There was
only one way to find out if I could do a marathon and a new one on my doorstep
at Coed y Brenin seemed the obvious choice. ‘Trail’
sounded so much more appealing than road; although at the time I did not realise trail would translate into 3,959 feet of altitude gain.
A strong
breeze kept away the worst of the midges as the organisers outlined a revised
course. Torrential rains had forced a new route to be marked at the last
moment. Then it was into the starting funnel,
‘The Final Countdown’ blaring out
of the speakers, and Iori, the wildlife ranger, started us with a blast from
his twelve bore.
For the
first mile there was much shuffling of the pack as runners settled into their pace,
conversations were struck up and there was a steady, easy going atmosphere as
we ambled along. After an hour and six miles into the trail, front runners of
the half marathon went pounding past on a thin, steeply downhill path laced
with slippery tree roots – having started 30 minutes later than me they were
obviously going twice as fast.
What we lost
in altitude into that deep gorge was regained by an exhausting haul up the
other side. Once more on high ground we were able to take in distant views
towards Cadair Idris but low cloud meant only a local would know that. At Tyn y
Groes, friendly assistants handed out snacks and drinks at one of the many
oases along the way. Beginning to feel a bit weary I chanced a gel, a pouch of
instant energy, but I won’t be using them again.
‘Twelve miles in two hours’ my new friend
from Edinburgh told me, reading off her high tech gadget. For her this was just
a training run for a sixty four mile event around Mont Blanc. Much as I enjoyed
her company I explained that I needed to drop down a gear and off she went. This was
my black spot with legs feeling heavy. I was now at the furthest point I’d run
before. If I could get through the next six miles I’d have a good chance.
The following
stretch seemed to go upwards for ever and I wasn’t the only one walking the
steep bits - and later on the not so steep bits. Four young women passed me
chatting as they went. There was talk about the Champagne being on ice. One
said she’d have some tonic with her first gin. Printed on the backs of their T
shirts:
Never under estimate
the strength
of a woman
Don’t f@#k with
one who enjoys
running 26.2 miles
My heart
sank as the route took us back down that deep gorge and up the other side but
then it was steady running once more. My companion at this stage was a woman
from Abergavenny, also doing her first marathon. Knee bandaged and pumped with
pills after an early fall she was determined to reach the finish. Whilst I was
looking forward to a hot bath, supper and a couple of beers in front of Euro
2012 she had the prospect of feeding four young children at their campsite.
Flapjacks
and a few words of encouragement buoyed me up for the final stretch. After
crossing a river one of the helpers said ‘well done, just over a mile to go’. I think he meant just a mile of uphill, it was
steep and a cruel sting in the tail. Then a steady half mile freewheeling down
to the finish. A few minutes under six hours was not fast but I’d done it. The
first person in the world to ever do a trail marathon in this body.
