Perspective in Pembrokeshire

It's very easy to get lost in the training, racing, and recovering that comes with running.  In fact, that's often the reason why I do it.  I can put the mundane stresses of the day into "the grand scheme of things" and regain a bit of perspective on life.  Running can be the tool to regain a sense of my place in the world.  During the past weekend's marathon activities, though, running itself was put in its place.

I work for a Japanese company.  I have some fabulous friends and colleagues in Japan.  So to hear and see the news from Japan on March 11th as I was preparing for my latest race took me out of my bubble and reminded me that although my place in the world can be quite nicely unobtrusive, every day life can be anything but "every day".  I watched, unable to help, as did most of us, as a wonderful nation was rocked to the core.  Not really sure what else to do, and thinking of my Japanese friends, who are some of the most resilient people I know, I lined up for the Pembrokeshire marathon.  I remembered the phrase that constantly keeps us going through the working week:  "Ganbatte o kudasai".  It's a phrase with myriad uses - usually encouraging, occasionally chastising, always exhorting more effort, more perseverance.  This phrase regularly pops into my head when I'd rather go home than finish something that must be done, or when I am 23 miles in with an unknown distance to go.  On Saturday, it got me to eat breakfast, get dressed, and get to the starting line.  If my friends could get through the hell of their island moving ten feet in a few minutes, I could certainly go out and run hard on my stationary patch of coastline.  With my little challenge in its proper perspective, I went out to do my best while trying to capture some of the beauty of the day to share.

We start from the harbour and head up to get a great view.

The race started in the seaside village of Little Haven, Pembrokeshire.  We snaked our way from the tiny harbour-front up onto the clifftops overlooking St. Brides Bay.  From the outset, the views were spectacular.  Each turn brought a new magical, rugged rockface running down into the deep blue water.
 

Climbing gently to the top of the cliffs

The course winds off in the distance.

For the most part, the hills were short and sharp, with long stretches of gentle trails in between.  The weather was cool but fine, so we encountered quite a few ramblers whose Saturday walks were continuously interrupted by mad people running past.  While we exchanged pleasantries, I imagined that the constant trickle of people passing on the occasionally narrow trails would become irritating by the time the half marathoners came past.  I could only hope the walkers had made it to the pub by the time the 10k race started a couple of hours later.

Walkers enjoy the paths and visits to the local historic sites.

This course is rated as the least difficult of the series.  Without the steep ascents of the other courses, we were moving at much closer to road pace than usual.  I kept seeing mile times in the region of nine minutes and thinking, "I'm not used to running this fast on the trails!"  I kept an eye on my heart rate, which was fine, and wondered how long it would last.  

Flat, more or less, with nice views inland and out to sea.

 
The course led south along the peninsula, and eventually across to and then around St. Anne's Head.  The bonus of this route is that we spend 2/3 of the time on the coast, and then cross the peninsula to return to the start.  Although I was pretty sure that most of my attempts at photography were doomed to failure, I had miles and hours to keep trying to catch some good pictures. 

After 10 miles, I took the decision to ease back a bit.  I felt good, but I could also tell that I'd not yet recovered from the last race, so I didn't expect to get through the day with anything like the strength I had in Devon. 

Thankfully, we ran by, rather than down to, this lovely bay.

 
An extra 30-50 seconds per mile kept me comfortable until we headed inland at Dale, 18 miles into the run.  The hill up from Dale was long and steep, and my abdominal muscles and groin began to tighten.  During this climb, I walked at an easy pace and massaged the soreness away. 

Up at the old air field on top of the peninsula, I carried on, but fatigue began to set in properly.  My lungs were fine and my heart rate was OK, but my legs just didn't really feel like going any more.  A gel at 19 began to help re-energize the muscles.  I kept reminding myself that I was here not just for fun, but to push beyond my perceived limits.  "Ganbatte," I told myself, and carried on.  My pace started to drop back to the normal plod of 11-12 minute miling. 

