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