Conwy Half Marathon 2021

This was initially supposed to happen in 2020, as part of my ‘scenic half marathon’ tour - weekends somewhere ‘nice’, a spot of sightseeing and a run on the Sunday morning… that ‘c’ word got in the way and everything got kicked down the road for a year. In the meantime, out of a mix of lockdown boredom and mental ill-health, my running had kicked up a notch or two - a marathon (and the associated training) was endured/overcome, so after the summer hols, I decided to follow a fairly serious training programme to give this run a proper go. Interval sessions, hill repeats, lots of long runs etc etc, in contrast to my more usual languid approach of ‘maybe do a couple of longer runs’. So training started to move in a purposeful manner. At the same time, I began to notice nephew Josh posting some pretty fast and pretty long runs down in Cardiff, as a recent convert to pavement bashing. I dropped him a line to asked if he fancied entering a race some time and listed what I was up to, to which he replied (with indecent haste) that he had entered Conwy then and there. Huzzah! Someone else in the family running with me in a race. A first! Magic!!

The last time I ran against Josh, he was 5 years old and challenged me to a race across my back garden - he was allowed to run facing forwards, whilst I had to run backwards. Sorry to report that I channelled ‘Competitive Dad’ out of the Fast Show and beat him, which made him cry. Looking at his Strava times, it looked like revenge was going to be served very cold indeed some 26 years later. So the day finally dawned, chilly and clear with a stiff northerly breeze. The night before was the usual mix of struggling to sleep, wondering why I have such a stupid hobby and pondering how badly Josh was going to hand my arse to me. The compact walled centre of Conwy filled up with runners in the way a city centre fills up prior to a football match… it’s always the friendliest of crowds, with lots of random chatting, asking about vests (“Clapham in London or Clapham in North Yorkshire?!”) and mutual support. The pretty little quayside in Conwy was rammed ready for the start under the walls of the castle, and I happily managed to bump into Josh, having made no firm arrangements to find him. I managed to miss Clare from work, who was making her debut at the distance too on her home patch, digging in to get round in sub 2:15 if she could.

Josh, meanwhile, had been aiming for a sub 1:45 until he ran 1:43 in training, while I was tentatively aiming for around the same mark and seeing how my ‘cheaty’ shoes would affect things. As a boring aside, I ran in my Meltham vest (complete with my ‘666’ number as part of a Robert Johnson style pact with the devil/random number allocation - delete as preferred) and shorts with Under Armour compression stuff beneath and Hoka Rocket X’s and a couple of Kendal Mint Cake energy gels for mile 4 and 8. We started together with the 1.45 pacers. So over the line and off.... At which point my watch went funny and decided to display the time of day only. In hindsight, this was pretty good and I might leave it like that - no endless thoughts of ‘I’m 2 seconds slower than I wanted that mile at that means I’m blah blah blah’

We rapidly moved past the pacers, making a steady enough start. The route is essential an ‘out and back’ one with a loop around the Great Orme at Llandudno in the middle, complete with a stiff climb. After a couple of miles, Josh began to pull out a steady lead ahead of me, remaining just in sight in his bright yellow hat, but out of contact around a minute ahead. The first 4 miles were pretty flat before we skirted the side of Llandudno, passing a samba band banging out a rhythm and began the climb up the Orme. The bulk of the 300m of climbing came in this 3 mile stretch of the race, with steady ups, flat sections, corners turned and more ups, before the final corner to reveal the road heading very steeply up. The wind was fully in our faces, just to make it all a bit more difficult too. Once again, the support on the course was almost overwhelming, both from the very frequent marshalls, who I mostly managed to thank, and from large crowds of onlookers. As ever, my distinctive vest earned me a fair few ‘Go on Meltham’s’ from other runners and the large crowd of supporters from Sowerby Snails who had turned up on a bus. Clare reported that she had seen both plenty of her old school friends and some signs urging her onwards. It does make such a difference. At one point, I was running behind a bloke with ‘Rob’ so was accompanied by endless cries of ‘Go on Rob’. Strangely, these continued after I overtook him, and it took a while before I remembered my name was printed on my race number!

I had settled into a familiar little group of runners, swapping places fairly regularly - some better going up, some better going down… The most constant of these was a lady from Penny Lane Striders, who exchanged places with me regularly and had a distinctive pattern of breathing - ‘pant, pant, SQUEAK!’... I could soon recognise when she was behind me. Josh, meanwhile, was just in vision somewhere up the road, but well out of contact. Ah well. The views in this section were fabulous - the air was gin clear, and turning the corner on the Orme revealed Anglesey off to one side, Snowdonia ahead (the Carnedds, I think…) and Conwy Castle and the finish some 5 miles ahead, sunshine glistening off the estuary. There was now a very steep descent, which always favours us lardier runners - gravity does the work, so I turned in a 7 minute mile here, before we joined on to the ‘back section’ of the route for the final 4 miles home. There were still some runners coming the other way, including a group carrying sacks of coal. Just when you thought you were having a tough day… There was one last steady climb by a golf course, followed by a drop down to a level last couple of miles. Knees up. Form. Run. Dig in. The panting again appeared behind me at this point - my compadre from Penny Lane. It was quite annoying, so I sped up to try and shake her off. But couldn’t. The road had emptied out by now, so I could pick a line over the tarmac - avoid the lines! - and as I weaved looking for the smoothest surface, she followed, using me as a pacer. It was kind of annoying, but I couldn’t shake her, no matter how hard I tried. The extra impetus had another effect, though...