Nothing hurt, but nothing was in the mood to move, either.  The final few miles passed by slowly, beautifully, and happily.  I knew that I could get through eventually.  I also knew that, somehow, I had managed to keep a fairly steady pace.  Even as I jogged along, I was heading for around 4:50 for the 28 miles.  When I saw the final ascent, I also picked out a pink dot moving up it.  Nic was running the half, which had started when I was about 9 miles in, and I'd been half hoping to keep going well enough to finish with her.  But, at that stage she was nearly a mile ahead, less than a mile from the finish, and I wasn't getting any faster.  I sent her a text to let her know I wasn't far from the finish, so she would wait for me, and carried on.  Sure enough, as I dropped back down to Little Haven, Nic was cheering me on, fresh from her 16 mile "half".  No wonder I nearly caught her!

Welsh Daffodils in the sun

This week's marathon was hard work, physically and mentally.  It was also consistently beautiful.  I felt tired from start to finish and I drew inspiration from the strength of those far away.  I hope the pictures and story of my day out can provide some welcome distraction and escape for them, in turn.

CTS South Devon Marathon - a perfect day?

The challenge continues, and this month's installment was a 27.5 mile jaunt through the Devon countryside.  I'd never been to the southern coast of Devon, and had been looking forward to this trip as a way to appreciate the reputed beauty of a new coastline.  A few weeks before, I double-checked the course details and saw nothing short of a tortuous second half.  The early hills led to gently rolling coastal paths, with the real steep stuff coming on the inland trip back to the start.  The final stretch along Slapton Sands was a big worry.  I'm still a bit reticent about beaches after the Gower and Portland races.  I could quite happily wait for a few years before another big-beach race.  The course is rated by Endurancelife as 4 out of 5 for difficulty (5 being stupidly hard).  I checked the 2009 finish times to get an idea of what to expect.  In the previous three races, I'd finished about 2/3 down the field.  For South Devon, that equated to around six hours.  So, I set my race plan for survival:  start as slowly as I could manage, have fun on the steep descents, and just get through the beach section.  With that plan in place, we once again took the opportunity to enjoy a day off and headed for Dartmouth on Friday morning - stopping by Sara's for some protective tape work on my weak calf.

Dartmouth, as a place to dine, is the opposite of Holyhead.  The small harbour area has an abundance of good restaurants and smells great at lunchtime.  We enjoyed a fabulous lunch at Taylor's (penne with a mushroom & white truffle oil sauce) and a gorgeous dinner at the Royal Castle Hotel lounge bar (sea bass with a crab risotto).  Plenty of good nutrition, not too much richness, and all done by 8, so I had enough time to digest while we enjoyed some World Cup track cycling on the TV.

On race day, I once again took the strategy of early (6:30) and late (7:30) breakfasts.  Lately, I've been able to eat less during my long runs, so I didn't worry about any food between second breakfast and the race start at 9.  We headed off to the start, a short 11 miles away, planning to arrive just in time to register and catch the race briefing.  I'd forgotten that Devon roads have their own variations on the words "main" and "minor".  Main roads have sections wide enough for two cars, minor roads have occasional places to stop or back into if you have opposing traffic.  In Devon, wide enough is only just, and occasional can be very occasional indeed.  As a result, we arrived a little later than anticipated and were sent into the overflow car park and asked to catch the bus (it was about 8:20 at this point).  After securing the car (i.e. parking it in the field deeply enough to be concerned about getting it out), we headed for the bus, which had disappeared and been replaced by a horse box.

It was clean before I parked in the other field...

A few more marathoners (and one ultra runner, who should have started at 8!) arrived, and the Endurancelife team realized the bus wasn't coming back any time soon.  Inexplicably, there was a bit more space near the start, so we were sent on our way to park there instead - 20 minutes of prep time lost.  I can't really blame anyone but myself for being late, but it would have been nice to avoid the hassle of nearly losing the car in the mud and missing the start while waiting for a missing bus.  But, true to form, Gary delayed the race briefing a few minutes to allow us all to get there and pushed back the start by a few minutes to give everyone a chance for the last-minute pit-stops.

Just enough time for the "before" picture - much more upright than the "after" shot!

