Which is slightly ridiculous when you consider that I arrived at the start line exhausted, undertrained and overfuelled.
The holy trinity of bad decisions.
I’d wanted to run Marathon Eryri (previously known as Snowdonia Marathon) for years, so when the opportunity finally came around, I was ridiculously excited.
Unfortunately, my training did NOT go to plan.
My longest training run had been 16 miles, about three months earlier, as part of my Summer of Speed training. It was all going to plan until COVID came along and enthusiastically threw a massive spanner into the works.
So my marathon preparation wasn’t exactly textbook.
To make matters worse, I’d only driven back from Stansted that morning after a flight back from Portugal. I dropped my bags at home and then carried on to Wales.
On the way, I passed a car with the number plate DNF.
I chose to interpret this as a coincidence rather than a warning from the universe.
GETTING TO ERYRI
Registration was surprisingly easy. I parked, ran in, collected my number and was back out again in no time. I even bumped into Jennifer, who I knew from Instagram, which was lovely. I finally reached my accommodation in the dark and crashed out in my room.
RACE DAY
I had a surprisingly decent night’s sleep (who knew exhaustion was so effective!) and didn’t have to get up until 7am. I didn’t even have to leave until 8:30.
Absolute luxury.
I’d was wearing a run top I’d picked up from Vinted the day before, some shorts, my sage green jacket and gloves.
And road shoes.
Because, in my defence, I thought this was a road marathon.
More on that later.
Getting to the start, was somewhat less organised.
I parked bloody miles away.
I hadn’t realised quite how far away, so by the time I actually reached the start I’d already walked around 4.5km.
Including a massive hill.
Excellent.
Still, there were I found a public toilet (OPEN!!) with no queue, which is the marathon-day equivalent of finding a winning lottery ticket.
Even better, I found the coffee van, joined the queue and got chatting to a bloke doing his first marathon. What a marathon to start with!
Then someone bumped into me.
It was Rich, my running buddy.
We’d managed to find each other completely by accident.
I’d already dropped my bag off, so I went and sat in Rich’s car near the start. He’d arrived later than me and taken a gamble on a closer car park which had paid off.
Sometimes being late is actually a strategy.
We sat in the warm car, drinking coffee which was a lovely way to chill out before a race. Then we could leave last minute, walking with the rest of the crowds towards the start, where the Welsh national anthem was being played and the atmosphere was incredible.
The mountains surrounded us and there was that particular pre-race buzz where everyone looks simultaneously excited and slightly terrified.
We decided to run together. Neither of us had a goal, just to get the run done and have a nice time, so we started by the six-hour pacer.
I had absolutely no time goal and the plan was simply to run to feel.
If I felt good, I’d run. If I didn’t, I’d slow down.
I knew there were three enormous climbs and I wasn’t going to be disappointed if the mountains meant I would be running 5 or 6 hours.
This was supposed to be fun. Marathon running is a choice.
The first climb up Pen Y Pass was spectacular. It winds on up the side of the pass, with high mountains on each side and water rushing down the side of the mountain in spectacular waterfalls. The rain had been fairly relentless and parts of the road was already flooded.
We passed a tent on the side of the mountain, (hope it was well pegged down!) and lots of people cheering and huge views stretching around us. It was definitely dramatic scenery!
The weather, which had started cold but bright and clear, was changing.
The wind picked up.More rain arrived. And then the HEAVY rain arrived.
Hoods went up. Gloves went on.
And the rain still managed to find its way into every sleeve, pocket and other location that according to the jacket manufacturer should have been waterproof. I run in a vest in pretty much all weather, but there was no way I was taking my jacket off. I've heard skin is waterproof but wasn't going to test it out on the top of a mountain in Wales.
I couldn’t tell whether the water running inside my sleeves was sweat or rain. I was definitely a bit damp.
Rich had decided to take the big climbs steadily because he was still recovering from his Ironman.
I felt good, so I carried on at my own pace.
It’s difficult when you’re running with someone, but on a long race you really do have to run your own race.
I had no idea what pace I was doing.
I didn’t know what my finish time was going to be.
I was just running.
I briefly considered taking the jacket off at the top of Pen Y Pass when the long climb got a bit warm and the spectators were at their most enthusiastic but then the wind hit me and the sleet started.
Nope.
Jacket staying on. And the hood was staying up.
And then came the descent.
And the sleet.
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And we then turned off the road and it got more FUN!
This was the point where I realised my definition of a 'road marathon' and the organisers’ definition of a 'road marathon' may not have been entirely aligned.
Slate.
Gravel.
Puddles.
Mud.
Chaos.
I loved it. BLOODY LOVED IT.
It was easily one of my favourite sections of the whole race.
Give me a bit of chaos and mud and I’m happy.
Running my own race
At some point, I realised I hadn’t taken my gel at mile six because I’d been distracted. I mean there were mountains and things to look at.
So I had it at mile seven instead and then continued roughly every three miles.
I was using Torq gels and High5 carb drink, which seemed to work really well.
I didn’t refill my carbs during the race because I had enough with me, and I didn’t take any water or food from the later aid stations either.
I’d brought everything I needed.
I also discovered that my phone was becoming useless. I managed a quick enthusiastic video going down the trail descent (Because it was SO MIUCH FUN!) and then the phone went NOPE.
The rain had soaked it so thoroughly that eventually it wouldn’t even unlock for the photos I so desperately wanted to take. There were MOUNTAINS!! Waterfalls! Good stuff! But this was probably for the best because by that point my face was probably not suitable for public consumption by then anyway. it was full of sleet, dribbled gels and probably snot. Delightful.
