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The Cotswold Century
Report – Seth Turner
This is a well-established 102-mile ultramarathon following the iconic Cotswold Way National Trail from Chipping Campden to Bath, along the western edge of the Cotswold escarpment.
With its relentless hills and over 4,500 metres of elevation, it is beautiful and brutal in equal measure — a genuine test of resilience, endurance and, at times, sheer stubbornness.
This was my third and by far longest ultra of the year. Having run the race once before, three years ago, I naturally had one objective this time around: go faster.
With a record field of 113 entrants, we set off at 11am on Saturday, with the final cut-off at 7pm the following day — giving us 32 hours to cover the 102 miles. My target was considerably more ambitious: I wanted to be finished in under 24.
The first 50 miles went almost exactly to plan. I maintained a steady, controlled pace, stayed on top of my nutrition and minimised time spent at the checkpoints. I reached the halfway point at Painswick bang on schedule, feeling good and, perhaps dangerously, quite confident.
After a bowl of vegetarian chilli and a cup of tea, I headed back out into the darkness feeling positive about my prospects.
But ultras have a habit of reminding you who is really in charge.
By the 60-mile checkpoint at Coaley Peak, just two hours later, things had started to unravel. Running through the darkness, I tripped a couple of times over tree roots and rocks, leaving me with cuts, bruises and a broken hiking pole. More worryingly, my stomach had begun to rebel. After hours of gels and sports drinks, I was finding it increasingly difficult to get any nutrition down.
In a long ultra, this can become a vicious circle. You stop fuelling because you feel sick, which leaves you short of energy, which makes it harder to eat and drink, which leaves you even more depleted.
Before long, the wheels can come completely off. Plenty of races have ended in a DNF for exactly this reason.
So I backed off the pace and concentrated on one thing: just keep moving.
I eventually reached the 70-mile checkpoint at Wootton-under-Edge Church feeling thoroughly drained. My stomach was still queasy, my legs were heavy and the 24-hour target was rapidly disappearing into the distance. I forced down a cup of tea and a bowl of spaghetti hoops, gave myself a fairly stern talking-to, and headed back out.
The plan was simple: get to the 80-mile checkpoint. Once I had 80 miles in the bag, there would be ‘only’ 20 to go. At that point, I told myself, the finish would be as good as done.
By 80 miles, the lack of energy and the accumulated punishment in my legs had reduced me to little more than a fast shuffle. Every incline seemed steeper, every step seemed harder and the finish still felt a very long way away.
Then, slowly, the night began to give way.
Dawn is a pretty special thing when you’ve been running through darkness for hours. As the first light crept across the Cotswold hills, the world around me started to come alive again. Birds replaced the silence, the landscape emerged from the darkness and, somehow, so did I.
At 85 miles I reached Tormarton and was greeted by my wife who had come out to crew and support me and what may have been the finest bacon sandwich I have ever tasted. Whether it was objectively sublime or simply the product of 85 miles of exhaustion is impossible to say, but it worked. Something clicked.
I picked up the pace again.
There was still a long way to go, but I was going to finish strong.
The final miles became a mixture of fatigue, determination and sheer relief. I kept moving, eventually making my way into Bath and through the crowds of tourists around midday. After more than 25 hours on my feet, the sight of the Abbey and my wife waiting for me at the finish was almost overwhelming. I may even have shed a couple of tears. Mostly relief. Mostly pride. And probably a little bit of exhaustion-induced delirium.
My final time was just over 25½ hours, some way behind the frankly astonishing winning time of just over 17 hours. I finished 20th overall and 1st in the V50 age group.
It wasn’t the sub-24-hour finish I had set out for, but I was still really pleased with the result.
In races like this, there comes a point where the clock becomes almost irrelevant. When your body is telling you to stop and your mind is telling you that you can’t possibly carry on, simply getting to the finish is an achievement in itself.
The Cotswold Century is a fantastic local race, made even better by the incredible community of volunteers manning the checkpoints. I was particularly pleased to see such a strong and competitive field this year, and I’d love to see the race continue to grow.
The introduction of the Half Century this year should hopefully help with that too, giving more runners the opportunity to experience the event without necessarily taking on the full 102 miles.
I’d recommend the Cotswold Century to anyone looking to experience some of our beautiful local trails while finding out just how far determination can carry you.
Because when you’ve got 102 miles to run, there will inevitably come a point when you have absolutely nothing left.
And then you find a little bit more.
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