My record so far on ultra Marathons is not too great. On my first one, the Vale Coastal Ultra, I suffered horrendous cramp halfway and had to hobble the final 25km. On my second, the Conquest of Avalon, I injured my quad at about a third distance and had to hobble the last 50km. To add insult to (ahem) injury, from the latter, it took the best part of 6 months to come back to anywhere near my previous level of fitness.

So, this was to be my third ultra, the Brecon to Cardiff ultra-marathon, 70km all downhill except for the huge mountain near the start, and all the hills in the middle and one or two at the end.

My plan was to improve on my previous two ultras, to not nurse an injury to the finish but more importantly to feel like I’d put on a good show. As plans go – not too shabby.

I’m not saying I was unprepared and I’m not getting my excuses in early but I was remarkably unprepared and it’s always wise to get your excuses in early.

I had a fabulous plan – hydrate, hydrate, hydrate (learnt from the Vale Coastal) and stop if you’re injured (learnt from the Conquest of Avalon.) Sure, there’s always a finisher’s medal but no-one gets anything for dragging themselves across the line, thoroughly broken and then incapable of competing again for months.
ok – they get a finisher’s medal.
It’s not as though you’re a survivor of a mountainous airplane crash, battling against the odds to survive a jungle trek with nothing but a packet of salted peanuts and some duty-free vodka. You can always pull out if it all gets too much – just stop and go home. For this event that does assume that you can get a mobile phone signal of course, so you may still end up walking some way before you could officially retire.

Of course, what I neglected to do during my training was a great deal of running. Sure I was still in training and I was fit and had just ridden 300 km the fortnight before and done a 35 km trail run the week before that, but I wasn’t a regular pavement-pounder and the normal three week taper for a simple marathon had actually ended up as those two tough events, two days off and two bowls of pasta.

I filed that under “poor preparation”, a folder only slightly smaller than “poor hydration.”

I’m not saying I was unprepared and I’m not getting my excuses in early but I was remarkably unprepared and it’s always wise to get your excuses in early.

The event was organised by RunWalkCrawl and they’d kindly organised multiple coach transfers from the finish north of Cardiff to the start at Brecon thus simplifying the task of allowing us to run back to the finish.

I’ve since found out that we also had a Covid positive competitor on the coach amongst us, just to add to the terrific feeling of uncertainty afterwards.
It now makes all the jokes about Mr Sneezy far darker than they should have been.

A brief note about mandatory kit.

For the Brecon to Cardiff race the following was mandatory:

• Rucksack  / race vest or similar to carry your kit
• Waterproof Top (must have taped seams)
• Waterproof Bottoms (must have taped seams)
• Upper Body long sleeve running top  
• Hat / buff
• Whistle
• Mobile Phone
• Compass
• Emergency Blanket
• Basic First Aid Kit
• Water Bottle / Bladder 500ml minimum
• Food or energy products
• Map and instructions
• COVID KIT- Mask for Coach & indoor Check Points & mini-hand sanitiser.
• Emergency money

Now, my rain jacket, waterproof trousers and long-sleeve running top fold down quite small, however, quite small is still not microscopic and most definitely not invisible. I have good gear, it wasn’t cheap but it’s small and it’s lightweight. Add in the emergency blanket, the tiny hand sanitiser and small first-aid kit and it still occupies some physical space – just not a great deal. It will fit in a race vest but will make lumps and bulges.
Until we’ve mastered quantum mechanics, we can’t simply have it existing in a parallel universe and call it into existence simply if, and when, it’s needed during the race.

That being the case, why, on every one of these events, am I passed by some chap in a singlet carrying just a bottle of water and not even wearing a hat? He’s always going so fast that there’s no time to stop him for a chat. Charitably I’d say he might have a hollow leg in which to store his kit – which makes his running all the more impressive. It’s not always the same chap obviously!

Between you and me, during the race I was also passed by a fellow competitor that had clearly packed a real blanket rather than a foil blanket and also had a tin mug rattling away on their corpulent rucksack. It takes, as they say, all sorts.

