the light is in you – the tunnel ultra

March 2025…

I watched the 2025 Tunnel Ultra with interest and decided that when entries opened I would complete the form to be considered for a place in 2026. Shortly after this I was following the Northern Traverse…a totally different but also very difficult ultra event. I decided I’d love to try the slightly shorter Lakes Traverse which is also run in March and awaited entries opening for that too, pretty much forgetting about the tunnel and believing I would not be successful at getting in.

In the Easter holidays 2025 we were driving back from Cornwall in our campervan and I received an email from Mark Cockbain telling me ‘congratulations you have a place in the tunnel ultra 2026’ I swore and put my phone down to think about it for a couple of weeks. When I looked on the Facebook page for the tunnel I saw how lucky I had been to be given a place. But considering the two races I’d been interested in; running across the Lake District or running in the tunnel, which would be the bigger challenge for me? I took up the tunnel thinking that this would probably be the most difficult thing I would ever do and I wasn’t wrong.  The website itself states you cannot wear headphones, you cannot run beside another person limiting how much you can talk to other people, and from 11 pm to 5am you are running in the darkness as the lights of the tunnel are switched off. But no rain (you would think).

March 2026 

The Race

After sorting home stuff out and dropping the kids (Tin Tin and The Stig) off for world book day I loaded my kit into our campervan and headed down to Bath solo. After an early night in the campsite I wake up on race day at 6am unable to get back to sleep. I got my stuff together have breakfast and FaceTime the kids before they head to school. 

I then take the van to a small residential area in Bath where I have already scouted out some free off road parking for the weekend – or as long as I end up running for. 

An uber takes me to a path half a mile from the south end of the Combe Down Tunnel – my long dark home for the next two days. As I am pulling my trolly of kit up the slope I meet other runners on their way to the start. 

We arrive hoping to set our kit bags and boxes out at the front of the tunnel. The instructions are to keep everything at the sides of the path so as not to impede on the other path users. A previous finisher had told me in the run-up to the race that if you got there early enough you’ll be able to leave your kit at the very very entrance to the tunnel that way you didn’t have to run very far when you came out to retrieve something. However unfortunately by the time I’ve got there even though it was still two hours before the start of the race there were very few spaces left and myself a runner called Bea, and a chap (who I later found out had flown over especially from the USA) called Christoph all ended up having to put our stuff in the stream of water which was running out of the tunnel and down the path to the left. Glad I brought my waterproof socks for a fully tarmac race. As it turns out it does rain inside the tunnel. At the south end for about 50 metres there is constantly water dripping down from the ceiling. Hence the stream.

We registered with Mark and collected our bib numbers and timing chips and at about 3:20pm Mark asked us all to stand up where we were and lineup in front of the tunnel stretching down the footpath in single file.

This was the race briefing. “It’s very simple,” Mark said. “You run all the way to the other end of the tunnel, cross the timing mat at the other end, and then run back…and do that 100 times. Please don’t ask us how many laps you have done until Sunday morning there’s no point asking us until then. You cannot wear any headphones. Please only run in single file. Don’t go to the toilet in the tunnel under any circumstances. If it’s an emergency you’ll just have to shit your pants. If you wish the portaloo is here”. He pointed to a standard blue portaloo that was standing like a tardis in the middle of a huge puddle just down from where we placed our kit. Someone had tactfully placed a couple of rocks across the puddle to make stepping stones to get to the toilet. In the race I would end up traversing these stepping stones many times in an attempt to reach the portaloo, only to realise that someone was already in it and that I had to go back again to a suitable distance away to wait. I didn’t expect my brand-new white trainers to get quite so muddy but between the puddle for the portaloo and the area of mud I had to stand in to reach my kit, they got pretty black by the end of my time in this race. 

“You can come down to the gazebo and get a pot noodle or a hot drink if you want but the clocks ticking so don’t hang about” After the very short briefing we stood for another minute or so in our line before hearing Mark simply shout ‘Go’. A couple of front runners, unsure as to whether that was meant for us, stood there for a brief second before realising that yes the race had started and we all began our first lap of the tunnel. 

I’m probably the 9th or 10th person from the front at the start but by the end of the first lap many people had already overtaken me.

Eventually we would all stretch out, some people remaining close together to have a chat as they run behind one another, some like me running solo for much of the first few hours.  I get into a solid routine – run for 36 minutes, (I’m not sure why I do 36 but it works) walk for 10 minutes. Run for the next 36 and so on. I feel strong. Happy and confident I can keep this up. We stayed in Bath for a few days last summer to recce the tunnel and understand how it feels to run in it. It is slightly uphill on the way out and slightly downhill on the way back in each lap. You cannot see the ends of the tunnel until you are about 200m from the end. The tunnel seems to curve significantly and so for the most part you can’t see the end in either direction. When we recce’d it I felt very claustrophobic in it. But on race day that didn’t really occur to me. I guess there was too much else to think about. It is also 1670m long, so actually just over a mile. After 100 laps the total race distance is said to be more like 210 miles. I decide to simply tick off laps, rather than miles. 10 or so laps done, 90 to go. 