All pre-race checks completed, it was time to start.  Because we were heading for narrow trails early on, we had a staggered start.  Each runner's chip was registered on the way across the start line, so the quick runners headed out first and the rest of us started in our turn.  I lined up about 2/3 back in the field, with a few people I recognized from previous races.  We headed out of Beesands and then straight into the first hills.  These were only a few hundred feet each, and gave me a chance to watch the leaders stream away.

Looking from hill 1 to hill 2.

Further back, I took these early climbs pretty easy, saving energy for the steep rollers in the second half.  We had a couple of nice slippery sections to give us some entertainment watching the few runners in road shoes.  Every bend, hill, and hedge brought another fantastic view.

Right about here, I realized I hadn't started my watch!

As we passed near the Start Point lighthouse, we turned to the West and were confronted with some astounding scenery.  The rocky path was tricky and slippery, so I didn't get as much of an opportunity to appreciate the sunshine playing on the sea and the hillside as I would have liked.

The day was fast becoming perfect for running.  The sun had broken through the morning haze and was making everything lovely and warm.  It was also proving useful to pick out the jagged stones poking just far enough out of the mud to potentially cause a nasty fall. So, I picked my way through the technical bits and eased along the more secure paths.

The sun poked through to help me avoid those pesky trip hazards.

In an effort to keep an easy heart rate and remind myself to keep things steady, I stopped to take the odd picture instead of snapping on the run.  Given the fairly steady pace, it wasn't much of a time loss, and stopping to "smell the roses" now and then boosted my mood.  I kept feeling happy, which definitely wasn't expected in the first 10 miles of a long day's running.

It's a long way to Prawle Point, but the sun makes it all good!

It's still a long way to Prawle Point...

While I enjoyed the sunshine and warm Southwesterly (head-on) breeze, I kept a steady rhythm and a manageable heart rate of around 150bpm (~80%).  Every once in a while I would meet up with other runners and have a short chat.  I wasn't the only cheery face in the crowd, but I was probably one of the most comfortable.  Quite a few runners were dressed for the previous day's weather - windy, wet, and miserable.  As a result, my short snap stops paled into insignificance compared to the delays some had in removing their spare layers - it's just not easy to take off a long-sleeve compression top while one is running! 

Some hills don't look like much until you turn left...

Looking back to Start Point.  It seems so flat.

After what seemed like an age, but was only about four miles, we crossed over Prawle Point and headed gently Northwest.  The head wind became a cross wind, the sun shone strong, and the going was good-to-firm with occasional tricky rocky bits.  I was running strong, comfortable with my pace, and feeling generally on top of the world.  It's hard to explain why things all come together, and in the early stages of a marathon I typically expect them to start falling apart at some point.  This time, though, I had a nagging optimism that it would be OK as long as I didn't get in a hurry.

Looking back to Prawle Point

This final stretch of coastline before the inland trip back towards Beesands had some nice little rollers to keep things interesting.  Over the three miles, we climbed past the Saturday hikers on the odd sharp ascent and sped away down to find another little gully or hillock waiting.  By the time I'd reached nine miles, I was starting to reel in runners.  For once, my poor wee brain wasn't too frazzled, and I realized that these were mostly the slower Ultra runners and marathoners who had started at 8-8:15.  They were in for a very long day, but seemed cheery enough at the prospect.  It's amazing what the lack of wind and rain can do for one's mood!

Just a couple of small hills on the way to Mill Bay

The final bend towards Mill Bay was the highlight of the weekend.  By then, I was running confidently, the temperature was up to around 13C, and every time I looked up I was blown away by the views.  I decided that Sunday's recovery walk, weather permitting, would be here so Nic could enjoy it.

Kingsbridge Estuary and Mill Bay are just over the hill and around the bend...

Looking over to Salcombe

Even the seas were relaxed.

A final look back along the coast before heading inland.

Doh, if you take your eye off the trail, it throws another climb in as punishment!

I still can't get enough of these cliffs!

With all of the great views, and the occasional swearing at the camera phone switching to video mode as I went back to snapping on the move, it felt like no time at all before I was ready to head away from the sea and into the rolling hills.  By this time, I'd covered eleven of the most stunning miles I've ever experienced.

