The Inaugural Deadly Dozen

It wasn't long after I moved to Macclesfield last year that I started hearing whisperings of the Deadly Dozen; a fitness race concept devised by Jason 'Jay' Curtis, who owns and manages a local gym. 

Fitness racing is having a huge surge in popularity at the moment and Jay has captured a corner of the market, especially for those of us who love being outside. The format is 12 x 400m laps of a running track ('journeys'), with a fitness station after each lap ('labours'). I don't know if we can really call several laps of a running track a 'journey' unless we consider the mental endeavour of this event, but we can - without any doubt - call some of those exercises a 'labour'.

I won't spend time drawing comparisons between the Deadly Dozen (DD) and Hyrox as they're entirely different entities, but I will say that on turning up to DD, it had a wonderful chilled and welcoming vibe that was a million times nicer than the noisy, intense and quite frankly, overcrowded atmosphere at a Hyrox event. It had a great buzz and a well branded, professional set-up whilst still having that feeling of a low-ley, friendly, community event.

I paid close attention to what was going on as the first wave started bang on 9am (yes, I missed parkrun for this), and promised myself I wouldn't be silly and try to sprint the first lap.. or any lap for that matter. At this point, it started to rain, a lot. Several of us huddled under a tent selling fitness-race-specific socks and the sock folk were quite delighted to have a captive audience for their sales pitch.

Anyway, no new socks on race day. It was time to not excitedly run too fast off the start line. Starting in small waves (only four in mine) of mixed competitors every six minutes added to the chilled vibe as the whole thing felt a little less like a competition and more like just a fun Saturday morning workout.

The downpour had made me nervous for the first labour: Farmers Carry, particularly as chalk was banned in this event. However, the kettlebell handles were far grippier than the smooth metal ones I'd used in the gym, so this was easier than I'd expected given the wet conditions, and the Kettlebell Deadlifts on the second station felt like a warm up exercise. All good so far.

Given how much of my life I spend lunging, or talking about lunging, or encouraging other people to lunge, it's always an enormous surprise to me how hard I find lunging when it is part of a fitness race. The lumpy, uneven, wet grass did add a touch of peril to the Dumbbell Lunge.. and I started to ponder whether a light trail shoe would have been a more sensible option. I'm embarrassed to say this but, I was glad when the lunging was over.

Am I too mature for snatch jokes? Nope. I do really love a bit of snatch. Is there such a thing as too much snatch? If there is, we didn't reach that limit with the Dumbbell Snatch. If anything, my forearms were relieved at this point to be lifting a weight overhead rather than just carrying it. The runs were still feeling good, 400m on a track was actually a perfect distance and felt like a chance to have a little shake out and recover from the labours.

Yes, this is a burpee. See? Fun!

It was Burpee Broad Jump next and I was excited for it. Over-enthusiastic, apparently, as I absolutelywent for it on my first broad jump and very nearly lost my feet from under me on the wet grass. I decided to be boring and try not to fall over. Maybe I am too mature, after all. I particuarly enjoyed the run after the burpees just because it felt quite novel to be running around a track covered in grass.

Now, anyone who has trained with me in the gym or come to any of my classes will know that I love to make squats as slow and intolerable as possible. This isn't because I'm a sadist, it's because it is a very good strategy for building strong legs. My strategy for the next labour of Goblet Squats though, was to bosh them out as fast as I possibly could and just hope my legs still felt okay to run after. Turned out that this was the right strategy because - for me - holding a kettlebell in that position for that long is harder that the actual squatting. 

When I was mentally preparing for the Deadly Dozen, I thought that once the first six were done, and the lunges/squats were out of the way, the second half would be easier. I was severly mistaken.

The Weight Plate Front Carry was the worst; I'd totally underestimated how hard it would be and
240m felt like a really long way. My training for this consisted of picking up a plate in the gym, walking around for ten seconds and thinking "that'll be alright". Error. The plates were bigger and chunkier than I expected and despite trying several different carrying positions with my tiny T-Rex arms, I couldn't find a single one that was comfortable. My biceps burned after that one!

Then it appears I lost my mind, missed a station entirely (Push Press) and went onto the bear crawl. I wasn't the only one. After speaking with other participants afterwards, it turns out a few people had made the same mistake. Whether it was because the station had a narrow opening and it was easy to miss or because we were all just so psyched up for bear crawls.. who knows. Anyway, at this point I hadn't even realised I'd missed it.

I thought the Bear Crawl would be hard, and I was correct. But it was also strangely entertaining; a bunch of sweaty, slighty knackered adults crawling across the grass really amused me. What amused me even more was the colourful range of swearing that could heard across this station. I judged on a few stations after my race was finished and I'm pretty sure this was the sweariest of the day, closely followed by burpees.

