Right then, I’m a bit behind on the old blog front, so there’s a bit of catching up to do and I suppose that we had better start with the first one that I missed, the Beacons to the Blacks Ultra Marathon.
The problem is, I don’t really know where to start with this one, which is probably why I’ve got behind in the first place. The weirdest thing is, I’ve got loads to say about it, I just don’t know where to start! I suppose I’m just going to have to bite the bullet, start, and see where we end up, so here goes. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I’d been looking forward to this one for a while as the route looked like it was going to be pretty spectacular, traversing across the high points of both the Brecon Beacons and Black Mountains, which, if the late summer weather played ball, should lead to some pretty amazing running. With a mandatory kit check on the Friday night and an early start on the Saturday, I wangled a days leave from work and had an easy morning on the Friday, before travelling down in the van in the afternoon, missing the worst of the traffic and arriving in plenty of time for a leisurely evening. Kit checked, (having struggled up and down the stupidly steep incline to the bunkhouse at Llanbedr which was being used as the finish line and organisers base for the weekend), race number and tracker issued, pleasantries and formalities taken care of, all that remained was to sit back with a brew and enjoy the amazing site of the sun setting behind the van, bathing the other of the valley in it’s last light, before being replaced with a myriad of stars, twinkling brightly in the rapidly chilling clear night sky.
With the Ultra and Marathon starts being remote from the finish, transport to the start was scheduled to depart at 06:15 and when the alarm woke me from my slumbers at 04:30, leaving loads of time for a hearty breakfast and an extra brew, there was a definite chill in the air. Chilly start or not, when I did finally drag myself from the comforts of the van into the pre dawn chill, the clear, dark sky, showed promise for the day to come, and I joined the small crown stood shivering as we waited patiently to board the bus for the start of the day's adventure.
The short drive to the start, provided just enough time for the sun to push away the final vestiges of night, and as we gathered at the start for the pre race briefing there was a palpable excitement in the air, coupled with a desire to get going, as it was still bloody freezing!
We didn’t have long to wait though, as bang on the stroke of 07:00 we were off. Not only were we off, but as is always the case, off far too fast, considering the miles to go. The pace not being helped by the marathon runners departing at the same time as us Ultra runners, and a fast few miles ensued, as we picked up the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal tow path, to take us towards the first climbs of the day.
Eventually though, everything settled down and as the early morning sun cast dappled shadows on the towpath as it shone through the canal side trees, and the early morning mist rose steadily from the canal as the warmer water gave up it’s summer heat to the colder air, my legs started to warm to the task in hand and the blood, now flowing freely through my veins, started to push the early morning chill from my bones, just leaving my fingertips complaining about the chill in the air.
The first few miles along the canal passed in a blur, until the Marathon runners diverted from the towpath and we continued straight on. A quick glance around as we went our separate ways, gave the first indication of where I may be position wise, and I was surprised to find that it looked like there was only 2 people in front of me at that point, with another close on my heels, but that appeared to be it.
With only 5 miles down and none of the real work for the day even started, it was far too early to start thinking about positioning, but it’s always a positive to know where you stand. Maybe today was going to have to be about more than just finishing, maybe even at this early stage it was going to be worth trying that little bit harder with the possibility of a reasonable result? Pushing all those thoughts aside, I tapped out the last couple of easy miles at a steady pace, before taking the turning off the towpath which signalled the real start of the day, as the path went uphill for the first time. Slowly at first the gradient increased. Nothing to steep to start with, the lower slopes of the Brecon Beacons still flat enough to be farmed at this point and we traversed the small fields, each boundary accompanied by a style to hop over, or gate to open and close, as we made our way along the sheep tracks and footpaths, slowly closing the distance until the path became less defined and the incline steepened as the ground became to steep for mechanised farming and free roaming sheep replaced the neat little fields.
With the change in terrain came the first real inclination of what lay ahead too. The open countryside now providing far off views, with Pen Y Fan, the highest point in the Brecon Beacons and our first destination for the day, towering over the surrounding area.
