Wales Marathon -- Activity Wales Events Long Course Weekend

Every summer I take a trip to a place I've never been and try to run a race there. This year, I chose Wales. My dad's ancestors were from Merthyr Tydfil and I'd always wanted to see this country. I found the Wales Marathon -- part of an iron distance long course weekend -- and set my plans.

And then my right calf put a wrinkle in it. Tightness and the threat of a tear or other serious injury led to reduced mileage and lots of therapies. And then I rolled my right ankle and the doc thought I may have an avulsion fracture. More treatments including ART and Graston, lots of kinesio tape and compression socks, and babying my right leg kept me moving, although I knew I would head to Wales minimally prepared for this 26.2.

Travel was smooth, and after a night in Merthyr, we arrived in the seaside walled old town of Tenby. It was GORGEOUS.  The colors of the houses and businesses, the old stone walls, the clear blue sky, the flowers everywhere, and the sea.  Just beautiful!
 

Knowing how hot the temps were and how hilly and tough everyone said this course would be fueled my prerace nerves.  I was undertrained for this race, for sure, due to my calf and ankle injuries, but honestly the forecasted temps of about 80* would've crippled me even if I was prepared for the hills. So, although several people asked if I thought of dropping to the half -- and apparently many other runners did just that -- I knew I'd regret that after the race. My sister, who wasn’t able to make the trip, reminded me this isn't about how long it takes, it's about the experience.

I made my way to the start and began to feel better. This is normal - nerves get me until I start to run. Even though the sun was in full force and the temps were already warm, I was ready to go. Bottle filled with nuun, calf sleeves and visor on, and a pin with the American and Welsh flags on my bib from my parents, I crossed the starting line of the Wales Marathon and began my adventure.

Starting in Tudor Square, the first few miles wound all thru town. Tons of people cheered us on as we worked our way along the Esplanade/waterfront, thru the narrow streets, and along the old stone town wall.

I waved to my parents and made my way out of town toward the first true hill -- the climb up to the ridgeway.

I kept the pace slow and easy and as the climb began, around mile 3, I noticed people were walking the incline.  As I thought, "Huh, people are walking already," someone near me said the same thing aloud.  But just ahead, I realized why:  the incline was super steep.  Everyone around me was walking, and I quickly realized I'd have to, too. And that was the way the rest of the course would go -- run when you have the flat or slight downhills, power walk the steep inclines.

Along the ridgeway, we travelled through shady overhung tree areas and open sky, hot paths. The land and scenery was truly beautiful, but just as I said that to someone near me, he replied, "just wait until the second half. It's even more beautiful." 

I kept an easy pace through the first 10 miles. Drank my water+nuun, took my gels, and tried desperately to shoo the little waspy bee things away. They were all over the ridgeway -- and I know I swallowed a little fly at one point -- but as annoying as they were, they didn't sting me, and they didn't ruin the day.

As we approached mile 11-12, I could hear the drums to my left in the town of Pembroke. This was where we would meet up with the half marathoners who were just starting their race. On a cooler, easier course, I'd have come through the half in under two hours and seen this HM start, but at miles 11-12 I knew my pace wouldn't get me there in time today. We followed a strange cut through a fence at about mile 12 and down a dark alley where most of us were commenting how tough it would be to be in this single-track section if we were in the lead pack. 

I should also mention Nicky and Garrett at this point. Nicky is a local Tenby guy who used to be very strong and athletic, but has become wheelchair-bound due to a neurological disease. He dreamt of completing an iron-distance event, and his buddy Garrett, a local Tenby fireman, took on the task of helping him get there. They completed the 2.4 mi swim Friday, the 112 mi bike Saturday, and here they were doing the marathon on Sunday. I ran much of the race right around them, and it was amazing to hear and see all the support and cheers they got. Awesome.

As I came thru the aid station just before mile 13, I stopped to say "Well Done" to Nicky and Garrett and observe how Garrett took good care of Nicky at the stops - adjusting his sunglasses, instructing the volunteers on how to help Nicky drink (Garrett had a stash of straws under Nicky's seat and he handed one to the volunteer who would help Nicky drink as Garrett took in his own fuels). It was an incredibly hot and difficult course for those of us on our own, and I marveled at what these two friends were accomplishing together.

There was a steep hill up to mile 13, past the castle and into town, so I was forced to walk --

 

but it soon leveled out and it was a nice boost to run through the town's crowds. I noted that my first half took about 2:15, much slower than any other half I've run, but I was ok with it.

