Racing against a train? Sounds like fun! This year was the 30th anniversary of Race the Train in mid-Wales, and my first go. It’s 14 miles, of which 12 are off-road. You’re racing one of the Talyllyn steam trains, with both runners and train heading up the valley from the coast to Abergynolwyn then back to the start.

Driving towards Tywyn I unwittingly stumbled across Abergynolwyn station, the half-way point of the race. I jumped out of the car to take a photo, and the door was swiftly slammed shut by the wind. In the main race car park things weren’t much better; the rain blowing in across the sea made it feel distinctly chilly. Still, there was a train to be beaten (hopefully)!

I knew that to stand a chance of beating the train I’d have to keep at 7:30 min/mile pace all the way around, so promptly set off fairly quickly when the train’s whistle signalled the start. The first shouts of encouragement for my Barrow vest came after only half a mile, and it was great to hear them repeated at various points over the course. With so many runners (this was the biggest race I’ve ever entered) I tried to settle into a rhythm that was my own, so that I could worry about beating the train rather than other people. Out of town and into the fields I held the right pace through to the halfway point.

Turning back towards the coast we had a rising traverse on a muddy path, the narrowness of which precluded all overtaking. Facing into the wind and rain now, things didn’t look good. The people who were wearing road shoes or scared of getting their feet wet really slowed this section up and as the path widened to descend I thought I might have lost it. At the nine mile marker I felt reasonably strong and had picked up the pace, but was still 2½ minutes behind where I should be. By ten miles I was flagging and the train steamed passed (crammed with very happy and exceedingly vocal people). At eleven miles, my mental maths worked out that I would have to pull three five-minute miles in succession to beat the train; I was finished.

I stopped to tie my shoe lace, and slackened off as we approached town. Hitting the tarmac again – never my favourite – I dropped into a comfortable pace entering the town centre. Everyone else seemed to have a second wind here, and people suddenly started streaming past me into the last half mile. Turning onto the finish straight there were screams of encouragement from Barrow supporters, so I surprised myself and found the energy to sprint past three people and cross the line in 1:47:07.

Stood against a barrier recovering my breath with several other people, the commentator calmly said “If you’ve just come in, you’ve beaten the train.”. Hoorah! I shared a look of ‘Really? Brilliant!‘ with the chap next to me (each of us still being unable to breathe well enough to speak). Chris wasn’t far behind although I managed to miss him finishing, but I did see Mick come in shortly after. Bedraggled and cold, I return to my parents’ house and thence to the pub with Jono and Gareth to regale them with all the gory details of how I beat a bloomin’ train!