Taming the Preseli Beast - 24th May 2014

This was another one of those races ‘I had to do’ as soon as I found out about it.  It started from my Gran’s village hall and circumnavigated 23.5 miles of the Preseli hills.  I thought the training I’d done for the London Marathon would help me endurance-wise but I had a nagging doubt about my abilities up and down hills, since I hadn’t done any such training since the Beacons Ultra last November.  I entered regardless, hoping for the best and thinking of it as ‘a fun day out’ in hills I was fairly familiar with.

The route!

I did two token off road training runs.  The Porthkerry 5 which was a fun race and the first run I’d actually enjoyed in a while, and a hot, sticky 7 miler in the woods outside Cardiff.  These two runs, it would be proved, would not be enough!

I was very relaxed about the race, not thinking much about it at all until Friday when I printed off the race map and tried to search (in vain) for the elevation profile online.  Dan and I arrived at Maenclochog village hall in ample time where there was a small gathering of pretty fell-savvy looking athletes, some very scantily clad too, considering the forecast was predicting we’d be getting a soaking at some point.

Before the beasting.

I picked up my race number, donned my hydration pack and lined up at the start.  Someone blew a vuvuzela and we were off.  Most people shot off, leaving me and around three or four others at the tail end. 

A few hundred metres through Maenclochog we took a right turn and we were off down our first trail, heading into the ‘Beast’s Lair’, a boardwalk trail through an ancient, swampy wood.  The field had thinned out considerably already, leaving me last but one!

After around a mile we left the wood and we were onto our first hill of the day, climbing up to Rosebush quarry.  The climbs were short but steep and my feet were already wet from walking through ankle deep mud. We were heading for Foel Eryr, the first proper hill of the day.

Once out of the quarry and onto the fell, I began to realise the enormity of the task at hand.  The turnaround point was at Newport but I could see the coast way in the distance and knew there was a lot of up and down before getting there.  Ah well, I thought, crack on, I’ll do this.

Foel Eryr was a pretty tame hill but the decent was the first of many quad crunchers.  I kept up a pretty good pace as we descended down into Cwm Gwaun and although by now I was the tail ender, I kept runners ahead in my sights.  I was pretty prudent with my hydration and nutrition (I didn't feel sick, hurrah!).

Six miles in and my body was already starting to feel the effects of the harsh terrain (and lack of training).  The left hip was protesting and my calf muscles were tight.  The climb out of Cwm Gwaun was near vertical but through the most amazing bluebell dotted trails.  By now I’d overtaken a couple who were running with their two huskies (or rather, being dragged by their two huskies, an unfair advantage methinks!) and approaching the half-way point at Newport.

Dinas Head - taken from http://preselibeast.wordpress.com/the-route/

The view out to Dinas Head and the sea was spectacular and the rain was holding off.  The descent down a track into Newport was pretty painful but as soon as we were through the town it was time to head up again, this time to the peak of Carn Ingli.  The one and only other time I’d been up Carn Ingli was the morning after a drunken night out at Gabriel’s nightclub in Cardigan when I was 18.  I’m sure the climb was just as difficult back then, but for slightly different reasons.

It was a pretty steep drag up to the top, with a few false summits thrown in for good measure.  I must admit to a few rest stops on the way up, if only to take in the view.  I was starting to catch up with a Lliswerry runner (Chris) ahead of me.  At the top of Carn Ingli is a large mound of rocks, and the course markers led us up and around these rocks!  Chris and I stopped and stared at the mound for a while, discussing how we were meant to get up there.  By this time, it had started raining a bit, adding to the slight stress of the situation.  It was a case of using hands and feet to negotiate our way up these rocks, which I quite enjoyed. 

Carn Ingli with its rocky peaks - taken from http://preselibeast.wordpress.com/the-route/

Up and over Carn Ingli and Chris peeled away from me on the descent. It was a fairly shallow descent in comparison but it was starting to get very uneven and boggy underfoot. Back down into Cwm Gwaun and Dan was there, waiting in the rain at a checkpoint.  A brief chat about how bloody hard the race was and it was time to head up a ridiculously steep trail through some woods, out of the valley and back onto the fells.

I could see Foel Cwm Cerwyn, Pembrokeshire’s highest peak, in the distance and the feel of dread at STILL having to go up there came over me.  I battled on, through the rain (thankfully it wasn’t too windy). It got boggier and wetter. 

I eventually arrived at the last big ‘feed’ station (some cups of water and a plate of jelly babies) where Dan was waiting for me again.  I was feeling pretty grumpy at this point and the couple with the dogs overtook me, leaving me in last place again.  I didn’t care, I just wanted to finish this damn thing.

The next bit was the worse.  Traversing the side of Foel Cwm Cerwyn was agony on the ankles.  As well as trying to move forward on a camber, it was incredibly muddy and slidey, sapping my energy with every step.  Eventually, after a lot of cursing, sloshing through the boggy trail but also a few ‘view stops’ I made it to the top.  The view at the top was worth it (I think).

It was now a case of getting back down to Maenclochog, around 3 miles away, mostly downhill.  Usually this would be a welcome prospect, but my legs were screaming at me, praying for me to stop this nonsense!  I plodded on, mainly running but slowing down to adjust my stride around the never-ending boggy bits.  I could see the guy with the white top in the distance and wondered if I could catch him.

Finally off the mountain, it was time to go back through the ‘Beast’s Lair’.  It was such a relief to be back on the relatively firm ground of the boardwalks.  On the final drag up the track to Maenclochog I had the guy in the white top in my sights, but I just didn’t have the energy to put on any kind of sprint finish.  By now, I was only capable of ‘run to that tree’ bursts of running.

Back onto the road and down through the village, some of the locals had stayed out to welcome us tail enders in.  The guy in the white top was only about 50 metres ahead of me, but I was resigned to my first ever last place.  I was quite proud of this though….it wasn’t like it was last place in the Race for Life.  It was last place in one of my toughest ever challenges.

Dan was there waiting for me at the finish and I slumped into his arms, exclaiming “that was sooo tough!!”.  I was wet and muddy and well and truly exhausted!

The aftermath

The free bowl of cawl and cake back in the village hall was massively welcome and as I inhaled it I reflected on one of my most challenging days out.

The route profile from my Garmin - 4850 feet of elevation gain!!!

Three days later and I’m still struggling to walk down stairs and vowing never to undertake such a race on barely any specific training again!  No regrets though.  As always, I’m glad I did it.

Beacons Ultra 2013 race report

Lying in bed, in the slightly weird B&B, on my birthday night, not being able to quiet my mind to get that precious snippet of sleep, I did wonder to myself why was I doing this to myself?  Once again I found myself not being able to sleep the night before a ‘big event’.  My stomach gurgled.  I kept looking at my phone.  I wasn’t really that nervous.  By 4am I’d resigned myself to no sleep and just lay there waiting for the 5am alarm.  I knew I could still get through the day, I’d done it before, twice!  It just wasn’t ideal.

I mumbled to Dan that I’d got no sleep again, he said “Aww” before turning and going back to sleep.    Lack of sleep always makes me feel queasy but I managed to force down a small bowl of porridge, coffee and orange juice.  The 7.30 start of the race was only a quarter of a mile away, so I calmly got my gear together.  Dan got up and we discussed where he would come and meet me and what emergency items he would bring – warmer gloves, peanuts, hula hoops and a bottle of coke.

