THE Mynyddislwyn Mile is a race with a fearsome reputation.

Try to find the place on a map and you'll be hard put to find it. The village lies in Gwent in South Wales, near Newbridge and just around the corner from Pontypool.

The race has been going since the 1990s, organised by the Islwyn Running Club, and consists of the most hellish run up a one in eight hill along a narrow country lane bordered by trees and bushes.

The first race attracted just 10 runners, but word has spread and now runners come from South Wales - there was even a contingent of four Portsmouth Joggers there for this Friday evening run.

We had jogged two miles from the top of the hill at Mynyddislwyn where the church entrance served as race HQ to collect numbers. So having run down the formidable slope, we knew just what to expect.

Numbers are still not huge. There were probably 50 who lined up at the bottom of the hill by an innocuous-looking housing development which was being built.

The key was to take the race gently, and from the off that is what I did. You get a few yards of flat from the start and then the climb begins. Within a minute I was struggling. Knowing that the course record was just under 8 minutes, I realised this was going to hurt.

Rapidly I was breathing hard, my hamstrings were beginning to hurt and my pace was slowing. I was running in midfield. I rate myself as a pretty decent hill runner, but this was exceptional. The slope was sheer and backbreaking.

I wanted to run all the way, but it was getting crazy. I put in all the effort I could to get up the climb, setting small little goals, but I was running at barely a walking pace. In the end, just before the half mile mark where there is a short plateau, I decided to speed walk.

This proved a wise move. I began closing on those who were running, pushing off my knees while not expending so much energy.

The second half of the hill is even worse. It goes up and up. All I could do was to keep on pushing. I could see the top and so broke into a gentle jog and once we hit level ground the feeling was bliss. I was able to slightly open my stride and enjoy the lovely downhill section to the finish where there was a waiting crowd.

I took 12 minutes 15 seconds to run one mile; my slowest mile ever. It was tough, very tough, but in a sadistic way it was fun. It was a hell of a long way to come for one mile!