Cadair X Half Marathon, 2 Jul 2022

I was in Wales for a month doing a geological project as part of my university course and came across Cadair X around February when I was researching the area I was planning on staying in with my team. Dubbed “one of the toughest half marathon races in the UK”, it immediately intrigued me, but I can’t say that I thought I was actually going to sign up. I bookmarked the race website and then didn’t think about it again until I was running in Scotland in April. I was just doing a few runs around Assynt, which is a pretty mountainous region in North-West Scotland, when Cadair X popped into my head. I was enjoying the higher-elevation routes and the beautiful views at the end of a hard climb, and getting back to the hostel I was staying in one day after a particularly hilly route (think 250m elevation gain) I decided to sign up.

Cadair X isn’t 250m of elevation gain. It’s almost five times that. A half marathon that’s more about power hiking than actual running (for the first half at least). I really had no idea what I was in for!

To make matters worse, the race was only a couple of weeks after my end of year exams at Oxford, so my training around that time had been sporadic at best and two weeks before the race I had done a ‘hilly’ long run and had to stop to walk up the last bit of hill. To say I was nervous about the ‘mountain marathon’ would have been an understatement. I was deliberating whether or not I should even do it. I have never done any fell running and didn’t even own a pair of trail shoes and I was about to tackle a half marathon that had a total elevation change of almost 2.5km. This was mental!

One week before the race I decided to do a course recce of the first section of the route, mostly to assure myself that I was going to make it to checkpoint 1 (at 5.1km) before the cut-off time (90 minutes). Just looking at those numbers, I could tell that the first bit of the run was going to be the hardest – with check point 1 clocking in at an epic elevation of 625m. The recce reassured me that I would in fact make it – I made it up to 5km and back down in 90 minutes – you can see some recce footage on my Instagram @dancer_in_transition (shameless plug 😉).

What I did learn from the recce was that I started too hard – there was really no point trying to run from the moment around 3km when the ascent really started; it just wasn’t sustainable. This was a valuable lesson and I was glad to have done the recce, since it made me feel more confident and calm about the race itself.

I took it easy in the week leading up to the race and before I knew it, it was upon me. My geology friends and boyfriend came to support and my trepidation turned to excitement, culminating in a very loud rendition of ‘Born to Run’ on the car ride to the base of Cadair.

After a brief warm up jog to the start line and a bit of a stretch + glute activation, we were ready to go. A ‘motivational’ speech from the race director, which was mostly about what to do it you wanted to drop out (very motivational…), and then we were off. There were only 55 runners and I started off on the front line, so I was running in the place of first lady for the first 1km. At 1km, Helen, the eventual female winner, passed me, and she was closely followed by two other women. I was now in 4th but I wasn’t worried, I kept reminding myself to run my own race and not worry about how others were pacing it. This proved to be a worthwhile mantra, since just 100m into the climb at 3km, I was able to pick off the two women who had passed me on the flat and quickly climbed, following the footsteps of some of the men ahead of me. I had lost sight of Helen, and had to remind myself as I was climbing that this was only the beginning and I should think about how much further I had to go, rather than getting competitive before check point 1. It was pretty crazy that I was even thinking about catching up with first place, given that at the start of the race I was just thinking about not dropping out!

The climb was gruelling and many of the competitors that had surged ahead at the beginning of the ascent seemed to be paying for it. I had my watch on the heart rate page and was keeping an eye on how high my HR was – I wanted to keep a good momentum, but when I saw my heart rate rising above 190bpm I made a conscious effort to pull back. This meant that I lost the heels of the guy whose route I had been following and I had to pick my own way up the ‘path’. This was okay to begin with because the first portion of the ascent was well paved, with steps made from rocks that were not too hard to climb up. Higher up, however, the route was mud and gravel, with irregular cobbles underfoot that were a twisted ankle waiting to happen. It had rained quite a bit in the days preceding the race and small streams had sprung up that flowed down the mountainside. I soon realised that the best tactic was to walk up the places where the streams had formed, essentially up the stream, as the ground was actually more solid here, predominantly rocky/gravelled, rather than boggy. I slipped a few times but didn’t have any major falls and was picking my way up the hillside and through competitors. Around this point I came across a couple of hikers who met me with cheers of “you’re second lady!” A quick glance back and I could see that the field had spread out quite a bit and I couldn’t see any women behind me, but I also couldn’t see Helen up ahead. “Run your own race”, I thought again. I was elated to be in 2nd, but it was still early in the race and I didn’t want to get my adrenaline up with delusions of grandeur.