It was still dark outside when we left to walk the short distance to Henderson Hall, race HQ, but the weather was completely calm if a little cloudy. Ideal conditions.  I’d had visions of battling gale force winds and relentless drizzle on top of mountains which would’ve surely made for miserable, non-ultra-completing conditions. 

Henderson Hall was abuzz with chatter, neon, weird looking trail shoes (I’m talking about the Hokas), backpacks and buffs.  It was a nice little atmosphere and I felt quite at home, despite being an ultra newbie.  I said hello to a guy from my gym and waved to someone I’d worked with over seven years ago in Bristol.  Martin from Likey’s, the race organiser, gave a very comprehensive race briefing and before I knew it, we were all quietly heading to the start at the canal, 100 or so metres away.  I was ready but wished I wasn’t feeling so tired from the lack of sleep. 

Tired but ready

All two hundred odd of us huddled on the narrow canal path, Martin gave us a 3-2-1 countdown and we were off.  This was the most relaxed race start I’d ever taken part in as we all walked for the first 100 metres or so, before gradually breaking into a trot.  The first 3 miles were along a flat canal path and I managed to run a nice 10 minute mile pace.  It was quite a surreal feeling, running along in single file, on no sleep, contemplating that this was going to be me for the next 12 hours. 

The start 'line' - photo courtesy of Likey's Facebook page

After 3 miles we snuck over a tiny bridge and onto the foot of the day’s first and biggest climb, the beastly Tor y Foel.  I followed trend and walked up a little ramp that led to the first style of the day, where, in true British fashion, a queue had formed.  This was nice and I took a moment to take it all in.  I started chatting to a Glaswegian lady called Carol and we stomped together through a field full of Shetland ponies, discussing the fact this was my first ultra and how she was an old hat at all this.  She’d done the race last year, but had run with a slower friend and was hoping for a time of around 11ish hours this year.  I thought to myself I’d like to try and stick with Carol.

Tor y Foel is hands on knees steep.  My three recce runs in the last few months meant I knew what to expect.  As we ascended, wisps of fog flew around, which dissipated to reveal the lovely views below.  Tackling the hill with a load of others made it a slightly more pleasant experience than scaling it alone during my training runs. We were treated to the sight of the healthiest looking fox I’ve ever seen, darting across the path ahead of us, chasing some poor rabbit or something. I ate some bits of salty sweet potato. I eventually peeled away from Carol, not wanting to break the rhythm I’d built.  Three false summits later and we were greeted at the top (the peak is marked by the most pathetic pile of stones) by one of the volunteers, a South African man in a bright orange coat and his young son, who’d pitched a tent and set up the campingaz for the day.  I picked up my running again, the descent varying in steepness but it gave me a chance to catch my breath again whilst gawping at Taylbont reservoir below, which by now was bathed in November sunshine.

Emerging through the mist to the top of Tor y Foel - photo courtesy of Likey's Facebook page

Once down the grassy slopes of Tor y Foel, we were onto a gravelly track which undulated a little so I kept up a steady jog until we got to checkpoint 1.  Here we were instructed to make a right down a wet, rocky path (which required a certain fleet of foot) towards the bottom of a section of the Taff trail.  I wasn’t looking forward to this bit, since it was 3ish mile, very gradual climb on gravelly road.  I usually revel in long gradual hills, but with a pack on my back, a steep, glute killing hill already in my legs and a determination to run this bit, it was tough going.  Carol caught up with me again and after a brief chat about how bloody steep Tor y Foel was, I watched her edge away from me at an impressive pace.

I kinda managed to run all the way up the trail but must admit to some short walking breaks, during which I took some rhubarb & custard gel.  It was a relief to get onto the road which then plunged down to the bottom of the ‘gap’ road.  The gradual but very rocky trail led up to a dip in the landscape in between the foot of Cribyn and Fan y Big. 

As I mainly walked, but with bursts of running, I was treated to the distraction of hundreds of Army Reservists coming in the other direction, fully laden with enormous backpacks, massive rifles and mostly pained expressions.  I tried to acknowledge as many of them as I could and liked to think we were mutually suffering, although I was thankful that I was doing this ultra under my own steam and not being shouted at by a Sargent Major.

It was getting a bit chillier the higher we got, so I donned some gloves. Once my hands get cold, I become even more hopeless with making sure I was eating plenty.  I was doing ok with hydration, taking sips from the pack when I fancied, but I wasn’t doing so well with eating.  I picked at a few nuts and took on an ‘After Eight’ chocolate mint Gu gel, but whatever I tried, I still felt sick.  I wasn’t worried though, as I knew I’d been in this situation many-a-time, it just wasn’t particularly enjoyable.

Once down off the ‘gap’ we were onto a mixture of less complicated trails, fields (including a field of swedes) and roads.  The weather was still perfect and my feet mercifully still dry. I amused myself by peeing behind an enormous tree. I felt so sick though and the thoughts of quitting after the one lap crossed my mind.    I thought of how disappointed I’d feel if I did and once I was back on the canal path at Pencelli, I concentrated on looking forward to seeing Dan at Talybont and delving into my emergency supplies for that bottle of coke.

Sure enough, at the third checkpoint back at Talybont, there was Dan with the magical supplies.  I quickly filled up my pack with water (which made it heavy again, boo!) but didn’t want to stop too long, so asked Dan to walk with me a while whilst I necked the bottle of lovely fizzy coke (which also had a jolly picture of Santa on it).

I’ve never been a fan of coke (or cola, I should say).  I’m more of a squash gal and would never have a can as a ‘snack’.  In the middle of an endurance event, however, when you’re feeling pretty disgusting, tired and you still have 23 miles of quad crunching terrain to go, there is no finer nectar in the world.

Dan and I walked together and I told him stories of the first lap – the fox, the soldiers, peeing behind the tree.  The coke started to work quite quickly, inducing some useful burps, which helped a bit with the nausea as well as providing some well needed sugar and caffeine.  I can’t speak highly enough of coke in this situation. It’s a MIRACLE.  Anyway, I bid Dan farewell again at the environs of Talybont and continued my quest, still not fully on top of my game but better. 

The field was well are truly spread out now, and I found myself alone on the canal path.  I ran to markers in the distance – that tree, that bench, that tuft of grass – before speed walking again.  I knew this stretch of path was roughly 3 miles so when my garmin ticked over marathon distance (and I had a little muted celebration about going over marathon distance for the first time ever) I was really hoping I’d recognise the turn off point……but all the little bridges looked the same!  I panicked that I’d missed the turn, so started to backtrack hoping someone would come along.  I must’ve run back around 200 metres when I was met by Lee, who I used to work with years ago (!) and his friends.  It was great to see a familiar face and they were sure the turn off point was further down the path, so I hadn’t overshot after all.

It was great to run/walk with people again and we got to work on tackling the bit I’d dreaded, the second ascent of Tor y Foel.  After cooing over the Shetland ponies again, the grind started and we tried out best to have snippets of conversation in between all the heavy breathing.  It was slow going but we managed to keep moving.  I tried to stick with one of Lee’s friends, who was moving a bit faster and I managed to get to the top just behind him.  

View from the top of Tor y Foel - photo courtsey of Likey's Facebook page

Even though it was nice to have company, I just wanted to keep moving so I started descending by myself.  My legs felt surprisingly good running downhill, but once I got on the first slope of the gravelly road, I resorted to a speed walk, concluding that this was the most efficient way.  By the checkpoint, Lee & co had caught up with me again but they stopped for some water whilst I carefully carried on down the rocky path. 