The path ahead climbed steeply now, no more running for the time being, just a steady and sustained effort, as I tried to keep my breathing and heart rate under control, whilst still moving over the rutted, barely visible pathway, as quickly as possible. The towering hillside to my front my constant companion, as I worked toward the summit at Bwlch y Ddwyalt, which would signal a right turn onto the ridge taking us toward Pen y Fan, still some way off in the distance.
Slowly, through rasping breath and sweating brow the ridge line arrived, and I forced legs that were already complaining about the effort, with only 10 miles of the days 50 completed, back into a run. Having gained the higher ground for the first time, the wind whipping across the ridge still had a chill to it, despite the sun doing it’s best to warm the surrounding air, and I briefly considered stopping to don my jacket. A thought that was quickly cast aside as I rounded the next bend to be confronted by another brutally steep climb, negating any thoughts of being cold and rapidly replacing them with the more familiar dripping of sweat from my brow as I pushed uphill again.
What goes up, must come down again though, and having crested one side of the hill, the other side is an almost vertical descent! Now, I’ll quite happily admit that I can't go downhill! I suspect that going uphill uses similar muscles to cycling and my cycling legs seem to be quite happy going upwards. Downhill though. No chance, and it wasn’t long before my legs were screaming "No more"! as the person behind me came skipping lightly past like a mountain goat!
Not so fast though sunshine. We’re straight back uphill again, and before we are even halfway up, I’ve caught back up and opened up a gap again. A process which was repeated a couple of times as we made our way towards Pen Y Fan and our highest point of the day.
A quick glance at the amazing view from the top and it’s over the edge for the start of the long descent towards the A470 and our first checkpoint of the day at mile 16
By the time I get to the checkpoint, having been whipped on the downhill by my sure footed compatriot, he’s halfway through a brew and making ready to get going again.
Declining a brew, I refill my water bottles, grab a few salty snacks, a couple of chocolate bars from my pack to see me though the next leg, and push on a few seconds behind him, having learned from the marshals that we are currently in 3rd and 4th place, behind two incredibly strong ladies who are a few minutes in front and making amazing time. Heading straight back uphill towards Pen Y Fan again, it’s a case of regaining all the height that we’ve just lost. By now though it’s 10:30 and the path were taking back up is the popular tourist route, which is thronged with people making their way sedately skywards, many of whom look on in disbelief as they stop to catch their breath and we stride purposefully past, working as hard as I dare to try and catch and pass my companion whilst I still can. Half way up I catch him, but I can’t open out much of a lead this time, and as we reach the top again and turn onto the Craig-Gwaun Taf ridge line heading for the descent which will take us to the Pontsticill reservoir, I know he’s right behind me.
We traverse the ridge together, stopping before the steep descent to the Lower Neuadd reservoir to question the route. The GPS track says we should go over the edge, but there’s no path and nothing to suggest that’s correct, yet in the distance we can see a clearly defined path down. We discuss it for a few seconds before both coming to the sensible decision to ignore the GPS and go with what we can see.
As we get to the top of the real descent I step aside and let him pass on the single track, knowing that I can’t match him for pace downhill, and suspecting, correctly as it turns out, that he’ll open out a gap on me on this descent, which I won’t be able to catch back up again. By the time I reach the valley floor, my suspicions are confirmed and he’s far enough ahead that I can’t close the gap. For most of the afternoon I catch the odd glimpse of him on the longer straighter stretches or skylined as he crosses a summit ahead of me, but the gap is too big, and at this stage as we approach the 26 mile point our pace is too evenly matched for me to gain on him.
Another water refill and a Ham sandwich at the halfway checkpoint and I push on. Alone now, apart from the odd walker, it’s a long few hours alone with my thoughts as I work my way slowly across endlessly hilly, but far less brutal terrain, heading towards the next checkpoint at Llangynidr, where we started the day from.
