The Rather Long Story Of Why I Decided To Run Up A Mountain And How I Did It.
It all started with a girl.
Don't worry. This isn't a boy meets girl & falls in love , romantic gestures, staring wistfully at sunsets story. It's about my journey from a state of not being able to walk, to running a marathon that's widely regarded as one of the toughest in Europe with a route around the biggest mountain in Wales. But it does, indeed, start with a girl.
To be more specific, it starts with a girl backstage at a high school play in the mid 90's. The play was Annie Get Your Gun and I was the trumpeter in the on-stage Salvation Army band. The girl was playing trombone, with rosy red cheeks and a frilly dress. During a break when the main actors were enjoying the limelight, the supporting cast were all backstage playing cards. The game was Dare. I'm not exactly sure what the rules were, and I'm pretty sure that every time I played it the rules were different. The game seemed to be completely biased towards the dealer and their opinion of which two likely victims would be the most embarrassed by whatever dare they decided to dole out as punishment to the loser. However, on this occasion the aforementioned girl lost and was in no way embarrassed to accept the dare which also involved me, despite the fact I hadn't lost the game in any way. I've often suspected that the dealer, who was a good friend of the girl, knew something that I did not and it was all a cunning set-up. This was the catalyst of 1 or 2 years of on and off boyfriend / girlfriend status.
Fast forward 20-odd years.......
I'd recently become single and the girl had become a fabulous woman. A fabulous woman and a wonderful runner, and luckily for me she was also recently single. One of the local running clubs had started to organise a Saturday morning Parkrun at a park (obviously!) which was only a mile and a half from my house. I was always looking for interesting ways of staying fit to give myself a break from bashing out repetitive sets in the gym. She was a member of the running club and we got talking at Parkrun one Saturday morning. Talking led to a date and the rest is history. Or more accurately, it's current events as we're still together.
The reason I was running a 5km Parkrun at 9am on a Saturday morning was because rugby had finally broken me. I'd played rugby from the age of 14 until I was 36. Up until the age of 36 I'd somehow managed to avoid any properly serious injuries. I'd had my fair share of sprains, strains, bumps, cuts and bruises. But, I'd been luckier than most in that I'd never broken a bone or lost a tooth on the rugby field. However, at the age of 36 I completely wrecked my knee playing in a veterans (over 35's) match. The operation to fix it involved various muscle grafts to reattach ligaments, cutting out bits of cartilage and other assorted surgical butchery. I couldn't walk for 6 months and it took another year after that to get back to anywhere near the same levels of fitness I had before the injury. Hence, the Saturday morning running to try to maintain some level of fitness, and not get too fat. I'd also injured my back during a school rugby training session when I was 18 years old, but more on that later........
By the time we were reacquainted, I was running 5km twice a week and also training in the gym twice a week with the odd swimming session or bit of cycling thrown into the mix too. So, I was staying in reasonable shape for a man of 40. The reason I hadn't pushed on with running longer distances was because I didn't think my knee would be able to cope with the extra workload. At 6'1" and 16 stone it had to bear quite a load as well. But, she convinced me to have a run with her. We even had running dates which were surprisingly enjoyable. Bit by bit my distances crept up. We entered the Mic Morris 10km race together, which is basically a 10K downhill cavalry charge. Great fun and very fast. It's where lots of people record their 10km PB's.
Dating her was wonderful because as a dedicated runner she understood why I spent so much time in the gym, or on my bike, or out running - even though I was only running piddly little distances at a time. I was sort of in awe of her as she had run marathons and could bash out 15 miles at a decent pace almost without breaking a sweat. I would sweat putting on my running kit. I get that from my Dad. We're both very efficient at processing water through our skin. Good sweaters!
Dating a runner is a strange experience. When they aren't in training for a particular event weekends are lazy affairs filled with lie-ins, brunches and evenings in the pub. But, when race day is looming on the horizon weekends involve early nights and getting up before 6am and running an ungodly amount of miles in all sorts of weather. I was a retired rugby player, so I could understand the need to train for a race / match. But, all my rugby playing days involved moderate amounts of training and extraordinary amounts of beer and food. I was bemused by this on/off binge training phenomenon.
