Friday May 8th, 2026
The concept is dead simple: 50 outs and backs on a 2-mile-long bridge linking England to Wales over the Severn.
At the end you've covered 200 miles (50x2x2) and whoever gets there first wins — it's really just a race like any other. Time limit 55h.
A note for those who absolutely want to enter the Tunnel Ultra: the "Bridge 200" is a qualifier.
Spoiler: finishing the Bridge is about as hard as finishing the Tunnel, maybe worse, so you really need to want to run a 200-mile race just to qualify for another 200-mile race.
But if you're motivated enough, that's the way to go.
That's the case for Justine, who'll be joining us.
Very few of us are on the start line, slightly more than 10, but not much.
To everyone complaining that you can't sign up for races anymore, that there are no slots left, that ultra has gone commercial... Stop whining and go check out what's happening at Cockbain Events.
I don't have time to do everything, but otherwise it's all good in there, plenty of great race ideas, the full menu: tunnels, bridges, a hill, arbitrary straight lines, a cannonball, you name it.
We start around 4pm.
Briefing's very short — 6 minutes (vs 8 for the Tunnel...). Go to the end of the bridge, not quite the very end but a bit further, where there's a cone. U-turn there, come back to the start, and be careful: the table with the water is before the timing mat, so if you grab a drink and head straight back out, the lap risks getting invalidated.
That's all there is to know.
First evening, a bit of rain comes in — that said, it's not raining all that hard, just two or three showers, nothing dramatic. It's mildly unpleasant to find yourself at the far end of the bridge, almost 30 minutes from the start, with a shower coming down on you, having to wait that long before being able to put something warmer on.
The bridge is magnificent — you have to enjoy good engineering, but I do, and it really is a piece of art.
It comes in two parts. The first one spans a "small" watercourse. That's the west side, the start side, Chepstow. But it's already quite a chunk of bridge — suspended, with two central piers, the deck built around the piers. I love the cables, very elegant; they have 25 (or 16? I don't remember exactly...) cables regularly arranged along a square section. That has class.
After the very spartan start area you cross a small grassy zone with black cows first, then white sheep. Then a watercourse, which justifies this first part of the bridge — it's almost a viaduct at this stage.
And there, things get serious — it climbs. Oh, not 10% grade, but enough to break the rhythm a bit, and to offer a nice perspective.
And this is where you cross, for real, the Severn — the river separating England from Wales. I didn't see much of Wales, just a castle and a few landscapes, but it looks really nice. They speak a local language there, like Breton but even more complicated. And they look pretty motivated to keep their linguistic heritage intact: all the signs are translated, and in the train stations the station names are in big Welsh letters with smaller English text below, for those who don't have enough Celtic soul.
But back to our bridge.
Here we're talking serious construction: a huge deck supported by two arches. The 4 pillars are gigantic. Compared to Millau, it's very different — and especially, here I have the view not from below but from the edge of the bridge, I can observe every detail, see how it's built, where things are welded, where they're bolted, which parts are concrete, which parts are metal, how much rust has progressed or not — in short, I see everything.
The cables linking the main cables to the deck? Those are 2 or 3 inches across... Compared to that, ski chairlift cables look like sewing thread. And everything's to that scale. It's massive. And at the same time very airy. I spent hours — literally — watching the bridge, its technical structure, but also of course the landscape.
The landscape, then, on the left going out, on the right coming back. You see the "land" side, upstream of the river. The water is brownish, it's an estuary, reminds me of the French Gironde color.
The first day, I'm sad not to see any boats, nothing, zip, nada. On the second day, Saturday, finally a few jet-skis and small sailboats. Small ones, because the draft isn't huge, it must be a big-tide area I imagine, and it'd be easy to smash yourself against the banks... Or some hidden treacherous rock. And on the last day, Sunday, there's a hell of a wind, the small sails stay in the garage.
Does the bridge make you dizzy? Vertigo? Maybe. If you're sensitive, it could become a problem. There's just a small railing separating you from a hundred-foot drop. Diving not recommended. In the United States they'd have put barbed wire, plexiglass, electrified the whole thing, who knows what — but here a wind of freedom still blows.
On that subject, I see green "Samaritans" signs everywhere. With the message "Talk to us, we'll listen". It feels a bit like an ad for a cult, something along those lines. I don't get how they have the right to do that, putting their ads everywhere. Then after... about 30 hours, because my brain still works but not at its best rate, I finally get it. It's a charity that fights, among other things, against suicide attempts. The local version of the French SOS amitié, I guess. And yeah, it is the last-chance rampart, because on the other side of the rail, between the vertiginous drop, the rocks waiting just below the thin surface of the water, and the currents that look properly treacherous, your chances of survival aren't great... On the other hand, on the opposite side of the bike path where we're running, cars, motorbikes and trucks go by at over 60 mph, which doesn't leave many chances either.
So well, if you're feeling blue, don't go there — better to be happy with your life before you show up on that footpath.
And then there's the road. 2 lanes each way, motorway-style (M48). It's busy. There are cars, electric cars, motorbikes, coaches, few trucks I think. Where are all these people going? What are they doing? Romantic trip? Business trip? Crossing just for the heck of it? What did the area look like before the bridge? Going around by land on horseback must have taken days. Crossing by sea works in decent weather, but in winter or in a storm? The modern world takes bridges, tunnels, civil engineering works as a given, but they remain relatively unique and fragile. And recent.
And what's going through the minds of the technicians doing maintenance a good 300 feet up, at the very top of the support pillars? Hard to answer that one. It's already complicated enough figuring out what's going on in my own head...
The race
What should I say? That I bumped into friendly familiar faces like Martin, Kevin, Giacomo, and also friendly not-yet-familiar faces like Justine.
Justine leads the race, like a pro, steady, strong, no fluff — she has a good pace and takes a fairly hard start but holds it all the way, masterful. She put 4 laps on me in the first 24h, and I never came back.
Between her and me, Dean, who played cat-and-mouse with her if I got it right. I, for one, was in my bubble, lost in my songs (cf the Tunnel race report: I counted laps the same way, once from A to Z, then again from A to X...).
I'm obviously disappointed by Martin's and Giacomo's drops — both Tunnel buddies. But well, they tried, it didn't work out, this isn't an easy race.
Right at the end I cross paths with Dean, he asks me how many laps I have left. Answer: 2. And him: 4. He tells me he's sleepy, that he's staggering. That, I'd noticed... I'll wake you up alright man, just wait. I pick up the pace a notch and HOP! miracle, our Dean feels me starting to nibble at his lead, and gets back to a jog. Ultra runners are so predictable.
So well, I finish 3rd, but that's not the most important thing — I came to grab a finish, that's all that really mattered to me.
I'll take the opportunity to remind those who want to enter the Tunnel: registrations are packed full, way too many applications relative to the number of slots. The only way to really secure your entry is to do the Bridge the year before. The rest — sending a tearful letter to the organizer, writing to me, asking how to get in — that's useless.
Do the Bridge!