I hoped for continued strength into the properly hilly inland section.  Looking back over my recent marathons, I knew I'd started to crack far too early.  So, I decided to keep relaxed and save something for the dreaded beach and final hill.  I took advantage of our check point at 11 miles to stop for a few seconds to down some water and compliment the marshalls on the weather they'd organized for us before heading up onto the first stretch of road.  Some of the road was nearly as claggy as the trails, due to the vast quantities of mud from a rainy week and a lot of farm traffic.  One short section looked like someone had tried to take a street cleaner along it - and failed.  The remains of brushes and the metal rings that hold them onto something rotating littered the muddy ruts.

Heading away from the sea.

The last picture opportunity for a few miles.

As I neared the highest point on the course at half way, I remembered that the next couple of miles would be fairly flat, with a fair bit of road.  With the sun shining and the wind quartering from behind, I checked my pace, changed my mind, and decided to push a little harder until I returned to the mud and standing water.  On a different day, in different terrain, and not in the middle of a multi-marathon sequence, pushing a little harder would mean hitting a 7:15 pace.  In the context of this race, I was happy to move from trail-plod to anything starting with an 8!

I began to catch more of the early starters, as the course turned into some adventurous farm tracks.  The torrential rain of the previous few days had left a lot of standing water in the wheel ruts.  Where the raised centre was firm, we could run easily enough.  Where it got slushy, I had to choose between two of my basic rules of wet running: 1) avoid stepping into anything whose depth you can't judge, 2) tractor ruts usually bottom out at something firm.  I opted for door number two and shipped some very cold water - very soothing on the feet.

The farm tracks opened onto a fabulous downhill. At first glance, I exclaimed, "Wow!" to nobody in particular.  I briefly thought about taking a picture at the dramatic drop into a narrow valley.  But, I decided to avoid testing my balance and coordination as I stormed down the 1:4 grade.  Even though the grass was reasonably forgiving, my feet were pushing hard into the front of my shoes.  Halfway down, my toes were shouting obscenities and I expected to have to pick the nails out of my socks later.

With 18 of the 27+ miles finished, I was looking forward to six miles of short, steep hills and dreading the final slog along the shingle beach.  I assumed that Nic had finished her relaxing run along that same beach - she needed to do something to pass the time while I played - and sent her a text from the next short uphill hike to let her know how I was doing.  Her response was more than I could have hoped for:  the course didn't cross the seafront road onto the beach, but stayed on the firmer path.  For once, I was happy about the world of risk assessments and "health & safety" overload that probably kept us from dodging the traffic to get to the beach.

Knowing I didn't have two miles of slippery pebbles to navigate boosted my confidence.  I still expected to totally crack and lose half an hour to just being unable to move any faster.  But, I also knew that even blowing up at a 30 minute cost would have me finish in 5:45 - still 10 minutes below my expected finish time.  I kept to my strategy of fast plodding up the hills, free-flowing running down, and covered the next five miles of rollers in an hour. 

Fast starters were now paying dearly, but at least they had some nice views to ease the pain.

I had company from a couple of first-time marathon runners through this stage.  They were in good spirits, but weren't used to the idea that it's OK to walk up a hill.  As a result, they had beaten themselves up and were struggling to keep forward momentum.  I enjoyed having someone to talk to along the minor roads heading to the beach, and I'm sure they were happy to have the reassurance that walking up a steep hill is OK - especially if you've long since lost the strength to run it.

By the time we bottomed out at the wetland nature preserve, I was again on my own.  I passed the occasional runner as bodies began to lose the battle.  With only four miles left, and only one small hill to come, I was bemused to note that none of us was able to run with more than a hint of the freedom we had felt just a few hours before.  Tight hips, sore knees, tired feet - each runner I saw was afflicted by something that made 10-step stair cases feel like mountains.  My stride was now laughably short, but the sight of runners ahead helped me to keep going.  For the first race in what felt like a long time, I was passing in the final half rather than being passed.  In fact, looking back at the results, I had picked up nearly 30 places between miles 11 and 25.  Previously, I was only catching one or two.  So, I kept targetting the nearest runner as a way of moving forward.