The first few hours passed by uneventfully. I changed my trainers into a wider pair of new balance 1080’s I had brought especially. They have only run 5 miles until today but don’t cause me any issues at all.  I carry enough gels in my shorts pockets for each 2 hours and I have a bottle of Maurten at the start end which I take a sip from each lap. 

As runners pass each other we offer brief hellos or well dones. But other than this nobody is really chatting much at this point. By 9pm I realise that I have been up since 6am this morning. As someone that hasn’t drank caffeine for almost 2 years* I start to feel quite sleepy. Negative thoughts fly into my head …Why did I sign up for this? Why am I entering long races? I plan on giving up my places in the other 100+ mile races I have entered next year. ‘I should really just stick to marathons or 50 miles at the most’. ‘Everyone else is much quicker than me’…..the unusual thing about this race is that you are running beside incredibly good runners ALL the time. You see them at least once every 10 or 15 minutes, you pass them going the opposite way or they lap you for the third or fourth time. Some of these runners have represented their country at national 24 hour races. Normally I wouldn’t see runners of this calibre near me in a race. They would simply be way ahead of me from the off. Feeling so incredibly exhausted I wonder how long it would take me to walk back to the campervan. I wish I could just have some caffeine I think. Deciding that I really haven’t got much to lose I pick up my mug and head down to the aid station and ask Mark for a cup of tea. Who knows how I will feel after I’ve had it – Will I get the shakes? Will I start to feel dizzy? I take my tea and start walking a lap with it in my hand. Almost immediately I feel slightly more awake. By the end of the lap, I have stuffed the mug into my pocket and I’m running what feels like a brilliant pace. No dizziness. I’ve had my fist drink of caffeine in a long time and it doesn’t make my head explode. Thank goodness. I catch up with Bea and have a chat about the magic of tea. Positivi-tea. Why didn’t I do this earlier?

I run well for about 45 minutes then quite suddenly I feel like I’m having chest pains. FFS it’s the tea. I’m going to have to go to hospital. This is like Lakeland 100 2025 all over again (where I had an extreme bout of dizziness 25 miles in and was told to dnf by medics). But they don’t have medics here. I’ll probably need an ecg. I walk for a bit and wonder what I will do. Maybe wait for it to get worse? 

It’s not hurting now. And actually I’m not dizzy it’s just my chest. That’s weird. 

I put my hand on my chest. It stops. Ffs. I work it out. It’s my boobs. My sports bra is super loose. As a relatively flat chested person I’ve never had this issue before. I get to the end of the loop and head to the portaloo. I strip off and tighten the straps. 

Instantly better. Another problem solved. 

I grab a tub of rice pudding to eat on this lap and carry on.

A few laps later, the lights very unceremoniously switch off. It sounds obvious but it is totally pitch black. There is no light anywhere. I can’t see my hand infront of my face. I light up my watch and see it is 10pm. An hour earlier than I expected lights to go out. Luckily I had the forethought to carry my small Petzl bindi in my pocket for a few laps. I put it on and collect my chest torch when I reach the home end again. The tunnel feels bigger without the lights on. I think I prefer it. 

We all continue in the darkness. The number of non tunnel runners and cyclists decreases until it is simply us runners. I go through hours of feeling tired, having a nap, a cup of tea and feeling good for a while. 

At some point in the night someone does a number 2 against the wall of the tunnel. It looks like it had been an emergency. Not long after this happens the stench causes someone else to vomit in the centre of the path adjacent to it. The smell in this part of the tunnel is now so bad I hold my breath every time we pass it. It’s about 500metres from the entrance and becomes a weird marker of ‘oh I’m almost at the end of this lap’. 

The far end (north end) of the tunnel is too tempting for people to contain their bladders and at the end of every outward mile I notice a head torch or two out of the tunnel beside the path. Hopefully going for a pee but it turns out some of them weren’t. 💩 

I start to see things as the night goes on. I see a snake slither across the gravel, a child’s doll and some mice run across the tunnel floor. As I look above, the ceiling looks like large tree branches leaning over us. Of course these aren’t proper hallucinations yet just my eyes playing tricks on me. I run with a previous finisher of the race, and practically tunnel celebrity, Karl, who says that he has seen snowmen in the tunnel before. 

Into the early hours of Saturday morning and I am struggling to stay awake again. Meandering from side to side. A French runner jogs past giving me an ‘Allez Allez’ as they leave me in their dust. I take a short nap on the bench at the far end of the tunnel. One of the leading runners joins me. 

