At The Sky’s Edge
Searching For Finlay Wild
(An extended synopsis of the book I’m working on)
Psychogeography, the future of hill running, and the greatest mountain athlete you’ve never heard of.
This is a story I’ve wanted to write since I first discovered the joy of running. It’s about a runner named Finlay Wild.
Wild is an all round mountain athlete, but most of his significant achievements have come from running. His wins, records and FKTs for hill races and mountain challenges are too numerous to list.
He’s won the Ben Nevis race twelve times in a row, and hasn’t lost a race on Scottish soil for over a decade. It’s hard to imagine someone challenging his records for Scotland’s iconic long-distance mountain routes. Not in our lifetime. And certainly not in the solo and unsupported manner he prefers.
Some say he’s already the greatest hill runner ever. Though this is a debate he neither welcomes nor cares for.
His talent extends internationally, too. Just last weekend he won the Trofeo Kima skyrace in Northern Italy for the second time. This race is part of the Skyrunner World Series and attracts the best international mountain runners. “The most spectacular race in the world”, according to Kilian Jornet.
On August 24th, Wild broke Jornet’s record, taking more than four minutes off his time to finish in 6hr05’04.
It was an incredible run and a shoulder-to-shoulder battle with the American FKT specialist, Jack Kuenzle. The two ran together for hours before Wild pulled away. Or as Kuenzle wrote on his Strava “annihilated me on the final descent.”
This is great for me, too, because it gives context for Wild’s abilities. Few people may have heard of Finlay Wild, but everyone knows who Kilian Jornet is.
And yet, none of that quite captures who Finlay Wild is, nor why I want to write a book about him.
Wild’s records are impressive, but numbers only tell a fraction of the story. Very little is known about him. He’s a semi-mystical figure in hill running circles. Part superstar, part shaman.
The numbers are incidental, really. If he never raced again, never set another record, none of that would matter to him. He’d still be running in the hills. The achievements are just a way of testing himself, a byproduct of his love of mountains and connection to place.
Wild isn’t a professional runner, choosing to work as a locum GP instead. He shuns sponsors and self promotion, has no coach, no defined training schedule, and seems to run entirely by feel.
The fact this approach sees him break records set by the likes of Kilian Jornet is antithetical to everything sports science, the running industry, or simple common sense tells us.
And despite running nearly every day and pushing limits in some of the most demanding and technical mountain terrain imaginable, Finlay Wild never gets injured.
Some of Wild’s approach can be understood by where he comes from, both in terms of physical geography and hill running culture.
There have always been practical reasons to run up, down and over hills in Scotland. The geography of the Highlands made it a necessity for managing livestock, for hunting, to communicate between isolated settlements, or even to raise armies and incite war.1
But there might also be genetic and instinctive reasons. If humans were indeed born to run, then it follows that they would run up and down hills, simply because it’s damn good fun.
Hill racing (or fell racing, south of the border) was first recorded in Scotland as far back as the 11th century, when King Malcolm III organised a race at the first Braemar Gathering to find a man to serve as his messenger. The idea was simple: the man who runs to the top of the hill and back in the fastest time is the winner, and any route is permitted.
Today, hill racing is gloriously unchanged. On nearly every weekend of the year, regardless of weather, men and women strive towards obscure summits, then hurl themselves down again, half-running, half-falling, treading a line between recklessness and survival.
They are postmen, or nurses, or shepherds. And their extraordinary feats of endurance and speed exist alongside the ordinariness of life. There’s no money in what they do. No fame or glory beyond the local pub. For all the punishing miles and soul-sapping climbs, through gales and bogs, over tumbling burns and shattered rock, shrouded in mist or darkness, there is nothing beyond how it makes you feel. Nothing but the sheer, unbridled joy of running in the mountains.
It is the purest form of racing there is, and it exists today in stark contrast to the hyper-commercialised (and somewhat sanitised) worlds of trail, ultra, or skyrunning. Entry to some trail races costs hundreds of pounds, and they’re awash with professional runners and branding. Entry to a hill race is a modest couple of quid, and you’ll often get a pie and a pint included for that (and sometimes a ceilidh, too).
But this culture is under threat. Restrictions are being imposed on land use due to environmental concerns, and this challenges the goodwill of the volunteers who organise the races, and the enjoyment of the runners.
Beyond this, the swollen commercial interest in trail and ultra threatens to taint hill running, if not crush it altogether. The outdoors is trendier than ever. The trails have merged into the high street. It’s why Nike and Adidas are pouring money in, and why luxury brands and car manufacturers are lining up as sponsors. A new breed of runners more likely to celebrate with a protein bar than a pint embody this latent threat. The aesthetic is changing.
Finlay Wild is the centre of the Venn diagram that exists between these worlds. His talent has occasionally pulled him towards bigger stages, but his approach comes from the raw, glorious simplicity of hill running, it’s the antithesis of commercialisation.
In a world where we’re taught that the louder you shout, the further you’ll go, it’s important to recognise that it doesn’t have to be like this. It’s important to draw attention to characters like Wild, because we can learn from them. And because, really, he’s no different to you or me.
Finlay Wild is just a man who runs, but he does so in a way that reminds us of the simple beauty of the act. Running needs little more than your commitment, no matter what the running industry would have you believe. Wild proves this time and time again. He proves that through the perfect synchronicity of man, place and purpose, greatness might occur.
But this isn’t really a story about competition. It’s about what it means to have generational talent yet the perspective to seek only intrinsic rewards. It’s a story about humility, love, and psychogeography.
I’ve always been drawn to subjects who’ve achieved success but not let it define them. People who seem to have found an elixir of balance between passion, purpose and living. I want to find out how this works, to discover where Wild’s drive comes from, and to know the man behind the numbers.
Most of all I want to document what Finlay Wild does, to capture a portrait of an artist at his zenith, to create something beautiful, something celebratory, something that might inspire people.
And so that’s what I’ll try to do, to search for Finlay Wild, somewhere up high, where stones clack in the mist and ridges stretch in your mind, and where he’s alone, just a man, running.
Somewhere at the sky’s edge.
"In the wild and mountainous highlands, where no roads existed, and peat bogs, boulders and scree were likely to slow down or cripple even the most sure-footed horse, by far the quickest means of communication was a man running across country. The "Crann-tara" or fiery cross was the age-old method of raising the clansmen in time of need. It was made of two pieces of wood fastened together in the shape of a cross, traditionally with one end alight and the other end soaked in blood. Runners were dispatched to all points of the compass and as they ran they shouted the war cry of the clan and the place and time to assemble. The clan chieftains began to arrange races amongst the clansmen to find the fastest man to carry the Crann-tara.” (Brander, Michael, Essential Guide to Highland Games, Cannongate, 1992)
This sounds great - look forward to finding out more and the book becoming reality
Sounds an interesting read - when is the publication date ? Or pre/orders to help fund it ?