We had a choice of coaches to take us to the start. I opted for the 06.45, which turned out to be the Covid coach apparently,  giving me a 08.00 start and not a stupidly early alarm call. With the first half being canal paths and trails and the second half being effectively tarmac there was a bag drop option for checkpoint 3 allowing for a change of shoes and possibly socks, additional food, encouraging notes from your loved ones etc.

Not knowing the condition of the early trails, I decided to go full trail and so I scraped the mud from my Salomon Speedcrosses and tossed my Hokas in my drop bag along with a flask of flat Pepsi, a Snickers, some gels and a porridge bar or two.

As I was running alone I also did a last-minute purchase of wired earphones so I could have some running tunes for a change. A cleverer person than me may well have put together a running playlist including such memorable classics as, “Keep on Running”, “Born to Run”, “Running Down a Dream”, and the unforgettable, “How Much Longer is this Feckin’ Hill”.
Unfortunately, me and iTunes haven’t bonded very well (can anyone say different?) so, the fact that I had any music at all on my iPhone should be considered a very big plus (as should the Swiss flag). #36 in a series of unforgettable Dad jokes.

For anyone interested, the day’s music turned out to be the Marillion 5CD re-mastered set, and jolly good it was too. I can recommend it most highly.

Garden Party held today, invites call the debs to play, 
Social climbers polish ladders, wayward sons again have fathers, 
Edgy eggs and queing cumbers, rudely wakened from their slumbers, 
Time has come again for slaughter on the lawns by still Cam waters 
Champagne corks are firing at the sun again 
Swooping swallows chased by violins again 
Straafed by Strauss they sulk in crumbling eaves again 
Oh God not again, not again 

Marillion - Garden Party

The picturesque start location in Brecon

So, we jumped off the coach, dumped our drop-bags, had a little pep talk, a warm-up and stretch (against those very railings) and we were off (that stage has been considerably shortened in the interests of brevity) and off way too fast, surprise, surprise.
There’s an old adage with marathons – that I really should pay far more attention to – if you think you’re running too slow then slow down. Despite my experience I can never seem to get on board with it so there I was whizzing down the towpath, way too fast without a care in the world, leaping over nettles and weaving around brambles.
Basically, I had started my usual 10k run conveniently forgetting that this was to be seven 10k runs.

I also appeared to have made a new friend already, maybe because, or in spite of, their wonderful pink calf guards.
On a canal towpath, in front of me, single file, without earphones, with my tinnitus, they were rabbiting on at length about something. I do believe that they thought they were fully engaged in a conversation.
I caught the phrase “nine minutes per mile” but little else. On the bright side, my grunted, non-committal responses, seemed acceptable to them – in fact they seemed to positively encourage them towards further offerings.
Things became a little weird when I enquired of the runner behind me if he wished to pass me (he didn’t) but my friend in front assumed it was them that I was addressing and so began a weirder conversation for the pair of them and the occasional grunt of encouragement from me.
By now we were at Talybont on Usk, the first checkpoint and it was bye-bye nice canal path, hello nasty, slippery incline.

Turn right, over a bridge and up a hill.

Having spent a lot of time at Talybont reservoir I’m very familiar with the fire road running up its southern edge to the summit of Blaen y Glyn but I’m less familiar with cycle route 8 and the Taff Trail north of that. As it happens my ignorance is somewhat irrelevant as the run route was down the towpath of the Monmouth & Brecon canal before turning south up an atrocious path towards the reservoir. It would not merge with the Taff Trail and cycle route 8 until later.

It was one of those paths possibly only ever used by a tractor, once, many years ago until abandoned as too difficult. It had slippery, exposed sandstone boulders in the crown along with tufts of grass and then deep ruts, with protruding rocks, at the edges providing almost no sensible or preferential route. Like parts of the towpath it was also somewhat overgrown with brambles and stingies and was moist from that morning’s precipitation. If it had had muddy puddles too it would have been a nirvana of a running trail in fact.