Again, I don’t stop for long at Llangynidr. Just long enough to refill my water, which I’m getting through at an alarming rate now the sun’s fully warmed the day up and sort my kit out for the next leg, before pushing on. As the miles build, so I’m starting to get tired. But, no matter how tired I feel, how hard the hills are, or difficult the terrain, I only need to lift my eyes from the trail ahead to take in the scenery I’m crossing for it all to be forgotten. I don’t have the words to do justice to the beauty of this area, and on a day like today, with the sun shining down, no wind and clear skies all around it’s impossible to not be awe struck. I’ll agree that in the wind and rain it’s another matter altogether, but today, I’m in my element. Just me, my legs, and the few provisions on my back, against some of the best countryside in the UK. What's not to like about that?
By late afternoon, I’ve reached the final checkpoint and my heart sinks as I realise the enormity of what's still to do. In front of me as I make my way from the checkpoint is a shear wall of a climb as the route starts to ascend the Black Mountains range. A climb that will take us up to Waun Fach, before we reach the end. A climb which on it’s own would be a challenge, but today, with 40 miles already in my legs is just brutal.
There’s only one way to the finish though and I put a podcast on to try and distract myself from the negative thoughts running through my head, tighten up my running vest and push on. Bent double, hands on knees for extra leverage, at times gasping for breath, I haul my way slowly up the steepest parts, until eventually the summit arrives, bringing with it a few flatter miles, during which I can just about manage a slow jog still. Moving steadily onward, I’m wishing the miles away, and thinking that It can't be far until the path starts to go downhill to the finish line, when, with legs which are already shot to bits, I’m faced with what looks like a mountain in front of me.
Surely that path can’t go over that! No way, it’s far too steep!
But, as I get closer it’s clear that there is indeed one final sting in the tail!
Picking my way slowly up, I’m almost on my hands and knees, inching slowly skyward, heaving myself up one inch at a time, no finesse, no beauty of movement, just struggle, will power, and mind over body. I will get to the top, I will complete this (not that there’s any other option).
With the summit comes an even worse revelation. It’s as steep going down as it was going up and by now, my legs which were rubbish at going down hill 40 miles ago are in bits! As I make my way slowly down those last couple of miles of steep unrelenting downhill, I’ve never wanted anything to be over more. Each step is torture, I’m absolutely blowing out of my arse. The worst steps make me whimper as my leg muscles scream with lactic acid and fatigue, I just need this to be over, I just need to sit down and stop, I’m a broken man! Just as it’s starting to get dark, I spot the farmhouse lights which mark the finish below me in the distance, and for the first time in a few hours, I know that I’m nearly there. Slowly I make my way down towards the lights, where the welcoming committee are awaiting my arrival, having been watching my tracker dot slowly working its way towards them for some time. There’s no sprint for the line, no run to the finish, just a few more hobbled steps down the still stupidly steep incline to bring me to the finish! I’m at the finish though, and just under 12 hours since I set off I can finally relax, safe in the knowledge that I’ve completed what I set out to do. Surprisingly I’m still in 4th place, which considering the speed I was moving at for the last few miles is amazing. Even more amazing is the fact that the first 2 people home are ladies, who have raced each other from the start to put on a display of amazing running, across what was without doubt a brutally hard route. A performance which should be celebrated and proves yet again that within the realms of endurance sport it’s the fittest and most skilful that rise to the top, no matter what sex they may be.
Postscript.
Having been pampered beyond belief by the amazing crew at the finish line and having had a few weeks to reflect on my run through the Brecon Beacons and Black Mountains I can honestly say that this was one of, if not the, hardest things I’ve ever done. The climbing was brutal, and relentless, but for me the downhill was the real killer. By the end my legs were in bits, and I just couldn't wait for it to be over, and it took the best part of the next week before I could even get down the stairs properly again. But boy, what an achievement, what an amazing day out and what a fantastic event limitless trails put on. My legs may have been in bits, my resolve and desire to carry on may have been sorely tested, but I know for a fact that I’ll be back to have another go at this one. Amazing!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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