Back onto the Taff trail and it was starting to get cold.  I resorted back to speed walking and started munching on my coconut bar, but it wasn’t going down well.  Within a mile, Lee & co had caught up with me again and asked if I wanted to try their strategy of running for 0.4 of a mile and walking 0.1.  It didn’t sound appealing so I let them go, thanking them for their company and praising their good effort with their running.  I kept them in sight though so I wasn’t too downbeat.  A few others overtook me too but I think I overtook one or two.

About 400 metres from the end of the long, gradually ascending, gravelly track, I could see Dan, waiting with my supplies for me.  By now it was really quite cold and even though I was wearing gloves, my hands were freezing and I was dying for that coke fix again.  It was time to put on my coat, warmer gloves, fleece hat and in preparation, my head torch, so Dan helped me with my pack, both struggling with cold hands.  Dan walked with me up the little hill whilst I necked the coke and said he might drive around to find another good spot to see me at the other side of the mountain. 

We parted again at the top of the hill.  I managed to run down to the right turn where the trail very gradually started to rise, heralding the beginning of the gap road once again.  The sun was starting to disappear behind the beautiful silhouetted beacon mountains as I maintained a steady march, with occasional, very short, bursts of running.  I was looking forward to it getting dark by now, just as a ‘change of scenery’ but I was really hoping to have gotten up and over the most complicated trail before I had to turn the headtorch on.  I realised half way up that I wasn’t feeling as sick as I was but realised I hadn’t really eaten anything for a while.  I thought about the finger of Fudge I had in my bag but didn’t want to jeopardise how I was feeling, which was surprisingly ok.  Not ‘hey, I’m gonna run the rest of this race’ ok, but happy enough to power walk to the end.

Getting dark on the second ascent of the 'gap' - photo courtesy of Likey's Facebook page

Up and over the gap and down the rocky, treacherous trail, still in enough daylight, gravity helped me run and catch up with a guy, Luke, who’d stopped to get his headtorch out.  We got chatting and trotted together down towards the final checkpoint.  It turned out he lived in Cardiff and worked with a doctor friend of Dan’s.  It was nice to share the onset of darkness with someone (I’d been a bit worried about the dark) and by the time we got to the checkpoint it was pitch black and the headtorch was doing its business well. 

Luke stopped to top up his water but I carried on, down the narrow, rocky path (more rocks).  It was here I caught up with a guy with NO torch.  He was negotiating his way down the path at quite an impressive clip, by moonlight alone.  I got close enough behind him to give him some useful light but realised he had his headphones in and what he was listening to was loud enough for me to hear that he was listening to a 5Live podcast.  We got to the road together and he finally pulled out his headphones so I asked him about his lack of light.  It turned out he had a headtorch but the batteries were dead, so I lent him some light so that he could put the batteries in the right way. 

Happy that he could now actually see where he was going, I left him to it and ran down the fairly long hill that would eventually take us back to the field of swedes.  I went to take a sip of water but realised I was completely out!  Gah!  I should’ve restocked at the checkpoint.  It wasn’t a major disaster but not ideal for the final 5 miles or so home. 

Strangely, I really enjoyed the darkness.  Walking through a field, all by myself, in the stillness of the night, with just the light of my headtorch was a zenful experience.  I felt safe, calm but determined.  I was managing to run downhill and the odd burst on the flat.  A bit parched, I arrived at Llanfrynach village to find Dan waiting there for me again.  I was surprised and pleased to see him especially as he was brandishing that coke bottle again, which still had a good gulp or two in it. 

My garmin read 10 hours something and I had 3 miles to go.  I was definitely going to beat my 12 hour target.  I carried on my march, moving fast enough to start feeling too warm in my coat and fleecy hat. I didn’t want to stop to faff around with clothing though. I finally made it back to the canal path and started to count down the canal bridges.  I knew Talybont was bridge number 145.  Some of the bridges were close together but one of them took ages to come into view.  It was quite eery walking along the canal in the dark.  Owls hooted in the trees and the sound of a duck fight alarmed me a little.

FINALLY, bridge 145 was in sight and I could see someone standing on top of it wearing a headtorch.  I made a left back to the road and the headtorch man declared “well done, just down there on the left”.  Down the hill, I ran to Henderson Hall. I made the left turn to the finish to find not only Dan waiting there for me, but my parents too, who’d come up to put in a surprise appearance!  Before I went under the finish gantry though, all finishers were made to run down and up the little field, which gave the race a bit of a glory lap, where those who were there watching, could applaud the finishers.

Under the gantry, I stopped my garmin which chimed a satisfactory bleep, and I was done.  11 hours 19 minutes.  Hugs, kisses and relief all around.  I’d done an ultra! 

Relief and surprise on seeing my parents

I’d spent most of the day adamantly thinking ‘never again’, that I should just stick to marathons and not put myself through the mill with all-day endurance events like ultras and ironman.  I did enjoy the day though, even with the nausea and lack of sleep, and although I haven’t immediately signed up for my next one, I would definitely consider an ‘easier’ ultra, if there is such a thing.  I love the fact I now have an ultra on my ‘palmares’ and I’ve really been enjoying my running these last few months.

At the moment, I only have the London Marathon on my list of entered events....I'm sure that will change soon enough.

Why my legs hurt so much today

Now that Challenge Roth is a distant memory, my (as usual, obsessive) attention and focus has now turned towards conquering my first ever ultra run, the Beacons Ultra 46 miler (over two 23 mile laps), on the 16th of November (a day after my birthday, btw).

I first came across this low key event, organised by Likey's, on an S4C programme about TV presenter and ultra runner Lowri Morgan, who at the time was training for the Amazon Ultra-marathon.  She used this race as a mere warm up before running ALL THE WAY back home to the Gower, an additional 50 miles. Seeing this race on the tv,  a new seed was planted in my endurance-events-hungry brain and it was added to the race bucket list.  

Curious about the race, Dan and I went for a walk/run in the Brecon Beacons on some of the course on race day back in 2011 and managed to see some runners. We then went down to Talybont on Usk to see the winner finish, in an astonishing time of 6 hours something.  Inspired, I vowed to do the race.  I toyed with entering it in 2012, but having Ironman Wales in September, it was too close to the race in November.  With Challenge Roth in July this year, I figured a month of recovery followed by a gradual upping of running mileage on the trails should suffice.

Having agonised for weeks over which trail running shoes I should buy and not sure whether to go for underfoot feel or cushioning, I opted for the Inov8 Trailroc 246, what seemed to be a compromise between a bit of proprioception (which I'm keen on when running on trails) and a bit of cushioning.  I took them on a short run on the trails around Castell Coch and was happy with how they felt (on the nice cushiony dry muddy trails).

Feeling more or less recovered from Roth and eager to get my head around the challenge that awaits me, Dan and I got up nice and early on Bank Holiday Monday to head up to Talybont on Usk to do a bit of recce-ing. The longest run I'd done since Roth was 80 minutes, so I was cautious about not going too hard and had even considered only doing half of the lap but when Dan suggested we'd do the whole lap, I didn't need much persuading. 

I wanted to use this recce to try out how running with a pack felt and my new shoes.  It was a pretty hot day, so I filled my pack's bladder up to its full capacity of 2.5L making it scarily heavy, then I further filled the bag up with some of the obligatory items we have to carry during the race, such as a first aid kit, waterproof and food.  I hauled it on my back, strapped it tight and we set off.

