Race to the King 2025 — Not Quite What I Expected… Until It Was

I went into Race to the King 2025 thinking I knew what I was signing up for.

A coastal 50k. Sea air, open views, long stretches alongside water, maybe the odd seagull drifting overhead. Something a bit different from the inland routes I’d done before. It sounded… nice.

And in a way, it was. Just not quite in the way I’d imagined.

Like its sister event, Race to the Stones, this one offers a range of options — from the full 100k in one go, to a more measured two-day version, or the standalone 50k routes. I’d opted for the 50k Coastal. My first “true” 50k, not part of something longer, and I quite liked the idea of keeping it simple.

Just me, the route, and the distance.

The early part of the run quickly made it clear that this wasn’t going to be the kind of coastal trail I’d built up in my head. There were stretches where I could see for miles ahead, the path laid out in front of me in a way that left very little to the imagination. Tarmac, pavement, hard-packed paths. Functional, but relentless. I’d turned up in trail shoes, expecting something softer, more forgiving underfoot, and my feet paid the price for that assumption.

It wasn’t just the ground. It was the feel of it all.

There’s something about proper trail running — the variation, the unevenness, the need to stay engaged — that keeps your mind occupied. This didn’t have much of that, at least not early on. It felt more urban than I’d expected, more commercial, less connected to the kind of running I enjoy most. Add in the heat — and 2025 didn’t hold back on that front — and it became a bit of a grind. Long, exposed sections with very little shelter, the sun doing its thing, and nowhere to hide from it.

It was one of those stretches where you just keep moving forward because that’s what you’re there to do.

To be fair, the event itself was exactly what you’d expect from Threshold Sports. The organisation was spot on. Route markings were clear, consistent, and impossible to miss. Not a single wrong turn, which in an event like this makes a huge difference. The marshals were, as always, brilliant — encouraging, engaged, and clearly enjoying being part of it.

And the checkpoints… well, they don’t do things by halves. There was more food than you could reasonably need, laid out like a buffet for runners who’d been out there for hours. I found myself gravitating towards fruit, bits of cake, and warm, flat Coke — not something I’d usually choose, but exactly what worked at the time.

One of the small highlights along the way was the “hat wash” bins. Big containers filled with water where you could dunk your cap, rinse off the salt and sweat, and stick it back on for an instant cooling effect. It was oddly satisfying, even if you tried not to think too hard about how many other people had done exactly the same thing before you.

Then, finally, things changed.

As the route turned inland and began to edge towards the South Downs, it felt like a different run altogether. The terrain shifted, the rhythm changed, and suddenly it started to feel like proper trail running again. Rolling hills, uneven ground, the chance to open up a bit on the descents and let gravity do some of the work.

That sense of flow came back.

On the downhills, I found myself pushing on, passing other runners as the ground dropped away in front of me. It felt good to move like that again, to stop thinking about every step and just run. Of course, it never lasts. A few hundred metres later, the climb comes, and those same runners drift past again as you grind your way back up. That’s just how it works.

And still, the heat didn’t let up.

At one point, as we moved into woodland, I could hear rain hitting the canopy above. Proper rain. The kind you’d welcome without hesitation on a day like this. But none of it reached the ground. I ran through it, listening to it, knowing it was there, but never actually feeling it. For twenty minutes, it followed us through the trees, and then just as we emerged back into the open…

The sun came out again.

It felt like a small joke at that point.

The second half of the route, though, more than made up for the first. The hills kept coming, the views opened up, and suddenly you could see for miles across the South Downs. This was what I’d been looking for. This was the kind of running that makes everything else worthwhile. Undulating, varied, just technical enough to keep you honest without slowing you to a crawl.

You had to stay switched on. The ground wasn’t forgiving — ruts, roots, the occasional rock waiting to catch you out if you weren’t paying attention. I tend to run without poles, so there’s always that slight edge of caution on terrain like this. Enjoy it, but don’t get carried away.

The final stretch brought us into open parkland, wide grassy sections with ancient oak trees scattered across the landscape. It felt calm, almost peaceful, a gentle lead-in to the finish after everything that had come before. The route curved through the space, hills rising either side, framing the last few kilometres in a way that made you slow down, just a little, and take it in.

Crossing the line, I did something I’d never done before.

I rang the PB bell.

Not because I cared about the time — this was always going to be a personal best over 50k, given it was my first standalone one — but because it was there, and in that moment it just felt right. There’s something about those small, slightly childish moments at the end of a long run that you don’t question. You just go with them.

Looking back, it wasn’t a perfect day.

The first half wasn’t what I’d hoped for. The ground, the exposure, the lack of variation — all of that made it harder than it needed to be. But the second half reminded me why I do this in the first place. The terrain, the views, the feeling of moving well over proper trails.

And that’s the thing with events like this.

They don’t have to be perfect to be worth doing.

I’ve already signed up again for 2026. This time, I’ll be taking on the Castle route — hillier, rougher, and much more in line with what I enjoy most.

We’ll see how that one plays out.