Technology: 0
Welsh weather: 1
The support was brilliant. There were kids at an outdoor centre shouting “OGGY! OGGY OGGY!” at the runners. We shouted back. “OI! OI! OI!” Massive cheers. There were people ringing cowbells from passing cars. People standing outside their houses. Cars were honking. People were shouting encouragement. And there were spectators out in absolutely horrendous weather. It was bloody lovely.
Then at around mile 17, the temperature seemed to drop dramatically. The rain was coming down heavily and the wind was absolutely freezing. I'd expected it to be chilly at the end of October, but this was something else. The sleet was pelting down and the wind chill really made it feel very cold and I started wondering whether the organisers might shorten the race because the conditions were becoming so challenging.
Rich made the decision to pull out although I didn't find this out until much later. He had been feeling off earlier and eventually the cold became too much. He got to around mile 17 and called it.I was gutted for him, but he’s done enough endurance events to know when it’s time to stop.
That’s an important skill in itself.
Meanwhile, I was carrying on but my hands had started swelling from the cold and the knuckle lines on my fingers had basically disappeared. It looked very odd and apparently I was now part human, part water balloon.
I’d started the race with gloves on, but eventually everything became so wet that I took them off and shoved my hands up inside my sleeves as wet gloves are basically tiny portable fridges and my hands were warmer without them.
Somewhere around this point, I also needed a poo. of course I did. I spent ages keeping an eye out for toilets.
I found none.
The Welsh mountains had many things. Toilets were not one of them. Luckily the feeling went away. I think I just have neurotic bowels. Mile 19 of a marathon isn't ideal.
Around mile 21, the support was even more incredible.We came through a village and people were lining the road, shouting and cheering. It was like being a running celeb - amazing! AND it was pouring with rain and people were standing in this awful weather cheering us onwards!
I felt like I was in the Tour de France.
A very wet, very cold, much less aerodynamic Tour de France.
One bloke told me I had the brightest socks he’d seen all day.
I was wearing pink camouflage socks with neon yellow shoes.
Subtle.
And then came the final hill.
Mile 22.
Bloody hell.
It was steep.
Really steep.
My little legs were absolutely knackered by this point and the rain had turned sections of the trail into a combination of mud, stones and the slipperiest combination of both I'd found.
I slipped at least five or six times.
I was wearing road shoes, as me being the utter incompetent I am had thought this was a road marathon.
A man went down in front of me. But fortunately he landed in soft mud and got straight back up. But with a nice splatty little mud pattern on his bum.
I started using landmarks to break the climb up. I’d pick a telegraph pole or a gate, hike to it, then start running again. I wasn’t thrilled about walking. I really didn’t want to. But the hill was so steep and my legs were so tired that it was either walk some sections or potentially roll back down it.
I passed the race photographer while walking. Of course I did. Absolutely typical. My one race photo that I thought I might get and I'm walking.
I'd also spotted a 4-hour pace flag somewhere in front of me. Huh. I'd thought THAT ship had long since sailed. I wondered if he'd given up the pacing as I'm sure I wasn't on for a 4 hour time. However, it made a good little marker and I gradually began reeling the quill flag in and trying to catch up.
Then it disappeared. Bother.
And then I spotted him again.
He was walking too, so I wasn’t entirely sure whether this was part of his pacing strategy or whether he’d also decided that gravity could do one. I decided that I would pass him just IN CASE he was on pace ... you never know!
The descent ...
Over the top and back on the slippery mire of mud, grass and slippery, slippery stones. Ice rinks have NOTHING on this. There were people falling over in all directions. Carnage.
And finally, I reached tarmac.
I’ve NEVER been so happy to see tarmac in my life.
There was about a mile to go.
Unfortunately, the tarmac was insanely steep.
The rain was still coming down and I was genuinely worried about falling backwards.
So I leaned forward and absolutely hammered it.
I ran down the hill like a lunatic.
The spectators loved it.
There were huge cheers as I flew past, presumably because I looked like I knew what I was doing.
I absolutely did not.
I was just trying not to fall over.
Luckily, the finish line was basically at the bottom of the hill.
Because I did not fancy running any further.
Especially not uphill.
I crossed the finish gantry and saw 3:53 on the clock.
I knew I’d started quite a way back and it had taken me a little while to cross the start line.
Which meant…
Sub four.
YES. YASSSSSSS!
Across the line and I went straight into the café.
Tuna mayo sandwich.
Coffee.
Fancy.
The plan was to warm myself up and replace some calories. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that eating after a run makes me incredibly cold. So I sat there shivering, eating my sandwich and questioning every decision that had brought me to this point.
Then I got a message from Rich. He’d checked the results. I’d finished in 3:50:45. And I was third female in my age category.
Third.
I genuinely had no idea.
I’d gone into this race with no time goal, barely any marathon training and the vague intention of having a nice day running around Snowdonia.
Somehow I’d ended up 3rd.
So, Marathon Eryri…
3:50:45.
3rd Female Vet 45.
Not bad for someone whose longest training run had been 16 miles three months earlier.
And someone who had driven from Stansted to Wales the day before.
And someone who had accidentally done 4.5km just getting to the start.
And someone who thought it was a road marathon.
And someone wearing road shoes.
And someone who spent the last few miles slipping around in mud.
Honestly, I absolutely loved it.
The weather was brutal.
The hills were brutal.
The final descent was borderline terrifying.
But the scenery was incredible, the support was brilliant and the whole thing had that wonderfully chaotic feeling that makes races memorable.
I went in undertrained, overfuelled and with absolutely no expectations.
I came out with a sub-four marathon, a massive grin and a completely unexpected 3rd in AG.
Sometimes the best races are the ones where you have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen.
Although next time, I might bring trail shoes.
Just in case.
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