The Dragon’s Back Race has been on my radar since it was resurrected in 2012, twenty years after the one and only previous edition. The concept of traversing the country of Wales along its spine, climbing almost all its summits, as fast as possible intrigued me. Claire was planning on doubling down on her trans-Scotland race from 2018 (Cape Wrath Ultra) and I decided to sign up and join her. It was all good in theory, but it's been a while since I've done a multi-day, body-trashing, ultra-endurance event, and to be honest, I wasn't sure it was still in me to run 315 km, mostly off-trail, in just five days. I knew I was capable of toughing it out, but I wasn't sure if I'd want to. You see, I'm getting a bit soft these days, especially if it gets to the point that I stop having fun. I am no longer motivated by finish lines, or pushing physical limits, or proving that I am tough. Therefore, the only way I was going to get from one end of Wales to the other, on foot, was to surrender to the journey, and find a way to love it. My goal was to forget about times and distances, and instead, embrace the expedition, look after myself, indulge in the views, and enjoy all the people along the way. The fear of missing out on new friends, shared experiences, funny moments, and gorgeous vistas would definitely be my primary driver.

Shortly after committing to this race, I moved to Australia, a country which is distinctly lacking in mountains, shitty weather, and off-piste running - not the ideal place to train for a monster like the Dragon’s Back Race. Instead, I rode my bike, took up kite-surfing and hoped for the best. To be fair, I also ran a little, lifted weights, did a couple of short rogaines, put in one +3800 m day, and fast-packed a 135 km trail in 36 hours just to remind myself what it feels like to do something really hard. I ignored the Facebook posts and Strava feeds that testified to everyone else's insane training regime and trusted that experience and a calm mind would compensate for my lack of physical preparedness.

It did.

Day 1

52 km, +3800 m, 12:14

It's really cool to start a race in a 700-year old castle. I closed my eyes, listened to the songs of the Welsh choir that were reverberating around the stone walls, and wondered what the next five days had in store. Dragonsback kicks off with the highlight reel of Wales - Tryfan and the Glyderau, the iconic razor-edged ridge of Crib Goch, and the highest mountain in Wales, Snowdon. I am more partial to scrambling than running, so this was my day. It was epic, airy, and indulgent and I loved every minute. I might have even giggled as we climbed, bum-scooted and hoop-hollered along Crib Goch in the afternoon sunshine. Despite the massive elevation and technical terrain, I arrived in camp feeling pretty good in body and optimistic in mind. Claire and I started and finished together, and shared the trail for most of the day, which was a really nice way to kick off the week.

This was my first ever stage race and I was looking forward to relaxed evenings eating and socializing. I even packed red wine and whisky in my overnight bag. But unfortunately, I found camp life a little stressful. The days on the trail were so long that I wanted to be in bed as soon as possible, but there was always so much to do first: get out of wet clothes, take a wet-wipe bath, hang damp gear, set up bedding, empty garbage, charge phone, re-pack the running pack, fill water bladder, dry feet, drink your chosen recovery elixir, walk over to the catering area, force down as much food as possible, make small talk with new friends, wash dishes, toilet, teeth, review route for next day, sleep. It might not sound like much but when you are exhausted, and battling the urge to just sit there on the tent floor with your gear exploded everywhere and stare into blank space, any small task seemed epic.

Day 2

58 km, +3600 m, 12:34

I woke just before 5 am each morning with the goal of being out on the course by 6.15. You can start any time between 6-9 am, but with tight, non-negotiable cut-offs, Claire and I aimed to get going early and build a safe buffer. They said that day two is the hardest - something about the ankle-breaking terrain, eight climbs, five kilometers of bog, and the "fury of the Moelwynion and Rhinogydd" - but that remained to to be seen. Claire and I stuck together again for most of the day but were joined on-and-off by a handful of new friends who were moving at various paces faster and slower than us. Overtaking and being overtaken by the same people each day was a useful time stamp and reassuring guide. My favourite time was always spent with the morning crew - Jono, the closet Welshman, Raver, the jokester Scotsman, and Carmine, the non-stop talking Italian. I have never laughed as hard as I did whenever they were around which made the kilometers tick over quickly. The views that afternoon were inspiring - all the way to Ireland, in fact - as the weather continued to be miraculously perfect. We descended Rhinog Fawr, Rhinog Fach, and Diffwys (far, f*ck, and fwuss) with the sun and a new crew of British friends, reaching pavement eight kilometers from the finish. I hate pavement so I made it go away by running fast. I left Claire and about 15 other people behind, stuck my head down, and finished the day off with a strong, consistent run. I was buoyed by how good I felt, but I would pay for all that pounding on day three!

