Second Time’s a Charm: Lessons from a Solo South Wales Traverse
“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
Socrates probably wasn’t talking about ultrarunning — but he might as well have been.
This is a blog about the South Wales Traverse. But really, it’s a blog about looking back — at what didn’t work the first time, and what changed the second.
My wife Sally has written an honest, quietly brilliant reflection on trying again — not just tougher, but also smarter.
And in doing so, she’s reminded me of something: we don’t always have to learn more from failure, we just tend to examine it more.
Success deserves the same attention. And this was a success worth celebrating.
As far as we can tell, Sally is the first woman to complete a solo, unsupported South Wales Traverse.
Over 100km. 5,000m+ of ascent. No outside help. Just a bag full of food, a few streams for water, and a whole lot of resolve. I couldn’t be prouder of what she achieved, and how she did it.
By the way, people often ask if I worry when Sally’s out there alone in the mountains. And honestly?
I do, a bit. But not much. There aren’t many people I’d trust more in those situations. Myself included.
This isn’t a story about luck, or heroics. It’s about knowing yourself, trusting your choices, and finishing what you started. But enough from me, let’s hear from the heroine of the story…
In May 2025, I completed the South Wales Traverse solo and unsupported in 22 hours (& 40 secs!).
I believe I’m the first woman to complete it solo and unsupported…
…which, I’ll be honest, was a big part of the appeal.
Back in September, I would have written a very different blog. That was after my first attempt — when I missed the 24-hour cutoff.
This blog is about what went wrong. And more importantly (for me), what I learned from it.
What is the South Wales Traverse?
In a nutshell, the South Wales Traverse is a 24-hour fell running challenge, ticking off 31 two-thousand-foot summits across Bannau Brycheiniog.
It’s a point-to-point route with a fixed start and finish, but the way you get between peaks is up to you. It’s around 120km with 5,500m of climbing, depending on your route (and how good your nav is).
Solo and unsupported meant:
Carrying all my food from the start (no caches)
Resupplying my water from natural sources
No outside help, no pacers, and no moral support!
Note: there are different interpretations of what “unsupported” means, depending on which rules you’re following. I decided it meant no contact at all — not even text updates.
James had a tracker link for safety, but otherwise I stayed offline - and properly on my own.
Sept 2024: First attempt
I’d wanted to do a solo South Wales Traverse in 2024, but it was a busy year.
After recovering from Wild Horse 200—and surviving the summer holiday—September looked like my only chance. The weather looked okay, even though the daylight hours were much shorter than ideal.
If you’re picturing long weekends in the hills and a beautifully periodised training block… It didn’t quite pan out that way.
With recovery taking longer than I’d hoped, three kids, work, and everything else, including family holidays — most of my running was a bit inconsistent over that year.
Over the summer holidays, we’d managed some time in the Lake District and the Alps, which meant my legs were in reasonable hill shape. Undeniably, it all lacked consistency and the benefit of proper long runs.
But it was enough to feel like I could give it a shot, even if it wasn’t ideal.
I didn’t have much to lose by giving it a go. If nothing else, I told myself, it'd be a great learning opportunity.
The good weather window closed pretty much the day before I started. It rained on and off for most of the day and night and the visibility was pretty poor throughout.
I made it round in 24:40. Not a successful Traverse, but it was close enough to teach me a lot.
What I learned:
Weather really matters. The cloud and super wet ground made it especially hard to run across the final 50k of Black Mountains ridges in the dark. Particularly when I needed to be moving fast. Or at least faster than a walk!
I didn’t carry enough food. I was rationing towards the end and felt dizzy. I hadn't thought about the fact that my usual way of calculating food for long races is topped up with aid station food.
There’s a lot of dark in September. I lost more time overnight than I expected.
Don’t change your route at 2am. I got scared by a barking dog in Mynydd Du forest, took a detour I hadn’t recced, and paid the price.
And then there were the ferns. By September they’re over head-high in places, making everything harder. Where I could, I took a longer route to find better paths through the fern forest, but there were some sections I just needed to hack through. I didn't have time to pre-clear the ferns before my attempt!
May 2025: Round Two
This time it worked!
