The Chiltern Ridge 50k is the flagship event of Runaway Racing, a small trail running events company based in Wendover and specialising in half marathons and 50k events.

I’ve been taking part in Runaway events ever since 2020 when, in the midst of lockdowns, Chris and his team organised a series of socially distanced trail time trials. Since then I’ve run a 10k and a half marathon with Runaway – and even interviewed Chris for my on-ice podcast, Outlandish – but never gotten around to running one of his ultras.

This year, though, I was seeking a 50k in late April/early May with which to test my legs in advance of my final training block for Western States in late June. Running from Berkhamsted to Wendover via the Ashridge Estate and the Ridgeway, and taking in around 1000m of elevation gain along the way, the Chiltern Ridge 50k was the perfect choice.

I grew up near Watford, and over the years have run just about every inch of the course, with the exception of some of the loop out of Wendover, so it felt like familiar terrain over which to pace myself. (I even ran my first 50-mile run along the exact same stretch of the Ridgeway, solo, in lockdown.)

Plus, coming just six short weeks after the Moyleman – a hilly off-road marathon in Lewes, East Sussex, which this year was a total wash-out – the race provided crucial motivation to recover efficiently get back to training.

Post-Moyleman, I focused on not rushing my return, taking two full weeks to build back up to serious mileage before a two-week peak and an experimentally short (for me) two-week taper. Across these six weeks I focused much more on elevation than in the eleven-week base-building block with which I started the year – in my final big week I ran 90km with around 1750m of climbing. Not bad for a Londoner.

Toeing the line within the grounds of Berkhamsted Castle, I felt strong and fit, and knew a competitive time was on the cards. But I was determined not to go out too fast, as at the Moyleman I experienced a bit of a decrescendo in the final 10km.

The Race

As is to be expected, the race went out fast, and as we climbed the first hill out of Berkhamsted there was a bit of jostling for places, with two runners – Harry and Geoffrey – quite quickly putting a big gap between themselves and the rest of the pack.

Content to let them go, I focused on running ‘comfortably hard’ – something like a zone three effort – and doing my best to ignore the comings and goings of other runners, some of whom I knew were already breathing way too hard to maintain the pace they had set out on for the next few hours.

After a few miles, the field thinned out, and I found myself running comfortably in fifth place, just behind fourth, with third place visible but some way ahead. Whoever was behind me was never within shouting distance.

And that is pretty much how the race played out for the next few hours.

As we weaved our way through Ashridge forest, I found myself regretting not wearing my Inov-8s, having instead donned a pair of the Hoka Tecton-X in which I intend to run Western States.

Whilst we had enjoyed a few days of sunshine in the build up to the race, it was not enough to soak up the damage done by the weeks of wet weather to the trails, and the light rainfall on race day had quickly churned them up again.

I was slipping and sliding in more than a few places, but I knew that everybody else was having to deal with the exact same conditions, and that the chalk ridgeline that awaited us on the Ridgeway was likely to be easier going underfoot.

We soon broke out of the forest (though not before having to gingerly pick my way down the Stairs of Doom – if you know, know) and onto said ridgeline, ascending Ivinghoe Beacon via a steep climb that I was happy to be able to run confidently. The photographer waiting for us near the top may have had something to do with the spring in my step, mind.

Now running in open terrain, the distance between runners was much clearer. Fourth place – a Camelbak-wearing runner called David – and I kept oscillating back and foetu, but the ‘elastic’ between us never broke. Sixth place, meanwhile, felt comfortably out of sight behind us.

After plummeting back down the other side of Ivinghoe Beacon, David and I reached the first checkpoint a few seconds apart, having covered just under 15km in around 1:09. I stopped to briefly refill my water bottle before ploughing on around the side of the delightfully-named Paul’s Knob, feeling strong and as though I was on decidedly familiar terrain.

Passing through Tring the Ridgeway then climbs for a few miles back up and out of the valley. David kept up a strong pace here, and on more than one occasion I noticed my heart rate spiking as I tried to hold onto his pace. I forced myself to take it easy.

It can be so challenging to pace yourself on these longer races when you get caught up in the moment, and deliberately letting someone go can feel like giving up. So it was perhaps a blessing in disguise when I realised that I had to stop and go for a pee by the side of the trail. I only lost a few seconds, but in that time the gap between me and David widened to the point of it not being worth chasing him.

This allowed me to focus much more on running my own race, though on the long forest corridor through Tring Park I could see sixth place some way behind me, which kept me on my toes.

The next section of the Ridgeway was beautiful to run. A long, gentle downhill through the forest that felt like a reward for muscling our way through the tougher first section of the race. I maintained a steady rhythm, continuing to drink water and regularly taking on a Precision Hydration gel.

At one point I stopped to pee again, which was a bit frustrating, but I took it to be a good sign that I was not overexerting myself and would have something in the tank for the latter stages of the race.

I passed through the halfway point in almost exactly 2 hours, with more than half of the climbing done. On the long descent into Wendover, I caught up with David despite not really trying to, and we chatted for a bit about how it was going. I was surprised to discover it was his first ultra, and even more shocked to find out he had a 2:39 marathon PB.