Closely supervised by Mel on the
WP Clean and Press.

The sun had come out and it seems most of the volunteers who I knew were doing stuff down this end of the field, so the cheers started to get even more hearty. Another lap led me into the Weight Plate Clean & Press where I was greeted by my pal Mel, who was my counter. At 20 reps I suddenly realised that I thought I should have done more pressing by this point, and in that mometary lapse of concentration I did one bad rep and felt a tweak in my glute/back. I had to slow the pace right down, but it felt okay once I started running again.

Onto the Weight Plate Overhead Carry, which started reasonably well but rapidly declined. On my first walk (of three) back towards the start line, I was scanning across the field trying to figure out what I'd done wrong, and I spotted the push press. Bugger. My preparation for this had been exactly the same as the front carry and trying to keep my arms locked out for this one became really challenging. Attempting to carry it overhead with bent arms is even harder though and the last 60m felt super tough. 

I did my next lap and then went back to the Push Press which I'd missed, much to the amusement of some of the judges/volunteers who inititally thought I'd just gone back for more fitness fun. I was annoyed at myself but also aware that my shoulders were now tired so I went with the squat strategy and just smashed these out as fast as I possibly could. 

I picked it up a bit for my last lap, but not too much because the Devil Press is a naughty little finisher.
I was so looking forward to it but the glute/back suddenly felt very tight so I took a slightly more cautious approach than planned, and then promptly jumped up and eagerly ran the wrong way before someone redirected me across the actual finish line.

Now, don't get me wrong, this is a tough workout. That said, it's entirely doable with a bit of training and Jay has done a brilliant job of creating something that's inclusive enough for anyone to participate in, but tough enough that you can be competitive about it if that's your bag. 

That showed, as even with a reasonably small field of around 300 (I think!) people racing, there was a very diverse range of folk and from what I've read on social media, everybody has given so much positive feedback about their overall race experience.

I'd recommend anyone to give this a go, but you might have to wait for a bit as I think 2024 events have sold out now. Having a go at volunteering will give you great insight though and I'm pretty surely there will be some good incentives or discounted entries across 2025 for people who volunteer too. If you do bag a place, my advice is: practise carrying plates for more than ten seconds. Ooh and, make good shoe choices for the conditions. I reckon some locations could get mucky...

All photo credit above is Deadly Dozen/Flownamix Media.

Finished!

Everybody gets a breakdown of race splits

Hyrox Glasgow 2024

I'd known about Hyrox for ages, but it was only when my mate Abi asked if I wanted to join her for a doubles attempt last October that I really looked closely at the details. On paper, it does seem doable. Hard, but doable. 

For those in the dark, Hyrox is a fitness race which combines running with functional, high intensity and strength-based exercises, all mashed together in one giant workout. You do 8 x 1km runs, and after each run you do an exercise station:

1. 
   1km SkiErg (it's like an upright rowing machine)
2. 2 x 25m Sled Push
3. 2 x 25m Sled Pull
4. 80m Burpee Broad Jumps (chest-to-floor burpee with a two-footed jump forward)
5. 1km Row
6. 200m Farmers Carry (basically carrying two kettlebells)
7. 80m Sandbag Lunges
8. 75 Wall Balls (full depth squat then throwing a weighted ball at an overhead target)

I trained hard last summer, particularly for the heavier strength-stuff, very conscious of my weight-to-sled ratio. Then, the Wednesday before our Saturday race, I tore a hip flexor and couldn't race. I couldn't even walk properly for a couple of walks and it was more than two months before I could properly lunge again, disaster.

In a moment of sadness/frustration/hope/beer-drinking, I booked a solo ticket for Glasgow and prayed for recovery.

On walking in to the Scottish Event Centre, it was far busier and looked way more chaotic than I had anticipated. The music was banging, you could taste the perspiration of the thousands of participants in the air, and crowds of spectators were screaming and cheering their pals. I'd booked into a judging shift the day before my race, which I hoped would give me a lot more insight about what to expect.

This is already going to be quite long so I won't tell you everything about the judging experience except to say that it was fun, long, so very loud and also tiring and probably not something I'd choose to do again on the day before racing. Some people do properly try to cheat, whilst the majority of people just make silly mistakes because they're so exhausted that they can't think straight.

The judges WhatsApp chat confirmed that this was indeed "the most vomity" event in the history of Hyrox thus far, and the accompanying pictures reinforced my plan not to drink the Red Bull provided at the aid stations in the Roxzone (the bit in between the running area and the exercise stations). So there was my insight.

I hadn't seen the warm up area until I rocked up, ready to start my race on the Sunday. It was a big space with all the bits of the equipment you'd see in the race. Hardcore, muscled women with cannonball shoulders were glistening with sweat and doing what looked to me like a full workout session as their warm up.