Day 3

71 km, +3500 m, 13:25

Having completed day one and two without too much difficulty, I started to believe that I would finish this race. It was clear that I wouldn't be competitive and settled quite happily into the middle of the pack - plodding along, looking after myself, and never pushing too hard. Day three promised to be long and hilly and overcast. The morning was spent up in the clouds and mist along the 10 km ridge that extends to and from Cadir Idris. It was ethereal, and should have been enjoyed, but things started to unravel early. I stopped to adjust some taping on my foot and promptly left my gloves behind. I had to run back a few hundred meters to get them which made me a little cranky. I eventually caught back up to Claire and the regular morning crew but then she needed to stop to take care of something herself and we separated again. Things were starting to hurt today - my feet, my quads, and my stomach - and so I figured she'd re-catch me. Unfortunately, she didn't, and for some reason I found myself alone for most of the day. I even had to pull out the GPS app on my phone because for the first time in three days, I couldn't see people immediately ahead of me. You see, none of the 315 km course was flagged, with navigation being one of the things that initially drew me to this race. But most people had a fancy $1000 Garmin watch which helped them follow the route exactly without too much effort..... and then I just followed them. With all the technology available and the excellent weather, you'd have been hard pressed to get lost, and so my navigation superpowers were not really any use.

The near-vertical gratuitous up-and-down Tarren y Gasail destroyed some of my soul but it was partially repaired by the cold San Pellegrino Limonata I procured from the gas station as we passed through the small village of Machyneth right after. Claire came into the mid-way support point just as I was leaving, and again, I thought she'd catch me. Alas, I had a lonely afternoon crossing the high plateau of the Cambrian Mountains. The sun came out, it warmed up, and I grew tired of continually shoving food into my mouth. Not eating is never an option in ultras - I know that better than anyone - but I just zoned out and got out of the habit. Then my stomach shut down. I would put one cashew in my mouth, chew it thirty times, spend a few torturous moments willing myself to swallow, and then congratulate myself for doing so. The day dragged on, but eventually I reached the summit of Pen Pumlumon and stumbled down the the final 5 km to the finish. I was dizzy and nauseous and barely managed to take off my shoes before collapsing in the tent. All I wanted in the world was to go to sleep and wake up on a beach somewhere far away from the Welsh mountains. Alas, I was now three days deep into this monstrous journey and there was no way I was going to throw away that investment; and so, I forced myself over to the kitchen tent where I sat for two hours drinking broth and electrolytes until my stomach came good again. Getting up the next morning and facing another 71 km ultra-marathon would be impossible unless I held down something solid, so I sacrificed some sleep for the shepards pie I was eventually able to eat around 10.30 pm.

Discovering a TDG friend on the rooftop of Wales

Day 4

71 km, +2400 m, 13:39

Not surprisingly, I started day four feeling groggy. My feet hurt and my body was fatiguing. But, I had no blisters, I was able to eat, and I knew that this was the beginning of the end. My goal today was to go slowly, consume as much food as possible, recover my body and spirit, and finish with some motivation to crush the final day. Claire and I stuck together for the entire day which was fun. We enjoyed the expansive landscape of the Elan Valley, coordinated our stops for water, foot management and toileting, goofed off for the cameras, played some tunes, and chatted to the sheep. We even gave up 30 minutes for a cold drink at the pub in Elan Village. Day 1-3 had us playing, almost in circles, in the mountains of northern Wales, but at some point we had to stop messing around and get onto the business of crossing the entire country.....and that's what day four was for - southbound in the straightest line possible. By now I knew I was going to get to the end of this race, and so I just had to get through day four and put it behind me. I practiced the art of dissociating emotion and pain from some practical truths: the body can keep going, humans have endured far worse, keep moving forward and this too shall end.

