The Dramathon: Speyside's Annual Whisky-Themed Marathon

Each October, more than 1,500 runners from over 25 countries descend on Speyside for the Dramathon—a race, founded in 2017, that turns Scotland’s whisky heartland into a marathon course. The route threads from Glenfarclas to Glenfiddich, passing the pagoda roofs and malt-sweet air of distilleries like Cragganmore, Cardhu, and Balvenie. Some run for time, others for the scenery, and a few simply for the promise of a dram at the finish line.

It was still half-dark when I arrived at Glenfiddich Distillery, my breath fogging in the pre-dawn cold. Runners were huddled in clusters in the parking lot on this late-October morning in Speyside, stamping their feet, the air heavy with the sharp mix of coffee, adrenaline, and sweat—many had just sprinted from Mortlach Community Hall, 15 minutes away, where they’d collected their race numbers and a dram. The sound of bagpipes could be heard from near the maturation warehouses. This will be finishing line for Dramathon: we’re all here to be taken by bus to Glenfarclas, the starting line for the Full Dram, a marathon like no other.

I climbed aboard, Glencairn glass in hand—the race issues one at registration, engraved with the Dramathon logo and, if you’re game, filled with an early-morning drop of Glenfiddich. At 8 a.m., it felt both sacrilegious and perfectly natural. Beside me sat a Christian pastor named Rory. “There aren’t many races on a Saturday,” he said with a grin, “and I’m quite busy on Sundays.” We both laughed as the bus wound through mist and farmland, every hairpin revealing more of Speyside awakening—frost silvering the hedgerows, distillery roofs steaming like kettles.

Home Ground

When the bus doors opened at Glenfarclas Distillery, a blast of cold air jolted everyone awake. The Glenfarclas name, fellow runner Duncan Grant told me, comes from the Gaelic for “valley of the green grassland,” and that morning it lived up to its moniker—bright and crisp, the hillsides shining after overnight rain. Glenfarclas has been in his family since 1865; Duncan, now the distillery’s head of sales, lives on-site and watched the convoy of coaches barrel down the road to Glenfarclas, known as “The Green Mile” just after dawn.

“I could see the breath coming off runners like steam,” he said later. “It’s a hive of activity — selfies in front of the stills, the piper warming up, everyone itching to go.”

For Duncan, the race is personal. “If we’re sponsoring it, we have to represent,” he told me. His own sign-up came, he admitted, around 2 a.m. on New Year’s Day after a few champagnes and whiskies with the distillery team. “Seemed a great idea at the time,” he laughed. “Then I realized I actually had to run the bloody thing.”

The Run

The Dramathon is supported by Speyside distilleries themselves. Glenfarclas and Glenfiddich have backed the event from the start, joined by others along the route, including Balvenie, Cardhu, Tamdhu, Cragganmore, and Glen Moray, as well as guest partners Ardbeg and The Scotch Malt Whisky Society. Each year, proceeds and donations go toward local causes such as Logan’s Fund, a children’s cancer charity, and a sustainability initiative that plants trees on the Ballindalloch Estate. It’s a rare collaboration between whisky, sport, and community.

With the starting gun, some of the 1,500 runners surged up from Glenfarclas, shoes slapping on the last bit of pavement before the trail climbed sharply. The cold bit through gloves, but the sky was clear.

The Dramathon isn’t one race but several: the Full Dram marathon (26.2 miles), Half Dram (13.1 miles), We Dram relay (26.2 miles divided into four legs), and the Wee Dram 10K (6.2 miles). Fresh-legged runners join throughout the day—relay changes roughly every 10 kilometers, half-marathoners starting midway—so the flow constantly renews while we marathoners grind on.

The course unspools like a map of Speyside’s soul: through the manicured grounds of Ballindalloch Castle—usually closed to the public—past the stone walls of Cragganmore, alongside River Spey where the air smells of heather and wet oak. The trail rises toward Tamdhu and Cardhu, sunlight bouncing off copper roofs, before dropping to Aberlour where crowds gather with cowbells and homemade signs. Every few miles the volunteers appear—tables of water, handfuls of Jelly Babies, laughter cutting through the wind. Duncan confessed he looked forward to those as much as the finish line: “Beauty of the rivers, and the Jelly Babies station, that’s what keeps me going.”