In the starting pen, there was a growing aroma of armpit and hairspray (hairspray - retrospectively - might have been a good idea). Everyone around me looked very fit; I started to feel a nervous anticipation, especially when the countdown started and huge 'bongs' blasted out of the speakers above us. I took a deep breath, and thought about a piece of advice my friend Naomi had given me.

"In the first half, don't be an idiot. In the second half, don't be a wimp."

Go time.

More than half the other women in my wave literally sprinted off the start line. My natural instinct told me to give chase but I decided to stick with the plan and not be an idiot. In fact, I was so sensible I almost bored myself. First run done, into the Roxzone, didn't even make eye contact with the Red Bull, took a shot of water (the size that should be provided at all events, in my opinion) and headed into the first station.

SkiErg, done. I kept to a comfortable pace; didn't want to hit threshold heart rate this early and I felt pretty pleased with myself for containing my excitement and maintaining this level of self-control. 

Now, this running. You have to do two and a bit laps to get your kilometre distance each time. The Roxzone has two giant inflatable gates, IN and OUT. When you exit, you have to run past the IN twice, and on the third time you see it, you go in. Simple, yes? Just count to three. 

There's an awful lot to think about while you run your kilometre. First, your immediate analysis of your own performance on the last station, then your mental preparation for the next station, all whilst dodging the hundreds of other people who are running. On every single run, I doubted my own counting as I saw the IN for the second time. Had it not been for the running time on my Garmin, I think the counting could have broken me. It's absolutely not worth missing a lap for the five minute penalty either.

Sled push. I'd trained hard for this as I'd been so worried about the weight and the training paid off. It's not really possible to do this one easy, you just have to do it and it does send the heart rate through the roof but I was taking the runs easy and I still felt great. 

Onto the sled pull. This was hard and felt heavier than I expected it to feel. The ropes were stretchier than the ones I'd used for training and it was an effort. Nonetheless, it got done and I was glad to be past the sleds as those were the stations I thought I could fail on.

It was boiling hot in the arena and I wished I'd worn fewer clothes. I stopped for one or two shots of water each time through the Roxzone, but I took three on the approach to burpees as I knew this was going to be brutal and I was excited for it.

I went in with full gusto and after about 30m I think I might have reached a lifetime PB on heart rate, at which point I discovered that this pace was entirely unsustainable. After 50m, I really, really wished that I'd stuck to the 'not being an idiot' plan for just a touch longer. I didn't have to stop but I slowed significantly and spaced my jumps badly so the last one had to be a really giant one.

My original plan was to take the next run and the row as a recovery, which I was forced into whether I wanted to or not, because those burpees really are monstrous. I got some mega fist bumps and whoops from judges I knew in the station which gave me a proper boost.

The running still felt good, on each run I would take the first lap a bit easier and pick it up a little in the second. 

Next up, farmers, another one I'd done a lot of training for as my grip strength is terrible. Overall this ended up being my best station, in terms of how I felt and how I ranked. I won't say it felt easy, but I got through it rapidly, felt strong and didn't have to put the KBs down at all. Started the run, legs definitely a little fatigued.. but this was actually going alright.

Now, those who know me know that lunges are my thing. I felt confident about the next station and I might have even run a teeny bit faster (or felt like I did) to get to it.

Chucking the sandbag onto my shoulders, I went in at pace. I was only maybe ten or twelve lunges in when suddenly my legs wouldn't move as quickly any more. I could feel my hamstrings, they felt tight and the movement wasn't coming easy.

I had to revert to a stand in between each lunge, rather than lunging continuously, and this made me feel sad deep inside my soul. I chucked the sandbag back into the pile at the end of the station (side note: funniest thing I saw on my second judging shift after my race was someone flicking the V to their sandbag at the end of this station) and started running. This run definitely felt a bit more laboured, but it was the last one, and I was ready for my final station, the dreaded wall balls. My nemesis.

I hadn't been able to practise with the correct weighted ball for this but I knew my squats were good. I wasn't sure how hard the extra weight would feel but in training I'd been boshing multiple sets of 10-15.

I ran in, picked up the ball, time to not be a wimp. The first rep felt hard and as I squatted for the second rep, my legs just gave up entirely and I fell backwards. This was going to be an excruciatingly long 75 reps. 

I actually felt a bit sorry for the volunteer who was counting my reps. She was really trying to encourage me to just do sets of five at the very least. It's like the panic had set in, my heart rate was sky high, I could feel my blood pulsing in my ears and I just ran out of steam. I was doing sets of one or two and having to rest the ball down, it was genuinely embarrassing. 

At 25 I got a mini second wind. I managed a few sets of six, only two no reps (one for squat depth and one for missing the target). This was taking FOREVER. I felt like I'd never squatted before, my whole body felt like it was crashing. 