I kept catching glances of the yellow hat, and it seemed that I was beginning to reel in Joshua David Robson. My mind started to wander - maybe we could finish together? Maybe I could run over the finish line backwards? Actually, maybe I should be ‘Competitive Dad’ again and beat him while I still can. He gradually got closer, unaware of me coming, so I eased off 10 yards back for a little while, then went for it and burst past, trying to create an instant, soul destroying gap. Josh gave a little ‘ugh’ as I overtook him, and I expected him to come blasting straight past again, so I just pushed on as hard as I could with under a mile to go. The route then went up quite steeply to gain the bridge back to Conwy where Kath was stood, bellowing that I was ahead of Josh and could beat him… I was aware of that, thanks!

So all ahead flank, onto the bridge, over the evil little hump in the middle and the fin… ah no, there’s two bridges. Over the second one, hearing footsteps, carving past runners a plenty. Leggy lady in the blue top. Got her. Green shirt bloke.. Past him. Etc etc. In my zeal to stay ahead of Josh, I eventually put 10 places between us. So over the finish, exhilaration checking the clock time of 1:41 something (I had ignored my watch throughout) and collapse. Then hugs with the Penny Lane lady called Charlotte, who offered profuse thanks for the tow and hugs with Josh. I’m surprised I beat him, and to be honest, it doesn’t matter in the slightest. You are only ever racing yourself, and I had just posted my fastest half time for six years. The nephew had enjoyed himself enormously and made a really brilliant start to his road racing journey. His cold in the week before had probably taken a couple of minutes out of him… but I doubt I’ll ever get the better of him again. Another winter of running and he’s going to be impossible to beat.

I was pretty chuffed with how it all went. It was my fastest time for a half since January 2015, due to a mix of the training and the cheaty shoes. The shoes definitely make a difference and reward any effort at running fast with a little extra help. I’m suspecting sales in Cardiff are going to be increasing shortly too! My legs ached hugely afterwards, though and I had some spasms in my arches and calves post race - I guess that’s the downside of a lightweight and extra springy shoe when attached to a rather chunky 56 year old. It is hard to compare race performance - this one had over 300 metres of climb, while my other ‘fast’ ones were much flatter or downhill. So I guess this one rates as a pretty good showing overall, if not the best. Anyway, who cares. It was beautiful, the sun shone, the event was superbly organised by ‘Run Wales’ and I got to go to the pub afterwards. We all want to go back and do it again... hopefully we can get Dylan along too. Results Robba - 1:41:16 in 335th Joshie - 1:41:52 in 348th Clare - 2:02:34 in 977th

Marathon Day… Brathay Windermere Marathon, 23.5.21

The idea of running a marathon randomly popped into my head during the January lockdown after a long run round the Meltham Way with Rach. It seemed a pretty safe bet on several counts, as the race I fancied doing looked unlikely to go ahead even if my body managed to last through the training schedule. So it felt like a safe bit of purposeful winter training with just a vague aspiration towards a race at the end of it.

I had a look online for training plans, having previously failed with a diy attempt in 2015, and settled on a Runner’s World ‘intermediate’ plan. Although I hadn’t run further than 17 miles in a race before, the ‘beginners’ schedule, aimed at novices trying to get round the course, seemed a bit easy. The ‘intermediate’ was a step up in seriousness, with hill and sprint training mixed in amongst ever lengthening mileage. The first triumph, therefore, was completing the training plan without too many hitches. Rach gradually came on board, initially coming out for the weekend ‘long runs’ then eventually entering the race as she was training for it. In total, I covered 621 miles between the end of January and race day, which equals a year’s worth of ‘normal’ running and racing, covering an ‘eventful’ little spell in life and giving me a nice sense of structure and purpose. And completing the final training run on schedule the day before race day felt pretty brilliant. Mission accomplished!

Training... done!

Everything seemed to fall into place with the race, as changes in Government rules meant that the proposed date of 23 May began to look more viable, and by mid-April, the Brathay Trust nailed their colours to the mast and the race was on. Their optimistic date turned out to be the first Sunday it could go ahead. The stars had lined up.