Two years ago, Storm Babet forced organizers to cancel the race hours before the start, the Spey threatening to burst its banks. The loyalty of runners who waived their fees kept the event alive, and that sense of shared ownership still hangs in the air. You feel it with every volunteer’s cheer; this isn’t just a race, it’s a community ritual.

By the time I turned toward Craigellachie the muscles in my calves felt like wire. The climb up the Fiddich Valley to Glenfiddich is gradual but relentless. Somewhere near the summit a local piper plays; the sound carried down through the trees as if it were an encouragement.

The Whisky

At the finish, beneath the pagoda roofs of Glenfiddich, volunteers handed out medals cut from old oak barrel staves, whisky history you can hold. Then came the real reward: the finisher packs, each a small Speyside treasure chest.

Inside mine were eight small bottles, some representing a liquid map of the route I’d just run: Glenfiddich 12, Cardhu Gold Reserve, Cragganmore 12, Glen Moray Fired Oak 10, Balvenie DoubleWood 12, a bespoke Glenfarclas 10 year old that they bottle specially for the event, complete with the Dramathon logo, and while not on the race route, a Scotch Malt Whisky Society single cask and Ardbeg 10 year old. “We make whisky to be drunk, not collected, but that little [Glenfarclas] 10 year old feels like a proper keepsake,” said Duncan.

A short distance from the finish line I met Samantha Staniforth, global community & events manager of the OurWhisky Foundation, who was nursing tired legs with a grin. Two relay teams from the foundation had run the race, raising funds to support women+ in whisky through mentorship and visibility projects. “It felt great to represent the industry,” she said, “but also women+ within it. Running the Speyside trails together was profoundly meaningful.”

Running Together

The Dramathon works because whisky people understand community. Duncan described it best: “Running between distilleries feels like a symbol of friendship and togetherness, that’s how our industry works. If single malt does well, there’s space for all of us.”

He told me about a night when he broke a hydrometer and borrowed one from Tamdhu. “That’s Speyside,” he said. “We help each other out.”

For many locals it’s the last big weekend before winter; cafés and B&Bs fill with runners, pubs spill over with muddy shoes and medals made of oak. The camaraderie lingers long after the timing chip stops.

Finish Line Reflections

At the Glenfiddich gates, the sky had turned pale gold. Someone placed the stave medal around my neck and pressed a Glencairn of whisky into my hand. Duncan had already executed his “rehydration plan”: a pint of Spey Cadet IPA chased by a Glenfarclas 15 year old, sitting beside the River Fiddich. I opted for water first, then followed his lead. Few pairings make more sense than beer, whisky, and relief.

I lingered at the finish for an hour, watching relay runners reunite with marathoners, medals clinking like wind chimes. The oak staves smelled faintly of sherry casks; the air, of sweat and satisfaction.

Recovery Done Right

Most runners stay in Dufftown or the neighboring villages, but rooms fill up months in advance of the run. Wanting something special, and somewhere to thaw out properly, I drove an hour south to The Fife Arms in Braemar, one of the world’s most beautiful new hotels. It turned out to be the perfect coda to the weekend: Highland grandeur reimagined with art, warmth, and a touch of eccentricity.

Downstairs, Bertie’s Whisky Bar glows like an amber lantern, its 500 bottles arranged by flavor rather than region. I wanted to save my hard-won miniatures for later, but couldn’t resist sampling the hotel’s own new release: An Autumn Dram, distilled at Glen Garioch in 2011 and matured for 12 years in a first-fill bourbon barrel. Bottled at cask strength and limited to 178 bottles, it captures the Highlands in autumn: honey, orchard fruit, and that faint note of woodsmoke. The head bartender, Tom, called it “recovery,” and I didn’t argue.