That revelation made me question if I (with a mere 2:56 to my name) had made a profound misjudgement in running at the pace I was. But a trail 50k with 1000m of elevation gain is a very different proposition to a flat road marathon, so I knew not to take such a comparison too seriously and instead listen to my body.

We cruised past the second aid station at around the 30km mark, not stopping this time, and on the flat road around the edge of town I found myself pulling ahead of David. Over the next few miles, he fell further and further back in the rear view mirror, until suddenly he was gone and I was running alone, comfortably in fourth place.

Knowing how much of the race was left to run – and how quickly things can fall apart at the final hurdle – I kept my foot on the gas but tried not to run scared. Whoever was ahead of me was nowhere to be seen, and on the odd stretch of open field I could see that David was far enough behind that only an ungodly surge would put him back in contention for fourth.

So I focused on running strong and steady, pleased with how my body was holding up – I was still able to run every uphill and pick up the pace on the descents. Gels were going down without issue, and whilst the trails were muddy in places – I even took a tumble at one point – I kept a lid on my internal frustration and tried to flow as best I could.

Before I knew it I hit the long, steep descent into the final aid station at the marathon mark, where this time I stopped to refill my bottle one last time, with around 3:27 on my watch. The volunteers informed me that third place was “3 or 4 minutes ahead”, which I took to mean “out of sight”. My focus was solely on retaining fourth place. I made quick work of the aid station and ploughed ahead through what I knew was going to be the toughest part of the course – only an 8km stretch, but with two sizeable hills to summit along the way.

First up was the ascent up Whyteleafe, which whilst not all that long, involves the kind of wide open chalk trails that can feel super slow going. I managed to run the entire thing and, despite a small navigational error that maybe cost me 10-15 seconds, I was pleased to see that nobody was in sight behind me as I passed through the gate near the top.

A long descent through the Prime Minister’s estate at Chequers followed – again a wide open field in which the course ahead and behind was visibly empty – before the behemoth climb that is Coombe Hill. I knew that, of all the climbs in the race, this was the least runnable, being both steep and technical and coming right at the end of the race. I didn’t fight it, instead adopting my first power hiking stance of the day and doing my best to keep my legs moving.

Once the slope flattened out a bit I got back into a jog, but the constant uphill and lack of a clear path underfoot made progress slow going. The ‘trail’ was more like a web of rutted, muddy paths, none of which was obviously a better choice than the others. Coming this late in the race, the mental challenge this kind of terrain poses can be quite difficult – you constantly have to micro-navigate, consciously deciding where to put your foot next despite just wanting to take it easy.

Eventually, this section gave way to what I knew was the final uphill stretch of the day – a beautiful bit of single track trail up the flank of Coombe Hill, with sweeping views of the Aylesbury plain up ahead. It was here that my heart skipped a beat, as I spotted a lone figure up ahead on the trail, moving with the stiff, slow gait of a tired runner.

It was third place. A runner called Harry who had gone out the gate like a hare and more or less disappeared from view within half an hour of the start. It was clear from the fact I had caught up to him that he had found the last few miles as difficult as I had, but upon seeing him I dared not entertain the notion of catching him up – I didn’t know how much he had left to give, after all. It was only when he turned around and spotted me that I realised a podium was on the cards. Something in his stance just gave off that he was not going to fight me for it.

I opted to bide my time, knowing how important it is to overtake confidently in order to secure the psychological edge. But with just 3km left to go I knew I could not wait forever. As we crested the top of Coombe Hill, we passed the obelisk the marks the summit, and I let my heart rate briefly recover from the climb before pushing my legs to spin as best they could on the descent. We reached a gate, Harry a few steps ahead, and… he let me go. He held the gate open and let me go.

That told me everything I needed to know. We exchanged a few words – “Nice work”, that sort of thing – and then I was gone. I gave it everything I had, not wanting to give him a morsel of hope that he might be able to catch me. I knew he had a fast marathon time and the last kilometre or so of the race would be on road, so I pushed as much as I could on the steep chalk descent down Coombe Hill, flashing back to my first ever Runaway event in 2020, a time trial that finished with this exact stretch of trail.

By the time we reached the road, he was comfortably out of sight, and as I made my way through Wendover and towards the finish I allowed myself to accept that a podium spot was pretty much in the bag. But that didn’t mean I relaxed, and I kept the pace up as much as I could right the way to the line.

Closing Thoughts

In the end I finished less than a minute ahead of fourth place, who was himself only a minute or two ahead of fifth. My time of 4:09 and change was a 6-minute PB, which is notable given that my previous PB was on the pancake-flat Lea Valley course.

Overall I am really pleased with how this race panned out. I ran my own race, maintaining fairly even splits throughout, and was able to run every hill except the very last, steep climb up Coombe Hill.

Despite feeling pretty cruddy over those final miles, I clearly had held enough back for my last-minute kick to land me a podium spot. I’ve hoped to secure a podium at an ultra for some time, but it was honestly a goal I thought would have to wait for 2025. To achieve it at what was ultimately a training race just helps me feel super confident that my Western States training is paying off.

If you’re thinking of running the Chiltern Ridge, I’d highly recommend it. It was well-organised, low-key but professional, and on genuinely stunning courses. I look forward to returning to those same trails and more next year at Runaway’s (and, incidentally, my own) debut 100k event.