Well its safe to say that almost every part of the mandatory kit for the run was used this year. 2 layers, plus hat, gloves and waterproofs and it was still cold. An awesome event on a ridiculously cold and wet race in 2026. Dont be fooled that this takes place in the summer. Prepare for everything....because thats what you'll get. 5 Stars...obviously

They say it takes a village to raise a child. It takes at least three — Torridon, Shieldaig, Kinlochewe — to raise a Celtman. These villages open their doors, their hearts and their muddy, muddy fields to allow this magnificent/malevolent event to take place. What can I say? It's been bubbling along in the back of my mind for over a decade, but family life never quite aligned. I finally threw my hat into the ring last October, knowing how notoriously hard it is to land a spot, and was delighted/terrified in equal measure to be offered a place. If you need the industrial machinery of other long-distance events, with their blue carpets, slick, pristine transition areas and their shiny medals, then this isn't for you. But if you're happy to get your feet dirty and become part of a supportive global family — and you're prepared to put the effort in — then start by RTFM. And if that doesn't put you off, put your name into the ballot and pray to the Celtman gods you don't get a place! This is not an easy triathlon. And this is not an easy part of Scotland to hold a triathlon. It's remote, the roads are tiny, there is A LOT OF MUD, and for some reason the jellyfish love the chilly coastal waters. Then factor in the weather, which can flip at the flick of a switch from balmy sunshine to wind-driven hail. And the midges? A fine balance between eating you alive and keeping tourist numbers to a manageable level. We got up at 2am to set up for a 5am start, then were transported like sacrificial offerings around the headland from Shieldaig. We huddled together in a field of sheep shit, warmed by the slightly maniacal Celtic drummers and the burning, Wicker Man-esque Celtman logo, before being herded into the cold Atlantic to hopefully escape back to the mainland. I emerged from the chilled jellyfish soup, numb to the core, glad that my support crew had remembered a bucket of warm water to wash off the salt. I climbed onto my bike and started pedalling, a strong tailwind blowing me nicely up the valley. That tailwind wasn't behind me all the way, though. Turning at Kinlochewe, I started feeling it nudge at my side, handlebars twitching every time a gust caught my deep-rimmed front wheel. I tucked in and settled in for the 175km back, telling myself this was the hard part. My nutrition was homemade sunflower seed energy bar (recipe on request) and potatoes boiled in salt, washed down with plenty of fluid. My support crew, Fiona and Danny, were battling traffic, other competitors, narrow roads and the weather to keep me supplied and fix any mechanical issues; they were as much a part of the race as I was. Then came the roadworks. While it was a forced opportunity to get off the saddle, rest and chat to fellow racers for a few minutes, the clock was still going tick, tick, tick. The route took us over roads high above the sea, with zero shelter from the strong westerlies and driving rain. It was relentless. The climbs were a chance to warm up; the descents, a white-knuckle fight to stay upright as the wind whipped the bike around under me. I heard later of more than one rider who came a cropper. There was the delightful downhill run from Corrieshalloch Gorge. Tailwind, sun shining, hitting 50kph — this wasn't bad at all... Then I turned at Garve to head back to T2 and learned the true definition of headwind. Not just the force of air — the gods of Torridon had decided I was no longer welcome, that I had to fight for my place there. And fight I did, for 40 brutal kilometres. Back into Kinlochewe for T2 and a forewarning of the conditions to come. Cars stuck fast, priceless carbon TT bikes coated in mud and agricultural shit, athletes