At Torcross, one and a half miles from the finish, I still felt reasonably strong but very slow.  The beach-front cottages and pubs were crowded with onlookers, enjoying the sunshine and cheering the tired, crazy people covered in mud and sweat.  It was a huge boost.  The final climb over Torcross point provided a few more nice views, and my very slow hiking provided the time for some pictures.

Looking back to Slapton Sands from Torcross Point

The descent into Beesands left me with a flat half mile with the cheers of the crowd to push me along.  I could see Nic in the distance taking pictures, and tried my best to look energetic for the camera.

Just enough energy left for a smile and 2 thumbs up.

I'd had an amazing race, still didn't quite know how long I'd taken (having forgotten to start my watch until nearly 2 miles in), and was actively thinking about the beer at the Royal Castle.  I finally crossed the line in 5:15:50, my fastest CTS time yet, exhausted, exuberant, and buzzing with amazement at a day when everything came together.  As an added bonus, I finished with all toenails still intact!

What a race!

What a race?!

Days like that don't come along very often.  When the weather, the body, the mind, and the course are in sync, there really is no better feeling in running.  I may spend years chasing another day like it - but that's all part of the fun, isn't it?

2011 Race Schedule

Now that it's February, I figured it was time to plan my fast Autumn marathon, so I didn't just have to select from whatever had places left.  Then, I could work back into the Summer and sort out my tune-ups and fit things in around the Summer's holidays.  As a result, I've selected the Abingdon Marathon for my next PB attempt.  It has the reputation of being pretty quick and the added bonus that it requires no air travel or overnight stay, so is fairly cheap.  Given the amount of time I'm spending away for the Spring races, I also think it might be nice to spare my neighbours yet another weekend of cat-sitting!  Happy Racing!

Old Year's Resolutions and the CTS Anglesey Marathon

The great thing about setting out my event schedule 6-10 months in advance is that I didn't have to worry about any resolutions in January.  My goals for this year were already pretty much laid out:  1) complete the Endurancelife 7x challenge, 2) still be able to run at the end of it, 3) enjoy a few shorter / faster races to keep some leg speed, 4) aim for that 3:15 again in October.  I spent an enjoyable few days putting together the new spreadsheets, working out the recovery timings, and buying the bits of kit that were a bit pricey to put onto the Christmas list.  Following the XC race, I managed to pick up a strange calf complaint that left me hobbling instead of running.  Once again, Sara came to the rescue and I spent two weeks in compression socks with tape in esthetically pleasing patterns on my right leg.  I managed one confidence-boosting hill run, but otherwise there was a lot of rest and TLC.  Then, Nic and I packed our bags for Anglesey and the 3rd installment of my multi-marathon challenge and the delayed 1st leg of Nic's 3x half marathon challenge.

I'd never been to North Wales before, so Nic decided we should take the scenic route and enjoy a nice day driving through Snowdonia.  Last-minute work commitments took away the morning, which meant we risked taking the twisty roads through the hills after sunset.  Driving through this "Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty" in the dark would rather negate the point of the route, but the impact of getting stuck in Friday afternoon traffic near Manchester was even worse.  So we headed for the hills and hoped for good light.  With a combination of good traffic, well timed pit-stops, and incredible luck, we got more than good light - we caught a long, slow sunset over the mountains.  The clouds and mountainsides were transformed from beautiful to breathtaking as the sunlight reflected from one to the other.  Sadly, I have yet to overcome the genetic deficiency that prevents me from stopping by the roadside to take a picture.  A photo wouldn't capture the stunning scenery of the drive, but it might help the memory in a few years time...

Leaving Snowdonia and "mainland" Wales, we found Anglesey to be as flat as everyone had said it would be.  For a trail race, this one would surely rate as one of the flatest courses I could find.  Once we reached Holy Island, we could see a rather large mountain in the distance.  I was sure that the race profile had shown a maximum elevation of around 650 feet, so what was this massive thing in the distance?!  It's amazing just how big a hill can look when all about it is very flat indeed.  Holyhead Mountain is only around 700 feet high, but pretty much everything else nearby is not far off sea level, so it certainly towers above the surrounding land.  I had to remind myself that we were only going up the hill twice, so it was a lot less climbing than my usual weekend runs.