Have another tea. Feel a bit better but my legs are tired and feel slow. There are about 37 runners who started the race. With a wide range of nationalities. A french runner called Corinne seems to be leading the race when I check the tracker. She is a machine, and doesn’t appear to be stopping anytime soon. 

The lights flick back on instantaneously. I look at my watch – 4am. An hour earlier than expected. Must still be on BST. Instantly I feel slightly more awake. At 6am the ends of the tunnel appear to get lighter. A normal runner (not in the race) jogs through the tunnel out for an early run. You can tell he’s normal because you can hear his footsteps are stronger than any of ours. 

Now Saturday morning the tunnel begins to become more busy with people on bicycles, running and walking. Mid morning and I am standing at the entrance of the tunnel at the home end when a cyclist comes flying through the tunnel we all give away as we have become used to, but the cyclist is not expecting the huge puddle which stretches almost the width of the path. He skids and slides onto his side coming off of his bike. The runners have little sympathy. You’re going too fast, we say. He gets up and pushes his bike away. I start to do calculations in my head about pacing. My legs feel fine but don’t feel as though they can move any faster, but I need to if I want to make 100 miles by 7pm (the cut off for half way). I never came into this race to only get to halfway, but it feels like I might not make that. 

I eat and eat. Gels, Percy pigs, rice pudding and a whole pack of Battenberg cakes. It all goes in. 

I believe I pick up the pace a little but in reality I am slowing down hour by hour. I have a walk break and the eventual winner of the race, Christian, jogs beside me and says ‘It’s easier if you run!’ I tell him I’ll join him in a minute.

Andy texts me from home, he is leaving to catch the train to Bath. He is positive I can get to 100 miles but only if I speed up a little bit. I chat to Christoph who has travelled from Portland, Oregon to take part in the Tunnel. We discuss the other races he has finished. The strength of the runners in this race is really incredible. I feel like probably one of the least experienced here, and certainly the slowest coming into Saturday afternoon. Paul and Aimee, a couple taking part together decide to DNF after injury. They let me take their spot on the dry side of the kit area so now I have more space I get my chair out and have a nap under my umbrella. 

Runners who were moving very fast to begin with are starting to slow as they hit the 100 miles mark. One runner in particular is refraining from having a nap by his kit and instead stops and leans against the tunnel wall to sleep. Along the tunnel are alcoves on each side which sink back away from the path. On one lap I see his feet sticking out of the alcove before he then rises up like dracula out of the darkness before staggering upwards and carrying on. I don’t believe he finishes the race. 

After a much needed pot noodle and a cup of tea I soon realise that I am almost certainly not going to make the 100 mile cut off of 7pm. I have always historically found the flat races much harder than anything hilly. My first DNF was on the Thames Path 100, and I have struggled through 6 & 12hr track races trying my best to keep up a good pace. As was the case in the tunnel, my legs work but I just can’t seem to keep moving fast enough. I can run a trail 50 miles in 9hours but in the tunnel I scraped through 50 miles in 12 hours. I simply cannot keep up with the pace of the other runners, but feel positive that my legs feel fine, just tired.

At 5pm I tell Mark and his volunteers that I will do one more lap then call it. I make it to 40 laps / 80 miles and hand in my timing chip. Not far behind me a few others make the 100 mile mark and decide to stop there. The thought of doing the distance all again seemingly too much. 

I am certainly not done with the tunnel. I would really love to go back and have another crack at it. I am really happy to have made the 80 mile mark, but really most happy about the fact that I didn’t get dizzy. I was able to have caffeine without any issues, and that I was not claustrophobic as I expected to be. In the last 3 months I have spent ages without listening to music or podcasts or even the radio on long journeys and long runs just to feel more confident spending time in my own head and not being kept occupied by other things. None of that was an issue – I had taught myself many tactics to keep my brain occupied or just to be empty. I genuinely enjoyed the repetitiveness of the race, the simplicity of it, and not having to deal with the weather. It might not have finished how I wanted but maybe it was just a stepping stone back to feeling like I can complete the long stuff again. 

I’ll leave this here, one of the brilliant David Miller’s photos from the tunnel 2024. I think the quote is from the winner that year. I’ve been repeating it in my head for the last 6 months….

*in 2024 I was given diagnosis of Vestibular Migraines after I started to get daily episodes of extreme dizzy and lightheadedness which started in the South Downs Way 100. I was told by a specialist to cut out caffeine, chocolate, cheese, Chinese food and claret from my diet. The more I have experimented with my diet and had bloods done the less I am certain of this diagnosis. One Doctor said it was food and stress related. One Doctor believed it could be due to low B12. After this race I am more convinced that the diagnosis was incorrect. But what it could be I still don’t know.