As soon as I finished my first attempt, I knew I wanted to come back and give it another go in better conditions.
For the rest of 2024, we focused on getting back consistency in my running (all local, flat affairs).
In early 2025, we focused on getting my hill climbing legs back in shape a bit earlier than usual, with treadmill hill sessions and the odd trip to the Surrey Hills, adding in a few extra recces to assess autumn storm damage and condition my downhill legs.
So this is what worked better:
1. Timing
I’d been looking at a weekend in June, but a spell of sunny weather arrived in May, and the forecast showed it wouldn’t last.
After much analysis and overthinking, I brought the attempt forward—and cue a shorter than usual taper.
Plus it made the logistics harder (thanks to Dad for a heroic 4-hour drive to the start), but the ferns were shorter, the ground was dry, and I felt I could handle heat and sun better than the uncertainty of what the weather in June might bring …
2. Food
I packed more — and better.
I knew what I’d get sick of by halfway, so I brought more “proper” food (hot cross buns, bagels, jam sandwiches, Cadbury’s Creme eggs) and more variety.
The pack was heavier, but I didn’t end up rationing, and I didn’t have that dreaded low-energy haze from before.
Also worth mentioning, high-carb fuelling is a bit trickier when you’re also filtering all your water. You can’t mix carbs into bottles if those bottles are your filter.
But carrying 500ml of flat coke in another bottle was totally worth it!
3. Lighting
Last time, I really struggled in the dark — so this time I created an unusual double torch setup.
One on my head and one on a waist belt, which helped with depth perception on rough ground.
It made a big difference, and if nothing else, it gave me more confidence running at night.
But what really helped was having a clear, starry night.
4. Night time strategy
James and I talked it through beforehand and decided to switch which bits I’d do in the dark.
Instead of trying to minimise time overnight, we looked at where the average pace would naturally be slower. And put those sections at night.
I started around 6:30pm so I could do the long runnable descent off Fan Hir with the last of the light, tackle the undulating Fforest Fawr and Pen y Fan sections in darkness. I planned to hit the less-travelled ‘fern crossing’ off the end of the Beacons leg just after dawn.
To be honest, as a woman traveling alone at night in the hills, the thought of doing remote sections at night by myself did scare me.
But the revised plan also meant I'd tackle sections I knew well from years of running in the area, which was a plus. I definitely didn’t fancy either the disused quarry — or the Mynydd Du forest, with its barking dog — by night.
Perhaps unsurprisingly to those who know the area, even at 3am there were walkers up on Pen y Fan, who seemed bemused by me, as they took their obligatory selfies at the summit cairn!
On a less positive note, I was less than impressed by the three young guys I passed on Corn Du (also around 3am) who made the comment 'nice view' as I passed.
Yes - seriously. To a lone woman on a hill in the middle of the night!
5. Water
I had two filter bottles…
…and a plan for when and where I’d fill them (largely at the end of a leg), and how much I’d need for the following section.
It had been really dry, so I was worried some of the usual streams might not be flowing so had a plan B too. A few smaller streams had dried up on the route, but my plan A options thankfully were all still flowing.
I also drank as much water as I could each time I stopped to refill, which helped.
Would I have done it without failing first?
Possibly.
But I’d have been under-fuelled.
I wouldn’t have changed the torch setup. And I don’t know if I’d have had the confidence to pull the attempt forward and catch the fine weather window.
Failing in September didn’t just make me better prepared - it made me braver.
Why I did it
No one knew I was out there, except James, my dad, and my friend Amy, who I'd had to bail on, to make space for the accelerated attempt!
No WhatsApp group chat. No dot-watchers. No updates.
Just me, a big quiet route, and a determination to prove to myself I can do hard things and finish what I’d started.
There’s a strange joy in doing something big and quiet for no one but yourself. And that was enough.
At least for now.
What I love about Sally’s blog isn’t just the finish.
It’s her thoughtfulness, honesty, and her quiet refusal to give up.
That’s the kind of running I believe in — and the kind of reflection I feel we should all make more space for.
For me, her achievement is inspirational, not just because it’s in the record books, but because it’s the kind of story that doesn’t end at the finish line.
As Joe Strummer, lead singer of The Clash, said, “The future is unwritten.”