Planned DNF

Things I Learned from a Planned DNF at Ultra Trail Snowdonia 50K

Last year I entered Ultra Trail Snowdonia 50K 2026 fully intending to race it. As with most races I enter, I had big plans, lofty ambitions and every expectation that I'd train well and give it a good crack.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way I think I made the mistake of increasing both distance and elevation at the same time. My hip wasn't impressed. After a fair bit of physio and some Googling, I also discovered that hip injuries are fairly common in women over 50 (obvs). Seeing as I've recently joined that particular club, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised.

I adapted my training as best I could, but the reality was that I couldn't do nearly enough hill work to feel properly prepared for a race that's actually closer to 56km than 50km and comes with around 10,000 feet of climbing. A couple of days before the race I was planning to volunteer instead. Then I had a moment of clarity. What if I just started? Not to finish, just to learn (in a safe and controlled manner).

I worked out a few sensible places where I could safely stop, treated the whole thing as a mountain training day, and headed off to Snowdonia with absolutely no pressure to complete the course. It turned out to be one of the best decisions I've made.

The first thing I learned is that mountain races are busy. Particularly at the start, you don't necessarily get to run your own race because you're surrounded by hundreds of other people trying to find their place on the trail. I also discovered that my pole technique still leaves a lot to be desired. Apologies to anyone who got accidentally jabbed in the back of the legs.

I also learned that I am far more nervous on technical descents than I realised. Coming down the Pyg Track in wet conditions took me forever. It wasn't fitness holding me back. It was fear. Not fear of hard work, but fear of hurting myself. Every time I felt pressured to move faster because stronger descenders were behind me, I made mistakes. I rolled my ankle a couple of times and had a few moments where I thought, "This is exactly how people end up in mountain rescue videos." In the end, pulling over and letting people pass was almost always the right answer.

The next lesson was about fueling, or rather not fueling. By the time I'd climbed high enough for the weather to turn properly cold, I didn't really want to eat. Add in gloves, poles, layers, cold hands and the general faff of trying to get food out of pockets while moving, and it became surprisingly easy not to eat enough. Liquid calories and gels were manageable, but anything that required effort felt impossible. It's something I'll need to think about before my next mountain race because the higher and colder I got, the less interested I became in food. Not big or clever.

The biggest lesson of the day was about managing the cold. On the second climb I kept convincing myself the summit was just around the corner. It never was. Every time I thought I'd reached the top, another climb appeared. By the time I finally got there, I was properly cold and not making particularly good decisions. Looking back, I should have stopped earlier, got more layers on and taken the time to sort myself out. Instead, I carried on because I wanted to keep moving.

That was the point where I decided my day was done.

I'd already covered more than twenty miles, I'd learned a huge amount, and I knew that continuing wasn't the sensible option. So I went off course and headed back down the Llanberis Path.

Most importantly, though, I learned that a DNF isn't always a failure.

As runners, we're often encouraged to push through, dig deep and never give up. Sometimes that's absolutely the right thing to do. But sometimes the brave decision is recognising that today's goal has changed. My goal that day wasn't to finish. It was to learn, stay safe and come away with enough knowledge to make the next adventure better.

I didn't get a medal and I didn't cross the finish line. What I got instead was experience, confidence and a much better understanding of what mountain running demands.

For any woman looking at a race and wondering whether she's capable, my advice is simple: don't wait until you feel completely ready. Sign up. Give it a go. Be sensible. Have a plan. Learn as you go. You don't have to finish every race for it to be worthwhile.

Finally, a thank you to the people who reminded me that runners are generally lovely. To Joe, the lost Liverpool supporter. To the café owner who took one look at me, sat me in front of the fire and produced tea and cake. To his son Joe. And to the group of strangers who welcomed a frozen runner into their warm corner for a while.

And of course to Seema, my partner in crime for the weekend who absolutely smashed her race in the most brutal conditions I have ever known.

You were all wonderful.

I'll be back. Hopefully a little stronger, a little wiser and slightly better at using my poles.