The Main Event

RW’S Rhalou Allerhand tries (hard) to stay hydrated with scrumpy at the inaugural Ciderthon

The Ciderthon, in Somerset, is not an event for those looking for a PB. But for the rest of us, it’s a grand day out

BEER AND WINE LOVERS are well catered for on the running calendar, so it was only a matter of time before a shrewd race director spotted a gap in the market and staged a cider run. And what better place to hold the very first Ciderthon than in Somerset, the scrumpy capital of the UK?

Legend has it the Romans mastered the art of cider making. But when they first sailed to the British Isles in 55BC, they discovered that West Country locals were already fermenting apples, presumably to get sloshed. The tradition stands to this day, and from still to

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sparkling, cloudy with sediment or completely clear, there are enough cider varieties to keep you running all day long.

UK law says cider must contain at least 35 per cent apple juice. Combine this with its natural sugars and antioxidant properties, and cider is arguably the perfect race fuel (alcohol aside). In celebration of this traditional tipple, the Ciderthon concept is simple: you run a half marathon and sample 13 local varieties along the way.

Fancy dress is strongly encouraged and the runner with the best costume wins their weight in cider. I hadn’t touched the stuff since

overindulging on Strongbow at university 15 years earlier, so the race was set to be a challenge in more ways than one.

Starting in the cathedral city of Wells, the route follows a mixture of trails, tracks and winding country roads around Launcherley, North Wootton and Woodford, before returning to the town centre, where there’s a postrace knees-up.

An hour before the start gun, we gathered on the green outside Wells Cathedral to compare costumes, discuss tactics and take selfies. The juxtaposition of medieval architecture and brightly coloured fancy dress was so gloriously British – I felt giddy with excitement before we’d even sniffed cautiously at our first glass.

My running buddy and I had conservatively opted for gold sequinned hot pants over run tights (to minimise chafing), which paled in comparison with our fellow runners’ garb. The lawn was transformed into a technicolour parade, with everyone from Harry Potter to Darth Vader in attendance, alongside plenty of animals, vegetables, superheroes and the odd pair of lederhosen.

Once our bib numbers were pinned on and wings/tails/ears were adjusted, we trotted to the start line, where runners were prancing and preening in front of one another – I’ve never seen a happier bunch.

We all started out far too fast, wobbling down the road in one giant rustling mass of colour. But once we hit the first checkpoint, on the edge of town, it was clear that pace was not going to be a concern. After queueing up for the first sample of the day, a delicious toffee cider, we skipped off into the sunshine at marginally quicker than walking pace, galvanised by the first rush of alcohol.

We soon found our groove, which followed a simple pattern: run for 10 minutes, start to feel wobblylegged, pause at the cider station for a top-up, chat to one of the friendly cider makers while sampling their wares, giggle hysterically, toddle off feeling lightheaded and repeat, with intermittent selfie breaks.

A cider provides enough power to run a mile before a rest was needed and I found running with a fuzzy head was quite pleasant, as long as I didn’t jiggle too much. A word of warning: the measures were fairly relaxed, so I was sozzled before we hit the halfway mark. Be sure you have a designated driver to ferry you home postrace.

By mile 10 I’d bounced off several

hedgerows, meandered unsteadily along winding country roads, made friends with plenty of boisterous marshals, admired mermaids, fairies and giant beer tankards, and confessed undying love to at least three cider purveyors.

If you don’t run to see how fast you can go, this is the race for you. The route was traffic-free and, leaving aside some overexcited race participants and the odd sheep, the lush countryside around Wells was tranquil. Perhaps it was the spring sunshine, undulating roads, hazy views of Glastonbury Tor or (more likely) several pints of scrumpy, but I felt I had rarely found a race so easy.

Crossing the finish line was not a major event; our booze radar meant we didn’t even break stride on our way to the nearby after-party. If you’ve yet to experience a booze cruise and you’re not averse to dressing up like a banana, the Ciderthon will not disappoint. Contrary to expectations, rather than putting me off cider for life, I’ve since developed a real thirst for it. This year’s Ciderthon will be held in Taunton, Somerset on May 5. Visit ciderthon.com