50. Wow. It should have felt like I was nearly done but it might as well have been 500. I gave myself a talking to and then out of nowhere I managed a set of 12 and a set of 9, resting the ball in between. Everyone either side of me had finished, I was out there on my own. 2 sets of 2 to finish and there was zero sprint in me as I ran through the finish, absolutely elated.

Within about 20 seconds I'd gone through an entire process of "I'm never doing that again" to "I definitely want to do that again", all whilst considering downing a can of Red Bull and choosing 'protein water' instead (peach tea flavour, in case you wondered). 

My eyes burned with sweat and I contemplated whether or not to do my trademark pose of a lunge for my finishing photo, just in case I couldn't get back up again. After two bottles of protein water, I went for it, but the photographer didn't capture my legs anyway, rubbish.

I'm not sure I spent much time being an idiot, but I need to do this again to prove to myself I'm not a wimp at wall balls, and for a better overall lunging experience. 

Overall, it's hard, it's hectic, it's a sensory overload and it's bloody brilliant. Manchester, here I come.

 

Macclesfield Harriers Fell Handicap Race 2023

The Fell Handicap Race appeared to be something of a highlight in the club race calendar. The format is that some poor sod has to take everyone's own predictions, then look back through everyone's race times throughout the year and try to make a fair assessment of how to stagger 60+ runners of enormously varying abilities in order that everyone finishes a nearly-15-mile fell route in around about the same time.

I don't envy Tom for taking on this role; I'm sure he got a lot of (playfully) abusive messages when the start times were published but the decision is final, and that's that.

I wasn't sand-bagging when I estimated my time at 2:40-2:45, that felt reasonable given current fitness. Having sustained a bad injury in October which then led into a horrid chesty cough in the last couple of weeks, I wasn't sure I'd even be able to run it at all, so I was delighted just to be on the start line giving it a go.. despite the 2:30 I'd been given (I didn't send an abusive message by the way, just one of quiet discontent to several other people).

Our 09:30am starting crew of four set out with Leigh ditching us immediately, and the remaining three chatting - intermittently (chatting pace on a continual uphill is always a challenge) - on the climb up to the first top: Shutlingsloe.

Now, I promise this is a race report, but I'm going to digress. This particular climb through Macclesfield Forest via Nessit Hill was the first running route I explored when I moved here in January. I vividly remember taking the dog on a wide berth around some horses and desperately trying to keep running so they wouldn't catch us again. I couldn't. It's really rather a long climb.

I thought about that a lot as I ran up, how 11 months in Macclesfield has made me into a proper fell runner and how having local hills like this has done absolute wonders for my running.

Heading out of the forest up to the trig. Photo credit: Billy Hicks

Anyhow, the three of us hit the gate onto the open moor together and then it was every runner for themselves. I tried to keep trotting up the flagstones at a steady pace and managed to get to the trig point just ahead of my fellow runners. That didn't last, as Andy then flew down the descent like a demon possessed as I trundled down cautiously, my head very aware of my recent injury.

Ticking away up towards Shutlingsloe. Photo credit: Billy Hicks

I knew that was the toughest descent done though and next up was a glorious, flattish bit of very runnable trail, which led into a long, wet (read: actual river) and rocky climb up through Cumberland Clough, culminating at the top of the Cat & Fiddle. I could see Andy ahead, he'd put several hundred metres into me but I hoped I could make up a bit of ground on this climb.

At this point, I decided Andy was my nemesis. It's good to have a race nemesis, keeps you motivated. I didn't know if he felt the same but I hoped secretly I was his new nemesis too and that we could have a good, but polite, battle.

I was making up a bit of ground and then experienced my first overtaker, James.

Now, in a handicap race, every time one person overtakes you, it's technically a bad thing isn't it? But in this case I found myself really excited. I knew James had been on a comeback following an injury too and I felt chuffed for him that he was having a decent run.

Finally we reached the top of the climb, I'd nearly caught Andy by the time we reached the Cat & Fiddle and whilst I fully appreciated the fun sentiment, I didn't hang around for a selfie with Rob the Elf at the top, marginal gains and all that.

Next up was the sweetie tree. I'd been dreading it as it's a totally off-piste section where you cross some tussocky bog to go find a tree with a bag of sweets at it's base, and then - as everyone had told me - have some horrendously leg-sapping climb back to the main track.

I was really grateful to have just caught Gabby, Laura and Baz and that I wasn't too far behind Andy and James, because I could have gotten very lost here. You can skip the sweetie tree visit and stay on the main track but that decision comes with a 20 minute time penalty. So, as long as you don't screw it up entirely, it's worth going.. plus, you get chocolate.