The first 3 miles look like this

The first 3 miles of the route are along a flat canal path so it's a great for getting your run legs going. However,  I immediately was NOT happy with my pack as it bounced around and rubbed my neck.  I spent these first miles endlessly faffing with straps and trying to adjust the fit around my neck, which was getting pretty sore already.  Poor Dan, who seemed to be effortlessly gliding along, kept having to stop and offered me his Buff which he'd thankfully put in his pack.  This worked a treat and my delicate neck was now protected from the cheese grater edges of the pack.

After 3 miles, the route deviates away from the canal and up a steep track through some woods before emerging in a field at the foot of Tor y Foel.  This is the first of two major climbs on the lap and having read a few blogs from the race, apparently the most viscous.  Indeed, it loomed over us but it looked splendid in the August sunshine.

All the way up there

We got to work on power walking up the climb.  It was hot and I was soon puffing quite a bit but trying to maintain some speed.  As we got higher, the trail got steeper and steeper. After the disappointment of many false summits, we made it to the top and were rewarded with spectacular views.  I cursed at how hard the hike up had been and the enormity of the task at hand was dawning on me.  I was gonna need to do a LOT of hill walk training.

We happily skipped down the other side of Tor y Foel and after overshooting a right turn by about a mile (!) we made our way down rocky paths into the woods and onto an old gravelly railway road.  This road gradually but relentlessly meandered its way up to the bottom of the next climb, 'The Gap'.  

After a brief stop to eat some pitta bread and then a bit of flat trail, we emerged out onto the side of one of many beautiful escarpments in the Beacons.  'The Gap' trail winds its way quite gradually up the side of the mountain and you can see where you're heading (it was a sunny clear day, I doubt this will be the case in November). Already feeling pretty beat, we again power walked up but made it a mission to try and overtake some hikers up ahead.  

Not a bad climb up The Gap

A bit of map reading and a lovely view

After 'The Gap' it was all pretty much down hill.  The trail off the mountain was extremely rocky and required immense concentration so I rather cautiously hopped down, whilst Dan trotted off like a mountain goat. Once back in more civilised surroundings, we hesitated as to which way the route took and chose to run on the road in the general direction of Talybont.  

I was starting to tire now.  My feet were killing me and even my old IT band issues were starting to make themselves known.  I ate some more (baked sweet potato bites - a new trail snack favourite!) and I slowly regained some energy.  I didn't have much running left in me though.

After shuffling through the lovely little village of Pencelli, we were back on the canal path.  According to my Garmin, we'd already covered 22 miles so I envisioned a mere mile left to run.  Of course we'd gone off course after coming off Tor y Foel so the final stretch back took forever.  Dan was still pretty energetic and ran off ahead.  I tried to keep up a swift walk with some spurts of running inbetween.

After running under countless identical looking canal bridges, the larger and painted white bridge in Talybont came into view.  We were both gasping for a cold sugary drink so stumbled into the village shop and cracked open a ginger beer.  It had taken us just over 7 hours and with our little mishap, we'd covered 25.9 miles, almost a marathon!  

The verdict:  wow, it's a tough course but I'm glad we covered all of it (plus a bit extra) so that I know what to expect and what I need to work on.  I discovered that the pack I bought to go skiing four years ago is too big for running comfortably and that 2.5 litres of water is too much for me to carry.  I discovered that I need to eat more (tut, that old chestnut).  I discovered that I probably ought to have bought more cushioned trail shoes.  

Sore feet

It was a bit of crazy idea to cover the whole course, on hardly any training and, oh my god, am I feeling the effects of running up and down those mountains today!!  I'm still unable to get up out of my chair or walk down stairs without yelping and shuffling like I've recently had a hip replacement.  Will my quads ever forgive me?  They better had as next in line in is the Roman Run on Saturday, a 16 miler between Brecon and Merthyr, a partly off road run to again practise running with a pack.  I have a Salomon Advanced Skin S-Lab Hydration System on order on which I am pinning my hopes of a more comfortable and lighter run! 

Challenge Roth 2013

Ever since I entered Challenge Roth a year ago, I had high hopes of posting a pb, if not a sub 13 hour time at my third iron-distance race.  Roth is a notoriously fast course, harbouring the quickest ever male and female times over this distance so with two years of iron racing experience under my race belt, I quietly hoped to finish with a 12h something time against my name.

Although I’d been putting in the hours since the beginning of the year, it felt like ‘proper’, more specific training was slow to start due to the never-ending winter we had here in the UK. I endured countless rides in the bitter cold and wind, which certainly toughened me up (did I need toughening up after Ironman Wales?!) but mentally I didn’t feel I was sharpening up for Roth. 

I’d put the running miles in early on in the year, getting a new half marathon pb in February at the Brighton half followed by good races at the Ballbuster Duathlon and Rhayader 20.  The end of March saw respite from the bitter cold with a week’s training in Mallorca where I put in a 20+ hours of mainly riding, before my gear shifter broke, meaning a relaxing last day lying in the sun.

Having conquered Sa Calobra

After recovery week before my final 3 week block of ‘peak’ training, I started to feel not quite right. I was racing Bala Middle that week and I was feeling tired and not at all rested, despite light training a week prior.  The day before Bala, I was wondering whether I should pull out given I was feeling lethargic and had a funny tummy.  I woke up on race day feeling ok though, raced and had a great day.  I even had a brilliant run, despite the course being one big hill!

Having a great run at Bala

I felt ok the week after but a new problem arose.  My left calf started to ache on a club run.  I stretched and massaged it vigorously for 3 days.  On the Sunday I had a two and a half hour run scheduled so I tentatively set out, wearing calf guards as a precaution.  I felt great and was having one of those runs where you feel you could run forever.  Ninety minutes in, my calf began to tighten and eventually sharp shooting pains up my calf stopped me in my tracks and I had to do a 2 mile ‘walk of shame’ home, doubting whether Roth would now happen at all!

The next few days was spent manically RICE-ing the calf.  I’d taken 3 days holiday off work so that I could really up the training hours so I was very pissed off that my body seemed to be falling apart!  The ‘not quite right’ feeling returned that week too, but I somehow managed to clock up 22 quite successful hours of training.  After 4 days of no running (except for a jog up and down the road to test the calf) my long run went ok.

During the taper weeks, I felt as if I’d done enough.  I was confident I could cover the distance but I was anxious about how I was feeling.  Tuesday of race week, I started feeling really tired, almost fluey.  I think the anxiety itself was making me feel worse.

Dan and I set off in the van for Roth on the Wednesday evening.  After a sleepover on Dover Dock and 8 hours of shared driving through Belgium and half of Germany, we arrived at Rothsee, a beautiful lake a few miles outside Roth.  Campsites and hotels had booked up months ago so our only option was to camp at the lake, along with hundreds of others from all over Europe.  Since it wasn’t a campsite, there wasn’t a shower block, just a toilet block, a cafe and a lovely lake to swim (and wash) in.

Racking

Friday and Saturday was spent registering, preparing nutrition, racking and enjoying the atmosphere. It all lived up to the hype the race was famous for. I was really looking forward to the race, especially experiencing the Solarerberg climb, but I still had this nagging doubt in my mind that I wasn’t 100%. 

Race morning.  There was no need for an alarm.  I hadn’t slept a wink, exactly like last year.  I hadn’t been nervous about this race and didn’t expect not to sleep at all, but I just didn’t settle all night.  I forced down a large bowl of muesli, determined to get the calories in me.  The coffee felt good in the chilly morning but I felt queasy. 

