Embarking on my third ultra within a mere span of five weeks seemed surreal, even to me. The prospect of taking on the Devil of the Highlands, a grueling 42-mile ultra race, was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Despite having faced a two-week hiatus due to a persistent niggle following the Highlander Backyard Ultra, I clung to an unshakable belief in my abilities. The day of reckoning arrived, and as I stood at the starting line in Tyndrum, a rush of excitement mingled with a chill that sent shivers down my spine – the adrenaline was unmistakably kicking in.

Collecting my race number, I marvelled at the journey that lay ahead. Although I was calm up until this point, sudden shivers took control of my body and I could not stop shaking. The adrenaline was kicking in. I devoured a pre-start banana and absorbed the camaraderie during the race briefing, and surprisingly, a calm settled over me. With a nod of readiness, the journey commenced.

Having internalised lessons from a recce I conducted a few weeks prior, I chose to walk much of the initial stretch, allowing myself to acclimate to the challenge. Staying towards the back of the pack, I found my rhythm. The terrain to the first checkpoint at Bridge of Orchy beckoned, and it was a blend of runnable stretches and downhill courses. The breath-taking scenery served as both a motivator and a reminder of the beauty surrounding the trials I was about to endure.

Post a portaloo pit stop, the trail led me upwards with a rewarding descent on the other side – a downhill enthusiast’s delight. The ensuing stretch along the Telford Road and through the stark beauty of Rannoch Moor was awe-inspiring. The descent into Glencoe, marking the second checkpoint, was a visual treat and an emotional high point. It was as though the run had just begun, and amidst the midges, those pesky little creatures, the aptly-named Devil’s Staircase loomed – a challenge I welcomed as one of my favourite climbs. For I, too, love hills.

The adage “what goes up must come down” was never more evident than in the exhilarating drop into Kinlochleven – checkpoint three, and a moment to relish. The climb out of Kinlochleven proved a stern test, but it unveiled a mesmerising valley through the Lairig. Eight miles of undulating terrain followed, a segment that proved both challenging and joyous. Running through streams and puddles with the rain pouring down, I was transported back to my carefree childhood days.

Lundavra, the penultimate checkpoint, appeared, heralding the final seven miles of the race. The undulating terrain made momentum a fickle companion, and doubts crept in. Hip flexors began to protest, and an audible pep talk, delivered in the third person, was the catalyst to resume running. The unexpected bonus checkpoint, a pit stop with refreshments, watermelon, coke and salt and vinegar crisps fuelled my spirit for the last dash into Fort William. Yet, just before the finish line, a cheeky climb emerged, testing my resolve. But the cheers, the whistles, and the palpable energy spurred me on. Tears welled up as I realised I was about to conquer my year’s goal.

The descent to the finish line was an electrifying rush. The roar of the crowd, the announcement of my name, and the embrace of the event crew merged into a surreal crescendo. Crossing that line, I had achieved what I set out to do. A sprint finish capped the monumental accomplishment, and as I was enveloped in a hug from the event crew, emotions flowed freely.

The day after, despite a sleep disrupted by the aftermath of the ultra and persistent itching from midge bites, a sense of triumph prevailed. My legs ached, but it was a testament to the journey I had undertaken. No blisters – a victory considering the perpetually wet feet – and an overall euphoria as I contemplated the road ahead. The future gleamed with the promise of more challenges, more races, and the realization of my dream to conquer the full West Highland Way in the coming year.

In conclusion, the Devil of the Highlands was not just a race, but a journey of determination, perseverance, and the sheer joy of pushing one’s limits. The breath-taking landscapes, the camaraderie of fellow runners, and the triumphant finish blended together to create an experience that will forever be etched in my memory. As I revel in the aftermath of this victory, I am reminded that challenges are opportunities in disguise – gateways to self-discovery and the realisation of the extraordinary within us.

This has set me up nicely for getting stuck in to training for the full West Highland Way race next year. Although not guaranteed entry as it operates a ballot system, I shall continue to train, and even consider the opportunity to run the route self-supported. Watch this space…

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