27 October : Marathon Eyryri

I love it when a plan comes off! 3:19:03, and 70th place - the figures came in bang on target. But of course that's very far from the whole story so I'd better go back to the beginning:

The six o'clock alarm was a bit of a jolt, but we were off and out by 7:15, into a pleasantly warm, breezy morning. The weather looked harmless still as we drove along the North Wales Coast, and the northern tops of the Carneddau were even clear. Turning down towards Llanberis though, white and grey cloud spilled over the hilltops and it was pretty clear that there wouldn't be a meteorological miracle today!

Everything went well at registration, and after taking the dogs for a quick exploration of the woods, it was time to set off on the walk up to Nant Peris. The organisers lay on buses, but it's less than two miles to the start and the walk does as a warm-up. Running is such a glamorous sport, I thought, as I walked up the valley wearing my knotted bin-bag. There was a headwind, but no rain yet, and the bin-bag came off as soon as I reached the starting pen. Five rows back, left hand side - all as planned.

The man with the hooter set us off about 6 minutes after 10:30 (it's crazy how many people can be late!), and about 1200 of us shuffled out under the banner and over the mats before making the 180 turn out onto the road. The first mile was too quick of course - it's flat after all but I soon got into the groove and watched as maybe 150 runners streamed past. Past the pub, where there were plenty of spectators, the first hint of a climb begins, and it wasn't long before the road began to get steeper. I dropped a gear or two and a few more came by, but there are 2.5 miles and 800' to go to Pen y Pass so no need to panic just yet! As the road steepened, so the early enthusiasm waned for the runners around me, and soon the places were coming back again. The climbing was just hard enough, and by the top, I was ready enough to take on some water. Part one done then, and although a bit slower than I'd reckoned on, I'd rather be too slow than too quick at this stage!

The wind had been blowing against us more and more often as we had climbed, and making the turn around the head of the pass, it was strong on our backs - bad news for the 8 miles south to Beddgelert! A few grumpy walkers, denied road access past Pen y Gwyryd, tramped up the road: you can always tell a walker - they hate walking too far! Still, the view was still there, all the way down the Vale of Gwynant, and as I turned to the south I could see streams of runners coming down from the pass - the road taken over by people in short pants and vests while the traffic waited for a change.

So, Part Two had begun - Control, Control, Control. That was the word I needed. The word I didn't need was Pain - but remember Phantom Sore Calf Muscle? Well, maybe it wasn't so phantom after all. It had started giving me jip from about the third mile and was now on fire. I thought about exit strategies - no phone signals after Beddgelert - but would I even get there? I decided I'd have to run at least a quarter of the marathon. More enthusiatic runners came flying past me - all the way down to Nant Gwynant. More pain - then I thought about all those long midweek runs - the ones I'd done with Helen when the race seemed so far away - the mad evening runs with the club sessions sandwiched in the middle - and the long solo efforts nearer the race. No, I wasn't going to chuck that away until my leg actually fell off! I got a gel down and hoped for the best.

At about 8.5 miles, I reached the next water station. I'd averaged about 7:35 pace overall. It was about here that Sore Calf Muscle gave up the ghost and became happier. Magically, I didn't drop the pace as the road flattened, and runners started slowing in front of me. I passed the first one, wondering if it was going to be alright after all. A guy from Blackburn, the bloke in the dayglo shorts, then small groups - all going backwards, and me not. At about 10 miles, I noticed the grey sky ahead. Rain. Just to cheer us up, there were 3 girls dressed as nuns by the roadside. Now it's got to be my day!

The next thing I remember is the rain falling as we came into Beddgelert. It hadn't put the locals off though, and the streets were full of people. Another water station (all brilliantly organised I must say with the volunteers shouting out the contents of the cups they were holding). I tried running with the drink for the first and last time - much better to walk a few paces and get it down your throat instead of down your vest!

