A Wild Ride: From Late Nights to Trail Runs at Pen y Fan
Life really is a wild ride. One minute, you’re in your early 20s, out on the town until 4 a.m., completely smashed on way too much alcohol for one person to consume in a year, let alone a night. The next, you’re 36 years old, wearing thermal tights and high-vis running gear, concerned that a single bacon sarnie wrapped in cling film wont be enough should you find yourself stranded on a large hill (not quite a mountain) in the freezing cold, awaiting mountain rescue.
Well, that‘s exactly where I found myself on Saturday, 25th January, alongside my good friend Steff, ready to take on Pen y Fan for some trail running.
Here’s how it went.
My Gear, how Friday nights have changed
Wake Up, Sunshine
Friday night filled me with dread. I had agreed to head to Pen y Fan for sunrise, which meant leaving Bath at around 4:30 a.m. to allow plenty of time to make the drive, get ready, and reach the top long before the sun came up.
I was about to crack open a well-earned Friday beer after a long week of work when I remembered my alarm was set for 3:50 a.m.. I passed on the beer, did some reading to tire myself out, and went to bed just after 10 p.m. I’ve learned that an early start doesn’t necessarily mean an early bedtime. It’s better to stick to your natural sleep cycle rather than forcing yourself to bed at 8 p.m. hoping for eight hours of sleep.
Luckily, sleep came quickly, and surprisingly, waking up at 3:50 a.m. felt fine. I jumped straight into the shower to wake myself up, had some oats and vitamins, got into my gear, and waited for Steff. Right on time at 4:30 a.m., he showed up, and we set off.
The 90-minute drive passed easily with hot coffee and plenty to talk about. The car was registering -2°C outside, so we knew it was going to be cold, but we were dressed for it. As we neared our parking spot, we noticed a steady stream of headlights leading up one of the pathways to the top. At first, we thought there might be an event on, but we quickly realized this was just the TikTok effect. An excellent weather forecast had drawn a crowd eager to catch the sunrise.
I used to hate this kind of thing, letting it bother me that viral trends had watered down experiences that once felt harder to find. But really, who am I to say who can and can’t experience these things? If TikTok is making young people get up at 4 a.m. to see an amazing sunrise, then more power to them.
Myself and Steff ready to get going
The Ascent
This was my first proper trail run. I’ve done hilly cross-country runs and even a hilly Ironman a few years ago, but I was vastly unprepared for the first hour of this one.
We started along the road, adrenaline pumping, with the crescent moon glowing orange behind the hills in the distance. Then we hit the gate and began the uphill climb.
I stopped.
Not even 200 meters in, my adrenaline abandoned me, replaced by an awful dull lower back pain that felt like it was flying out of my arse. I tried running through it, but it was intense. I started to think this run was over before it even started.
Meanwhile, Steff was bounding ahead like a mountain goat. He never leaves me behind, but I felt guilty for holding him back and guilty for even considering quitting and turning back. But quitting isn’t my style, so I came up with a cunning plan.
”Wow, look at that moon now, Steff!”
I stopped, turned around to admire the crescent moon sitting perfectly between two hills on the horizon, and used the moment to stretch my back out. Then we were off again.
Another 200 meters.
“Fuck me, Steff, that moon is incredible!”
Stop. Stretch. Pray. Move on.
400 meters.
The moon trick was getting old. Time for a new distraction.
“Steff, is that a planet up there?”
Stop. Stretch. Pray. Move on.
Little by little, I chipped away at the climb. Finally, we hit a downhill stretch icy as hell, but the relief on my back was unbelievable. I found my rhythm as we descended, but the reprieve was short-lived. Another climb loomed ahead.
We could see headlights at the peak, but I quickly learned that those lights were a lot further away than they seemed. I had to switch off and get into the zone.