I knew things were looking up when I ate three servings of vegetarian lasagna for dinner.

Day 5

63 km +2200 m, 10:20

I woke up to face my fifth ultra-marathon in five days feeling great - I still had no blisters and my body had started to recover from the previous four days of punishment. Spirits were also high in tent #19 (my home for the week) as all seven of us were still in the race and Julie was on track to win the coveted title of last place finisher - an accomplishment that is rewarded with the biggest dragon trophy imaginable. We had all witnessed her fight to reach the cut-offs each day and crawl into the tent after midnight for just a few hours of sleep, and her grit and positive attitude garnered so much of our respect and inspired us all.

Claire and I set a fast pace from the very start of day five. We blew through the village of Llandovery without so much as a glance inside the bakery. After yesterday's lollygagging, I was impatient to just go, go, go. Shortly after we passed through town, a fellow runner came up behind us and randomly gave us his extra freshly baked, jam doughnut. The camaraderie on the trail had been incredible all week - from someone holding your poles while you tie your shoe, to sharing food and laughs, and telling lies about how strong one looked. But that doughnut......that was the best.

I was so excited to explore the Black Mountains - the final treat of the week. The first major climb beckoned and I attacked it with joy. I was moving well, but powered by that doughnut (or something) Claire was super-charged. There was no way I could match her uphill run and she soon disappeared over the lip of Fan Brycheiniog and out of sight. As I descended to the col between that mountain and the next, I noticed a navigational shortcut for the first time this week and contoured around Picws Du rather than going up and over it. I felt quite chuffed about my windfall, picked up my pace, and slowly reeled in Claire three kilometers later. She had slowed down a little because her leg suddenly started hurting. She mentioned something about a cramp in her quad but told me it would go away with an e-cap and stretching. I moved past her and assumed she was right behind as I made another alternate route decision to contour rather than climb. She wasn't. Unfortunately, Claire got rhabdomyolysis 23 km from the end and was busy dealing with a real physical battle to the finish as I, unknowingly, continued along. I felt bad, but I had no idea something was really wrong until I found her in the medical tent a few hours later.

The last part of my journey wasn't quite as dramatic. My afternoon spent in the Black Mountains was definitely a highlight, but I was relieved to leave them behind and get those final miles done. The last nine kilometers were a mixture of pavement, trails, and farmer's fields, interrupted only by the frustrating necessity to hoist my exhausted body over at least 20 stiles. I was like a horse to the barn and just powered through it all.

I had strong final day, finishing way further up the field than the other days. But the finish line was anti-climatic, as it often is. Rather than sitting down to soak up the pride of my achievement, I beelined it straight for the wood-fired pizza van. Before I even took off my running pack, I ordered two pizzas and scoffed back a pink sherbet-covered Mr Whippy. It was the highlight of my week. That, and the shower, of course.

402 people started the Dragonsback Race and 260 finished. I came 141st, which seemed OK considering I went into it relatively untrained. Mostly, I was stoked to have run across Wales, to have experienced her varied geography, remote corners, weird place names, and cute horses. I learned to run on heather and fell and not trip on my face. I loved all the people I met and am thankful, in particular, to those with whom I shared the trail and a short conversation at some point every day: Jono, Dave and Carmine; the Swiss boys (Michael, Dan and Ian - even though he wasn't Swiss); Ed of number 333; "old-man-knees"; Robin, my Dutch TDG friend; fellow north American compatriots James, Jenny, Wade, Lourdes, Theresa, Kevin and Randy; the Irish girls Fiona and Avril; and my tentmates-turned-family Wes, Dirk, Mike, Pam, Julie and Ollie.

And of course, Claire......who got me into this nonsense in the first place and with whom I spent almost 60 hours of the race. She ran like a legend.

It's going to take me a while to recover from this one. Time to go kite-surfing.....

Enjoying the last evening of the Dragon’s Back Race

Blog taken from nickirehn.blogspot.com

2019 Dragon’s Back Race by Nicki Rehn