We had the luxury of staying a mere 400 metres or so from the race start so fed, watered and still weary, we walked over to T1.  Dan’s bike was stationed far away from mine so after checking that my tyres weren’t flat (a lesson learnt from Copenhagen 2 years ago!) we said our goodbyes and good lucks, knowing I’d see him overtake me somewhere on the course later on in the day (his start wave was 50 minutes after mine). 

Wanting some company to share my pre race anxiety with, I spotted a girl from Hillingdon Tri and we chatted and walked to the start together.  After a bit of confusion about where the start actually was, we somehow managed to get to the water as the announcer declared “one minute to go!”.  Panic! I could see that a lot of girls had already made the 50m or so swim up to the start line so I got in and my warm up consisted of ‘get the hell as close as possible to the start!’.  I was still probably around 20 metres away when the hooter sounded, so this wasn’t a good start.  I started my watch and started to swim.  Despite it not being too crowded and there being no wind of note, I immediately noticed how choppy the water was and that my goggles had already steamed up.  About 200 metres in I got a face full of water as I turned to beathe, which really panicked me, so I breastroked to compose myself and tried to clear my goggles.  

Washing machine

I swam and swam, trying to get a tow off other legs, but I wasn’t happy.  I must’ve stopped a further four times before half way to clear my goggles, which broke any rhythm I had. I thought about pulling out and was reassured by the amount of volunteers in kayaks lining the course – something for me to cling on to it I wanted to end it there.

I gave up trying to clear my goggles and ploughed on.  I wasn’t going to DNF in the middle of a canal, I’d at least try to get the swim done then see how I felt. It seemed never-ending, but eventually the final turn around buoy came into view.  I tried to take in the atmosphere, with crowds lining the canal and bridges, but it’s safe to say I absolutely hated the swim.  Finally, I got the finish ramp, and I was hauled outta there by a big strong German man. I walked out, didn’t run, and started to peel off my wetsuit.  I forgot to look at my watch to see what time I’d done.

Into the changing tent and I was greeted in German by a smiley lady who was going to be my ‘helper’.  I’d never had a helper before and didn't know where to start with her.  She babbled on at me in German so I embarrassingly had to declare "English" (I wasn't gonna get into the whole Welsh/British issue with her then). Whilst I took off my wetsuit, she emptied my bag and started handing its contents to me.  I was a bit confused but our little team seemed to work and I managed to get out of T1 in a world record breaking 4 minutes 29!

Out on the bike and I tried to gauge how I was feeling.  The first half a mile was up a slight hill, through screaming crowds, so you couldn't help but frantically pump your legs, sending your heart rate into the stratosphere.  About ten minutes in, we reached a quiet point in some woods, so I took stock.  I was a little happier but thoughts of quitting still racked my mind.  I kept peddling and started to do my drinking and eating.

In my last two iron distance races, I'd felt terribly sick on the run which more or less reduced me to the dreaded 'ironman shuffle' so this year I was determined to crack it and discover a nutrition strategy that worked better.  My tummy has always been of delicate nature and doesn't seem to like digesting things when I'm riding my bike.  I'd always liked eating energy bars and was never a big gel fan but this year I decided I'd try upping the gels to once every half hour - surely my tummy could deal with processing something a bit more gooey?  I strictly practised this in my training rides but, to be honest, I probably finished all my rides feeling bloated.  Of course I didn't run a marathon after any of my 100+ mile rides but the shortish brick runs I'd done were ok.

I took on my gels, drank water and some nuun and took in the lovely views.  The course was fast but a bit lumpy. I overtook some other ladies, kept a steady pace and gradually my heart rate settled and I started to enjoy myself.  The villages on the course were alive with rowdy spectators so it definitely wasn't boring.

Intense!

Around 40 miles in, I finally arrived at the famous Solarer Beg hill.   The experience can only de described as 'intense'. At a few points, I had a tunnel of around a metre to ride through, whilst stronger guys behind me tried to overtake me and loud Germans shouted and rang their cowbells. I think I emerged from the crowd wide-eyed, muttering ;Jesus Christ!'.  At the end of lap 1, I saw my parents and sister, which further cheered me up.

I distinctly remember the moment I started to feel good on the bike and it was after I'd stopped to have a pee in the woods at mile 60 (no portaloos!).  The DNF thoughts had long since evaporated and I was quite happily chugging away.  It was hot and a bit windy so I was a bit worried I was burning despite having put on the factor 30 before the swim. I managed to keep up my eating and drinking but getting the gels down was becoming increasingly less pleasant.  I didn't feel like my energy was fading but the inevitable discomfort of riding a bike for hours and hours started to creep in, which was fine.  Looking at my Garmin at around the 100 mile mark, I wondered whether or not I could finish the bike leg in under six and a half hours.

I was within a few miles of T2 when someone pointed out to me that my saddlebag was hanging by a thread under the saddle.  I hesitated whether or not to stop but I quickly got off the bike to tighten it since it was flapping around my legs.

Getting into T2 at Roth, I concluded I'd had a pretty good bike leg.  I didn't feel like I'd gone over the top. I'd held back for the first half during my doom and gloom about not really feeling it, but the rest of the time I'd ridden happy and steady.  Now I had the run to negotiate but I didn't really know how I felt about it. What I did know is that it was hot and I'm not a big fan of running in heat!

I had another helper in T2 who slathered me in sunscreen, which was a rather strange experience, but much appreciated.  The first half mile or so of the run was downhill so I got into a nice little jog, trying to rid the thoughts of "hmmm I'm really quite tired now" and "oh my god it's hot" out of my head.  There was great crowd support and my general mood was good.  I had a loose ambition of just walking the aid stations but I knew that would probably fall apart at some point.

I wondered where Dan was and was surprised he hadn't overtaken me on the bike (he'd started 50 minutes after me) and just after the first aid station he caught up with me and we ran up the hill, through the shade of the trees, to the canal together. We swapped horror stories (he hadn't enjoyed the bike) and at the canal he picked up his pace and was soon out of sight.

There was hardly any shade on the first section of canal and the sun was blazing. At the aid stations I drenched myself in sponges which was heaven and cooled me down, and took sips of water to cure my dry mouth. Pretty soon my 'walk the aid stations' strategy had predictably failed but I kept up a good regime of spotting objects in the distance and running to them before walking for a minute.  Since it was an out and back loop, I was envious of the other athletes who were already on their way back.

The wheels really fell off at around the 20km mark and I just couldn't bring myself to run much anymore and felt as sick as a dog. I was so annoyed. I was fairly pleased with how I'd been running so far. I remembered Andy telling me at IM Wales last year that if I was going to walk then to walk with purpose so I mustered as much of a power walk as I could.

At 30k, I saw Dan coming back the other way. He was walking and didn't look happy at all.  He wanted to quit so I gave him a pep talk telling him to stay positive and walk to the finish.  We'd now come off the canal and were doing a loop of the village of Eckersmuhlen, which was a welcome break for the dusty path. Despite still feeling sick, my mood was good and I ploughed on.  I started to force myself to run a bit more too.  There were plenty of spectators on the course urging you on - "Schnell! Schnell!". So I schnelled a bit.

