100 Miles: From Edinburgh Castle to Glamis Castle by Sophie Laidlaw
Sophie Laidlaw returns with another honest account of a run that pushed her further than anything she’d taken on before.
After sharing her experience of the Jungle Ultra with us, Sophie has turned her attention to 100 miles. From Edinburgh Castle to Glamis Castle, through heat, darkness, rain, deep woodland, coastal paths and plenty of moments where stopping felt like the only option.
This is what 100 miles really looked like…
It’s a distance I’d never done before. I started running five years ago and what began with, “I wonder if I could run one kilometre?” has turned into a journey of exploring places and discovering what my body can do. Unlocking levels of possibility and potential.
I love trails and have dabbled in 24-hour runs, covering up to 150km, as well as some stage races too, but 100 miles felt different. Unknown.
It also felt like a fight right from the beginning.
I had been excited and nervous while prepping the logistics for the race. I’d never had to work out the logistics of a crew before, but with sections through the night and a goal I wanted to hit, I knew it would be the best approach. I cross-referenced the rules with the mileage, What3Words locations, mandatory kit and drop bags. Trying to work out what Scottish weather might entail is near impossible, so I planned for everything.
Two things are always certain. My shorts, regardless of the weather, and my VÅGA Night Cap. It’s my favourite and it feels like wearing nothing at all, even when sweaty, damp or fully raining.
I carried my favourite lightweight kit, folding it all into my hydration vest and feeling proud of my packing skills.
Race day was warm and cloudy. Light showers were forecast and it seemed they would keep us cool.
We started from the gardens below Edinburgh Castle. I take it for granted as my hometown, but it’s a pretty dramatic place to start a race. I left in the first wave, finding a rhythm out of the city and onto the trails. The sun came out. It was way warmer than expected.
Wasp stings at 5km were also not in the race plan. The sting to my leg was worse than the others on my neck and hand because it hit a working muscle.
The sun drenched me in my own sweat. I’d packed sunglasses at the last moment, and they came in handy. I pulled my cap down and found my pace.
I’d found a friend at the start line. We’d vowed to run our own race, but we stayed together for as long as it felt natural.
We crossed the Forth Road Bridge and hit the famous Fife Coastal Path. Lez and I eventually lost each other and I settled into my own rhythm, allowing my mind to wander.
Chafing burned across my back. Despite it, I felt like I was running really well. The sun pounded the pavement and the heat became stifling. My sweat-soaked T-shirt caused me more and more pain, so I stopped at the side of the road and changed my sports bra and T-shirt. It wasn’t ideal, but I was so glad I took the time to do it.
The coastal path turned to roads, tracks and trails, with some sections through cabbage fields up to the 91km mark.
From that point it changed into a truly rugged coastal path. I’d done a little research into the route and checked the tides against my pace in advance because I knew some of the path disappeared completely beneath the water. At high tide it would have meant wading through it, and I really didn’t fancy that, so I knew I had an unofficial cut-off.
This part of the route climbed back up via stepping stones onto narrow, winding paths before almost immediately dropping into deep, soft sand and climbing back out again.
It felt like this repeated itself for a very long time.
I was delighted to complete it before full darkness and high tide. I hit 100km. This was where I met my team, and I was so relieved.
Steph brushed my hair and helped me feel human again. She brought her van with fresh kit for me. I changed my shoes and opted for a lightweight windbreaker. I’d planned on wearing a warmer hat but kept my Night Cap instead.
Once my chafing was taped up, I felt I could move much better. Steph drove on to the next meeting point while Jenni ran with me as the sun set.
Every step hurt.
We passed Highland cows and chatted about life, but I was beginning to struggle. Focusing on eating and drinking, Jenni kept my momentum going, but I was steadily declining.
We passed through St Andrews and met Paul and Steph in Leuchars at 1am. We were bang on schedule, but I felt deflated. When I’d worked out the logistics for this race, I didn’t really know the terrain I’d be running on. I’d simply estimated the timings.
It turned out I really needed Paul for this section. It was deep woodland and pitch black. I was so glad to have him there. He kept me moving forward.
The runners had spread out so much that we barely saw anyone. It felt eerie. It was the first place I felt genuinely unsure, and I started to really doubt myself.
The woods felt endless and I was really slowing down, the uneven terrain testing my coordination and ability to keep moving forward.
The wasp sting on my quad had bothered me the whole time. I’d seen two medics at earlier checkpoints and had been given hydrocortisone cream, but it had done nothing.
The other stings were fine, but the one on the quad muscle felt like my leg was seizing. My feet felt like cheese graters had been fitted inside my shoes.
By the time I made it to CP8, I wanted to quit. I was done.
I saw a medic. I’m sure his name was Kevin. He was from Northumberland and spoke with a cheeky, uplifting manner. He removed the venom from the sting on my leg and it instantly felt better. He taped my feet and talked to me from a place of experience and complete belief that I would finish this race.
Paul got me a coffee.
I took a minute.
We pushed on.
Relieved to be out of the woods, I was faced with the next challenge. The Tay Bridge is never-ending concrete columns. Numbered one after another, they passed painfully slowly.
76, 75, 74…
The rain came with a headwind. Hat pulled down over my eyes, I leaned into it. I ran the sections I could, but concrete is just not my forte.
I made it to the Kingsway where Paul’s van was waiting. I felt broken and defeated. I napped for an hour, adamant I wasn’t going back out. My race was over at 140km. I made peace with it there and then.
I woke up feeling brighter, had some porridge and somehow found the will to move. I had truly believed my race was over. I still don’t know where that second wind came from.
My hat went back on. I laced up my damp shoes and pulled my vest back on. I ran.
I sipped an electrolyte drink, but it was getting old now. A few ulcers in my mouth had sapped any enjoyment I might have got from tasting anything. The last 21km felt more like 42km.
I put music on for the first time. It lifted me, and I just kept moving.
As I got out of Dundee, I pushed along the tarmac country roads towards the final checkpoint. I couldn’t bear food, but I filled up on water and forced myself to keep sipping it.
The road turned to path, then trail, then a narrow scree track climbing steeply over a hill. The views were stunning, but I had to fight my way up to earn them.
Determined, I’d come this far. I knew we were now beyond 100 miles. I let tears stream down my face because I had never wanted to see a castle so much in my life. I just wanted it to be over.
My shoulders hurt with every step. My back and ribs burned with chafing.
I finally reached the long entrance to Glamis Castle.
I was overwhelmed. Relieved, and absolutely ready to be finished. I crossed the line crumbling, exhausted and proud and absolutely broken.
I have never endured anything like it.
People often ask what 100 miles feels like.
It is pain. It’s your whole body and mind enduring together. It’s experience and adventure laced in resilience, stubbornness, fear, and when you feel absolutely hopeless, there is the quiet belief of the people around you.
I crossed the finish line alone, but I didn’t finish it alone.
That medal belongs to Paul, Steph, Jenni, Kevin the medic, and every volunteer at every aid station just as much as it belongs to me.
Total distance: 104.2 miles.