The first moment of doubt came early. I was about 15km in, hauling myself up a steep climb to High Street, the old Roman road that slices through the eastern fells of the Lake District. The sun had vanished. In its place: cloud, wind, and a sharp temperature drop that caught me out badly. I pulled my sleeves over my fingers and gritted my teeth. My gloves, naturally, were buried at the bottom of my pack.
This was the 5 Valleys Ultra – a 55km point-to-point trail race that forms part of the broader 13 Valleys series. The full offering also includes a shorter 21km route, plus 110km and 180km versions for the truly unhinged. The course begins in Patterdale and ends in Kendal, climbing more than 2,200m along the way. I hadn’t brought trekking poles. That was already feeling like a poor decision.
The race started out sunny, with that falsely cheerful optimism you get before too difficult has taken place. Everyone looked energetic. Playlists were fresh. Gels still had their foil on. But by the time we crested the ridgeline above Hayeswater, the mood had shifted. A wind came barrelling in, smacking us sideways, and conversation thinned out as everyone dropped their heads and dug in.
As we crested the summit and I finally unearthed those elusive gloves, the trail dipped and rolled into the mist. A fast, technical descent followed – springy underfoot, with just enough visibility to keep track of the pink Altra flags strung out every 50 metres or so. Suddenly it became fun. Really fun. Enough to make me forget about the previous hour sort of fun.
Terrain-wise, it was changing constantly – in a good way. Scrambles turned into runnable singletrack, which then dumped you into more climbs just when you thought you’d earned a break. After the second major climb, Glenridding, there was another long drop. This was the toughest and most technical descent requiring equal parts concentration and cardio.
Part-salvation came in the form of a runner from Derry who, seeing the Irish flag on my bib, struck up a chat about holidays in Waterford. We bonded over shared exhaustion, tutted at the incline, and kept each other going. It’s the kind of interaction you don’t expect when you’re toughing out another climb, but there’s something about the spirit of this event that made even a grizzled Londoner like me chatty.
The most affecting exchange came near Ambleside. A Liverpudlian runner, around my age, told me he was determined to finish so his young son could walk him across the line. “It’ll mean everything to him,” he said. “And to me.” Then he tucked in behind and made it to the next checkpoint together.
What also stood out – and deserves to be shouted about – was how well organised the whole thing was. Initially, I’d raised an eyebrow at the kit list. Waterproof trousers? An emergency bivvy bag? Multiple layers? The marshal at the 6am registration even checked the lining of my rain jacket. Seemed a bit much. But by hour eight, with sideways rain and light vanishing fast, it all made sense. The emphasis on safety didn’t detract from the race; it underpinned it. It meant people got to enjoy the adventure without worrying about being stranded somewhere near Grisedale Tarn with a damp t-shirt and a few Cliff bar wrappers for warmth.
The feed stations were generous and well spaced, offering proper food – hot drinks, roasties – even pizza. You don’t realise how much a Freddo bar can lift your spirits until you’ve run 46km and the finish line is still hours away.
Before the race, I’d spoken to event director Colin Murphy, who explained the inclusive philosophy behind the event.
“We want to celebrate the Lake District – and show people that trail running can be for everyone,” he told me. “The physical and mental health benefits should be accessible to all. It doesn’t have to be a scary thing. We don’t want to be an event where lean locals in short shorts pay a fiver to run up the fells and everyone feels intimidated. If you bring yourself and a bit of enthusiasm, we’ll make the journey as safe and accessible as possible.”
He continued: “In a way, ultra-marathons are freeing. There’s no arbitrary pressure – no four-hour barrier like there is in road marathons. No one asks you, ‘What was your time?’ afterwards. No one cares. People just say, ‘That’s amazing.’ If you want to stop and walk, you can. You can take it at your own pace. You can talk to fellow runners, have a chat, take in the views. It’s not about PBs. It’s about the experience.”
That inclusive attitude is reflected in the stats. “Trail running can be quite attritional – you tend to expect a lot of drop-outs,” Murphy said. “But last year, 100 per cent of runners finished the 2 Valleys route. On the 5 Valleys (55km), 98 per cent finished. We have generous cut-off times, well-stocked food stations, and we waymark everything clearly so they can get around safely. In my mind, everyone who gets around is equal – whether you do it in six hours or fifteen.”
The race isn’t just about celebrating the landscape either – it actively gives back to it. Five per cent of all entry fees go to the Lake District Foundation, with funds directed towards the Fix the Fells campaign, which helps maintain the trails for future use. The organisers also work closely with the National Park, local rangers, and Natural England, carrying out environmental impact surveys in sensitive areas to ensure the event treads lightly on the land it moves through.
The last stretch into Kendal came in darkness. Rain returned. Head torches came on. For the last few miles we ran single file on rocky trails, head torches bobbing like the world’s wettest conga line. Then came the town lights, claps from spectators nursing pints outside warm-looking pubs, and finally, the beautiful arch of the finish line.
I shuffled over the line, hardly a sprint finish but a finish nonetheless. And I didn’t fall over. Which, by that point, felt like a moral victory.
At the front of the pack, things were more dramatic. Andorran runner Samu Ponce smashed the 55km course record in 4:52:15 – more than an hour faster than the previous best. In the women’s race, Emi Dixon also set a new record, coming in at 5:59:47. The 7 Valleys (110km) race was equally stacked, with Tom Smith (11:34:56) and Leonie Ansems De Vries (14:44:47) both breaking records – the latter by more than an hour. And on the main event – the monstrous 13 Valleys (180km) route – Barney Plummer ran a jaw-dropping 24:21:44 to take the men’s crown, while Bethany Ladd led the women home in 32:56:04.
But honestly, whether you were racing for a record or walking in with your son, it all felt equally valid. There were over 2,500 runners across the four distances, and for the most part it felt like a shared endeavour – wet, wild, occasionally ridiculous, but joyful.
At some point near the 30km mark, I remember glancing sideways through the mist and seeing nothing but stunning green fells and slate-grey peaks layered into the horizon. It was the kind of view that would make you pull over if you were driving – and here we were, knee-deep in it, earning it the hard way.
That’s the thing with ultras. You go in hoping to survive and come out wondering if you can go further. I’ll be back next year. But next time, I’m bringing poles – and gloves I can actually reach.
