Day 6

17.25 miles

5 hours 27 minutes

Bershaw to Ruthin Castle The last day. The glory day. And it was glorious indeed.  As the name of the event was Trans Britain, Steve was keen that we did get to run in as much of Britain as possible, and so designed a route that started in Scotland, ran through England and finished in Wales. However, as Scotland and Wales were some distance apart, this could not be run in a week and so we would have to be transported by car for the final section, in order to get the running in the three countries.  So after an early start at the Rugby Club, we headed off in convoy to the start of the day’s running – an insignificant car park in Bershaw.  But from here we took a lovely wooded path along the Clywedog Trail, up to The Wern, and then skirted New Brighton to reach the moor. From here I saw the other four runners, still together, but not where I thought they should be on the map. They were some distance away so I left them to it and continued on what I felt was the right way. As I’ve said before in navigational races – never just follow the person in front!  I then took the wrong way myself, as I spotted a path in the fern, but it was on the wrong bearing. Believing that it would soon follow the right direction I walked along it, only to find myself at a dead end next to an electricity generator. I retraced my steps and saw where I had gone wrong – a tiny, almost unnoticeable (I certainly hadn’t noticed it) path winding through the fern.  Esclusham Mountain I could only see a gap in the fern for a few metres ahead of me, but I trusted in the compass, and was duly proved correct – this was my path and I could see the others up ahead of me on what I believed was top of the mountain.  I’d seen them hang around for a while, and at first thought they were taking photos to mark the occasion, but when I arrived after they’d left, I realised they were actually just looking for the path, which seemed to disappear. I could see a track going in a different direction, and decided to follow that and drop onto the road further out, even though it would add a mile or so to my run. I didn’t want to stand around wasting time trying to find the right path, and as I could still see the others, figured that taking a diversion would allow them to get ahead and out of sight.  As it turned out, what I thought was the top of the mountain was actually the mine, and from the track I was on I could take a footpath over to the correct path. This little footpath was a few inches wide, and surrounded by heather, but as my legs had been cut to bits from all the thistles etc during the week, the scratchy heather against my itchy legs felt fabulous.  The path from the moor dropped me onto a winding road, and from here I turned north west onto the Offa’s Dyke Path. This was lovely to walk along, as it has springy duckboards, which were so comfortable to walk on after all the rocky or hard or soggy terrain of the rest of the week.  Offa's Dyke Path to Llandegla Forest This led us into the Llandegla Forest, which although I was only in there for a mile or so, was my favourite part of the week. I really love running in forests, and this reminded me so much of running on parts of the WHW, and I really felt as if I was nearly home.  Llandegla Forest Just outside the forest was the day’s checkpoint, and although they had run out of my favourite fruit cake, someone had managed to get some hobnobs. Lovely.  Back onto a footpath on the Clwydian Way, and then through Llandegla, where I heard a screech of tyres and someone shouting my name. It was the crew, who had raced to meet me with my water bottle, which I had carelessly left in the van at the last checkpoint. You don’t get that sort of service in most races...  Onto the Offa’s Dyke Path from Llandegla, and navigation was very easy, as path was well waymarked. It was clearly well used, as I saw a large number of walkers, and a lot of groups of teenagers, presumably on a school excursion.  The path led onto a steep road that climbed upwards, and then to the side of a plantation and finally to the ascent of Moel y Plas. After the climbs in the Lakes that I’d done this week, this was nothing, a mere 440m high, but it there was still a magnificent view waiting at the top, and the weather today was glorious, and it really felt like the climax of the trip. From here, I knew, it was a long descent of a few miles, and the finish at the castle, so I took my time to look around me, and reflect on what I’d achieved over the last few days.   Ascent of Moel y Plas  Ascent of Moel y Plas View from Moel y Plas The descent was actually quite tough, and I again found myself getting a little frustrated. It was down a long rocky track, which was very uneven underfoot, meaning my blistered heels took a bashing, and having worn Roclites all week, they now offered zero cushioning or protection from the ground, and each step jarred and ached.  Moel Lanfair from Moel y Plas The sun was low and in my eyes, there track was covered in flies which I kept inhaling, and everything hurt. But nothing mattered, as I was nearly home.  I was spat out onto the road, and knew it was a mile or so from here to the castle. I kept seeing fluorescent arrow signs pointing me closer and closer, and it was only when I saw two arrows, pointing in different directions, that I realised the ones I had been following earlier were for a different event. Never mind, they took me the right way.  And I rounded the corner, and saw the arch of the castle entrance, and all of the crew and my fellow runners waiting under it. I managed to run to the finish, and amidst all the cheers and shouts, I grinned. I had done it.  Only lady to complete the week, I won a trophy saying ‘1st LADY’. I’ll treasure that, as I’m unlikely to ever match it!  Six days, 156 miles, 52 hours. 8 Wainwrights. Two tantrums. Hundreds of stiles. Thousands of soggy steps. Numerous cow pats stepped in. One paddle in a lake. One terrifying climb. Unlimited smiles.