutrition was also a factor for a number. For me throughout the entirety of it the thought of not finishing didn’t cross my mind, I stayed well fed and watered and in good spirits for the duration (mostly). The running was overall pretty uneventful but beautiful, a few beaches, some road sections and plenty of headlands to navigate.
I like ultra distances in part as they feel a deeply personal and strangely therapeutic endeavour. A long time to myself, concentrating on the moment, listening to body and mind, separating myself from life outside the trail, and sort of painful peace. And this was no different, with the silence broken only by chit chats with fellow runners.
I felt good most of the way and ended up tagging on the back of a group for a little while who left me when I decide to walk for a moment, but I don’t spend very much time at all at aid stations which meant I caught them back up at the second to last one and we finished the last 19 miles together. Local runner Jon Osborne, as well as a few new pals Damien and Becca navigated Newborough Forest alongside me, the beautifully setting sun across a pan flat beach and final few awkward fields and dunes with an hedgehog rearing its head to will us on to the finish. As an aside, I arrived hopefully at Newborough Forest car park and toilet block for a poo I’d been needing for about 10 miles. By this point it was 19:06, and I arrived to find that at 19:00 the doors had been shut and poo privileges were revoked. So the last 15 miles were a little more uncomfortable than I wanted.
I squeezed my bed into the corner of a small village hall near a fire escape alongside rows of runners as more people finished, until the last runner arrived about 100 seconds before the final cutoff of midnight. Here there was only a single shower with a long list of names so rather than bother wasting time cleaning the day off me I opted for a feed and foot care. I drained three blood blisters and washed out a very deep split in a little toe in a sink and ate some rehydrated jalfrezi, a bowl of pasta and some more kabanos washed down with a cuppa with a few sugars before dozing off with throbbing feet.
As the gang organising the race said, pretty much everyone who finishes day 2 will more than likely finish day 3, and it was only 35 miles, 75% of the race was run. Although… my feet were in a mess. Some tape and blister plasters applied, dry shoes and the previous day’s clothes were donned. A bagel was half eaten and a few bits of chocolate brownie also thrown down with a strong sugary instant coffee. And the last day began anew.
My feet unsurprisingly hurt as we got moving, and I saved my 2 last pain killers until I was on the way. The sun came up in line with my spirits and legs loosened as I hit the firm sands toward Scarlett’s chip shop, who provided us with breakfast bacon butties. The salty fat and carbs really did embolden me as I hit more dunes and more beach around the RAF base. My feet hurt more to walk than to run so the usual advice of “walk the hills, jog the flats, run the downs” became “run everything I can and get this fucker finished”. I picked up the pace and passed people which felt great on the head, and just kept eating, drinking and running until we came to basically the last few miles. At this point everything slowed to a crawl, and the last few climbs began. At the bottom of Holyhead Mountain was an impromptu aid station, set up by a couple who had been out supporting all weekend (they gave me a portion of cold salty chips and battered sausage with slightly congealed gravy on the second day, which was truly exceptional) but at this point watermelon and a lemon calippo were on offer, I accepted both gratefully.
The climb around the mountain is steep, rocky and awkward. My pace dropped significantly as my feet slammed the front of my shoes with a lot of unwanted pressure. Moving from the South Stack Lighthouse toward the North Stack peninsula, the final honesty book revealed itself. And it was onwards to the end after. At this point I knew I had done it. I walked and lightly jogged my way in to the final trail and then the field where we had set off from two days before. I picked up pace toward the crowds of supporters – poles in hand, tears in my eyes and my feet in bits. I’ll keep you all updated how long it takes to regrow the flesh of a little toe.
It’s not often I come away from a race with such a positive sense of achievement (and a very nice Welsh slate medal), but when I finished the Ring O’ Fire I certainly did. Actively proud of myself, pleased to have finished and I really enjoyed my time out on the trails even over such a long distance. The race community are incredible, from the organisers, volunteers, and first aiders to the other runners and even the locals who came to cheer everyone on. A delight to be around. If you want to run a multi day race I wholeheartedly recommend this one.
Summary in numbers:
135 miles.
4000 meters of climb
3 days.
About 7 hours of broken sleep.
18000 calories of effort – about 155 medium eggs, 107 Creme Eggs, or 1200 Mini Eggs.
110 starters.
48 finishers.
16 beaches and more fucking pebbles on one than stars in the observable universe.
31:39:37 of running, which equates to, approximately, listening to the 1987 grindcore classic album Scum by Napalm Death 57 times, watching the opera Carmen by Bizet 10 times, or binging The Simpsons from the very first episode up to when Lisa receives a Valentines card from Ralph reading “I Choo-Choo-Choose you” in Season 4.
The race was won by Mark Perkins (no club listed) in 24:57:13, and Katie Ironside in 26:16:06.
One Strider was among the finishers.
Striders results:
