May 17, 2025, Llanberis, Wales
At 4:45 AM, under the quiet darkness of a sleeping village, four friends and I began the Ultra Trail Snowdonia 100K, also known as UTS 100k. The next day, only four of us would finish. What follows is a stage-by-stage account of the hardest, most transformative experience of my life.
Stage 1: Llanberis to Pen-y-Pass (11.9km / 890m)
The race began gently enough.
We passed through the village before the trail climbed sharply into gravel and rock. I started at the back with Matthijs. We began intentionally slow, letting others rush ahead. Like everyone out there that early morning, adrenaline and anticipation carried us up Snowdon’s flank.
I was struck by how clean we looked. Fresh gear, no dust, no dents, no sweat. We were the obvious newcomers. From now on, I can spot the newcomer from far away myself.
The sun rose over the peak, casting golden light across the trail. It felt like a gift. A gift that would gift itself many times over.
Straight away, our first descent down Snowdon was no joke. Ancient cobblestone steps, polished by centuries, challenged our footing. One runner slipped hard in front of me, his knees bloodied. He pushed on but later tapped out. His gear, especially his shoes, had betrayed him early in the race.
When it came to gear, I was confident that my gear would hold up. It would better be because it had cost me a small fortune. Who said trail running is just a pair of shoes, and off you go? Hell no!! I’ve noticed that good-quality gear makes or breaks you on these long distances.
What felt like pretty quick, checkpoint 1 came into view just as the trail merged with early morning hikers. Spirits were high. The terrain had been demanding but manageable.
No one truly knew what was about to come.
Stage 2: Pen-y-Pass to Glan Dena (11.5km / 1018m)
Then came the first technical climb. In the distance, a slow-moving centipede of runners scrambled up the stone ridge. I’d never climbed using both hands and feet before, except for some amateur bouldering as a child. The first scramble we had to do wasn’t long, but it demanded everything from me: focus, balance, and trust in myself.
The stress of scrambling hit me hard, and I could feel the depletion it caused. Instantly, I knew that I had underestimated this part of the trail.
The descent was tricky again. I briefly got off course, ending up in a cavern ridge with no trail markers in sight. Thankfully, I communicated with other runners behind me and corrected my course quickly.
The wrong turn could have ended badly if I had pressed on and not looked up. Those minutes can compound to tens of minutes lost and not making the cutoff time. The mistake also cost energy I couldn’t afford to waste.
At the Glan Dena aid station, I spotted someone I hadn’t expected: my wife.
I broke down in tears of joy and gratitude. She hugged and kissed me, helped refill my gear, and grounded me before the next big test. This was the only and final time I was able to see her on the trail.
Little did we both know that I was about to hit the wall.
Stage 3: Glan Dena to Llyn Eigiau (15.1km / 1009m)
Fueled by optimism, I left Glan Dena on an unsustainable pace, trying to stick with three new friends: experienced Dutch ultrarunners that I met on this section of the trail. My heart rate surged above 165 too often and for too long.
I was pushing too hard, too early.
This steep section of the trail became another scrambling climb, and near the top, I crashed hard.
Cold sweats. Nausea. I needed to vomit. I had to sit down for minutes on end. I felt dizzy and disoriented. I felt like my race was over then and there.
But trail magic is real. When I was literally reaching for my SOS beacon to notify the rescue team to pick me up with the helicopter, my buddy Matthijs, who was 10 minutes behind me, popped his head above the ridge and handed me a Rennie from his portable apothecary.
There, I instantly learned that he was better prepared than I was to solve some of the toughest physical challenges we would face. This is a great lesson for future expeditions.
I wasn’t even a third into the race and had almost quit. But miraculously, ten minutes later, I was moving again. Matthijs saved my race then and there, and I’m very thankful he was there to support me.
With a few small bites from a chocolate Cliff bar, I was able to reset, and at the top, we came up to the plateau where some jogging was finally possible. That section blurred by, very uneventful but necessary. Mentally, I needed that break.
At the aid station, I was desperate for real food. My mistake was mixing too many carb sources: gels, fluid carbs, gummy sweets, electrolytes, and going too fast at the same time.
My stomach revolted. But a small chalk pill got me back in.
Lesson learned: Your body will start fighting you at a certain point because you will make a mistake, and that’s when you need to be prepared with your kit to come up with a solution instantly.
Stage 4: Llyn Eigiau to Capel Curig (12.1km / 463m)
This section was runnable and less technical. I welcomed the chance to actually run.
The goal became clear: make it to halfway.
But the halfway point teased us. Every hiker we passed gave us false hope. “Just over the hill,” one said. That hill kept going. These people were very kind, but I just wanted to punch them in the face.
Finally, at the halfway point at Capel Curig, I executed my halfway plan to perfection.
I ate some pasta, trying my best not to overeat. I had done this in the past and knew very well what it would result in.
I drank some hot soup, which felt healing for the soul. I drank two liters of Coca-Cola and a cup of pouring hot coffee. I topped all that off with another Rennie for my stomach, and then I was off to the races.
I didn’t change socks since my blisters had already fused to my feet. I left with fresh batteries, a headlamp, and renewed energy.
Key insight: I overpacked my starting bag. Food, extra clothes, and utensils were all unused. Next time, I can go much, much lighter.
Stage 5: Capel Curig to Gwastadanas (11.5km / 700m)
Refreshed, caffeinated, and now with music for the first time in the race, I powered up the fifth mountain of the day. My Shokz headphones were a game-changer from here on out. For the first time, I felt my legs return.
I felt revitalized and strong.
Matthijs, my buddy who had saved me earlier, struggled on this section, unable to keep food down. I had to leave him behind temporarily. A man from Nepal passed us, climbing slowly but surely, hands behind his back, no poles. Luckily, later, Matthijs told me he was able to follow this man’s “sherpa-like” rhythm.
Descending into the night, the cool breeze felt like home. The grassy trail was soft, inviting me to blast and go faster than I had gone before. I passed runner after runner.
At this section, I felt strong and confident. I was starting to think about powering through and going harder than I had before.
The Gwastadanas aid station was heavy with quitters. Heads down. Blank stares. Matthijs arrived alive and feeling better. I felt grateful he made it through.
From then on, we joined forces with Harry, a young aspiring British Air Force pilot. This turned out to be a smart move for both Harry (who ran alone) and ourselves.
The hardest climb was next, and doing it together was important for morale.
Stage 6: Gwastadanas to Bron-y-Fedw (17.5km / 1100m)
At 11 PM, we headed out. It was pitch black.
Halfway up, a strange sight: a runner wrapped in an emergency blanket, alone. She smiled. We asked if she needed anything, but she had supplies and awaited rescue. The sky overhead blanketed in stars and the Milky Way, offered strange beauty amid danger. Leaving her behind felt very strange, like we were leaving someone behind to die on Mount Everest.
Then came the scariest terrain of my life: sheer black rock, narrow ridges, deep ravines. All fours, poles stowed, scrambling in the dark. Adrenaline was the only fuel.
I used the 60-10 technique: 60 steps, 10 breaths. A mental trick that broke the mountain into manageable pieces.
Finally, at the top, all the runners turned to each other, and the only thing we could say was, ” That was seriously dangerous.” I’m never coming back to that section of Snowdon in the dark.
But again, during the descent, I ran hard. My legs were back, and my confidence was up. I passed at least 20 people. But it was bittersweet since many were broken. It was like a zombie trail. Some people were even crashing hard and sleeping on the trailside in the tall grass.
One of these zombies was my best friend. When I looked him in the eyes, beaten and tired, it was a sad moment. I wished for him to join Matthijs, Harry, and me in our little rat pack and walk across the finish line with us.
Unfortunately, at 82K, he had to tap out. I begged him to continue, but nothing helped. His mind was made up. Seeing one of my fittest friends tap out crushed me, but I had to keep moving and not think about it too long.
Just another reminder: The mountain does not care about your fitness. When it finds a crack in your spirit, it will break you.
Stage 7: Bron-y-Fedw to Betws Garmon (8.2km / 550m)
This section was deceptively hard.
People said it would be easy from here on out. “The hardest part is behind us,” they said. Well, they were wrong.
The climb was steep and endless, and the descent was brutal. After thousands of footsteps, the dirt turned to slick mud, making it harder to go down. We stayed cautious on this descent, saving our legs.
It became clearer that Snowdonia 100k is a brutal gift that keeps on giving.
Even though a section looks easier on paper, it will find a way to fuck with your spirit.
This race teaches you to throw Hope out of the window.
Hoping things will be easier at a certain point is not the strategy; it will crush you.
This race teaches you to make things incredibly small and manageable.
60 steps, then 10 breaths. Don’t look up. Nothing good comes from staring down the mountain. It just fucks with your mind.
Look down, take 60 steps, take 10 breaths, and keep moving.
At the final aid station, I made a PB&J sandwich stacked with salty peanuts and Lays chips. It was hands down the best sandwich I’ve had in years.
Harry’s proud but slightly worried and anxious parents appeared outside the aid station tent, thanking us for walking with him through the night. I drank a liter of Coke and packed another for on the road.
I can honestly say that 5 liters of Coca-Cola has single-handedly been the most effective way to transport calories and focus into my body during this race.
Walking out of the final tent, it hit me: No more aid stations from here on out. Only one long section left.
From here on out, every step would be closer to the finish line.
Stage 8: Betws Garmon to Llanberis (15.6km / 500m)
The final climb felt so steep and so tough when you’ve been walking for 29 hours straight. And it just kept on going and going. I fell back to my 60-10 rule.
At the summit, two volunteers cheered us on. “No more big climbs from here on, you did it,” they said.
I had no idea if I was on track to finish within 32 hours, which was the cut-off, so I asked them “if I was going to make it in time” because my watch had died some hours before, and Harry, Matthijs, and I had split up again.
When I asked the volunteer, he paused and looked at his watch.
He looked at me, and he gave me a big smile.
“You have more than enough time, buddy. Give them hell. You’ll make it”
Those words, his eyes, his smile, the terrain, the ambiance. Then and there, I felt like I was in a Spielberg movie. It felt surreal.
But I knew that I was in the clear. I just needed to focus for two more hours and not make a mistake and blow myself out or hurt myself in the final hour.
You hear stories of guys flying down the last mountain and breaking then and there.
I knew I needed to focus so this would not be my story.
Even though I was trying to stay safe and taper myself, the descent and the idea of the finish line gave me wings. I ran faster than before. For the first time in 30 hours, I was flying. I was doing strides now after 100k of running.
Knowing that I was within five kilometers of the finish line fuelled my body with adrenaline, just as it had at the start. It was exhilarating.
As Llanberis came into view, emotion overwhelmed me. I ran the final kilometer on pure will.
I cried during the last 500 meters. There’s a silent loop before the finish, a solo journey. There are no spectators, no cheers, just reflection. I felt the tears roll under my sunglasses.
This was the most emotional moment of 2025.
9 months of training culminated in these final meters.
I had done it. I crossed the line at 11:12 AM. Thirty and a half hours. 1.5 hours before cutoff. I was among the final 50 finishers of the 550 who made it.
What Snowdonia 100k Taught Me
Back in the village, I finally let the experience sink in.
I had dreamed of this race for weeks. I visualized it in my sleep. I had run Snowdonia in my mind five times before setting foot on the trail.
This race wasn’t just physical. It was mental. It was emotional. It was spiritual.
Twenty months ago, I couldn’t run 2k without gasping.
Now, I’ve finished one of the hardest ultra trails in Europe.
I’m stronger than I ever thought I could be.
These mountains had gobbled me up and spit me out a new man.
And Now?
In the spirit of life-changing painful events, I’m starting a 10-day Vipassana meditation retreat in two weeks. There will be no talking, no tech, and no distractions. Twelve hours of daily sitting meditation.
My mind, my body, and my soul alone in a hall.
Supposedly, it’s brutal.
Many people can’t handle the 10 days and quit beforehand.
But I’m ready. I know how to face pain.
Because Snowdonia didn’t just change my legs and my pain threshold.
It changed who I am.
PS Will I Return To Snowdonia
You bet your ass I will return.
Someone told me the 100 miler is also pretty worthy of a try 😊