Entering a marathon had never crossed my mind until I saw one up close in October 2016. The marathon in question was the Snowdonia Marathon. My girlfriend was running it for a 2nd time and I was tagging along for the weekend to watch & support. At this point, we need to wind the clock back a bit and explain about my back.......
22 years prior to this I'd injured my back during a school rugby training session and it has never been right since. Strained ligaments have a tendency to stay strained and regular chiropractic treatment is the only way I can keep it in check and prevent my spine from resembling a very bent banana. It can also result in kicking my pelvis out of alignment which makes my left leg approx. 1.5cm longer than my right leg which is both uncomfortable and amusing at the same time. Even though I take extra care of my back, I still have a propensity for injuring it. In August 2016, while on a fabulous holiday in Croatia I damaged a disc in my back which got progressively worse, to the point that I was laid up on heavy duty pain-killers for over a month. By the time of the 2016 Snowdonia Marathon I was recovering, but I could barely walk a couple of hundred meters without having to stop to rest.
The weekend of the marathon was enlightening. We were staying in Llanberis for the weekend along with other runners and their families and supporters. Her running club friends had a very real camaraderie amongst them - especially those who were entered in the race and facing the daunting challenge of the mountain. My plan was to see her off at the start and then chillout in the hotel bar for a few hours and then see her finish. And that's what I did. Waiting at the finish line was where the seed of an idea took root.
I was fascinated by all the shapes and sizes of the runners. I had always thought that marathon running was the domain of racing snakes only. But, every height, width and body shape were represented in full. I witnessed dozens of emotions as runners crossed the line. There were tears of joy, tears of pain, tears of relief. Finishers ran, walked, skipped & crawled the last few metres to cross the line and hug friends, breakdown in tears or simply collapse to the ground. The sincerity of the emotions at the finish line was the thing that got me the most. Every one of the runners I saw showed how they were genuinely feeling in that exact moment of crossing the finish line without any conscious filter. Pride, joy, relief, agony, disappointment were all there for the crowds lining the street to see. That's when I thought "I want feel that". But, I kept that thought to myself.
Entries for the 2017 Snowdonia Marathon opened at midnight on New Year's Eve. We were at a house party and after the traditional NYE kiss I slipped off to complete a quick entry form, make a thirty-something pound payment and that was it. I was entered. The confirmation email arrived shortly after and I thought to myself "Oh, shit! What have I done?". By now, I was walking a bit further, but I still couldn't run or do any weight training in the gym. To my relief, she entered the marathon herself the next day, so at least I knew that I probably wouldn't have to run it on my own. I still didn't tell her about my own entry until I had no choice about a month later. We were looking to book tickets to see a comedian but the date clashed with the Snowdonia Marathon and she was considering not running in favour of seeing the comedian instead, so I had to 'fess-up and I told her. She was completely surprised and her excitement about it tempered my own trepidation. A bit.
So, that's a bit of the background to this story. Here's how it went......
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My back injury had prevented me from running or doing any exercise since July 2016. July 31st 2016 to be precise, which was just before we went on holidays where I injured my back. I ran 6 miles. I'd been having chiropractic treatment a couple of times every week since the injury and had been doing a lot of rehab work in the gym & building up my walking distances during January. It was a massive surprise when my Chiropractor gave me the green light to try a short run and I was so happy to be able to do some proper exercise at last.