The imposing Holyhead Mountain.

We arrived in the great (empty) metropolis of Holyhead before 6, checked into our bargain motel, shook off any concern about the relative size of the hill, and headed out to a country hotel for dinner.  Fortunately, we had been pre-warned that there's not much in the way of dining-out in Holyhead, and had booked our table in advance.  Had we not, I'm pretty sure the place would not have woken the chef - it turned out that we were the only customers that night.  Our dinner at the Nant-Yr-Odyn hotel was very good, with plenty of potatoes in a variety of forms to cap the carbo-loading.  I finished with a large cup of ice cream (5 scoops!).  The portion was a bit over-generous for someone who doesn't do a lot of dairy, but the ice cream was so good I had to eat it all!

Well fed, watered, and rested, we arrived at Breakwater Country Park on Saturday to find the turf thawing to a pleasantly squelchy cushion.  The weather was cool and calm with low cloud.  In the race briefing, we heard about all of the slippery rocks, slippery boardwalks through bogs, icy patches, and cutoff to make sure nobody got lost on the hill in the dark.  We didn't, however, hear about the last-minute change of course that added some mileage and altered the race profile fairly dramatically.  That would have been nice, but wasn't essential.  After all, what's another half hour of plodding/straggling at the end of the afternoon?

Ready to go!

We eased away from the park HQ along the access road.  It was a nice gentle descent towards the coast to allow us a bit of a warm-up and to ease congestion before we turned around and headed up the hill.  Our ascent took us around the north side, with some nice coastal views, continuing past the North Stack weather station and then up the side of South Stack hill.

There's always one...

Holyhead Mountain off in the distance

Our first proper climb of the day

Looking back down the climb up South Stack

 
Within the first few miles, we had already taken in some breathtaking views and enjoyed what I thought was the highest point of the race.  Since I was enjoying myself as we gamboled over the slippery, rocky paths, I didn't check my Garmin for the elevation at the top.

Rocky paths along the cliffs

If I had, I'd have realized we were about 100 feet short of the official profile.  But, I continued on, blissful in my ignorance, content that my duff calf was keeping quiet.

The first half included many gentle stretchs of scenic clifftop trails.

The trip down the West coast took in a variety of little beaches, hidden coves, and some nice moorland.  Where the path joined the road, we unfortunately joined as well.  The increase in speed was nice, but I don't particularly enjoy road running in my trail shoes.  It's not uncomfortable, but it isn't great for the soft rubber studs that help me grip on slippery rocks.  The miles passed by without much excitement.

One of several hidden inlets.

The trail was gently undulating, but without many serious obstacles.  I was pleased to be looking down onto the beaches instead of running on them.  The mental scars of the Gower's long sandy sections aren't quite healed yet!

The Western coast of Holyhead Island

 
For one  short section we had the choice of gingerly picking our way over seaweed-covered rocks or running through the surf - the tide was in.  I seriously considered taking the wet option, but it looked to be about a foot deep, which would have been quite energy-sapping.  So, I picked my way along the rocks and then enjoyed the firm, wet sand of our only beach at Rhoscolyn Bay.  By this stage of the run, my stomach decided it was a bit annoyed about something.  Eating was uncomfortable, but drinking was OK.

I took the chance at the 14-mile check point on the beach to make an isotonic drink.  Because the long training runs have turned into races, I've had to break my golden rule of never trying anything new in a race.  Yes, I've run with this particular drink before - but never in conjunction with the various gels and energy bars that serve as my lunch on the move.  I downed about 200ml and then put the bottle back into my new backpack (excellent Christmas present from the in-laws).  In truth, I'd seriously broken the rule for this run.  The backpack had been with me on a few 10-15 mile runs, but nothing properly long.  I had a new jacket and a new merino wool base layer in the pack in case my leg gave out and meant I would need some warm layers for the long drag to a check point.  I also had on some new compression tights (thanks, Dad!) and a new light long-sleeved top (January sales).  Everything had been out at least once, but there were a lot of unknowns to consider.  So, as I bloated up like a blow fish over the second half of the race, I considered all of these novelties, the pre-race food, and let the analytical side of my brain mull over my ever-increasing waistband.