Now for the dreaded stage three - the long road to Waun Fawr. The hill kicks in as soon as you turn the corner in the village and everyone slows. Drop a gear, Concentrate. I tried to ignore the struggling runners up ahead, and the insistent footsteps behind me as the gradient steepened. Half a mile further on, I'd passed lots of runners - but the footsteps were still there. They belonged to a guy from Salford running his first marathon. We stayed together for the next seven miles. We were doing fine, 7:30 pace up the two-mile climb, passing and passing - the only other person that kept up was a guy on a bike who told us the pace. My new friend told me he loved uphill, hated downhill, and I did lose him for a while over the top of the climb, but he caught me again. I took on drinks at all the stations, and the miles flew by - despite a minor collision involving me and a 4X4 towing a caravan! My elbow made a satisfying thump as it hit the wing mirror.

We reached 20 miles in 2:30, just a bit quicker than the plan for a PB, but I was feeling so strong now I was sure it was going to happen. A sore quadricep, some blisters, and a nagging doubt about that last hill was all that was going to derail me now. Even so, the overtaking was giving me masses of confidence. One guy in front said to another: "make room for the freight train". I felt more like an elderly Brabant but I'll take any encouragement going! My new friend left me at mile 20 - he said he was going to give it a blast as he wasn't sure if he could run much further! I acquired a new one though, a lad called Graham who worked hard to pass me - I tagged him as soon as he came by though and we got to Waun Fawr together.

Onto Part 4 - the climb. Wind it Up - rhythm, drop a gear - and have a chat, why not?! Two lasses shouted "come on Graham!" as we began the hard work. "Is your name Graham?" asked Graham. "No", I said. "I wonder how they knew mine was?" he said, puzzled. No time to work it out, though, as I took on my last drink and went to my lowest gear. It felt so slow! It was Graham's first Snowdonia, and he asked abut the climb. I was so glad I'd memorised everything - just a mile and a half and 600', then the same distance and 200'. Even though it felt so slow, I was still gaining places - lots of them - everyone else was slower, or walking, or walk-running. We disappeared into the fog. Nothing to think about but the slap-slap-slap of trainers on road. Graham disappeared backwards into the gloom. And then - right on queue, the tarmac ran out, the road levelled, and I was up on the windy heights heading for Bwlch y Groes. The rain was getting heavier, the wind strong and blustery, but mostly on my back. On the track, I passed yet more runners. It's amazing how they were so encouraging and found some breath to spur me on. The top of the pass came unbelievably quickly - I knew I was on for 3:20 or less if I could run the descent well.

And yes, it was great. Arms windmilling, legs at full stretch, I hurtled down - it's not really that loose and there's some useful grass to absorb the impact on the first half - curious about speed, I found I'd reached sub-5 minute pace on the steepest parts. Landing at the bottom was hell last year - but this year it was round the corner, kick off up the hill into the village, and catch the next guy. On the corner, three small lads held their hands out for High Fives - and they got them!

So to the last part. This last mile is odd - there was no-one in sight now, and althogh I knew I was on the right road, I was still glad to find the marshall at the road junction. This is it now - one swoop down to the road, past the Mountain Railway, and finish.

Paula was waiting on the roadside as I came down, doing all sorts of embarrassing things like clapping and waving and punching the air - not because I'd come anywhere near winning anything or even being all that good a runner - but just because it had been such a fantastic 3 hours and 19 minutes.

Past the finish line, I collected my treasured coaster, waited for Graham to finish about a minute after me, then got that fantastic cup of tea in the tent. It was throwing it down with rain, and the tent began to fill up. My brain was functioning at a reduced level - but what a wonderful feeling. Not just to have finished, but to have somehow distilled all the fun, hard work, good company, hopes, goodwill from so many people, into something wonderful and worthwhile. A marathon. A small thing in the context of almost anything, but worth having nevertheless. An old man came up and talked about Ron Hill - I said I'd beaten him in a race once - and we both laughed.

The Snowdonia Marathon is a great race - a challenge, a thing of beauty, an embrace between friends and strangers, a glorious sum of so many inelegant, sweaty, bin-bag clad parts - but it is only a race, and I guessed Paula and the dogs had waited long enough to start their day. We went off to the Bryn Twrch for some great soup and even better beer, then headed off to sunny Llandudno for a walk on the beach underneath the magical Welsh sky.