I run, so you dont have to
This week I set myself the challenge of nailing my long run. When you’re training for the marathon, the long run is the most important session of the week. Zooming round the track or parkrun is fine, but if you are too tired to get in a solid long run, your training is not as relevant as it could be. I got out of the habit of prioritising the long run the last few months. I needed to get back on it.
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Then, the final race of the day was called, the Dads Race. I had totally forgot this was a thing. I was called over by some of the other dads. My kids started chanting for me to race. I did the bravest thing I could do in that situation.
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Snowdon Twilight is an uphill only race on Snowdon. It starts on a Friday night to avoid the crowds. When I arrived, more than a few people talked to me like I had already won. I wasn’t so sure. Gavin Roberts was on the start line, he has been running very well recently and is a member of the current Welsh team. I knew he would be my main competition.
I was not feeling confident in my mountain ascent. It is a tricky skill to get the hang of, where the line between fine and f**ked is very thin. I let Gavin lead the way with the game plan of kicking on when we entered the final km…
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I’ve read everyone else’s tips on how to ‘slay the dragon’. Here are mine. I haven’t seen these anywhere else, so hopefully they bring something new. Please forgive me if anything below sounds harsh. I will try to be as gentle as possible. The truth is, it is a harsh race, and there are some harsh realities that come with it…
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Should I give the marathon another crack? Some infuriating voice inside just won’t let it lie.
Is this the voice of my inner hero, about to embark on a glorious comeback? Or is this the voice of a washed up has-been, who just doesn’t know when to quit? Unfortunately, there’s only one way to find out. Anything else looks like fear and retirement to me. So I sign up for Wrexham Elite Marathon and start my 12 week training block.
Running through the scorching midday sun, not a cloud in the sky, nor a breath of wind, the temperature is pushing 30°C. I’ve been at this for seven hours, the air is thick and stifling. I’m alone and working hard, climbing to the summit of Diffwys. High in the Rhinogydd mountains, I don’t expect to find any water for at least another hour, but I come across a single, small, crystal clear pool. A smooth mirror amongst the rough and hostile rocks. I dip my cap into the water without breaking my stride, I place the cap back onto my head. The soaked material provides a short release from the unyielding heat, before drying up within minutes. But, somehow, due perhaps to the incline I’m climbing, or an imperceptible breeze, drips of water are consistently blowing off the rim of my cap and directly onto my face. I keep running, keep pumping my legs, but these little drips of coolness that fall and die on the furnace of my forehead, I feel them so keenly, and am so grateful to the entire universe for them, that I genuinely wonder if anything in the world has ever felt more precious and sweet.