Rob had also just caught up and everyone was picking their way across the tussocks. Baz went down right in front of me, "found a hole!", to the amusement of everyone, especially himself. I didn't help of course, I just heard him cracking up behind me as I continued pushing forward.

Bagged myself a green triangle from the sweetie tree which I felt pretty smug about. Might have taken a moment too long assessing the choices and, retrospectively, could've used that time for an elf-selfie but we have to live with our decisions. The climb back up wasn't as bad as I expected and then I knew we had a brilliant long descent coming up.

Craig overtook me next, and Alan came past at rocket speed too. Every time someone overtook me, I couldn't resist the urge to whoop and cheer because it's just really bloody cool to see people pushing themselves, I found it very aspirational. I also found this to be the case when I overtook people too.

It seemed that everyone was genuinely happy for everyone else, and I think part of that is that we're all facing this adversity together, and part of it is that Macclesfield Harriers is a very community-minded club filled with really nice people.

I know I'm not alone when I say the climb out of Lamaload broke me. It was 11 miles in, the fatigue was setting in and it was a steep bugger of a climb into a very damp headwind. Green triangle to the rescue. I was hiking at this point but my breathing was still so laboured and I had to focus hard on not choking on the chocolate. I was also about to catch my nemesis and didn't want to visually display signs of weakness.

Once that climb was finally done, the next stretch was a relief. This is the point of the race, with around 5km to go, where the crowds thicken and that really helped me to stay motivated and keep pushing. A huge cheer awaited me as I passed Carol (and Paula, I think?), it was such an enormous boost and totally turbo-charged me as I approached the short road section before Teggs Nose.

Andy caught me back up, and we ran together for a stretch. I had a moment where I was unsure of the route but there was one cheeky climb to go and I thought now was my moment to drop him. I think the green triangle must have kicked in and Carol's cheers were still with me as I dug deep and tried to get away from him.

There's then one last descent, it's one I know well, but it's technical-ish and I knew I had to try to send it to stop Andy from catching me. The big whoops from Kate and Kathleen massively spurred me on and as soon as I hit the bottom I sprinted as hard as I could to the finish line. Did it make my tired lungs feel like they were bleeding? Yes. Was it worth it? Entirely.

This was a great first experience of the fell handicap, I throughly enjoyed it, even when I felt like I was about to fall apart at Lamaload. Amazing what a green triangle, a friendly nemesis and some hearty support can do.

Sometimes our minds hold our bodies back, or play tricks on us so we doubt our own ability. Today was one of those days where the body came through and proved the mind wrong, and that - along with such wonderful camaraderie from my fellow Harriers, many of whom I now call my friends - felt pretty great.

Rivington Night Runner 2023

Rivington Pike is basically a massive tower on a hill near Bolton which I discovered last November. I was waxing lyrical about the hilly trails, ornamental ponds and stone steps-a-plenty when my running buddy Pete suggested that I would love the night trail race which happens there every January. I didn't even check the details, I just trusted him implictly and immediately entered it.

Mentally, I was fully prepared for a bog-fest. Trail/fell running in the West Pennine Moors in January was always going to be damp and cold, but we all know that running keeps you warm so I wasn't particularly worried about it. The thick fog - however - I was not prepared for.

On arrival, the race was much bigger than I'd anticipated with well over 500 people ready to run around the hills in the dark. It was a packed start, as the route headed almost immediately uphill and everyone shuffled around finding their positions.

The first mile and a bit was entirely uphill on a wet, cobbled trail with almost 150m of elevation gain. With the crowd still fairly tight, there was plenty of light around but everyone's headtorches were illuminating the fog and the fine rain, making it wonderfully atmospheric, but creating a huge visual barrier between our eyes and the floor!

We hit the first downhill and I just couldn't see the ground clearly at all. I found myself sort of jogging rather than running and trying desperately hard not to blink as I focused on the tiny bit of ground I could just make out about a metre in front of me. 

As the route got higher and higher, the rain got heavier and more sideways whilst the fog continued to thicken. I could barely see the ground I was running on. I started wondering if anyone was running in glasses and how they definitely wouldn't be able to see a thing because I couldn't see a thing through the lenses of my actual eyeballs.

Just under halfway through, the route briefly flattened out and it was a decent surface, so I felt confident to stretch my legs a bit without fear of falling over rocks I couldn't see. This section was all about the puddles and the man running in front of me was doing an excellent job of finding all of them so I could at least hear where they were.

The marshals were absolute life savers, without them I'm 100% sure that there would be hundreds of runners drifting in various directions across the moor; you could hardly see the runner in front of you let alone a left turn onto a different bit of path.

There was one last steep, rocky climb before we emerged onto a short section of road. The tarmac was a temporary relief from concentrating because I knew I (probably) wouldn't fall over anything. Another marshal signalled the end of the section as we turned left across the moor. Here was the boggy bit I'd been waiting for. 