trying to keep their feet dry (more fool them). Time to get my running shoes on for the trail run. There had been rumours of boggy paths for the first couple of kilometres. What there actually was: zero path and 200% bog. 2k? More like 5k of actual shin-deep shit, peat and water. "Wash it off in the stream crossing," some had suggested. More like a raging torrent — not the last of the day, either — followed by more bog. Luckily the next part of the run was too steep for the bog to survive. But it was steep on tired legs. And it went up and up, thoughts of the high mountain route playing heavily on my mind. Over the crest and down, down, down to the Coulin Estate. "Check out the views," we'd been told. Nothing but grey cloud. Mental note: return and check out the views. My support runner Danny was pacing me in a gentle "get shifting" kind of way, keeping track of our time and whether we could make the cut-off at T2A. Reach it in time and you earned the high mountain route and the blue finisher's T-shirt; after it, the low road and white. The bog had all but taken that chance away, though we'd heard on the grapevine the mountain was shut anyway. I still wanted blue, but we were already burning through precious minutes. As the chance of blue faded, so did my motivation to push on. It's hard to keep digging when the goal you're chasing is slipping away. But we made it to T2A — just six minutes behind the cut-off. It's easy to look back and think I could have pushed a bit harder here or there, but honestly I don't think I could have. Even with talk of a five-minute grace for the roadworks on the bike, I still came up short. I blame the bog. With the clock no longer a factor, we took our time in T2A, preparing for the low route. Still a significant challenge in the prevailing conditions. Full waterproofs from head to toe. Danny changed into dry socks (more fool him) and we set off, marching into the Torridon massif. And still it rained. We met our friend Sean at T2B, at the mouth of the valley, and he showed us how to skirt the big puddle where the trail began. Oh, how we laughed at the other folk getting wet feet — only to discover the rest of it was 50% path and 150% watercourse. The climb to the pass was arduous, wet and rough underfoot. A bad trip here would surely end the day, but we reached the watershed at a lively pace and began passing other teams. There were swollen rivers to ford and stepping stones to pick across, some submerged beneath the risen streams. Waterfalls and roaring torrents to take in, too — but keeping a steady foot while watching the scenery was a tough combo. Torridon Mountain Rescue play a huge role in the Celtman, and here they were — wrapped tight in survival bags, perched on the rocks, keeping an eye on the bedraggled procession coming through. All credit to them for being out there in it. Danny persuaded me to take on more food, so I ate one of the Marmite and cheese sandwiches Fiona had prepared the day before and sucked down an energy gel. A few minutes later, with the terrain beginning to drop, we began a slow shuffle that matured into a loping gait, and our pace picked up. We ran most of that final trail section through varying terrain: the temperature rose, we passed gorges, crossed bridges, waded through yet more bog, and finally struck tarmac by the lochside. We'd passed a handful of other teams, and the finish was almost in sight around the headland. There always comes a point in a race where you know you're going to finish, but you just want it to come quickly. The only way to do that is to keep on moving as fast as you can. Those last 3k along the tarmac were hard work and seemed to take forever, but finally we were climbing the last hill to the finish — and what a delight to see friends (both new and old) and family at the line. The Celtman spirit is amazing and uplifting and beautiful, and someone handed me a cold bottle of CELTMAN beer and I drank it all down and it tasted divine. There is no better way to feel alive.