I passed checkpoint 1 and managed a run for the first time in what felt like ages along the ridge. This was probably my favourite moment of the whole race. There were three guys around me. We had been working together towards the end of the climb, taking it in turns at the front to pick out the best route, and now we were actually running. “This is awesome!”, I shouted into the wind. The others laughed. I felt totally euphoric, knowing that the hardest part of the race was behind me and with the most amazing view of the surrounding hills and lakes – it was wild!

Shortly after, we hit fog and the ascent to the summit became sketchier (see summit photo). I was glad to have my three comrades with me, though I didn’t know any of their names and hadn’t even properly seen their faces. We got to the top and one reminded me to touch the stone marking the summit of Cadair, saving me from disqualification!

Then we started descending. Our pack broke up a bit – I think two guys stopped at the feeding station, and I was left with just one other runner. At this point the fog was so bad and the route so poorly marked that we had no idea which way we were going! Luckily, I had the route on my watch so was able to get a general direction in which we should be running and we slowly picked our way down the hillside. There was something resembling a path but it was made mostly of jagged boulders so the progress was slow. I spent a lot of time using my arms to help me move over and around the rocks as best as I could. This was the first time I thought about trail shoes, and my running partner actually mentioned it to me too when he saw the road shoes I was wearing. I think I could have saved some time if I had been a bit more confident that I had enough support in my shoes not to go over on my ankle, for that was my main priority – no point going fast if it means I have to drop out of the race.

Two runners passed us, these guys were actually running and were moving down the hillside fast. My fellow runner and I joined their group and chased them down the hill. But I wasn’t confident enough to hang with these fearless guys and I soon fell back. The fog had cleared a bit so I could see them running into the distance. It was a good motivator and highlighted to me where the route was heading, but it soon became apparent that I wasn’t going to catch them. We were about 8km in and I was running alone. That is how I would continue for the remaining 14km.

My memories of the first portion of the race are so vivid, but from around the time where I was running alone, with no other competitors in sight, the race is a bit of a blur. One kilometre or so after I lost the trio, I came to a bridleway and was able to run properly again. I felt good, with my legs turning over fast and I sucked, at intervals, on my second gel. At some point the route diverged splitting between a poorly marked footpath, which the route on my watch directed me to, and a road. A few minutes prior to the split a walker had called to me “stay on the road! Everyone else has stayed on the road!”. But I decided not to follow this strangers advice; after all I had no idea who he was, and he certainly wasn’t a marshal – I didn’t know if changing my route would save me time or lose me time, but I did know that I didn’t want to miss any check points!

The footpath was boggy and progress was slow. At some point I stopped to pee and the moment of stillness seemed to awaken all of the aches that had originated from the aggressive ascent and subsequent descent. My thighs were exhausted, my calves on fire, and my right Achilles felt stiff and uncomfortable. But the human brain is totally amazing and as soon as I was running again I managed to force myself not to think about these negatives, focusing instead on where I was placing my feet, on a calm breathing, on the wonderful nature around me. The kilometres passed.

Between the peak at 8km and 16km the entire route had been downhill. 8km of downhill running is pretty tough on the legs and so when the route turned up again and I had to ascend, I groaned. This hill was only 100m of elevation gain, but after running down for so long, going up felt even harder. That was when I spotted her. Helen was just ahead, close to the top of the hill. A couple of competitors separated us, but the distance between me and first lady couldn’t have been more than five or six hundred metres. I could see that I was gaining on her (very slowly) and so I just willed myself to continue. I thought that if I go steady on the climbs and attack the descents I might be able to catch her before the end.

Sure enough, at the next and final climb at kilometre 20, I was closer still. Probably 300m separated us - 300m and 80m of elevation. I put my hands on my thighs and started power hiking. If this had been the start of the race, I could have run that elevation without any problems, but I was so tired by this point that running up an incline felt almost impossible. Up ahead, I saw Helen look behind – she was managing a laboured jog and so I tried to pick up the pace and break into a jog myself. But though I managed to catch up with one of the competitors that separated us, as Helen reached the crest of the hill, it became clear that I was not going to catch her. Maybe if I had attacked sooner – but, honestly, I don’t know if I would have had the beans to follow it through if I had caught up with her a few kilometres earlier…

I crested the same hill a minute or so later, and made my way to the finish. It was flat and felt great. I was totally in the bin and so proud to be coming second in my first ever mountain race. When my friends asked me to give them an estimated duration, so they would know when they needed to be at the finish line, I looked at the course record for women, 2:42:09, and told them I would probably complete the race in 3h30m. Turns out I completed the race in 02:38:57, 1m and 6s after the first lady and beat the previous course record. Above that, I found a sport that I absolutely adore (more mountain races pending…) and found a new kind of confidence in my mental and physical endurance.  

This is a pretty epic race report, but then, it was a pretty epic race…

Emilia Miller