I entirely missed a wooden bridge that I was literally right next to and instead found myself calf-deep in the bog it crossed. The chap who was right behind me was very grateful because he managed to see the bridge before it was too late. Lucky for me I'd done my laces tight!

The route across this boggy bit was marked with little canes with reflective tape on top every few metres. Again, these were amazing, because it was so easy to drift off course. The fog was so thick on top you could practically eat it, and I was trying to look directly down with my headtorch to see patches of terrain to follow. There were a few near misses as I entirely misjudged my own depth perception and stepped down huge holes and gaps. I admit I did do some swearing as I suddenly found myself about to fall down a metre-deep step that I just hadn't seen.

So much was the concentration requirement, that I briefly glanced up as another woman came past me and said "it's bloody dangerous, this!", and in that split-second I hit a rock and nearly wobbled over. Cue a tiny bit more swearing and a chuckle from the (same) man behind me who was basically using me as his personal hazard warning system. 

The last steeper downhill bit through the boggy gullys was exactly the kind of thing I normally LOVE but on this occasion I found myself trying really hard not to exhale too hard because every exhalation caused a cloud of foggy haze right in front of my face when I already couldn't see (didn't I mention that you couldn't see?).

The last bit was back down the cobbled track to the finish. A downhill end is usually where I let it go and fly down but this was definitely a more cautious approach. It occurred to me that I was physcially a lot less tired than I thought I would be, because this hadn't really been a 'hard run' in terms of going as fast as possible, it had been more a case of going as quickly as I safely could with terrible visibility (which, wasn't that quick). 

I came through the finish to hearty cheers from Pete, and felt several things:

1. Elated that my ankles were still fully intact.

2. Extremely damp.

3. A strange sense of calm from the extreme mindful concentration where nothing else had entered my brain except how not to fall over the bit of ground directly in front of me.

4. How much I would really, really like to do that again but at a time when you could fully see the ground.

AND you get a glow in the dark medal, so it was all definitely worth it. 

If you're interested, event deets here.

The Welsh 3000s

It's 03:58 and I'm stood at Pen y Pass contemplating the challenge ahead of us. My three hill buddies have about 5g of body fat between them and a collective height advantage of 2 feet and 9 inches over me. I know I'm in for a tough day.

I can't complain though, doing the Welsh 3000s was my idea. Having been on my bucket list for years, one inspiring book saw my enthusiasm newly refreshed and I started asking who'd be up for it. One doodle poll later and I had a team just as keen as me.

Pen y Pass. L-R, Debs, Pete, Tristan, Amy

Tristan is an ultra machine. Three weeks ago he came fifth at the Hardmoors 110 (that's 110 miles!) so he's got some serious calibre. Tristan - like most ultra runners - loves to eat, and is very good at reminding everyone else to keep eating too because he just can't imagine why someone wouldn't be eating. He is also constantly cheerful which is excellent for team morale.

Amy is the Queen of prep, clocking up several big days in the hills and a few 30km training runs for good measure. She'd even been out and actually recce'd some of our proposed descents from opposite valleys. Amy hosted our planning session and turned a whiteboard full of scrawl into a meticulously organised spreadsheet of travel and kit logistics, down to the very important detail of each person providing their own poo bags and wet wipes.

Pete is the ultimate mountain man, years of experience in the hills and an uncanny skill of glancing at the map and remembering the entire route. Has been known to rock up to 50 mile events on a whim but he doesn't do any tech and rarely races, so he has this stealth aura where none of us truly know the extent of his physical capability.

Our secret weapon however, is Debs. Debs is the one who's volunteered to drop us at the start, pick us up at the finish and meet us at two checkpoints with food and supplies. She's a crew extraordinare and has made the whole adventure much simpler for us to plan.

For anyone who isn't aware, the Welsh 3000s is a challenge to summit all the mountains in Wales over 3000 feet. There are 15 of them and there's no set route. Our estimated mileage was about 30 for our chosen route. Our strategy was to fast hike, with the possibility of a bit of gentle running on any good downhill or flat bits.

The Welsh 3000s

1. Crib Goch 3028ft

2. Garnedd Ugain 3494ft

3. Snowdon 3559ft

4. Elidir Fawr 3031ft

5. Y Garn 3106ft

6. Glyder Fawr 3284ft

7. Glyder Fach 3261ft

8. Tryfan 3011ft

9. Pen yr Ole Wen 3208ft

10. Carnedd Dafydd 3425ft

11. Carnedd Llewelyn 3490ft

12. Yr Elen 3156ft

13. Foel Grach 3202ft

14. Carnedd Gwenllian 3038ft

15. Foel-fras 3090ft

The Snowdon Massif

A few big groups had set off before us, and whilst many probably weren't destined for Crib Goch, we were determined to try to get to the ridge before all of them. 

