soulchaser

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Runners began descending en masse today in the little lakeside town of Llanberis, nestled between the mountains of Snowdonia and snugly tucked in by a constant blanket of ominous looking clouds. Dark, grey, and heavy, they have been swelling over the two days since I arrived, and are due to burst tomorrow as we start the marathon.


I say runners, but for the most part they are, like me, only runners in the official sense: they have entered the 2007 Snowdonia Marathon. Physically, mentally, professionally, we are no more runners than the usual summer hordes who flock to lovely little places like this in fairer weathers are mountaineers.


You can tell by the outfits. All the latest gear recommended in the latest magazines, shining, brand new, never used. Shopping for a bumbag (don't laugh, I'm experimenting) in one of the shops that thrive on us faux sportsmen I had to fight for space as people frantically threw cash at clerks for the latest lightweight, waterproof, breathable, eco-friendly, cow-pat fuelled jet pack to help them round the race (it's not cheating, everyone does it).


It was like Oxford Street on Christmas Eve, where mummies and daddies desperately try to make up for their lack of parenting with expensive gifts bought at the last minute with no real care or thought. Except here, their kids are each other and their parenting is their training, knowledge and ability. Thankfully my budget won't allow me to indulge in such nonsene, although I did spend a good 45 mins trying on long sleeved base layer watsits ranging from £30 to £65 before I escaped.


Tempting though it is (and perhaps it would be irresistably tempting if I did have the budget), I don't want to cover up my inexpereince with flash kit. If you're wearing flash kit, people expect you to do well, which is why everyone wants to wear it. I'm not going to do well! I know that. You know that. One look at my running shoes and anyone would know it! One look at my running shows makes my knees shake with fear of the coming onslaught. I still haven't fully recovered from the 10 miler all those weeks ago.


But, in all seriousness, I'm a little disappointed in that respect. I want to do well. What's the point otherwise? I haven't trained at all, my diet hasn't changed since I decided to do these runs, I didn't even cut down my drinking. The only thing I'm achieving through this lack of preparation is finding out whether or not I'm physically and mentally capable of running 26 miles with no prior warning.


Is this something I need to prove? Is some desperate film maker going to strap a bomb to my legs and tell me tht if I stop running they'll explode, and the only way to disarm them is by getting to a bomb disposal guy 26 miles away via a broken bridge and a love interest? Doubtful.


But nevertheless, I'm here, and I'm excited, if a little anxious. I've got my vaseline (for feet and balls), plasters (for nipples), loo roll (just in case), blister kit, energy gels, camera, smock, and a bumbag to put them all in.


Bring it on

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