I still haven't fully summarised my thoughts about the Welsh Castles Relay. Maybe I don't need to, but no natural conclusion has landed on my lap, as it often does. While much of Wales was either under water or floating away, the prospect of spending all weekend in a small yellow minibus after a busy week was less than appealing. Then there was the small matter of my run leg. 12.5 miles, 1300 feet of climb and a finish 930 feet higher than the start was one thing, but looking at results from previous years, this is clearly a serious event. Daunting, scared...I could think of little else and simply wanted it to be over. Yet once again, this was to be one of those trips that just as it starts, you have a feeling that by the time it ends, there will be story to tell, adventures experienced and a general degree of self satisfaction that pushing yourself a little out of your comfort zone can bring huge rewards to your well being.
This was one of those events that (cliche alert) was greater than the sum of its parts. And there were certainly many parts...60 teams, 20 legs with a dedicated runner for each, 210 miles, myriad support vehicles and supporters, it was like a running equivalent of the Tour de France...except in Wales. This little train circumnavigated through some of the most stunning countryside in the UK. Even the sun shone eventually and new friendships and camaraderie made, all of which was pure bonus to my initial expectations.
I couldn't have got it more wrong. It was non-stop activity from the go. So much so, that after supporting your team mates, helping to marshal, getting involved in the mammoth logistics of dropping off the next runners to go and picking up runners as they finished, all against a ticking clock, the only downtime of the whole weekend was during my run. It was strangely eerie, lonely almost. I had the first leg of Sunday morning. It was beautiful. There were only ever 60 runners in each leg, but with 60 teams of 19 people there to cheer you.
Once the gun had gone, they'd all jump into cars and minibuses and drive to the finish of your leg and start of the next...and so it repeated, 20 times over. Once the fancy vans and cars had passed, all cheering you, it was quiet as the field spread out. At one point on my leg, I could see no one ahead and no behind for about half an hour or more. It was a difficult leg, essentially up hill all the way, but steady. I was pleased with my time, 1.29 for 12.5 miles, that's not far off my half marathon best pace, and this was up hill. Yet, I came 43rd.
And this was an issue of the whole event, this competition. How do you measure your own performance against those other teams? Ours was a mixed ability team, as were most. Yet we just turned up, allocated legs at random, although they were graded in difficulty 1 - 3. Mine was a 3 - mountainous! Perhaps other teams fielded their climbing specialists...or perhaps I just wasn't very good. But as a team, we came 31st out of the 60. Not bad. Our club recognises we didn't field our best team, but I contest that.
We were our best team, we are the team that turned out, made the commitment and took the challenge. Better than that, we were the team rewarded with a running around experience that was up there with the best. We ran hard, we delivered each runner to the start on time, left no runner behind, provided marshals, supported each other on the road and we competed while others participated. Best of all, we had fun. And that little yellow bus that the other teams all laughed at, it became our friend and home.