Enjoying 'sunrise' over Crib Goch

Pete set the pace and it took all of about three minutes before we had to strip layers. Leaving the safety of the Pyg Track for the climb up to Crib Goch, we were rewarded with a clear route ahead.

The fog rolled in as we neared the top, and stayed with us over Garnedd Ugain (where we caught up with another group and Pete had a mini reunion with some of his mates who were leading).

From there it was busy busy busy on Snowdon, but the clouds did clear just as we reached the summit, I think the first time of maybe six visits where I've ever seen a view from the top!

We didn't hang around though, we touched the top and started tottering straight back down along the Llanberis Path, tracking the railway line beyond Clogwyn Station and then picking our way down the steep, grassy slope towards Nant Peris.

We arrived at the village in exactly 3 hours, and Debs took on the extra role of 'pole fixer' whilst we all refuelled and rehydrated. Amy did have two poles, but they were not a matching pair so trying to make them equal height was a challenge. I'd brought out my 12 year old walking poles and one of them was kaput. Pete managed the tighten the bottom section and handed it back to me, hopeful that it would be enough. I don't think he understood the difference in height between a 5ft person and a 3ft person. With a plethora of poles between us, we set off for a big climb.

"You've just done most people's whole day hike and it's only just 7am!" (Debs)

The Glyders

The grassy, sunny climb up Elidir Fawr

It was a long, grassy climb up Elidir Fawr. In fact it's the single biggest climb of the whole route. We were freshly fed, we had the hill to ourselves, the sun was on our backs and it was just lovely.

From there it was a lovely gently undulating section skirting under Mynydd Perfedd (we weren't allowed bonus climbs, team rules) and contouring south before the next climb up to Y Garn. Five mountains down!

The next descent was equally lovely, and even a bit runnable as we picked up the pace. Then suddenly at the bottom, near the Llyn y Cwn tarn at the bottom of Glyder Fawr, more people started appearing again.

The climb up Glyder Fawr was tough. It was all loose rock and sandy shale which gave way as you stepped on it. There wasn't a secure foothold in sight, it was an energy-sapping ascent and was scattered with people who'd just given up and laid down right on the trail. 

One woman apologised for her slightly inconvenient resting location but mostly wanted to vent about her friend who was "definitely trying to kill her" and then just wearily wished us luck as we carried on plodding our way up. The shale eventually ended where the chunkier loose rocks began and we stopped for a snack at the top.

Somewhen around here, Pete realised that one of his shoes was falling apart. He'd accidentally transformed it into a flip flop hybrid and no amount of gaffa tape was going to fix it. Unfortunately he hadn't put spare shoes in the support car, but one call to saviour Debs and she made a round trip back to the campsite to grab them.

From Glyder Fawr it was barely any descent along the plateau to Glyder Fach. Pete nearly got taken out by an over-enthusiastic spaniel as we enjoyed a little bit of proper trail before it was giant boulder time! The big boulders were great fun, leaping across cracks and clambering around. I was having so much fun I didn't even realise we'd reached the top, but when I looked up I saw the wonder that is Tryfan right in front of us. 

Tryfan from the south

Tryfan looks beastly. I suppose it is quite beastly. I had unfinished business since the last time I was here was December 2010 and I was airlifted off. But before we could contemplate getting up there, we had to get off Glyder Fach; it was a steep, loose, scree gully and it was slow going. Nobody told Pete that, he was straight down and sunning himself on a nice rock waiting for the rest of us. I was enjoying listening to Tristan chat away behind me whilst I focused on my feet, and staying upright.

With that tricky descent out of the way, it was a mixture of scrambling and big steps all the way up Tryfan. It felt good to finally get to the top but we didn't hang around long as it was nearly lunchtime and we could pretty much see Checkpoint 2, a lonnnng way down.

It was another difficult descent, with two incidents of note. One where Tristan tripped and had a little lay down, but after taking a moment, regained his composure and dusted himself off (no injuries, only his trousers).

The second was a mini downclimb which I struggled with because I couldn't see how far away the floor was as I hung on with my arms. I got down and watched Amy have exactly the same struggle. Tristan was attempting to explain where she needed to put her feet and guide her down but it was taking too long for Pete, who shouted "just grab her arse!", and Tristan did just that. It worked, it was all fine and Amy really didn't mind. 

It was a joy to see Debs, who'd managed to bag a parking spot right opposite the exit of the trail. She'd laid out a proper table with drinks, snacks and spare shoes, what a hero. 27.5km completed, 8 mountains climbed and everything was great (apart from Tristan's trousers and Pete's old shoes).

The Carneddau

This was the long bit. We had a short stretch of flat tarmac to get the legs going again after our lunch stop and were joined by Debs who was off for a yomp around Llyn Ogwen.