Lots of new kit!

While my mind wandered around all the potential causes for my discomfort (I narrowed it to too much ice cream or too much compression around my midriff), my legs wandered over boardwalks across a nicely thawing bog.  It's nice to enjoy the empty peace of the moors and wetlands without having to splash through them.  Of course, the boardwalks eventually ended at solid footing, and I continued along the path only to find that the thaw had turned it into an icy pond.  Still, as I've found before, it can be surprisingly pleasant to ice your feet mid-race.  At some point through this section, I decided that the half-way point had been passed, and I still felt OK.

There's something special about the second half of a marathon.  It's quite easy to think, "I've still got 13 miles to go!"  But, with a bit of mental training, it's also not too hard to tell yourself, "OK, the warm-up is over, but you have less than an easy Sunday run ahead of you!"  As with much in life, suspension of disbelief becomes the key to happiness.  The fatigue set in.  Each stile became harder to climb. The miles drifted past.  "Only around 10 to go!" became "it's down to single figures, now!" followed by "You can stay with him/her/them!" We started to climb again, as I knew we must.  Then, I could see Holyhead off to the right.  The hill loomed large in the distance, and we turned back towards the Western coastline.  Disbelief briefly dropped out of suspension.

Wait, why are we going left????

My map skills are often the source of humour, but even I know that going West when expecting to go North means something's not quite right.  I had spent a lot of time looking at the course map to make sure I understood what type of terrain we would encounter, and I knew that the course should start to head up the hill towards the finish.  But, sure enough, the markers clearly took us down the road (yes, road, again!) and away from our destination.  Apparently, there had been a course change, and I'd missed whatever notification there had been (if there had been one).

I trudged along the road at maximum speed (now very, very slow!), hoping to at least take advantage of the fast surface.  Finally, we turned back towards the hill and started the final ascent.  With nearly 26 miles done, I estimated another 28 miler and plodded upward.  When we moved off the road, the trail became a little steeper (1:5 increasing to 1:3).  At times, I had to use my hands to help haul myself over the rocks. 

26 miles down, but what a view!

 
On the way, I clocked 5:03 for the marathon distance, which wasn't too far away from my expectation at 13 miles. The final half mile of scrambling had taken 15 minutes, and I wasn't hopeful of picking up any pace on the descent, given the crumbly nature of the goat track we were following.  

The mist was settling in as we reached the top.

 The first half mile down still took 10 minutes.  My knees refused to work properly on the equally steep scramble to the final trail.  As the rough track evened out, I was able to move from a hobble to a fast plod.  My body had had enough, and I couldn't even break into a proper run as I approached the line. 

I had finished, I wasn't last, and my leg hadn't bothered me at all.  Considering the state I'd been in before the race, I chalked it up as a success and went hunting for Nic.  She'd finished well in her "half marathon" (15.5 miles for her), and was at the car about half a mile away getting warm gear together for me. 

How did the Travel Lodge know I'd need this to get in and out of the shower?

 
In a break with tradition, we had Chinese take-out for our celebratory dinner (Holyhead doesn't seem to do restaurants).  I found out later that there had been a last-minute problem with access rights to one of the paths, thereby causing the extra road sections to find our way to the trailhead up the hill.  I'm not sure I would rank this as one of the most spectacular of runs.  Some of the scenery was amazing, to be sure, but there was an awful lot of road on this course.  As courses go, I'd say it was the least challenging I've done yet.  As races go, it was easily the most difficult.  I spent most of the time feeling the extra recovery time and extra Christmas goodies.  Hopefully, I'll be able to get some more quality training in before the next one in February.  Oh, and another lesson learned: when Gary asks us if we have any questions at the briefing, always double-check to find out just how many last-minute deviations they've added!

Sunday night and Monday morning, we enjoyed the luxuries of a mini spa break!