So, my comeback run was on 15th February when I managed a very tentative 2.9 miles around my village. I chose a 2 mile loop so that I would never be too far from home in case I hurt my back and had to hobble home. It was dark, cold and wet and I remember getting to the point where I'd planned to head back towards home still feeling really good. There were no signs of back pain. The rest of my joints and muscles were hurting which I'd kind of expected after such a long time but nothing serious to worry about. So, I added on an extra bit around a nearby housing estate before heading home to make it up to 2.9 miles. I was overjoyed to get home in one piece. I rested and just did my rehab work for the next 10 days to see how my body would react to the exertion after 6 months of inactivity. There were no ill effects apart from aching muscles. So, I reported back to my Chiropractor who said I should be OK to gradually build up my running again. So, on the 25th of February I ran 3 miles. That run proved that the 1st run wasn't a fluke and it proved that all the boring rest and tedious rehab work was worth it and I could start to put my marathon plan into action.
I probably got a little bit over-excited about being able to run again because in March 2016 I racked up 45 miles over lots of short runs around the village and in the local country park which was probably not what my Chiropractor meant when he told me "Don't be a bloke now. Take it easy." By the end of that month I'd got myself back up to 6 miles in a respectable time of 1 hour and 1 minute. Up to this point, 6 miles or 10km was the furthest distance I'd ever run. I was still measuring distances in kilometres as I always got a bigger and more satisfying number from the kilometre measurement compared to miles. Converting kilometres into miles to see how what percentage of 26.2 miles I'd run was getting ridiculous, so I made the decision to switch. Changing over to miles was quite a big step and the first few runs were hard and seemed to go on forever as the numbers on my running watch ticked over so much more slowly. The short runs were going really well and I was super enthusiastic about running, but I knew I was going to have to break some of my distance barriers, so I set myself some targets to go over 10km - now known as 6 miles!
Once I'd decided I was ready to get over the 6 mile mark, I needed to get some proper kit for doing longer distances. My knees and calves were suffering a bit from the increased pavement pounding and I kept running out of water. Firstly, I did a bit of research and discovered a type of running shoe I'd never come across before called a maximalist shoe. This sounds like a contrived name for something that's meant to be the opposite of a minimalist shoe. Maximalists have deep cushioning in the sole to absorb some of the impact of running before the impact can transfer into your ankle and knee joints. I did a lot of reading on this subject and one brand kept coming up as experts in this area. I'd never heard of the brand Hoka One One before and the running shoes they made had such deep cushioning that they almost looked like surgical shoes for people with wonky legs. The cheapest pair I could find online cost a whopping £60! I'd never paid this much for trainers before, but I saw it as an investment in my joints, so duly placed an order and received an enormous pair of bright blue daps. Next, for my calves I'd been recommended a product called The Stick which is a long massage stick that you roll up and down your calves to get them loose and relaxed before exercising. I also used it on the muscles next to my shin bones as they kept feeling quite tight during the latter stages of my runs too. I also decided to buy a water bottle belt so that I could carry more water with me as the small running bottle I had been using was usually empty by the time I got to 6 miles. The one I opted for had 2 bottles that doubled my water carrying capacity. It also had a pocket that I could just about squeeze my phone into which I thought would be a good idea in case I got injured on a long run and was stuck somewhere and needed a lift home. During my research for these items I realised that runners must spend as much time researching and choosing kit as they do running. There's such a variety of shoes, clothing, accessories, physio-type equipment that it's almost mind blowing. Thankfully, my hours of research paid off and I benefitted from all 3 of these purchases and they all helped me to improve my running and avoid injuries.
In April I aimed for a 7 mile distance. The first time a tried it I made the huge mistake of choosing a route with a particularly nasty hill in it. I really don't know what I was thinking as it nearly killed me and I trudged home wondering how I was ever going run a marathon distance. I did a few more short runs before I attempted the distance again on a much flatter route and this time things went a million times better and my worries were slightly alleviated. I only managed to run a total of 25 miles in April as I need so much extra time to recover from the 7 mile runs. Also in April, my girlfriend ran the London Marathon - or VLM as I found out the "proper runners" call it. I managed to see her at 2 points on the course and she ran brilliantly. It was a fantastic event to see up close and it made me all the more determined to experience a marathon for myself.