I must've been a bit bored when I got back to the canal with 6k to go because I was eager to chat to someone, just to make the last section a bit more interesting.  I happened upon a fellow lady wearing a tri suit made by SLS Tri who sponsor the IM Talk podcast I listen to.  I quickly glanced at her race number and saw that she was an Aussie called Melissa.  I can't remember what I said to her, but she was in a similar position to me in that there wasn't much running left in her legs.  So we started chatting about what races we'd done and which podcasts we listened to.  We also started a pretty good regime of 'running to a certain point then walking to a certain point: repeat' and the last  few miles passed by quickly.  My dream of a sub 13 hours had long since gone and getting under my Copenhagen time was now unrealistic but I was just happy to get it finished now.

We were soon back in Roth but there were still an agonising three or so kilometre loop around the town to do.  Encouraged by a seemingly quite drunk crowd and the lure of the finish line, we stepped our running a little bit more.  We even caught up with and overtook Dan who'd thankfully continued his march to the finish.

Squint and you'll see Melissa and I - we're running!

 Finally, the finish arena was in sight and we were soon running on the red carpet, which seemed to go on for ever!  Into the stadium and the noise was pretty deafening.  I thanked Melissa for making the last miles bearable and fun and let her go under the gantry first.  Then I crossed the line, relieved.

To be honest, other than relief, I felt quite emotionless coming over the line.  I half heartedly pumped my fist. Given how I'd felt that morning I felt very relieved to finish but was a bit sad that I hadn't felt in peak condition and that nausea had spoilt my run AGAIN.

A few minutes later, as I said my goodbyes to Melissa who was whisked away by a helper for some food and drink, Dan came over the line. We hugged and stumbled to get a drink, but the only liquid we could find was non-alcoholic beer, which seemed like a good idea but didn't really go down very well.  We both felt pretty ropey so I went to salvage my after-race bag which I knew had a packet of Hula Hoops in it.  God they tasted good.  We soon found the buffet and feasted on german salami and cheese sandwiches and cakes and after a shower to get rid of the canal dust, we both felt quite rejuvenated again and could savour the thought that we'd done another ironman.

Time:  13h44

Swim: 1h22

T1: 4m29

Bike: 6h30m7s!!!

T2: 5m40

Run 5h41

On reflection the total time isn't too bad at all.  I'm disappointed with the swim time, being 5 minutes slower than my time in Copenhagen, but it reflects the less than enjoyable time I had in the canal. I have to say that my T1 time in phenomenal (for me). Look at my bike time - 8 seconds from a sub-6:30!  Damn that saddle bag mishap!   I blame the slow-ish T2 time on the sunscreen lady (ahem!).  Comparing my run time to those of IM Wales (5h30)  and Copenhagen (5h24) I struggle to understand how it could've been so much slower. I have pretty much felt identically sick in all three marathons.  I guess it was the heat and possibly whatever was wrong with me to make me feel sub-par. Who knows?

August is recovery month before I step up the running in preparation for the Beacons Ultra in November.

Lovely Rothsee lake

Marathon Eryri race report and race season wrap

At the end of last year’s Marathon Eryri race report, I wondered whether I’d be fit and fresh enough to break 5 hours in 2012.  With the marathon being only 6 weeks after the slogfest of Ironman Wales, I really did worry this was a step too far. 

In the six weeks between both events, I’d rested for a week then I’d swim twice a week, did some bits of core work here and there, rode my bike once and ran two or three times a week, the longest run being the traditional “Rhedeg i Mamgu” (Run to my Gran’s), a 16 mile hilly route, followed the next day by the 7 mile Twin Peaks race in Aberystwyth.  My runs had felt ok but my heart rate hadn’t been as low as I would’ve liked but I accepted it as being part of post Ironman fatigue. 

In the two weeks before the marathon however, I hadn’t felt right.  Not ill, but tired and spaced out.  I did some short runs which felt fine but my running legs felt somewhat detached.  Despite this, I was really looking forward to the race and nothing would stop me turning up at the start line.

After a car journey which took forever and a quick stop off in Llanberis to register, we checked into our hotel and promptly walked across town to eat at the Italian restaurant I’d eaten at the last two years.  A large pasta dish was devoured before heading back to the hotel to settle down for the night.

There was no not being able to sleep nonsense this time.  I slept quite soundly and woke up feeling ready for the day.  I took full advantage of the all-you-can-eat hotel breakfast (although didn’t go overboard, which could’ve easily happened), relaxed in our room for a while before heading to Llanberis, a 6 mile drive away.

Unlike the last two years, the pre race ‘hanging around’ was rain free and bright, although pretty damn cold.  I queued for the loo twice, chatted to familiar faces and tweaked then re-tweaked my kit.  Soon I was down at the start line with Dan, who was trying to pick his way through the mass of runners with his bike so that he could ride up to the top of the pass.  He failed and decided to head back to Llanberis to warm up with a cup of tea and the papers.

The hooter sounded and we were off.  The first two or so miles are either downhill or flat so it’s a nice gentle introduction.  I clocked my first mile at around 9 minutes 20 seconds which impressed me and I felt fairly comfortable.  The incline starts just after mile two and winds its way through the beautiful valley, giving you views of Snowdon.  However, my focus was mainly on the tarmac in front of me, concentrating on making it up the 3 mile steady incline.  It was half way up that an old school friend Aled caught me up.  We had a brief, breathless chat, before he slowly edged away.  Finally at the top, I took a drink and started on the decent.  The views on the decent are stunning and I took it all in whilst getting my breath back and striding down the hill. 

The off road section at mile 6 was odd this year.  It was very crowded and we all ended up almost marching down the track like a military regiment.  It was as if everyone’s feet were running in unison and there wasn’t much space to overtake.  By the time we got back to the road, I was still feeling ok (and surprisingly hot in the sunshine).  Over the next few flat miles, I started to feel a little uncomfortable. Even though I tried to slow down, my body seemed to want to run at that pace, so I just persevered with it.  I got to the half way mark in 2 hours 7 minutes, which I recalled was 8 minutes faster than last year, so again, I was impressed.

The hill out of Beddgelert was tough.  It’s a 2 mile, winding steady hill that gets steeper towards the top.  You keep thinking you’re at the top, but you turn the corner and there’s more hill.  I suffered up this hill but kept shuffling, overtaking Aled in the process.

The next bit of ‘flat’ between the top of this hill and Waunfawr seemed to go by really quickly.  I was ticking off the miles, still feeling like I ought to slow down, but physically not able to.  You can’t help but be distracted by the surroundings which may have helped with keeping my pace steady.

The hill wall at Waunfawr is more like a natural conventional marathon ‘wall’ that hits you like a train.  Only the double hard bastards can run up it, and although I’m pretty robust, there’s no way of getting me up there other than nose to the grindstone, hands on knees type marching.  Whereas everyone seems to dread this bit, I was looking forward, in a weird way, to getting here so that I could start walking, albeit up an average of about 20%, climbing from 116 metres to 376 metres in just under 3 miles.  I kept up a good pace and looking at my watch, was starting to think that sub 5 hours was probably doable, as long as I kept this up.  I didn’t want to think I’d got it in the bag.  I felt tired but motivated and once I got over the worst of the steepness, I started little bursts of running inbetween determined marching. 

Finally, the mile 25 sign and pretty little village of Llanberis were in view.  What you climb in just under 3 miles on the way up, you descend within a mile on the way down, which as you can imagine, is fun if not agony.  I don’t think I ran down this bit as fast this year as last, probably because I was by now confident that I would reach my goal time.  This last downhill ensures that every last square millimetre in your muscles are pumped full of lactic acid although, luckily, given the end was in sight, it was quite easy to block the pain out. 

