Gus Glazebrook

I never considered that a complete amateur like me had any business standing on the start line of the Montane Dragon’s Back Race®, but there I was, having come unscathed through the terrors of kit check, in Conwy Castle. I’ve been running for about ten years and I’ve done lots of ultras on the south west coast path, Dartmoor and the Brecon Beacons, generally scraping into the first 25% but always finishing.

I wasn’t too worried about day one. After some very hot training on the coast path I knew that I needed a light coloured hat, a lot of sun block and 2.5 litres of water to cover twenty miles between support points, and this bore fruit. The ascent of Tryfan was tough, but the usual “one foot in front of the other” got me to the great scrambling at the top, and Crib Goch was just incredible. Late evening sun, no wind, dry rock and no rush meant that I could just take in the incredible beauty of it all and be thankful for being there.

Tuesday was long and hot but the awesome views of the sea and mountains ahead and behind made it worthwhile. Also I stopped being lazy and navigating by following people; by this point the crowds had thinned so I got out the map and GPS and took responsibility for myself. Which paid off when I got into camp with fifteen minutes to spare.

On Wednesday things didn’t go so well. Cadair Idris was stunning with a welcome cool breeze, but I fell apart on the gentle grassy slope of Tarren Hendre and spent enough time leaning on fence posts, lying on the ground and generally feeling sorry for myself to put me behind the curve. Coming along the path to the notorious out and back of Tarren y Gesail I decided to skip it, but when it came to the junction in the path I somehow found myself on the way up to the top, having pulled myself out of the low moment, and dibbed at the summit. This also meant that I caught another competitor who gave me a lot of moral support (and some great laughs) for the rest of the race. Timed out at Mach, but in reality I didn’t have the last ten miles in my legs anyway and I was surprised by how easily I accepted that the baby dragon had slipped away from me. Back to camp in the bus with my tail between my legs, determined to make the best of the rest of the race.

Enjoying the hills on a sunny day two! ©Bib Number Photography

Thursday was a great day – if anyone thinks those are tussocks they haven’t been to Dartmoor and I was in my element. Met some great people and had a long and interesting conversation about recycling (although it may only have been interesting to the two of us who are in the business).

I knew Friday was going to be tough and probably beyond me, but I was determined to get at least to Pont Ar Daf. Being escorted across the road in Llandovery by the lollipop man kept me smiling for the next hour, but the Beacons took their toll and I was timed out at Pont Ar Daf. Again I was only fifteen minutes behind the curve, and in previous races I would have been ahead of the cut-off, but in reality I was done at this point and the bus was the best option.

Saturday came with the added stress of not being allowed to start until 07:00, and so our little band set out at dead on 07:00, determined to get to Cardiff within the cut-off. In fact we need not have worried as we made it in around twelve hours, despite the slightest uphill reducing me to a crawl. There was a magical moment when we crested a hill and saw the first glimpse of the Bristol Channel and I stopped here for five minutes to look back at where we had come from and reflect on what we had done. The downside of this was that, despite knowing that we had fifteen miles to go, I thought we’d finished and the last section took some resolve to complete. But I did cross the line, on my own two feet, having walked (and occasionally run) about 216 miles from Conwy, and meeting my wife and our dogs was an emotional moment. I managed to hold it together for the finish line, but then the highlight films came up on the big screen and I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of the country we had travelled through.

I said loudly and often, before and during the event, that it was a one shot deal for me and I wouldn’t be back. So, a week after the finish, without any decision making on my part, I realised that all being well I will be back in 2023 and this time it’s serious. I’m never going to be fast, but if I can maintain a better pace on the uphills I can sneak in under the cut-offs. 2021 was an amazing experience; hopefully I can capitalise on this and complete.

It has taken me a long time to process how I feel about the event. I’m not going to pretend it was fun from start to finish (I found camp life wearing – my top tip is to get a sleeping bag that fits easily into your dry bag, because starting each day with a fifteen minute fight with your sleeping bag is tedious), some of the hills were very hard work and for a plodder like me the long level sections took some grinding out. Despite not having completed, I’m so glad that I stuck with it and kept on travelling through Wales. Looking back on it now, a month later, I’ve got a huge bank of incredible memories, of views, of people and of emotions. The crew were all amazing and the food was excellent and exactly what was needed. One of the things that I’m taking away from it is the power of that massive wave of positive energy that we all rode to Cardiff. Positive, optimistic and cheerful people, whether runners or crew, can achieve amazing things. I’m not one for hyperbole but that was an epic week: my huge thanks to everyone who made it possible for a complete amateur like me to mix with real athletes and have such an incredible experience.

Gus reaches the finish line at Cardiff Castle ©Bib Number Photography