Invigorated by seeing the London Marathon, for May I set myself the goal of running 8 miles. I picked a route from the village I live in to the one I grew up in. In fact the route was from my house to my first ever "Local" pub that was at the bottom of the street I lived in as a kid. It's a distance of precisely 8.01 miles that's gradually uphill all the way out and downhill all the way back. Nice! The first time ran this route was on a Friday evening after work and I really enjoyed myself. The route is mainly through 2 country parks with a couple of miles on pavement next to a pretty quiet road. I felt really buoyant after it and this quickly became one of my favourite runs. I did this route 3 times in May along with some shorter runs and my 8 mile time got a few minutes quicker each time. In May the app I use on my phone that links to my running watch got an update so that it now compared me to the rest of the people who use the app. After each run I was getting messages like "On long runs between 8 - 15 mi, men your age average 8:50 mins/mi." right beneath my pace of 10:51. Even though I was really pleased with how much progress I'd made in a relatively short amount of time, these annoying message kept me grounded and I knew I had a lot more hard work ahead of me.
June was a big month for me. My target was 10 miles. I'd decided to skip the 9 miles as a target distance because 9 is a nothing number and I was already running 8 which was is so close to the big 10! I managed to hit this nice round number on the 2nd of June and it was a real struggle. The last mile and a half really, really hurt and I thought I was going to have to stop and walk the last mile to my house. But, I stuck at it and eventually got home to collapse on the floor as soon as I got through the front door. It took me a full week to recover from that run. My leg muscles, both knees and my hips were hurting and I couldn't walk properly for days. I did that same 10 mile run again a week later and suffered my first proper setback. Despite finishing 4 minutes faster than the week before I hurt my right foot about a mile and a half from home. I was just coming off a little off-road section back onto a path when my foot skidded and I seemed to jar my foot somehow. I think the grips of my trainers were probably clogged with mud which caused the slip/skid. It was really painful and I half ran, half limped home. It seemed OK once I took my trainers off, but the next day the underneath of my foot it was bruised and I couldn't put any weight on it. I only managed another 2 really short runs in June to test out my injured foot, but the pain didn't really go away and both runs ended with me walking home. My physio told me I'd probably slightly damaged a metatarsal and the pain was from the surrounding muscles going into spasm trying to protect the damaged area. I was a pretty bummed out at being injured and not being able to run or even have a boogie at my mates wedding. My girlfriend was really supportive and was great at cheering me up. She even bought me a hard rubber ball for me to use to massage the underneath of my foot so I could try to relax those pesky spasming muscles.
It was exactly 1 full month until I could walk and run properly again. I'd managed to do a bit of cycling to keep things ticking over, so my fitness levels didn't drop too much. I'd hurt my foot on the 9th of June and my first successful run after that was on the 9th of July, but after hitting the heady heights of 10 miles I had to go back down and build up my distances again. My first run back was 5.8 miles, which I followed with a hilly 9 miler a few days later. On the 9 miler I almost smashed my face in when I tripped on a rocky path I hadn't run on before (or since!). Thankfully, I got away with just a few scrapes & bruises that time. My foot injury was still bothering me a bit, but by the time I'd done some more short runs towards the end of July it was much, much better.
I started August with a few short runs and an absolutely agonising 9 miler. It was one of those runs where everything hurts all the way for no apparent reason. Apparently "proper runners" expect these to happen every now and then. I reached another huge milestone on August 13th. Two letters - HM! I didn't go out with the intention of running a half marathon distance, but it seemed to happen without a great deal of thought. My plan was to try to get up to 10 miles for the first time since my foot injury. I also wanted to try out the new Camelbak hydration backpack that I'd bought. The 2 bottles on my running belt were great for distances up to 10 miles, but I knew that I'd need to carry more liquids when I got up to the proper long distances. It was an absolutely scorching day and I was having a really good run - I think I was actually smiling at some point instead of my usual grimace. The Camelbak was comfortable on my back and I was glad I had it because it was so hot I think I drank more than a litre of water on that run. About a mile from home I still felt pretty good, so I had a choice; I could either call it a day and head home, or push on and go for a new distance milestone. I knew that I was going to have to really push my limits at some point so I thought it would be best to do it while I was feeling good and running well rather than push it on what might turn out to be a bad day. So, I added on another mile and a half to my planned route and then back to the house would make it up to 13.2 miles. I misjudged the distances so I was about a quarter of a mile from home by the time I hit 13.2miles, so I had a nice little cool-down walk through the village with a big self-satisfied grin on my face. I was incredibly pleased to have made 13.2 miles and for the first time I really believed that I was going to be able to make it to marathon distance. I did some shorter runs after that while my body recovered from the shock of the new distance record, including a lovely, but very humid and sweaty, run along the West Wales coastline with my girfriend while we were on a weekend break.