Finally I was on Llanberis High Street which was lined with cheering supporters.  I crossed the line and pumped my fists, finishing in 4 hours 47 minutes 45 seconds.  I was so pleased. This was a 14 minute improvement on last year but then I realised I was only a minute and half from getting my marathon pb, which is 4 hours 46. 

I didn’t particularly feel in prime condition on the day so I was pleased with how I’d fought against the constant desire to stop running.  I was worried about being too tired after IM Wales but the combination of solid endurance training over the last year, a slight change in my running form and being a stone lighter in weight certainly contributed to being able to run faster. 

The sub 2 hour Llanelli half marathon and 14 minute Marathon Eryri pb have bookended my race season nicely, however, I’m at a loss to explain why my runs in triathlon were not so successful and pretty miserable this year.  Improving my triathlon running is my main goal for 2013.  I’m currently a week and half into a 5 week running hiatus, aiming to give my legs a break so that I’m fresh and raring to go for the start of Base training come January.  In the meantime, I’m concentrating on swimming and strength work with a little bit of turbo or cycling thrown in but November and December are mainly about relaxing, birthdays, Christmas and most importantly, eating. 

Ironman Wales 2012 race report

Being dragged around a drizzly Tenby on a Sunday afternoon as a grumpy teenager or sat on North Beach making sandcastles as a contented 6 year old, little did I know that it would one day be the base for one of the toughest, rewarding, exhilarating, longest and proudest days of my life.

Ironman Wales made its debut in Tenby last September and after completing Challenge Copenhagen a month earlier, spectating the race and experiencing the special atmosphere convinced me that I definitely wanted to do my 'backyard' Ironman.  So excited I was by what I'd seen in Tenby and despite the atrocious 'end of a hurricane' conditions the athletes had to endure, I entered as soon as entries for 2012 opened.  It took a little while longer for Dan to be convinced, but he'd entered by the end of the year.

Training had gone to plan. Knowing hills featured prominently in Pembrokeshire, most of my training involved dragging my arse up endless hills - in the Pyrenees, the Welsh valleys and of course I had the luxury of being able to train on Pembrokeshire's lumps and bumps.  5.30am wake up calls to head to the pool became customary.  Getting up at the normal time of 7am became a 'lie-in'.

One major worry was the fact I'd have to swim 3.8km in the sea.  I'm not keen on the sea.  However, we chose our 'training' races carefully, making a trip down to Cornwall to take part in the Kernow Man Middle Distance and signing up to our other local race, the Pembrokeshire Coast Olympic Tri, which took place in Broad Haven.  Both races allayed my fears, despite a bitterly cold sea in Cornwall and a frustratingly choppy  swim in Broad Haven. The weeks went by ridiculously quickly and it was all of a sudden time to pack the car with all our paraphernalia (including Pws) and head to Pembrokeshire!

We arrived in Tenby on the Friday and the place was, predictably, awash with fellow triathletes.  Dan and I registered, had a look around the expo then headed to North Beach for a practice swim.  There was a lovely atmosphere down at the beach, with everyone chatting to eachother whilst attempting to squeeze onself into distinctively smelling neoprene.  There were blue skies and light winds so it was a very pleasant setting.  I really enjoyed the practice swim and all the fears of having to battle surf and rolling waves had long since evaporated.  We attended the race briefing and pasta party that evening where we saw fellow Bad-triers also taking part.

Saturday morning was kind of stressful.  I'd agreed to be interviewed by welsh radio so a microphone was shoved in front of my face after breakfast.  Then we needed to get down to Tenby (from my parents') to rack the bikes and hand in our transistion bags.  I hadn't bothered packing my bags before going down because I knew I'd only take everything out again to double check them.  On arriving in Tenby I almost immediately went out for one last short bike ride to check that the Blue was riding ok.  I headed out towards Kiln Park where my friends Helen and  Lou 'The Church' had just arrived to pitch up their tent.  They'd come to Tenby to support me, which was so touching.

Eventually, to the detriment of having lunch at the normal time, we racked and handed our bags in.  I felt calm now so enjoyed my late tuna salad lunch and proceeded to attempt to relax for the rest of the day.  Helen and The Church came over to the sea view apartment we were staying at and we sat and overlooking the beach, chatting.

The day before and ironman is a bit like a Sunday before going back to work.  You don't want bed time to come.  After a spag bol dinner cooked by Gill and Russ who we were sharing the flat with, we settled down to watch an array of Saturday night TV.  Soon enough, Match of the Day was on and it was time to go to bed.  I insisted on watching the Man Utd game so had to compromise with Dan and watched the game on mute.  I'm sure he went to sleep straight away.  I turned the TV off and listened to my ipod.  I didn't feel ready to sleep yet....and so it went on all night.  I wasn't ready to sleep.  Although I think I almost fell asleep a dozen times, I never quite made it.  It's amazing how quickly time goes when you can't sleep.  By 3am I'd resigned myself to the fact that I'd probably have to do an ironman on zero sleep.  Ah well.

My unnecessary alarm went off at 4am.  Dan awoke and I declared I'd not slept at all. I had a shower and realised I felt pretty sick and my stomach wasn't behaving.  I made porridge, my favourite breakfast in the world but it smelt disgusting.  I managed to eat half of it,  a little bit of banana soreen and a bottle of lucozade sport.  Not ideal.

We then left to head to transistion through Tenby's dark and quiet streets.  There were some stragglers from nights out, looking on bemused.  It was still and fairly warm but my god I felt sick.  I knew it was just nerves though, although I can't say I felt that nervous. I saw Andrea on the way into transistion who told me not to worry.  On the plus side, however, I got to my bike this year to find both tyres still inflated (unlike the flat one that greeted me at Copenhagen last year).  Bike dressed and after-race bag handed in, we headed back to the apartment to put on our wetsuits.  It was still pretty dark outside and I fretted over which goggles to wear - clear or polarised?  I went for my old clear ones.

By the time we got outside the apartment again, it was more light than dark and we joined the procession of seal-like contemplative souls down to the beach.  The size of the crowd who'd already come out to watch astonished me.  My nausea was starting to wane too.  Down at the beach, Dan and I said our goodbyes, good lucks and kissed before having a quick dip in the sea as a 'warm up'.  It was quite surreal to hear 'Hen Wlad fy Nhadau' sung before embarking on a triathlon, but it was nice.  The twit who shouted "Come on England!" at the end did not impress me, but fired me up a little, which was needed.  All of a sudden the South African Ironman man announced "90 seconds to go!" and with that started some tense music.  I was stood towards the back of the pack, as usual, and was fretting about how foggy my goggles were.  Eventually there was some kind of bang, a cheer from the crowd and the pack moved forward.  I was still faffing with my goggles as I entered the sea but a quick plunge in the water completely cleared them and I was happy that I could actually see now.  And so began the swim.

As predicted, the first few hundred metres was a bun fight.  People breastroking, stopping  in front of you (!), swimming over/under you etc.  Chaos, but I was fine with it.  It took a while to get some clear water but half way to the first buoy the field spread out a little. I managed to avoid the ruckus going around the first buoy opting to round it the long but less stressful way.  Getting to the end of the first lap I thought "God, I have to go around again?!".  I didn't look at my watch but I did hear some guy muttering "My God!" after looking at his.  I feared that our first lap had taken an eternity.  A "Go Lowri" from Sarah in the crowd lifted my spirits running through the Australian exit and I waded in again for the second round.  The swim was quite pleasant indeed but half way around  the second lap I thought again about how long this seemed to be taking.   Finally the beach and Goskar Rock was in sight and I planted my feet in the sand to stagger out. I immediately peeled off the top half of my wetsuit and looked at my watch finally - 1hr11.  I couldn't believe it.  That was about 6 minutes faster than my Copenhagen time.

