Last Saturday, I willingly paid £39 to run 13.1 miles up and down hills — which colleagues told me sounded like a cry for help. But no, it was the Malvern Hills Trail Half Marathon, and I was one of 300 brave (daughters’ thought: completely delusional) runners ready to test our knees, lungs and dignity against the legendary slopes.
(300 runners at the start though only 238 crossed the finish line — the other 62 presumably came to their senses halfway through and made a tactical retreat to the nearest café.)
We set off from the Elim Arts Centre in West Malvern. After a safety briefing — “Don’t fall off the hills, don’t get lost, good luck” — we were off. The first couple of miles were deceivingly gentle: fields, bluebell woods replete with wild garlic, birds chirping… like a countryside dream. Then came the hills.
The climbs were brutal. Think the Krong and times by 4. At one point, I was moving so slowly that a 7 year old walker overtook me and looked back with genuine concern. For some reason I felt the need to defend myself so gasped ‘I’ve been running for 90 minutes already’. He didn’t care. Every time I thought I’d reached the top, knowing my husband would be at the trig to cheer me on, I’d find another false summit and see the ridge line rolling into the distance, pulling me on. And on. And on.
The ridge line delivered, though. The views across Worcestershire, Herefordshire and northern Gloucestershire were stunning, if a bit hazy as the sun broke through. I took scenic photos (catching my breath and reconsidering my life decisions). The aid stations were cornucopias of dried mango, cashew nuts and coconut macaroons (‘middle class race’ scoffed my husband), and kind volunteers who occasionally lied, saying ‘You’re almost there!’ when I definitely wasn’t.
Then came the final downhill mile — a chaotic, quad-busting descent with gravity doing 90% of the work. I passed three people who were literally sliding.
There wasn’t so much a finish line as a crowd of people holding lattes and distributing planet-saving wooden medals, but it felt incredible to have completed the event. I hadn’t been sure I’d done enough training but the Runderwear 8 week plan had delivered with a few hilly Wednesday night TRC runs thrown in.
I was pleased to be the eleventh woman of 93 to cross the line and learn later that I’d won my 45-49 age category. (Though one of the podium women was in the 55-59 category. There’s something to aim for.)
Would I do it again? You betcha. I’ve already clocked next year’s race date: Saturday 25 April 2026. And I might have convinced my running buddy TRC’s Anna Ashwell to give it another shot.
But what about making it a TRC outing? Nigel Kippax: ‘Now this looks like a lovely route and race to get into next year’s calendar. Half a ‘Beachy Head’. Excuse for a larger group outing?’