The heat and the course were due to get even tougher in the second half of my day.

Through the rest of the race, I'd continue to chat with the runners around me --
Heather: an older woman who has a twin sister (she's not into exercise at all) and holds both British and American passports.
      Kevin, who was running for a British charity.
     The tall guy (I'm not sure I ever got his name) who's sister "came to America, married a Yank, and stayed," and who had driven the east coast of the USA.
     And there were the long course guys who were teasing me about my bright green compression socks.  :)

People weren't kidding when they said the second half was the tougher half of the course. The hills were nonstop, and even the downhill and flat sections became tough to run because my legs and energy were so beat up. I was soaked, worked, and tiring, but I kept moving forward. As tough as the run was, I never stopped taking in all that I saw. The locals were enthusiastically supporting us the whole day -- offering sprays from their water sprinklers and hoses, and drinks of water from their kitchen cups. Runners all around me shared the cups with each other and handed them back to the owners to refill for the next group. The support was incredible.

One of my favorite parts of the day were the constant cheers by the volunteers and spectators. The cheers were always the same, and done in such a positive, cheerful voice: 
     "Well Done!"
     "Brilliant!"
     "Keep Going!"
Everyone was truly fantastic.

Throughout the day we ran along huge fields of sheep and horses and cows. The sky was a clear blue and the views were amazing. Rolling hills, pastures of flowers, lots of wide open land, and cute little villages.

Right around mile 19 or so we ran along the top of a cliff overlooking the water and, as I was warned, "It'll take your breath away -- whatever breath you have left."  It sure did. The sandy beach and sparkling blue water set against green pastured cliffsides was like nothing I'd ever seen, and something I felt certain I'd never see during a marathon again. I stopped for a moment and soaked it all in.  This view, this whole day's experience, was what I'd looked forward to. It didn't matter about losing minutes at the water stop before the half or here at this cliff, or stopping to walk up a hill when I was chatting with a fellow runner. This was proving to be an incredible (although super tough) experience.

                                           

Just past the cliff overlooking the beach, we headed up the huge climbs of Manorbier.  I was told this would be the steepest climb, and it was. And it lasted probably a mile and a half.  This section was mainly wooded -- like we were climbing through a forest path -- so it was shaded quite a bit, which helped. Not a single person around me was running, though, and it's this part of the course that slowed my overall time quite a bit.

Soon enough, we were through the climb and running through a town and the ridgeway again, and just like that I only had 3 miles to go. There had been only one moment earlier on the day, despite drinking and fueling a lot, that I felt woozy, and I'd stopped for a moment at the top of a climb to get my wits about me under the shade of a tree. By mile 23, however, the only problem I had -- besides my legs being toast and my energy lacking -- was that my left ear was clogged again. Couldn't hear out of it, which has happened before. My back also started hurting late in these miles. BUT, as we made our way down off the ridgeway and to the final climb into town, none of that mattered. I was almost at the finish.

That final climb up into town was our last super steep incline and as soon as we made it to the top we were passing the B&B where I was staying. As I started running again for my final push to the finish line, I dropped my handheld onto the patio of the B&B and rounded the corner.  One more turn to go, and the last of the run would be downhill and through the finish chute.

Just around that last corner, I saw my dad. He high-fived me as I said, "That was really hard. That was REALLY hard."  He smiled, said he'd see me at the finish, and I pushed on.

Entering the chute, all I kept thinking was, "I did it!"  I made it to the red-carpet finish. It was incredible to run through the crowds, on the bright red carpet, and feel the energy of the day. I saw my mom on my right, soaked up the unbelievable atmosphere of the finish chute, and crossed the line.
                                                                
5:08. My slowest marathon by far.
I didn't care.

They put the medal around my neck, I heard more "Well Done's," and got my picture snapped. I was spent. I anticipated this race taking me about 5 hours, and that's what it did. And it was interesting to learn that even the winners had a tough day. The winning time was 3:09.

But it was amazing.

I made my way all the way down the hill to the beach, stripped off my shoes, and walked right into the icy water of this bay off the Atlantic Ocean. Instant ice bath. My mom handed me a slushie and I sat there.

 

It took several achingly cold minutes of dunking my head under and splashing my face to cool my body temperature down, and I soaked it all in...  The incredibly tough course, the hot hot heat, the full sun. The cheery volunteers and spectators. The views, the scenery.

And despite the impossible climb back up the hill from the beach to our B&B, I loved it.  All of it. 

 It was the toughest, most beautiful marathon ever.

Thanks, Wales.