I’ve held off and thought about this for a while, but I think there are a few things that need saying. Firstly, let me start by saying that I loved the race. If you really want to see what you’re made of, this is where you do it. The distances, weather, scenery and roads make for a proper day out that will leave you feeling physically empty but mentally full. However, I feel there’s room for improvement in a few other areas and I heard the same said by many athletes across the weekend. I’m surprised these haven’t come up more frequently in previous reviews, but i’ll have a go at laying it out: 1. Pricing and infrastructure: yes we are lucky to be able to compete, and have the health and support to do so, but this is a product that we are purchasing at the end of the day. £400+ to self-support is really expensive. With the price of entry being what it is, there has to be more provided around the event. The response I expect from the team here is around the race being remote and self-supported etc, and I get that, I’m not asking for simply more branded kit, but there is clear room for improvement on the aspects already provided. For example: feed stations akin to a school sports day rather than an endurance event with a £400+ entry ticket, minimal toilets with no loo roll in transition, no toilets out on course, a lack of mechanical support on course, hosting the briefing/admin in a building far too small to hold everyone it needs to (and then setting up a kit shop in the middle of that…), minimal media/photography (there are multiple photographers and videographers on course but expect them to focus on international folks and the very front of the race - that’s what will sell it out next year), a lack of tea/coffee/support for supporters who sit around for hours in transition or at the finish. To be blunt: you can’t charge that much and wish to remain scrappy and local, it’s a big contradiction and a bit of a rip off. With those ticket prices you’re going to get compared to the likes of Ironman, and it’s Sunday league vs Champions league. I get that the situation limits what can be provided, and people know they’re not in for 100+ metres of maurten at multiple points on the circuit, but not updating your offering in the 10+yrs of running smacks of complacency and lack of respect for athletes and supporters. People spend thousands on the event across entry, travel, accommodation, kit and missed work, and the organisers won’t even provide GPX files of the routes (more on that later…). 2. Location of finish: Torridon is stunning and allows the run route to go where it does, but its a one-road village that is clogged within minutes. It’s a nightmare to get parked and tired athletes trying to finish are forced to dodge traffic to get to the line. Moving HQ to somewhere like Shieldaig with a looped road, or Kinlochewe with wider streets would make life a lot easier. 3. Attitude of the team: to be clear, I am talking about the celtman/Xtri core team, NOT the volunteers who put in a hell of a shift purely for the love of Celtman. I found that the first response/general tone of the team is to try and be clever and witty, which actually just comes off smarmy and arrogant, as opposed to listening and being helpful. Evidence can be seen in response to previous negative reviews, choosing to argue as opposed to listen and learn, responses on the facebook forum when people ask for photos, and the attitude towards providing a map/GPX of the bike course. The stock joke of ‘if you need the route, you’re a moron’, is not only just not funny, its actually quite insulting and short sighted. To spell it out: maps aren’t just used for directions on the day. In an event that asks 95% of its field to travel, find accommodation and self-support, knowing the route is very useful for planning. Knowing the elevation profile is also useful for informing training. It takes 5 minutes to put a route together on Komoot or similar, and choosing not to again shows arrogance and complacency that comes from being consistently oversubscribed. Again, this is not really about the route/map, but a general indicator of the attitude and tone of the core team. The first response is to try and look clever and argue as opposed to help. The weekend is demanding enough athletically, logistically and financially, without being patronised as well. 4. The mountain. This has reached the point of false advertising. It’s an extreme triathlon, yet over the last 5 yrs, the mountain has been closed or part-closed on the majority of runnings. Competitors have support runners, sign waivers, have kit checked twice, are provided maps, mountain rescue cover and strict cut-offs; it has become misleading to advertise this as a mountain event. A lot people enter because they believe the advertising and collateral, which heavily focusses on the run over Beinn Eighe. But the reality in recent years is that you’re pretty unlikely to go over the hill even if you make the cut-off. Risk aversion not befitting this environment has crept in and made the run a lukewarm version of what is advertised. In extreme circumstances it is obviously wise to shut the mountain, but don’t run a hill event if you shut at the first sign of hill weather. The right control measures are in place - let them work or don’t bother with the route. To summarise, the route and location are awesome, but the bits with human input need a serious review and update. A lot of people seem to see this as quirky, scrappy and characterful, it is, and if that’s how you want to stay, then brilliant, but then either don’t charge £400+ or don’t give attitude when people want a bit more. Ultimately Celtman will continue to be oversubscribed, but the response to this review (should the organisers chose to) will be telling. Will they listen and take on board, or will they argue the toss?