I'd known from the start of my training that I was too heavy and my running would improve if I lost some weight. I'd expected the weight loss to happen naturally as I ran more and burned off loads of calories. But I still felt like I needed to shift a bit more, so I decided that for the 2 month run up to the marathon I'd stop drinking alcohol completely. I didn't really drink a lot except for a few pints on a Friday or Saturday. It would also help to keep me feeling fresher for the early morning weekend runs too. So, that was quite a change to be turning down a beer with Sunday lunch etc. Also, until September, I'd done most of my running on my own. My girfriend had run with me on a handful of occasions, but she'd also been marathon training again with her running club friends following a short break after the London Marathon and she was regularly running 15 or 16 miles with them. If everything had gone to plan with my training I'd have been up to around the same distances as her. But, I'd fallen quite far behind where I'd planned to be when I injured my foot. Now that I was up to a decent distance, she suggested that I join her and her running club friends for some long runs. I wasn't sure how I'd cope with keeping up with people who I considered to be "proper runners". But, I decided to go along and give it a try and she promised to stay with me if I fell behind. That weekend they were aiming for a distance of 18 miles, which I had been forewarned included some really long hills. This was going to be 5 miles more than I'd ever run before and I was going to be the only one in the group who hadn't run a marathon before. I was absolutely shitting myself. At 8am on Saturday the 9th of September we set off on what felt like the most agonising 3 and a half hours of my life. The hills felt monstrous, my legs were knackered, the bottoms of my feet kept cramping and every time we stopped for a drink or an energy gel I had to get down on the floor to stretch my back out. The turnaround point was out on top of a very high, exposed, cold & windy common and I was completely exhausted by the time we stopped to do a 180 degree turn to head back. All the big climbs were on the way out so the return leg was supposedly an easy trot back. But, I was so worn out it felt just as bad running downhill as uphill. For the last 3 miles I really struggled to plod one foot in front of the other and I was moving at more of a shuffle than a run. Once we got back to the car and the immediate pains faded I had a bit of a smile to myself as I realised I could just about put up with the pain that came with the proper long distances, even though it had reduced me to a snail's pace, I kept going. My girfriend and the people we ran with were all really supportive and encouraged me all the way and I honestly think I would have given up on that run long before the finish if I'd been on my own.
I did some other shorter distance runs in September, then on the 23rd I did another long one with my girlfriend and her running club-mate. This time it was another early Saturday morning start to do 20 miles. It was a pretty flat route, well it was flat for the South Wales valleys anyway - not many big hills. The turnaround point was a couple of laps around a country park and we even stopped for some photos in front of a waterfall. I really enjoyed that run and I found it much easier than the 18 miles from 2 weeks earlier. It was around this time that my girlfriend told me someone in her running club had had to pull out of the Cardiff Half Marathon and they were trying to sell their place for a tenner. Apparently, it would be good experience of running in a large group and I'd get a medal and a t-shirt, so I said yes. Foolishly.