I politely declined their non-existent offer to join them for a light lunch and pressed on with an urgent desire to see the fabulous overflow of Pontsticill reservoir.

This track finally ended where cycle route 8, the Taff Trail, joined from the crest of Talybont reservoir dam and the going became easier, albeit with a monotonous, constant, heart-rate-raising gradient all the way to the top. There were plenty of walkers as we started to reel in the earlier starters and it was a challenge knowing where to pitch the heart rate for such a long drag. Experimentation soon revealed “higher than I wanted” was the answer but “also manageable.”
The very last kick to the summit had the official photographer catching everyone walking the steep bit. In my own defence I was walking because I was eating a Snickers and loading up my music for the descent towards Pontsticill.

Just catching up on work emails

At the end of the Brecon Mountain railway we hung a left onto a fire road that took us all the way down to the reservoir and the next checkpoint before then climbing an unexpected hill into Taf Fechan forest.

I caught up with my pink calf-guarded friend as I ran through the forest. I can’t remember having been passed by them since they stopped at Talybont for nibbles from their support crew. As I hadn’t stopped at checkpoint one or two it was most surprising to see their jolly legs now bobbing up and down in front of me. I secretly think they knew a short-cut.
As we left the forest and came out on to the main Pontsticill road their crew was there again setting up a picnic table. I politely declined their non-existent offer to join them for a light lunch and pressed on with an urgent desire to see the fabulous overflow of Pontsticill reservoir.

It would be a long time before I had another friend.

The dam at Pontsticill was a bit crowded with cheering onlookers so I felt a bit weird stopping to take in the view so I didn’t. Besides, I’d seen it many times before and it’s a bit empty at the moment and not its usual picturesque self. Not exactly shopping trollies and bedsteads but it just looks so much nicer when full to the brim.
I did however now run down the Taff Trail to Merthyr for the first time ever. It’s been something I’ve always meant to do, or even cycle it, but on reflection the viaduct and bridges are far more exciting from off the trail than actually on it. I was almost across the viaduct before I realised I was actually on it. It is still a pretty route mind.

Taf Fechan Viaduct

Along this stretch I came across a rather odd character on a mountain bike. I first became aware of him simply by being overtaken by him. Then he was at the side of the trail, his bike on the grass and him doing loud push-ups against a bench with his legs most of the way across the trail. Shortly he overtook me again only for me to then find him doing some other routine at the next bench.
Then he overtook me again and that was the last I saw of him. I really hope I wasn’t supposed to be impressed.

With that, checkpoint 3 was upon me and also a brief strategy change. While solid food is good, I just struggle to eat it on the run and have to delay consumption until there’s a hill to walk up or a deliberate stop. Then, what with keeping up a good pace walking a hill, it’s still challenging to eat and breathe at the same time. Most of my solid food had therefore remained untouched so I changed my shoes, tossed the food in my drop bag and grabbed the extra gels I’d packed. Also in my bag was my treat that was a soft-flask of flat Pepsi.
I looked in the bag for any encouraging note from my loved ones but once again I came up empty-handed except for a crumpled receipt for a full Welsh breakfast in Tenby.

So, I set off down the valley, over yet another viaduct, again, far less interesting when you’re on it apart from the man flying a drone.
Although to be accurate neither he or his drone were particularly interesting.

Cefn Coed Viaduct

Then there was a horrible bit of running down a main road in Merthyr dodging traffic, dog shit and discarded disposable masks before running through the college car park and back out onto the trail again on the west side of the valley.

I resigned myself to walking more than I wished and running less than I hoped, yet always moving forward and ticking off the kilometres.

I now know that there’s a lovely network of footpaths that run all the way down to Aberfan and the next checkpoint and to be fair, it came as an unexpected surprise.
It was a nicely connected series of paths and back lanes that crossed minor roads. Ideal for running, slightly less so for cycling.