Peak One
The wind picked up suddenly. The odd head torch bobbing in the darkness ahead seemed to jump closer. It was still very dark, but the night sky had shifted from black to deep blue, and the mountain peak in front of us was now a dark silhouette against the horizon.
Ground frost turned to snow. Running turned to walking, which turned to climbing steep steps. And just like that, we were in full Lord of the Rings territory. And I fucking loved it.
There was real jeopardy here is not sheer drops thought they are about, but steep, icy steps where a wrong step could send you sliding painfully back down. Steff led the way, and before I knew it, we had summited the first peak.
We were way ahead of schedule. The sun hadn’t even started brushing the horizon with orange and pink yet. It was bitterly cold, -10°C, and still ever so dark.
Looking back down, we could see a solid trail of white head torches weaving up the path. I wondered if the hikers below were looking at us the same way I had looked at the peaks lights hopeful that they were closer than they seemed.
We didn’t stay long. The cold can creep into your bones fast up here. And once you start to get cold, it’s often too late to warm back up.
Despite meticulously prepping for this trip, I realized I was a layer short. Thankfully, Steff had a spare jacket tucked away, and I threw it on as we looked for the descent path toward the ridgeline leading to Pen y Fan.
The first or second peak, I cannot quite remember but the view was incredible even at this hour!
The Descent: A Moment of Madness and fun
It was still pitch dark. Steff walked toward the edge and spied the trail leading down the ridgeline. I wasn’t exactly sold.
At this hour, no one else had taken this path yet. We would be the first.
A young guy near the edge watched us closely. Steff, ever the cautious but skilled trail runner, took his first steps over, staying low to the ground, arms ready to balance if he slipped. I was right behind him.
’Fuck me, I wish I had what you guys have had this morning. You’re brave going down there” the guy muttered as we passed.
Now, Steff isn’t reckless especially when we’re training together but compliments like that can be dangerous. It’s easy to let bravado take over. And I wont lie I wanted to show off a little.
But this wasn‘t the time for ego.
Stay focused. Get yourself down.
Steff vanished ahead, his quick downhill stride unstoppable. I couldn’t match his pace, but I found my own rhythm, snow and ice crunching beneath my feet, and cascaded down the ridgeline, just as the first light of morning began creeping in.
Before long, we had reached flat ground ready to take on our second ascent of the day.
Peak 2 – Pen y Fan
The relief of downhill running was short-lived. Before long, the backache was creeping in again, and we were back to climbing, this time toward the summit of Pen y Fan.
Unlike earlier, it was now daylight, which meant I could see exactly how far we had to go. No more tricking myself with the moon and planets. Now, it was all about pacing properly.
My usual tactic? Use Steff as my marker.
This is what makes it all worth it
Locate Steff, Walk, Arrive, Stretch, Repeat.
Trail running is brutal. Physically demanding, mentally exhausting but rewarding as fuck. It’s about pushing through, finding what’s inside you, and seeing how far you can go.
I dug in. Before long, we reached the top of Pen y Fan.
And it was breathtaking.
The horizon stretched out before us, a plate of colours, violets, yellows, oranges, contrasting against the crisp white of the snow and the deep green of the grass.
The back pain? Felt like yesterdays problem.
This moment, this was why it was worth skipping the beer, waking up at 3:50 a.m., and pushing through the pain.
Myself on the left, Steff the Mountain Goat to the right!
Time for Some Fun
We didn’t linger on the peak for long. The cold was biting, and the summit was getting crowded.
At around three miles from the car, we knew the return journey wasn’t far off, but we had some fun to squeeze in first.
Steff took off down the descent like a madman. After snapping some videos and sunrise selfies, I followed suit.
I wasn’t quite sprinting, but I was flying down that hill.
The people trudging uphill must have thought we were completely unhinged, but fuck, it was fun. I let my legs go, kept my body loose, and just ran.
Scattered pools of water from the melting snow meant plenty of long jumps to clear them, each one a gamble between making the leap or soaking my feet in ice-cold water.