October 1st. The 2017 Cardiff University Cardiff Half Marathon, locally known as "The Cardiff 'Arf". This had sounded like such a great idea. Despite the early start I was feeling fit and I was looking forward to the run. I'd already done some much longer runs than this so the distance wasn't daunting and I was hoping to finish in about an hour and a quarter as I still wasn't particularly fast. The field was huge. Thousands and thousands of runners all shuffling towards the start line for what felt like, and probably was, about an hour. Once we started running I felt great. Probably a bit too great as I kept getting called back to slow down as I was going off too fast. There were people lining the roads cheering the runners on and kids looking for high fives. There was music playing and all sorts of entertainment along the route. Everything was going brilliantly until around mile 6 when some stupid woman decided to stop dead in front of me without warning. What a dick. She didn't slow down, or move to the side, she just went from running to complete stop about 2 metres in front of me. I tried to sidestep past to avoid flattening her and in the process I somehow stood on my own foot and turned my left ankle over. In retrospect I should have just flattened her as it would have done me less damage and taught her a lesson to not be so stupid in future. My ankle felt a bit weird at first, but then seemed to be OK so I kept running. By about mile 9 I could tell something was wrong and I was struggling to keep up, so my girlfriend stayed with me and her 2 friends went on to the finish together. I managed to get to mile 11 before I had to stop for a long walk and from then on I had to run, walk, run, walk all the way to the finish. By the time I crossed the line I was in a lot of pain. I was really pissed-off because my first proper organised long race had ended badly and the Snowdonia Marathon was only 4 weeks away and I was injured again.
I went to see a physio who told me that I'd sprained my ankle and that if I'd stopped running immediately and dropped out of the race it probably wouldn't have been too bad, but because I'd pushed on to the finish I'd done more damage and I shouldn't run on it for 4 to 6 weeks. I was having absolutely none of that. I'd put in too much training and spent too much money on running kit to pull out of the marathon. I was determined to find a way to get myself up & running again, so I got on Google and researched ankle sprains and recovery and found some ankle braces that were apparently helpful to runners recovering from ankle sprains. I ordered one immediately. I also explained to work about my ankle and I spent the 1st week after The Cariff 'Arf working from home so that I could ice my ankle every 2 hours and rest it as much as possible. I didn't run at all for a week, which went against everything I'd read about marathon training this close to the big day. After a week the swelling had gone right down and it wasn't too painful to walk on. Luckily, I only had to get one more long run in before tapering down - this is the period before a race where you start to reduce your distances in preparation for the big day. So, 7 days after spraining it I ran 20 miles with my ankle in a brace. It was really painful and I had to take pain killers on the run. It didn't help that the route was horrible either, but I managed to get through it somehow and I knew I only had a couple of medium distance runs to do before the marathon. I kept icing my ankle and wore the ankle brace whenever I ran and I was really careful about how far I walked and how I slept to minimise the amount of pressure I put on my ankle so that it could recover as much as possible.
My penultimate training run was on the 21st of October. It was a hilly 8.5 mile route and we didn't stop once, apart from crossing a busy road. That was the furthest I've run without stopping to walk for a rest. Even more importantly my ankle was less painful so I was reasonably confident that it would hold out for at least the start of the marathon. I did a final 3 mile trot 4 days before the marathon just to keep my legs ticking over without exhausting them. My training was finished and I was going to be on the start line. I didn't know if my ankle would hold out all the way to the finish line, but I was going to be able to cross the start line, at least. The prospect of getting myself into a condition where I could start the marathon felt like a massive achievement in itself. I kept icing my ankle and taking care not to do anything stupid to it.
By the 24th of October I'd done 69 training runs, covered a total distance of 541.11 miles and spent 42.5 hours in the gym, losing over a stone in weight in the process.
And I still had all my toenails.
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Travelling up to North Wales isn't the greatest preparation for the night before a marathon. It's more than a 4 hour drive on winding country roads. Although, some of the scenery is stunningly beautiful which is some consolation. We arrived in Llanberis at around 7pm and had enough time to go to the registration event to pick up our race numbers etc. I was also keen to get some merchandise as I didn't know if I was ever going to be able to anything like this again so I wanted something to remember the weekend by. So, I bagged an event hoody and a t-shirt before we headed to the hotel. My girlfriends running club friends had arrived earlier in the day and had set themselves up in the bar. We joined them just before 9pm for something to eat and then got our heads down for an early night.