Checkpoint 4

Not being experienced of the Taff Trail this far north but having a well-established mental picture of Merthyr, Abercynon and Pontypridd I was somewhat surprised to find myself suddenly heading north, up a hill, round a corner and then under the A470. It came as a bit of a shock to suddenly find myself on the “wrong side” as it were. If that wasn’t shock enough the route then went south, then back under the A470, over a humpback bridge of huge humpiness, up an unexpected incline and right onto a trail rougher than any I’d been on yet today. It seemed hardly worth having changed shoes earlier!

Humpy humpback bridge

I’d also now finished my Pepsi – never a good sign.

The trail now followed the old tram road around the back of Quakers Yard and I was now on familiar territory, on through Abercynon, past the treatment works, Scott’s bush and on to the final checkpoint on the outskirts of Pontypridd.
Through Abercynon I’d come across a dog walker and her dog. I enquired of her whether I could take over her dog-walking duties on the understanding that she pop down to the finish for me along with my number.
It turns out she’d already ran 10k that morning and was quite happy just walking her dog.
Sometimes it’s hard to catch a break.

The checkpoint was a quick top-up of the water bottle and a couple of fresh orange segments, a brief chat with the marshals and I was off again on the final leg of the race.

Now things were starting to get noticeably tougher. For me an ultra-marathon will always become a run-walk strategy. From experience I’ve learnt that running the hills gains nothing at the expense of early depletion. As the race progresses the level of incline that requires walking gets gradually less and less as muscles and tendons start to object to the onslaught of such an lengthy endeavour. Of course, this event was to be no different.

By now my left ankle wasn’t happy, I had a weird cramping on the outside of my left shin, the grumblings of cramp in my left hip flexor, my right achillies was shouting and both calfs were in some distress. Even my shoes were now starting to disintegrate. To be fair they’d done over 1200 km but I guess my compromised gait due to the pain in my legs had altered my running form enough to start ripping chunks from the soles and also causing them to rub on my feet in areas that had always been rub-free.
Despite stopping for a regular stretch my calfs were the real issue. Not bad enough to stop and not bad enough to think they’d be a long-term injury, but certainly enough to make the last 10k a real challenge.
Not being up against anything other than my own self-imposed goals I resigned myself to walking more than I wished and running less than I hoped, yet always moving forward and slowly ticking off the kilometres.

They do say that familiarity breeds contempt and, as I ran through Pontypridd, I found a new friend at the entrance to Ynysangharad Park looking at their map which, being as charitable as I can, was really just a waste of paper if you were trying to use it to follow the route. Whether it was my dodgy eyesight I don’t know but I couldn’t even see the route on my map!
I’d loaded the route onto my watch in case but my actual route plotting was:
“Follow the arrows until Merthyr then it’s the Taff Trail all the way home.”
It turns out that wasn’t the actual route…

“C’mon, this way,” I shouted and dragged them through the park, totally oblivious to the official route not actually going through the park thus slightly lengthening our race. To be fair they never once complained.
To be even fairer, my route through the park was far nicer.

It might simply be that I’m never happy.

Once at Glyn Taf cemetery it really was the home straight and very familiar tarmac. Of course, being on familiar ground meant that you knew every twist and turn and how far away the finish now was.

Sure it was a hard last 10k but all things come to an end and this one eventually did.

All good things must come to an end

I can’t say I was totally happy. I went off too fast, walked more at the end than I would have liked yet still ran a 70 km ultra-marathon in 8:15 compared to 12:16 for my previous 80 km ultra and 6:30 for my previous 50 km ultra

I also took 29 minutes off my 50km PB whilst setting my third fastest marathon time in the process although that’s hardly relevant as I’ve only every ran one serious marathon, the rest being marathons that have occurred whilst doing something else.

It might simply be that I’m never happy.

As usual, thanks to the IronGang for all the support, RunWalkCrawl for the well organised event and Tosh K Simpkin for any official photographs.

Happy to be sat down