Of course, there’s always the risk of spraining an ankle, breaking a leg, or wiping out spectacularly, but at that moment, the real jeopardy was landing in freezing water. And that just added to the adrenaline rush.
Before I knew it, we had reached the bottom of the ridge, taking in the views.
The sun was well and truly rising now, casting a magical glow across the landscape. The snow shimmered in hues of blue, pink, and orange, a scene straight out of a fantasy novel.
Back to the Car
We still had two peaks to climb before heading back.
The return ascent to Pen y Fan was tough but steady, and I rewarded myself by wolfing down my bacon sarnie on the way up.
At the summit, we paused properly this time, soaking in the full spectacle of the sunrise. The forecasters were right. The air was crisp, the sky crystal clear, and the colors engulfed us in warmth, even in the freezing cold.
It was incredible.
After taking some photos and videos, we descended toward Corn Du, sprinting down the hill. I let myself get carried away with speed, and for a brief moment, I looked up realizing that a couple hundred people were watching from the peak in front of me.
One thought crossed my mind:
If I fall now I’m going to hear a collective groan from all those people.
Mortifying.
Thankfully, my legs held true. No wipeouts.
The Final Descent
We made our way up to Corn Du, retracing our earlier trail though, now in full daylight, I finally got a proper look at the path we had taken in the dark.
Honestly?
It was fucking nuts.
It looked sketchy enough now, in broad daylight, let alone with nothing but head torches and starlight guiding us earlier. Seeing it now, I won’t lie I felt pretty damn good about myself.
With one final climb up Corn Du completed, we were ready for the final descent back toward the car.
By now, the trails were busy, filled with hikers making their way up. As we passed, we exchanged smiles and hellos, the camaraderie of the outdoors in full swing.
Seeing the trail in daylight was eye-opening. If I’d seen how steep and long it really was while dealing with my back pain earlier, I’m not sure I would’ve made it. Ignorance, in this case, was bliss.
We weren’t far from the bottom when we passed a large group of tourists just beginning their ascent. Judging by the womens headscarves, I assumed they were from a Muslim community.
As we passed, they smiled warmly and congratulated us clearly recognizing the weathered look of people who had just come from the top.
‘Thanks! Hope you have a great time up there!’ I replied.
Every single one of them smiled back. Every single one spoke.
It was a small exchange, but it stuck with me.
In a world full of division, conflict, and tension, this was just people, from completely different backgrounds, enjoying the same incredible experience together.
And honestly? That was the cherry on top of an already amazing morning.
Home & The Pub: A Full-Circle Moment
Pen y Fan: Conquered.
Next stop? McDonalds.
We grabbed coffee, hit the road, and talked the whole way back about the mornings experience.
Once home, I grabbed an hour of sleep, did some washing, and started writing this blog. Before long, 5 p.m. rolled around and there was Steff, knocking on my door.
Time for the pub.
We met my best mate, Flam, and my old man, ready to bask in the glory of our morning conquest. And, of course, the awe from the guys when they heard that we had been up Pen y Fan and seen something so magnificent.
One pint turned to two.
Two turned to five.
Five turned to whiskey.
Then more pints.
Then more whiskey.
By 11 p.m., we were absolutely shitfaced.
And just like that, the tables had turned.
Steff, who had been flying ahead on the trails was now the one struggling, and it was my turn to be the guide.
The jeopardy this time?
Not slipping on ice, but trying not to puke in a bush.
After a staggering two-mile walk, I finally dropped him at his door. The day was done.
The Beauty of Balance
Life really is a wild ride.
One minute, you’re in your early 20s, out on the town until 4 a.m., drinking enough to last a year.
The next, you’re waking up at 4 a.m. in thermal tights, climbing Pen y Fan before dawn.
But the truly amazing thing?
When you reach an age where you can do both.
The only thing that changes?
The length of time it takes to recover from the hangover.
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