Ahh, what can I say, I love Autumn. Cobalt skies, cooling temperatures, crisp mornings and the first signs of winter. It's also the season where summer miles can come to fruition in two shin splinting, toenail dropping, calf crunching Welsh corkers - The Snowdonia Marathon and The Beacons Ultra.
I have a soft spot for Snowdon, it was my first marathon and I hold the race, the competitors, the volunteers and the finishers cup of tea with highest regard. The weather is, as always, a treat. Right angled rain and windy uppercuts. I've written here before about the ins and outs of this race, but as per usual, mile 21 never fails to impress! This year I was joined by two friends, Sam and Imo, who also decided to use Snowdonia as their introduction to marathon running and who both now proudly hold Snowdonia Marathon slate coasters.
I have only one complaint with the Snowdonia Marathon. Last year I didn't get a place. SOLD OUT. Because of those two little words I will never hold the 28th Snowdonia Marathon slate coaster and it will always be missing from my coaster collection. It may seem like a trivial thing but those coasters that sit unnoticed on the sideboard, preventing hazardous candle drips, propping Birthday cards that lack sufficient standing stamina, defending cloudy vase prints from Mamgu's G-Plan veneer, mean the world to me. I have no interest in finishers medals, race numbers are dumped with empty gel packets, but those coasters sit quietly in the corner of the room, with tales of Snowdon running through their foliaton.
This year, alongside my coaster, I have some Beacons Ultra Old Red Sandstone trophies. These trophies, however, are deeply engrained into my elbow, forearm and thigh. Mile 40ish into a 46 mile run and I decided, on a fast rocky downhill section to get my left foot neatly wedged between two large stones. This resulted in a not-so-Superman style flight and a meeting with mud, rock and water. It shook me up. It happened so quickly that I had no time to think until I was looking straight up into the sky. There was heavy mist all day and I was staring into a long, luminous, grey-white depth. Focusless. A beautiful vastness of nothing. Then my elbow sent its appropriate neurotransmissions and I shot up pretty quick clutching my bloodied arm. I spat grainy red dirt from my mouth. Hopping from one foot to another, I was shouting things that I wouldn't even bless Ramsey's ears with. I cursed myself with further profanity, brushed down and checked all body parts could still move. I got back into stride and continued forward progress with a tweaked ankle and a limp.
Sitting with a beer resting on my new Welsh slate coaster and stroking my ever tightening elbow scab, I can now look back at this Autumns racing with fond memories.The coaster will soon find its way back over to the corner of the room and my elbow, knee and thigh scabs will heal up and all but disappear. What wont disappear though, are the moments in a run that can never quite be described. The camaraderie, the self-doubt, the perseverance, the views, the ground underfoot, the last mile, the moment a woodpecker flies out in front of you along a country lane or a sheep seems to be snarling at you.
I've been trying to think which memory from this years races I hold most dear and its been a close call. I thought at first it was the moment a shard of light broke through the clouds in Snowdon and cast a huge spotlight across the floor of a valley. It was like a theatre spot, scanning and highlighting the land in an otherwise grey and damp surrounding. It was breathtaking. But the winner this year was running through forests in the Beacons on a fire track alongside a very experienced ultra runner, named Dee. As we chatted about races, dreams and ambitions we ran passed one of the other racers. He was squatting by the side of the track, about 3 metres from our position, running tights down, knees up by his ears, taking a very large No.2. He was laughing and shouting:
'Nothing to see here! Nothing to see here!'
It was so large, in fact, that we could see it from across the track and Dee instantly shouted back:
'You should chop that off and put it on your mantelpiece, look at the size of it!'
It was quite impressive as far as these things go. I'm not sure if he kept it as a memento of the journey but I suspect he left it in situ. Memories like these, joking about a grown man defecating on the side of a fire track, are what it's all about. Whether you choose to show off your shit on the mantelpiece or happily watch your bloodied scab recede with time, it's the collection of all of these real memories growing with every race that become the proper trophies, the proper Finishers Prize.
As we reached the forest edge Dee turned and with his final words of wisdom shouted out:
'Well, I guess when you gotta go, you just gotta go!'
Priceless.