Next was the one kilometre dash to transition.  First we had to locate our run shoes then negotiate a steep ramp up from the beach before trotting to essentially the other side of Tenby to sort ourselves out for the bike.  T1 was busy and I struggled to find a space to sit but I eventually managed to compose myself and change into bike kit. 14 long minutes after exiting the water, I presented myself to my bike and off we went of the most epic of Ironman bike courses.

I'd recced the route four times so was very familiar with how challenging it was.  I'd even done the whole two loops 3 weeks previously and had managed it in a minute shy of 8 hours so I was hoping for a slightly faster time today.  Leaving T1 the crowd was vocal and excited but I managed to spot Dan's parents then my Mum and Sister.  Before getting to the first of many hills, I flew past Helen and The Church who were on their way back to the car to head back to Bristol.  I shouted something about having a chafe on my neck then thanked them for having come down to see me.

The first stretch of the bike leg is a 10 mile undulating stuggle to Lamphey.  I could feel a headwind.  It wasn't too bad but it wasn't as pleasant a day as when I'd done my recce.  Within a few miles I came across a crash that had just happened and witnessed one guy fling his expensive looking Trek TT bike into the hedge...within 10 minutes he'd passed me again.  As we got to the first hill after Pembroke, a guy on a lovely Canyon TT bike drew alongside me and started chatting to me in welsh.  His name was Ioan and he'd seen my name on my number and presumed correctly that I spoke the lingo.  We had a nice chat whilst we struggled up St Daniel's hill.  I eventually pulled away then realised my Garmin had lost signal.  This annoyed me but I wasn't worried since I knew the course like the back on my hand.

I had a lot of chats, mainly with Irish competitors.  I was surprised by the amount of people who hadn't recced the course at all so I dished out sound advice to anyone who wanted it.  There were pockets of crowds situated in random spots along the route, whooping and hollering as we rode past.  On the hill at Templeton, a boy with a clipboard was telling everyone their positions and declared that I may be the 75th woman to go by.  This amused me.  I was excited about getting to Narberth, despite to gruelling hill to get up there, as it was the nearest place to home.  It was here I saw lots of familiar faces - Nia & Emyr, Nerys & Gary, Emma and her Mum, Chris the hairdresser and finally my Mum and Sister at the feed station, where I stopped for a comfort break and a chat whilst faffing around with drinks bottles.  On a quiet stretch of road at Prince's Gate I spotted a familiar looking jacket - it was Andy and Pete (in his Badtri jacket).  It was great to see them but I did wonder how they'd got to such a random bit of road.

Soon enough it was time to tackle the two big hills, and being at the end of the loop they were tough.  The atmosphere on what's been dubbed 'Heartbreak Hill' in Saundersfoot was immense.  Now I know how Tour de France riders feel (well, maybe).  The hill out of Saundersfoot goes on a lot longer that Heartbreak Hill so it was a delight to see Andrea sat in a deckchair at the top cheering me on.  I can remember saying "that's a b***ard of a hill!" to her.

Back down into Tenby and into more great crowd support.  I think I may have heard an announcer saying my name and I do remember seeing Pat & Pete.  On the stretch to Lamphey again and the wind had picked up.  Things were getting very tough now.  By Carew, the drizzle had started and we were all getting very wet.  It was at this point too that my knee decided it was gonna hurt like mad, a weird injury I'd had on and off since Copenhagen last year.  The searing pain under my kneecap gave me cause for concern and climbing out of the saddle became a no-no.  The rain meant that the crowds were now thinning out, just at the point when we really needed them.  I made more 'friends' - an American guy who was doing it because "his wife had wanted to visit Wales", a guy from Blackcountry Triathletes and some others who I don't now recall. By the time we'd got back to Wiseman's Bridge, there was a lot of effing and blinding going on, however, my knee pain had long since disappeared.  At Saundersfoot I was encouraged by what crowd was left to "beat the guys" so I put in a little spurt (and got to the top first).  FINALLY, we were back in Tenby.  Just one more little bump to climb and we were approaching T2.  The guy from BC Triathletes held out his hand to me and we both well-doned eachother on making it back.

I was so glad to be off that bike although I was also greatful to it for not having broken down in any way.  I thanked it and staggered back into the marquee.  I'd been looking forward to the run as I knew not much could go wrong now and it was just a case of one foot in front of the other, just keep moving forward.  I was also excited about who I'd see in Tenby.

Last year in Copenhagen, I'd had trouble with nausea on the run and I was determined that it wouldn't affect me this year again.  I took a salt tablet at the first aid station.....but the damage had already been done and I realised I felt pretty dreadful.  Thankfully it was only the feeling that I wanted to puke everywhere that afflicted me so I was able to run, somewhat.  I took on two of my three Isogels, drank water, pepsi but nothing seemed to shift this awful feeling.  I think I managed the first loop relatively well and even ran up the first hill.  It was here I saw Dan, who already had 2 lap bands - he was doing very well.  Crowd support was brilliant again and all us ladies seemed to get extra special cheers, so few and far between we were out there (121 female finishers against 1093 men!!!).  Andy and Pete were at the arse end of the lap which, again, cheered me up, and Andy offered good advice that when I walked, I was to walk with purpose.

By the time I was back in Tenby at the end of my third lap, still feeling dreadful, I wondered if I'd finish in under 15 hours.  I had just under an hour and a half to get round again, which sounds like a lot for 10k.  I was starting to feel worse and the combination of no sleep, the 133 miles I'd already travelled, inadequate fuelling and seeing others with pink bands heading for the finish dragged me to my lowest point of the day.

Onto my last lap and it was now just a matter of getting it done.  I think I must've walked almost the whole way. I could barely run downhill now for fear of throwing up and maybe even fainting.  A guy called Les started chatting to me and we walked all the way down the hill back into town.  By now I only had 2k or so to go so I really tried to run, albeit in small spurts.  What was left of the crowd further encouraged me.  Rounding the final few bends of the zigzag course through town, I looked at my watch - 14:59 - damn, I thought, but I wasn't too downbeat.  I'm not sure how it then took me a further 10 minutes to get to the finish line (the spot whereby I'd looked at my watch is a bit fuzzy).  I finally got to the bit of the course where I could go left instead of right.  I was trotting but soon slowed to a walk when I realised the finishing chute was slightly uphill.  Then I saw my crew - Dan, Mum, Dan, Elin, Jon, Pat & Pete - I had to start running again.  A quick hug from my Mum and finally the red carpet and bright lights.  I don't remember much of it but I do remember it was loud, bright and that there was a massive screen in front of me with my big grinning face on it.  Over the line, arms up and a sigh of relief.  It was done.  15 hours 9 minutes.

I was given my medal by a kind lady who gave me a lovely personal congratulations (can't remember what she said but I remember being touched) then a hearty handshake from the Mayor of Tenby.  Then all my nearest and dearest were around me.  I hugged Dan.  He'd done brilliantly.  I was happy too, happy to have survived such an epic day.