On the morning or the race I set an early alarm so that I could get up with plenty of time to assess my back before breakfast. It was a bit stiff from the long car journey and an unfamiliar bed, so I did some stretches and had a hot bath while my girlfriend was still sleeping. It felt much better after that, so off to breakfast we went.
Apparently, the hotel we were in is always rammed to the rafters with runners on marathon weekend. Fuelling-up before a long run is something all runners know about. Some have their own pre-run breakfast routines which cover things like timings and breakfast ingredients. I opted for a big bowl of stodgy porridge, some fruit and yoghurt and 2 cups of coffee. Other options people took on our breakfast table were beans on toast, full cooked breakfast, cornflakes, and fruit. Some people even brought their own tried and tested breakfasts with them rather than the hotel offerings. The race didn't start for another hour and a half so I picked up a banana on the way out to have just before the start.
Back in the hotel room we both got out kit on and checked we had everything we needed, which for me involved applying lashings of Deep Heat to my calf muscles, stretching my back again and checking, double checking and finally triple checking I had all my gels and chocolate bars etc. to keep me fuelled through the race. Once we were both geared-up we walked down into the town where my girlfriends running club had arranged to meet for some pre-race photos.
I wasn't really nervous at this point. I think I was more excited about it all, and the atmosphere in the town was fabulous. There was a palpable buzz from all the runners and their supporters milling about making last minute preparations or catching up with friends they'd made at the race the previous year. I was really enjoying myself at this point, despite the fact it was freezing cold.
My kit selection had been a long ponderous affair which had changed every time I checked the weather forecast in the week leading up to the race. I'd finally decided on a running t-shirt rather than a vest and shorts without running tights with leg and arm sleeves that I could take off if I got too warm. I ended up taking off the arm sleeves early in the race but I kept the leg sleeves on as I had a bit of a tight hamstring and I wanted to make sure it stayed toasty warm.
I didn't start to feel any nervousness until we started the walk out of town to the start area. It's not a long walk, maybe not quite half a mile, but it seemed a lot longer to me. Once we dumped our jumpers and jackets onto a supporter we were all set and that's when I got really nervous. I was worried about my ankle, about my tight hamstring, whether I'd eaten enough for breakfast, that I might end up blubbing to myself on the side of the road because I was underprepared. All this was going through my head right up to the firing of the staring pistol. Once that went we started the shuffle towards the line. My gps watch was locked into the satellite signal my trainers were laced-up just right, and I wasn't hungry. There was nothing to change or adjust now, just get to the line and start running.
As soon as I crossed the line all my nerves disappeared. I'd made it to the start line and what was about to follow would be what it would be. Some of it was under my control, some of it most certainly was not. But, I was doing it. That was the crucial and most nerve relieving thing.
The first few miles of this race are nice and easy and it's easy to get carried away with the occasion and go off too fast, because what comes next is one of the most brutal climbs I've ever run. The road up to Pen-Y-Pass is 2-3 miles of excruciating incline. I had to stop and walk around two thirds of the way up as I was on the verge of vomiting. I got going again quite quickly and run/walked the rest of the way up. While I was stopped and trying not to show the other runners my breakfast I had a chance to take in the scenery which is something I made a point of doing for the rest of the race. It is stunningly beautiful and during this race you're often high up in the mountains so you can see for miles.
The next section of the race was downhill for a few miles with a rocky off-road section, so I had to be extra careful with my footing to avoid aggravating my injured ankle. Thankfully, I managed to get to the bottom without any serious stumbles. Following that, the course goes back to roads and takes you through some small villages before you get to Beddgelert at around mile 13. I was still feeling quite good at this point, but my back was stiff, so while the others I was running with paused to take on gels, snacks and drinks I was lying on a wet road with one leg in the air trying to stretch my back!