Celtman is an insane race in a mind-blowing scenery, swim part is the opportunity to swim among jellyfish which is really great :-D seriously, the feeling when you hit them with your feet or gloves is part of that celtman experience and they are beautiful ! Be careful not to diverge too much from the arrival as it is an A to B swim without any buoy. The bike part is tough with headwind...most of the time due to valley shapes, it follows you ^^ but enjoy the landscape and the amazing descents especially at the end, such a gift before attacking the trail part ! For the trail, I was obsessed with the T2A cutoff time but with bogs, wind and rains it is a hard task to be in time in T2A ! I did it and enjoyed a lot the last part, except the bloody midges, with my support crew buddy to the finish line where you are warmly welcomed by the Celtman team ! Such an experience, so different than an Ironman, a real family race and so proud to be part of it ! Thanks so much to the Celtman crew members and all volunteers who were so helpful and kind ! My first xtreme triathlon but what an adventure ! This was my 4th triathlon, let's carry on !

It's an small team delivering a complex, incredible and challenging race for us lucky few. Both the Celtman and Solo.5 is not for the faint of heart - the course itself is challenging, the mountain and the Scottish weather is highly unpredictable and the entire race will challenge one's mental and physical state. This is no race for the complacent. You will however be surrounded by some of Scotland's most stunning highland scenery, friendly locals and a supportive and intimate Xtri community of racers, supporters and volunteers. There is no better way to experience extreme triathlons and connect with Scotland's highlands at the same time. While it is tempting to blame the organisers for the amount of Jellyfish in baltic Loch Shieldaig, the head wind along destitution road, the boggy bit of the run course, or the millions of midges everywhere (I still suspect they have a lot of control over all this), the amount of effort and time it has taken to build an amazing community of racers, supporters and volunteers that cares is evident and also the reason why I keep coming back. Thank you John, Stuart, Paul & the entire team of volunteers for yet another smashing race & ceilidh. If you can up the sea temperature by 2 degrees next year i'll be tempted to come back again :D

Celtman XTRI Review — Absolutely Brilliant! ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Everything about this race was superb from the marshalling, support, race briefing, signing in, to the transition areas all top class. The level of organisation and dedication from the Celtman crew was second to none. This is not a race for the faint-hearted. I had a real off-day myself, but the marshals, support crews, and Celtman team kept me going when I otherwise might have thrown in the towel. It’s an awesome event and a truly humbling experience. After five years of trying through the ballot, I finally got in and attempted the journey from “couch to Celtman” in five months. I can tell you now: don’t try that! The race is absolutely brutal. The course will chew you up and spit you out and you won’t fully comprehend what you’ve just been through until days or even weeks later. I’ve completed a number of similar distance endurance events across Europe, and I can say without hesitation: Celtman is like nothing else you will ever experience.

Honest review — read at your own discretion. This was meant to be my final race after a long career in extreme endurance sports. I trained for 8 months, 12–16 hours a week, following an advanced triathlon plan. I came prepared. What I didn’t expect was how poorly organised this event would be. The scenery is stunning. The organisation, however, is not. This race markets itself as “extreme” — and that’s true. But what makes it extreme isn’t just the terrain, it’s the lack of transparency, inaccurate information, and dismissive communication from the organisers. The issues: Bog terrain not mentioned in the manual. A massive, ankle-deep swamp turned the run into a forced hike. No warning in the official guide. This surprise cost me the cutoff, despite solid training. That’s not “extreme” — that’s poor planning. Food was overpriced and terrible. £15 extra for a guest, but no seating and inedible recovery food. I spat out the beef and rice and bought pizza elsewhere. An insult, not fuel. Mandatory gear felt like a money grab. Forced to buy kit I never used. My friend was told to buy a hat or be disqualified — despite a 17°C forecast. No nuance, just “buy or go home.” Minimal course support. Only two aid stations during the run. Not acceptable given the race fee. On the plus side, bike and swim support were well done. Wrong distances in the race manual. The run to T2A was said to be 13 km. In reality, it was over 16 km. When cutoffs are tight, that's not a small mistake — that’s sabotage. Response from organisers: After I left a calm, honest review, they replied with condescension, blamed me for not reading the manual, and even brought my friend Ricky into it — who wasn’t even racing. It was defensive and unprofessional. Final word: This event delivers on physical challenge and beautiful scenery. But it fails in communication, transparency, and respect for its athletes. If you want a sufferfest with little support, go ahead. If you want a well-run extreme triathlon — look elsewhere.

Celtman is by far the most amazing event you’ll do. It’s not just a race, it’s an entire experience, from the breathtaking scenery, incredible atmosphere and support staff who go above and beyond to make your day the most memorable. The course is brutal, in a sadistically enjoyable way. Get used to cuddling jellyfish (it will happen in the icy cold swim) quadbusting hills on the bike and all wrapped up in a savage mountain run course (low and high routes will test your mettle!) The race brief is legendary and the Celtman Team are constantly improving and tweaking the event to make it even better year on year. I’m yet to finish, but there’s nothing on earth that will stop me applying to race there again. It’s not just Celtman, it’s a family!