No one told the weather about this, and Cumbria duly produced one of those gruesome late spring days that usually leaves you sheltering in a pub in sopping walking gear. As we drove down to the start at Brathay, the heavens opened with that bouncing rain, and more was forecast throughout the day. Our first 12 miles included a start in a monsoon wearing coats, which slacked away to drizzle (coats removed on the hoof), an intense hail storm and several short and sharp downpours, which seemed to last about as long as it took to think ‘I’m going to have to get my coat back out of the bag’. I had been looking forward to finally enjoying a long run without my little rucksack, but the weather scuppered that. The extra layer seemed a sensible precaution against possible hypothermia. The first half was grim, weather wise.

Coats off

The marathon started in a socially distanced way, with groups of 40 heading off at 5 minute time intervals over the course of 2 hours. I booked the same start time with Rach, and we headed off with the intention of running the first 15 miles together at a steady pace and then seeing how the latter part of the race went. It was a nice social chatty pace, talking to other runners as we went, and the staggered start meant the road was nice and empty, either overtaking slower runners (including a bloke dressed as a rhino) or being burned off by gangly youths. We settled down into a strung out group with a lady in bright leggings, another from Clowne RC and a couple of blokes who we kept swapping positions with.

Just after the turn at Newby Bridge, I took advantage of an open field gate and stepped out for a wee, returning to find Rach almost out of sight up the road. It took a good mile to reel her back in, and as I caught her, she told me to keep going, so I left her behind. The course at this point was seriously ‘undulating’, with lots of steep hills heading up towards Bowness. It was hard going, plodding and noting the mile markers as they came up. 16… 17… Soon, we spat out into Bowness through a large crowd of cheering people, at which point Rach reappeared alongside. As we snaked through the back streets in town, I seemed to lose her again. Ah well. I was beginning to think we’d make it round together.

All the way round the course, the support from folks in hi-viz vests and members of the public was fantastic. I haven’t raced since early 2020, and had rather forgotten what it was like to be randomly cheered, applauded, encouraged and ribbed by members of the public. It was almost overwhelming at points and I felt a bit choked up by it all. 

Pretending to run up the massive hill at 20 miles

On the second part of the course, the quicker runners began to pile past. The organisers had encouraged them to start later, so with some regularity a tall angular youth would come steaming past, typically sporting a pair of those hyper-expensive cheaty Nike shoes. It was my first sight of these being used in anger, and they seemed the default shoe for the speedy lads. They looked terrible though, producing a strange rocking gait with the ankles turning in. Yep mate, your form is shit, I thought as another 6 foot 4 bloke hurtled past in his £250 shoes. They also produced a slight odd ‘flapping’ noise, as if the runner was wearing flippers. I think I’m probably not quick enough over this distance for there to by any point in getting some, but if I start to push my 10k time again, then… maybe. Marginal gains and whatnot.

The route turned out onto the main road to Ambleside and was mainly downhill now, so it was just a case of digging in, emptying the head of extraneous thoughts and running. Every time another ‘it’s only 4 more miles and that’s the same as…’ thought cropped up, it was parked again. Run. Focus. Form. Pick your sodding legs up. I managed to do the whole thing with a pretty empty head, which made it rather easier, I guess. I’m not running another one with a busy mind as an experiment, though.

I was looking forward to turning into Ambleside, as Kath was marshalling at the 25 mile marker. As I approached her spot, glory be, Rach came alongside and then overtook as I stopped to give Kath a kiss. It then seemed that I couldn’t reel her back in over the final mile, but once turning onto Brathay, there was a very steep climb up to the finish, just over the brow of a hill, and she was reduced to a walk, so I managed to haul myself back on terms and we crossed the line together, holding hands. This was pretty much by accident, but as our training was so similar, I guess we were likely to finish near each other. But it was fitting to cross the line together.

Finishing together... the happiest of accidents

The time was rapidly texted to our phones, revealing that we had run an identical 4 hours 14 minutes and 9 seconds. This is of course above the desirable ‘4 hour’ mark and therefore counts as slow on paper, but given the course and the continual undulations and brutal hills at mile 7 and mile 20, it’s not as bad as it first looks. In total, there is 1,900 foot of ascent on the course, so it was never going to be a quick blast. A subsequent study of the seasoned marathon runners who finished around us on ‘RunBritain’ (I know, what a saddo!) showed them to be all running around the 3:45 mark and it felt like we would have gone about half an hour faster on the flat. I’m in no particular hurry to test the hypothesis, though. And Rach incidentally bested her marathon pb by some 20 minutes compared to the flat of Chester. All that training!

Rather brutal, but beautiful

Non-runners often ask about how my knees are, as ‘running knackers your knees’ seems to be a popular (but erroneous) myth. The knees are indeed fine, but the ankle I twisted playing football in the 1980’s grumbles once a run goes into double figures, while a sore shin on the opposite leg began to bother me in the last week or so before the race. Both will settle down with a bit of a rest.

Moving forward, the ‘never again’ feeling is already fading and being replaced with a ‘what would my flat time be’? I really enjoyed the training, so maybe next winter, I’ll be back on the TPT… or maybe not.

Finally, thanks to my sponsors who raised over £500 which will provide urgently needed medical treatment in Nepal. Cheers everyone!