If you look all over the world trying to find the perfect example of a train that will always leave on time, look no further than Tywyn, on the west coast of Wales. At exactly 14:05 on the third Saturday of August, it sets off inland, up into the Snowdonia National Park, packed as usual with people out to enjoy the countryside; many are young families. Cadair Idris looms above it. But few trains herald the departure of hundreds of runners (over 700 this year), eager to race the train up and down the valley, desperate to be back in Tywyn before it blows the finishing whistle.
We are gathered on the bridge next to the station; over to the right by the registration tent, music is playing and inflatable bouncy castles and slides stand silent. A marshal wearing a high-viz gilet straddles the bridge wall, one leg dangling towards the railway line, watching the train. There is a signal from the driver, a loud horn and cloud of steam and we are off, runners and the train alike. The course is 14 miles with around 280m of ascent, mostly on trails through slippery fields and clinging to hillsides. The train gets to stop at the stations; we don’t stop, we can’t afford to. For 31 years now this race has been going on, and each year between 10-15% of the runners manage to beat the train, which takes 1h48mins to complete the round trip.
I have to admit that the first 5 miles were tough. I had warmed up as usual but the fell race I had run the previous evening had taken its toll and my right leg was threatening to give up. But despite all the misery of those first few miles there are things that no runner should stand – these are, being beaten by anyone wearing a triathlon top, being beaten by anyone wearing a ‘tough mudder’ top, or being beaten by anyone with a stupid running slogan. I saw three people wearing running club tops whose slogan was ‘go hard or go home’. This so appalled me as being against the spirit of running as something enjoyable that I decided I had to beat all of them. Luckily I passed them early and never saw them again. The tough mudder guy, despite taking nearly all his clothes off by half-way, began to fade soon after passing me at breathtaking speed for a 14 mile race. He faded rapidly soon after. I’m not sure what happened to the triathlete.
Through the fields that formed the course on the way up the valley, I tried to enjoy the stunning scenery of southern Snowdonia, the flatness of the valley contrasting sharply with the steep hillsides and hanging woodlands surrounding it.There were regular drinks stops and hundreds of supporters on the sides of the track when we crossed near a road. Infrequently I would hear the steam-powered whistle of the dreaded train, but in my confusion I couldn’t work out if it was ahead or behind. The fields were thick with grass and slippery, and their slight angle made it hard on the ankles. There were some deep footprints in large fresh cow-pats.
After 5 miles I began to relax into a good pace and was enjoying the scenery, and after half-way I was feeling in good spirits, passing the 7 mile mark as we turned, went under a railway bridge and were on the return leg! Immediately after the railway bridge was a short steep hill, which most of us took at a walk. This was followed by a spectacular section along gently undulating hillside path, just wide enough for one person, but not wide enough to pass without leaping up into some gorse bushes. I was quite content to keep to the pace of the guy in front.
The next section apparently passed next to Dolgoch Falls. I can’t verify this as I heard but didn’t see a waterfall. There was definitely a river, which we crossed by bridge, and a lot of bog, which we ran through and in which I nearly lost a shoe and very nearly speared my hand on a nail as I slipped and grabbed a wooden post. Bog over we were sharply downhill, down which I threw myself, and along with several other tall runners dodged low branches for a few hundred metres. I was beginning to wonder where we were when we rejoined the outwards route and were running back into Tywyn. The last few fields had some very friendly marshals which certainly made the experience better despite there being one last steep uphill and some joint-pounding road sections left.
The crowd at the finish was incredible, cheering everyone. A commentator was seamlessly trying to encourage all the runners by name. He announced a few minutes after I finished that current finishers were still beating the train. I was relieved. My legs were now solid. Stretching was not fun. The atmosphere was brilliant though, and I have rarely seen an event so well put on as this one, for its size. Facilities were excellent and there were events for all ages, plus several other variants of ‘race the train’, including 10k, 5 mile and 3 mile races. There was even a goody bag with a t-shirt and snacks. The main race forms the final event in the Welsh Trail Running Championships, which explains the lightning fast times of the winners. But of course, for most of us, for the hundreds of runners and the equal hundreds of supporters and marshals, it’s not about winning, it’s about beating the train.
Feet in the Woods 