The road out of Beddgelert gradually winds uphill for the next 3 miles. I really wasn't expecting it to be such a tough grind. I was struggling and my ankle started to hurt to the point that I had to take some ibuprofen to keep going. The next section ent OK, but I was starting to tire and I was starting to take regular walking breaks. This is where I started to interact with the other runners more as I'd walk for a minute and get passed by a few people and then I'd run again and pass some of the same people who'd overtaken me when they took a walking break. As we kept passing each other we'd mumble words of encouragement and occasionally I would fall into sync with someone and even have a brief chat.
Waunfawr comes at mile 22. I'd only trained to be able to run 22 miles as I'd been told that everyone stops for a walk at Waunfawr because it's much too steep to run. So, I was looking forward to an extended rest at mile 22. I couldn't have been more wrong. Walking up the hill out of Waunfawr onto the mountain is far more painful than running. Everyone was walking. Some striding out, some shuffling, some hobbling. Occasionally, a brave soul would break into a run, but it never lasted more than a hundred yards. At the top it’s back to trail running, first across stony road past old slate quarries, then on a grassy decline back toward Llanberis and the fabled finish line. The grassy section was really wet and muddy and lots of people were falling. I didn't want to fail so close to the end, so I took it really easy and enjoyed watching everyone else sliding and tumbling down the mountain.
The last 500 meters on the main road through Llanberis was one of the most memorable experiences of my life. Once you turn onto the main road it's lined with cheering supporters, advertising hoardings, flags and you can hear the commentator at the finish line calling out the names of people as they cross the line. I was really struggling with my ankle now and I'd had to work really hard to keep going for the last mile. We turned the corner and my girlfriend grabbed my hand and said something like "Come on, sprint finish!". I though she was joking at first, then I realised she was completely mad when she upped her pace and pulled me along behind her. I managed to keep up, or, slow her down to my own limping trudge pace (I'm still not sure which) and we crossed the finish line hand in hand. Looking back at the finish line photo I can't quite remember if I was smiling with joy, relief, or grimacing through the pain.
It was an incredible feeling to have made it to the end, for a few minutes I even managed to forget about the pain in my back and my ankle. We hugged as the marshalls wrapped us in foil blankets like a pair of baked potatoes, before they ushered us off to one side to receive our finishers medal. Well, it's not really a medal as Snowdonia Marathon isn't like other races, so when you finish the race you're awarded an engraved Welsh slate coaster instead.
I was on an massive high after finishing the race. We met up with friends back at the hotel and sat in the bar for a post-race debrief where I stripped off my trainers and ankle brace. The floor of the bar was strewn with running shoes and odd bits of kit, but no-one really cared as they shared stories of their race. Some of the things I heard about finish times and paces left me in absolute awe, but none of it could take the shine off how i felt about making it to the finish line. I think I managed a few pints and some food before I could hear the bed calling for me. I slept like the proverbial log that night.
That evening and a few times since, people have asked me why on Earth I chose Snowdonia as my first marathon as I could have done a nice flat one instead which would have been a much gentler introduction to marathoning. I think I needed the extreme challenge of such a tough race to motivate myself to train and prepare properly, otherwise I might have slacked-off on some of my training. It was quite daunting and at times it was all-consuming, but I'm glad I did it that way. Also, I now know that if I prepare properly i can finish pretty much any distance race.
Timings didn't really enter my mind in preparing for and running the race as finishing was the only real goal I'd set myself. But, for completeness, my finish time was 5:47:03 which placed me 2039th out of a field of just over 2300. The race winner did it in a time of 2:36:54 and the last runner to finish came in at 7:58:32.
I've run this race and many others since, but this one and the months leading up to it will live with me forever as one of the toughest personal challenges I've ever set for myself. I had a lot of help from my girlfriend and other people along the way, and I'll always be thankful to them for that.
Now I've finally finished writing about it, I know that in my dotage I can ask one of the care-home nurses to log-on and read this to me to remind me of all the happy and crappy times I went through before i got to that start line in Llanberis.
There are few more miles left in me before I get to that nursing home though.
Let's get going!
