Wales 0 - 1 Mike

It will come as no great surprise to my readers that I’ve run up another hill, and that I’m writing this blog post several months after the event. I don’t know if this is just my enthusiasm for this challenge waning (I assumed it would ebb and flow like the tides anyway), or that I’m just settling into a more realistic routine. There are 103 county tops on my list, and including the run I’m about to describe, I’ve only managed to run 8 of them so far. That’s 5 last year, and just 3 so far this year, which is a little disappointing given we’re coming to the end of the 11th month and I need to do at least 2 more hills before the end of the year. Fear not, for I have a cunning plan, a plan so cunning that it would make Mr S. Baldric’s chest swell with pride - I’m going to do 2 tops in a single run (spoiler alert). That, along with one other that I’ve planned in Suffolk will finally take me into double figures before New year; mission complete (something about counting chickens comes to mind here :/). Hopefully, that will also give me the kick up the bum I need to keep up the momentum for next year (I’ve got a special one planned for New Year).

To the main event. Julie and I, with one of Julie’s friends, Victoria, were heading to the tip of North Wales for a friend’s wedding back in August. Julie spent a large chunk of her childhood in the North Welsh town of Ruthin (Rhuthun), which sits just at the feet of, what turns out to be, Flintshire’s tallest hill - Moel Famau. It took some discussion, and a lot of googling, to figure this out as I didn’t have my trusty spreadsheet to hand. We were also stopping with one of Julie’s childhood friends, Lindsey, who still lives in the area and was kindly putting us up for the night before we continued the long drive to the Llyn peninsula.

Unfortunately Julie’s senses kicked in for this run, or rather perhaps her childhood memories of climbing this hill, so I was without her lovely company (she kindly dropped us off at the start and picked us up at the end though). However, Victoria is a bit of a running fan. As she recently completed her first proper fell half marathon in Cumbria a month or so before, I (read: Julie) managed to cajole her in to joining me for this run. I’m pretty sure she enjoyed it, I certainly did.

We set off from Cambridge that morning, and got to Loggerheads about 2pm. This was going to be the first run that wasn’t circular, which was handy because it meant that Julie could drive round to the car park next to Moel Famau and meet us at the end. The start was reasonably flat on a dirt track, but still weaved up and down a little, providing us with the ideal warm up after sitting in the car for several hours. I really wasn’t sure how my fitness was doing - we’d come back from the alps 3 weeks previously, so hoped that I’d retained at least some of that hill fitness, but you can never be sure when all you have to run up in Cambridge are the stairs. We weaved around for a few miles, over the reasonably flat paths and fields, following what turns out to be the border between Denbighshire and Flintshire (see the map linked below).

I was a little anxious as we approached the foot of the ridge that I’d planned for us to take, partly because of my aforementioned fitness concerns, and partly because this hill was nearly twice as high as the biggest hill I’d run up so far. It felt like a huge leap, and one that I might end up regretting. The weather was perfect. It was clear, with a few clouds, but it wasn’t oppressively hot (unlike Cambridge which turns into an oven in the summer). We set off up the foot of the ridge, along a small overgrown track, after less than 100 meters it became pretty clear that trying to run at even a slow pace was way beyond my capabilities. I’ve heard the mantra in fell running that if you can’t see the top, then you should conserve your energy and walk up, but still keep a decent pace going. So we power walked up the steeper sections, and where it flattened out or dipped down, we ran. I was a little disappointed that I didn’t have the fitness to run all the way - I’m sure with a lot more training it would be entirely feasible, but I think it would take a couple of months of hill running realistically get to that stage. Nevertheless I enjoyed the run to the top, and Victoria makes for a good pacer (I’m pretty sure she could have run up the whole thing without any problems).

Moel Famau has an old ruined fort at the summit, so it was nice to feel like we were on a proper county top, and it even had a trig point, win!

We spent a couple of minutes up the top, keeping a look out for Julie and Lindsey, but decided to start making our way down as we were only half way through the route. It turns out Julie and Lindsey had some communication issues, so we would’ve been waiting for an hour on top for them. We started down the steep slope, skidding down the gravel paths, arms a-flailing. I could get used to this part of hill running! We continued winding around the hill along the wide forestry paths, first down, then traversing along the side of the hill. I had planned a bit more elevation on this route, just in case I had to walk up the biggest part, which was lucky. We got to an intersection, where the choice was to continue along the nice wide track, or go up into the trees on a small grassy path. There was no competition, so up we went, into the unknown. I thought it cruel not to mention the impending sting in the tail to Victoria - I wouldn’t mind if she came along for some of the other hills, so I didn’t want to put her off straight away!

As we rounded a bend, I check my GPS and saw that we were coming up to the last incline. We had both settled into a good pace, so there was a shared determination to meet this final challenge without balking. We pushed on, both taking heavy breathes to keep our tired muscles filled with oxygen. This final rise, that seemed to so short on the map, just kept on going, round the bend, on and on. Neither of us was willing to give in; psychologically pushing each other onward. Finally, after was seemed an age (it was probably on a few minutes), we reached a flattening, hands on thighs, gasping in the warm Welsh air. I was glad we’d pushed ourselves. The burning in my thighs and lungs felt good - this was why I was doing this, exactly because it was a challenge. In a single route I’d pushed my limits, and I’d found where they lay. There’s something enriching about trying and failing. If you try and you succeed, you don’t always know how much further you could have pushed.

We finished the last few hundred meters, with the gate to the car park approaching, Victoria decided to initiate a sprint finish. One thing that is worth knowing about VP, is that is quite competitive, and will take any advantage she can. I thought it would be fun to do a final sprint finish, but before I could finish the count to three she dashed off, leaving me aghast at her unsporting behavior. I wasn’t having any of that so quickly set off, my thighs pumping up and down, trying to gain the precious few meters her cheating advantage had given her. I’ll say it was close, but it probably wasn’t.
She got to the finish first, triumphant at her win, at any cost, and utterly shameless about it. Oh well, you win some, you lose some.

We swigged down some water we’d left in the car and hung around, enjoying the view out over Ruthin, whilst we waited for Julie and Lindsey to return.

This was the highest and hardest hill; and I came up wanting. Whilst I’m not expecting to be able to actually run up Snowdon, being able to run up a 500m hill should be within my abilities. I don’t if it’s a lack of motivation, a lack of hills in Cambridge, or a lack of time, but I need to change something if I’m going to complete this challenge before I hit 40.

Julie and Lindsey finally returned from the top, and we drove back to Lindsey’s parents for a cracking BBQ by her dad. It rained, but it’s Wales so it’s pretty much expected. We didn’t let that dampen our spirits, the warmth of Lindsey’s Dad’s hospitality made us feel at home. It’s a lovely part of the country, so I’m looking forward to returning to Wales, at least 21 more times!

The eating and drinking continued long into the evening. We got up ready the next day for the final drive to George and Lucy’s wedding, where ate, drank and danced our souls out. An absolutely cracking weekend of fine weather (mostly), good company, and excellent hills. I can’t wait to return.