Photos courtesy of Gary Doherty, Kris Duffy, who also ran; I have shamelessly plundered their photo contributions.
I have spent the last three weeks fretting about this race - not prepared effectively; confusion over food choices; what shoes to wear; am I going to be exhausted by the preceding week and so on. I have never made such a big deal over a race before, ever. And quite frankly, I don't know why, as my target was only to finish anyway. Possibly, as we have had a horrible two weeks, the race become something to distract me.
Anyway, I drove over to Talybont on Friday, found a bunk in the outward bound centre that would be my base for the weekend.
Endless faffing on the morning with a last minute change of shorts into tights - a good move as it turned out. You can see me on the far right of this picture - looking as if another trip to the toilet might be a good idea.
Off along the canal in calm pleasant weather - in no way a forecast of the conditions to come. We then headed for the hills with some vague attempt at controlling my pace. As the race spread out we moved through forestry, layering up as we gained enough height to enter the clouds; this was the end of any dryness to the day and my jacket stayed on until the finish.
This was one of my favourite bits - we ran along a rocky path that cut through some misty woods. it wasn't long after that (I think) that a whole bunch of us headed down the wrong track and lost possibly 30 mins. Mental note for another race - check the route carefully beforehand, and concentrate rather than just chatting. Retracing our steps we were literally back on track, picking off the runners that had been behind us.
Through the first checkpoint and onto the bit I knew from two weeks ago - see my previous blog. The conditions really started to get serious here.
This was a grind - leaping from tussock to tussock in the vague hope that one might provide some sort of firm pathway. I remembered that there was a path that hugged the fence so headed for that and saved quite a bit of futile sploshing around. Up onto the plateau and then the ridge that leads up to Pen y Fan - oh my God it was windy up there! Driving rain felt like it was exfoliating my face, but that was nothing compared to the hailstones that followed on.
This isn't me, but it gives you some sense of the 'technical running' we endured. Mountain bikers would call this 'a bit squirrelly'.
Teeth gritted we shuffled - no way was it running - until the drop down to Storey Arms followed by a sadistic climb right the way back up.
This is me at Storey Arms - unbelievably given the climate I felt quite dehydrated. Luckily there was plenty of water at all stations.
At this point sadly my source of photographs dries up, and so therefore I will have to fall back on my memory.
Over and around Pen y Fan with a long excellent swoop off, only to curve around and start the feared climb of Cribyn. I love hills and was relishing this one but the steep grassy slope that led up to the peak itself coincided with a general crap-ness and I plodded along, never really making contact with the people ahead. However, this changed when we hit Cribyn itself, as with some strength restored I clambered up and past four runners.
I, like most other people, figured that after the last check point, with 'only' eight miles to go and most of it downhill, the race was all but finished. However, there were about four miles along a ridge that was barely runnable and I struggled to get past a group of walkers. One last peak after this, and then a long swoop down to Talybont reservoir. A female runner had been quietly approaching me, and as we began the descent she took off the handbrake in a way that suggested her legs sensed home. I have been struggling with descending recently due to the old hamstrings pulling up, but remarkably I relaxed into the run and cruised past. A tiny flash of my old ability was visible as I dropped off the hill, not only leaving her behind but also catching two others.
On the reservoir, down the track, I was really motoring now (bit late I know), onto the canal towpath, and then onto one of those awful dog legs they put in races where you can see the finish but it never gets any closer. One last clamber into the grounds of the centre, and home!
I had run out of water with about four miles to go, so that was my first need followed by tinned peaches and a cup of tea. I was starving but my stomach was so shrunken I couldn't eat. A shower and an unplanned kip on the bed, I then creaked down to the kitchen for some quite fantastic chick pea and sweet potato curry.
So, what did I learn? You can't swallow stale sandwiches so they make poor race food. My waterproof gloves are rubbish because if you try to put them on with damp hands you can't get your fingers in the holes. I need a rucksack with side pockets, I am stronger than I thought I was, especially up hills; and a well placed text from a lovely wife provides a 30 minute boost.
Well done Mark. As always, an inspiration. NW.
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