I started in Hafren Forest car park, ran to the official source of the River Severn, and then followed the river all the way to the sea — sticking to the waymarked Severn Way. The guidebook gives a shorter distance, but modern GPS tells a different story. The route doesn’t hug the river perfectly and often detours away, so the full traverse of the waymarked trail came in close to 394km.
This was a supported effort, made possible by the best crew I could have asked for. ASICS kitted us out, and filmmaker Robert Grew came along to document the journey. But this was more than a run — it was a team effort every step of the way.
The trail itself threw everything at us. Much of it was overgrown and nearly impassable in sections — we fought through stinging nettles, broken paths, and completely obstructed tracks. (Some must have been destroyed from the floods). We had to make three small detours: one to move up onto the road and run parallel to a section that was too dense to push through (we dropped back in as soon as we could); another due to a bridge closure where out-of-date signage sent us on a 2–3 mile loop; and a final diversion after a local warned us the next path had been bought and fenced off by a traveller community — we attempted to rejoin but had to reroute again.
The first two nights brought solid rain, which made the trail even tougher — waterlogged shoes, soaked kit, and feet that blistered badly. Wednesday night was the hardest: I was completely spent, sleep-deprived, and running on something far beyond fumes.
But this was also the best run of my life. Watching the river grow from its tiny beginnings in the Welsh hills to the wide tidal reaches of the estuary was something I’ll never forget. The changing terrain, the stillness of night sections, and the moments of laughter with my crew stitched together something really special.
I did this to show that ordinary people can do extraordinary things.
And I did this to show that women absolutely belong in ultra and trail running. On the long, wild routes. In the deep nights. In the blistered miles and brutal climbs. We deserve space here — not just to participate, but to push limits, to lead, to be seen.
To my people — thank you.
* Sadie, who was meant to run the full route with me and got to 206km before making the incredibly tough decision to stop. But instead of going home, she stayed. She crewed, she supported, she paced me for the final 7km. That kind of strength — to show up for someone else when your own run has ended — takes real heart. I’m endlessly grateful to her for being there through it all.
* Laura, my partner, my constant, my crew chief. No run, no moment, no version of this life happens without her.
* Garry, our van-driving logistics guru, pacer, fellow hayfever sufferer, and all-round superhero.
* Tom and Kirsty, who kept us safe, steady, and cared for through Sunday and Monday night.
* Will, who paced me through the dark hours of Tuesday night — no small thing when your job is to keep a shattered runner moving.
* Lau and Garry again, who jumped in and out throughout the final day to get me home.
I want to say a huge thank you to ASICS for believing in me and my story — for kitting us out, yes, but more than that, for understanding why this mattered.
And to Rob, who documented the journey, but also got involved in everything. He didn’t just film — he helped. Fixed bob. Drove. Encouraged. Stayed up late. You made this part of your story, too, and I’m so grateful for that.
The official ending is under the arch but I made my way to the dock not even 100m further in 109 hours, 59 minutes, and 33 seconds.
This was the hardest run I’ve ever done — but it was also the most beautiful, meaningful, and humbling experience of my running life. I will never stop being grateful.