Report by Emma Jones.
Traditionally run in opposite directions each year, this time the classic Brecon Beacons Fell Race was run clockwise – starting nice and flat half way along the dam below Talybont Reservoir and finishing at the entrance to the water works just below (after a 20 mile circuit of some of the main summits that make up the Beacons). There were 4 Crofties on the start line, including me around two thirds of the way through the pack. I carefully dodged a few potholes at the start and all was going well as we turned into the woods. Then, due to a clever little short-cut taken by all the runners behind me, I found myself dead last through a section of muddy single track up through the woods. With the energy saved on that first part of the climb, once we reached the open fell, I slowly began to claw my way back – amazingly overtaking two runners on the steep climb. Then, more true to character, I passed a couple of others on the first glorious descent. At the bottom my next targets were just in sight, though still some way off. A determined run/walk up the next relatively gentle incline gradually reeled them in, while the chap I had passed first now overtook me with a cheery hello. Flora and then Greg had by now come into view so I continued my run/walk effort to catch both by the top of the next hill.
There was a soft boggy section ahead, not often walked, but too often travelled by motorbike it seemed. Soon the soggy troughs were too deep and too wide for me to leap and much time was lost bog skirting and hopping. Try as I might I couldn’t make any gains on the next group ahead. Coming down from the trig I put my foot in hole, which sent me rolling momentarily, but this was soft ground, nothing like last year’s bloody trips on stony earth – the scars of which I still bear. Suffice to say I was soon off again in pursuit, thoughts of the cut-off time at the water station now looming large.
10 minutes to go. For now I had to temper my pace to prevent further mishap as I negotiated a slippery narrow sheep track above a ravine, but once on the road and over the cattle grid the next turn was on to gently descending forest track – time to let all the breaks go. I was just close enough to see the group ahead take the right fork on the trail so, leaving my map in my pocket, I set off in hot pursuit. With less than 5 minutes to go I passed a relaxed looking Lou and Nikki, “can’t stop” I yelled “I’m just about to miss the cut off” a chat would have been great, but as it was I just made the cut-off with 0 seconds to spare – the last one through.
Greg, not far behind had taken the wrong fork at the junction and Flora too, which resulted in them being stopped and ordered to take the low path back. Not much shorter in distance than the high route, just a few peaks less. They rejoined the race route proper for the final summit and while disappointed and from what I gather not racing any more, they at least got the kudos of finishing with the leaders. Unlike me, I was now last, again!
The group ahead had spent longer at the checkpoint, so a little trot to catch up brought me some company while we strolled together on the flat road. Over the next bridge and onto the incline though the race was on again. The girls headed off the track to the left and my companion from the first hill was my uphill companion once more. The girls had misjudged and gone too far left and while I reached the trig first my companion showed his superior strength and soon shot off, never to be caught again. Along the next ridge I kept up my run/walk rhythm and passed three more, losing ground again to the third as we climbed Corn Du. Over Pen-y-Fan he was still ahead and while my descent was the quicker he caught me again on y Gribin.
From the summit the views were glorious, a far cry from last year’s race which was entirely cloaked in thick drenching and world shrinking cloud. I hadn’t expected to see any more racers from that point at all, but at the bottom there was my former companion and stretched out along the climb ahead were many, many more racers. Could Flora and Greg be there? As it turned out they must have passed by some time before, but perhaps it was Eric on the horizon ahead? I dug deep and continued on. The climb took an age, but near the top I could see I was making gains. I knew there was relatively flat around the next ridge and a little skipping over boulders had me beginning to overtake again. All I had to do now was make sure I turned off at the right point towards the final checkpoint and stay on my feet – having shredded my leggings and my hands on this path in the past, the gravel and boulder combination now always makes me nervous.
Anyway, this time I made it unscathed, up hill, trot, walk, trot, be sure to step on each boulder and resist temptation to leap. Actually, the leaders might have leapt, but at this point, 17 odd miles in it was no longer a word in my vocabulary. Passing a couple of casualties I realised what the day had become – hot and sunny, yes, in August 2023! We had begun with drizzle under thick summit hugging cloud, but now cramp and sunburn were beginning to show. It was high time I got down before succumbing too. I dashed over the edge, found a grassy line down and was off. There was no letting up now, Dave whom I’d traded places with and chatted to a few times already was just ahead and sensibly attired in long sleeves. A lumpy tussock jumped out to stop me but it was soft and the subsequent turned ankle nothing to worry about, so I took advantage of the gradient and snook ahead.
Next I passed an extremely red skinned young man in a vest top, but the scarlet T-shirt I could see below was pulling away fast. I kept pushing but he completely disappeared from sight over the next peak and when down in the trees beyond I was again reminded how close to the edge we were – as my watch beeped another kilometre I lost concentration for a moment and slipped into a deep grass covered rut (actually and perhaps metaphorically too). Cramps seared up my leg and I hopped to the next gate expecting to crawl from there, but putting my foot to the ground the cramps subsided and I found I could still run. Onto the tarmac, down the hill, then right onto the road. How far was there still to go? I couldn’t remember but just 100 metres ahead a scarlet shirt was – walking. As he summited the brow of the next incline he broke into a run again and was away. Rounding the bend and summiting myself I could see why – just 100 metres ahead, there was the finish. I had made it too, so happy to see Flora’s smiling face waiting for me as I checked in.
Final Results:
Medium Course Greg 1st 3:51:27, Flora 2nd 3:51:35
Long Course Eric 38/64 4:03:29, Emma 49/64 4:36:06 (2nd FV40)
It was nice to finish just half an hour behind Eric instead of the expected many hours, but my bubble was burst when he said he was only out for a training run, practising for bigger and better things. Then just two days later he proved his youth and capacity for recovery once more by setting a new Bircher course record, while I was too fragile to run at all. He’ll be somewhere up front and hours ahead next time for sure 🙂