The climb up Pen yr Ole Wen was enormous, very steep and rocky and more scrambley than we had anticipated. It took us a while to get up there but the view from the top was just incredible; you could see right the way back to the Snowdon Horseshoe and across the Glyders, as well as out to the Carneddau where we were headed next.

This should have been the really runnable bit, but my knee wasn't having any of it after taking a battering on the previous big descents. A fast walk and occasional skip was the best I could do and since it was a glorious afternoon with beautiful views, nobody minded.

It was comparitively easy going up and down Carnedd Dafydd, then we contoured across to Yr Elen. Even though it wasn't 'hard', I actually hate contouring and all the foot and ankle twistyness of it, but it didn't take us too long and before we knew it we were at the top. From here we could see the rest of the route and it really didn't look that far, woo!

From Carnedd Llewelyn it basically felt like it was all downhill, bar the mini lumps of the final three hills, it was mostly grass and just lovely for tired feet. 

The final trig!

I was so happy when we reached Foel-fras that I gave the trig point a giant hug. The whole section From Carnedd Lleweyln and then descent via Drum (we WERE allowed a bonus peak!) would have been a stunner of a run had it not been for my gammy knee. I managed a totter and just thoroughly enjoyed the long, steady downhill.

As we turned the final corner into the very last downhill, we could see the red Goodgym t-shirt of Debs waving from the gate, we'd made it!

Pete was down well before any of the rest of us and still looked totally fresh, like he'd just been for a short walk to the pub. Amy and Tristan came down with massive smiles on their faces too and we all had a little celebration which mostly involved a lot of stretching and putting on clean socks.

Another massive shout out to Debs, having a crew member support meet you right at the end of the trail is totally dreamy and 100 times more enjoyable than a long yomp on tarmac or a load of car faff. 

We were so fortunate to have great conditions for the day, and I was especially grateful to Pete for doing all the nav (though I had helped a slightly lost fell runner to figure out where he was). We'd finished pretty much bang on my "very ambitious" target and apart from the usual aches of a big day on the hills, everyone was feeling great. So great, that we already started contemplating what challenge we could do next...

Pete pretending he was suffering at the end (he was not).

The 40 Days of Health Challenge

People are creatures of habit aren't they? As I sat down to write this, I glanced back to see at this time last year I was in a similar place; still looking to shift the post-Christmas excesses and generally feeling a bit demotivated.

Of course, this time last year I was preparing myself to get married, and had a few big races on the horizon. I was a lean machine by the time we got hitched, and in the couple of months that followed I ran my best ever half marathon and equalled my 10k PB too.

Check out the feet

I'd started to have some problems with my feet around the time. If you look closely at wedding day pictures, you'll see that I ended up wearing Lizzie's (three sizes too big) flat shoes and she went barefoot. I put this down to the fact that I never wear high heel shoes and can't even walk in the bloomin' things but the pain was really intense.

The feet gradually got worse, becoming so painful when road cycling that I would be hobbling for a few hours after a ride. A scan revealed that I had a Morton's neuroma in each foot, basically a thickening of the nerve tissue which then causes pain as it's compressed by the bones in the feet. I immediately went to see a podiatrist and got some orthotics made for my runners trainers, which did alleviate the symptoms when running.

Cycling, however, was still painful. I tried changing the cleats to bigger ones, then I bought stiffer, carbon-soled shoes. I had another pair of orthotics made for the bike shoes too but the pain was getting worse, the constant pressure of the pedal was too much. I stopped cycling for a few weeks but still had a half ironman triathlon to get through.

Just so glad for the race to be over, had done crying at this point!

Originally I had been aiming for a half ironman PB. It was a gently undulating course, my spring bike training had been good and I was running faster than ever. Unfortunately the race was a complete disaster as my feet were immensely painful on the bike - so much so that I stopped several times and contemplated giving up. I kept telling myself I'd be more annoyed with a DNF so pushed on. As soon as I hit the second transition it was a huge relief to get the shoes off. The run was a hobbling plod but I finished it, the whole thing was very emotional and I just broke down at the finish.

My favourite thing of cycling around eating up hills in the countryside was no longer enjoyable. That race was the catalyst that saw me pack up the roadie. I've only been out on it once since.

Since then, my motivation levels have definitely sunk and whilst I've been ticking away with some running, the running is still painful, particularly on tarmac. It's a sorry state of affairs, I can't even flex my toes properly to lunge! I've now been scheduled for surgery and can't wait to be on the other side, I miss those long runs and rides so much.

This is all a bit depressing, and to be totally honest that is how I've felt, it's been a low time. So what's the best way to get back up? A challenge!

The 40 Days of Health Challenge

Nothing to do with lent, just happens to be around the same time. The 40 day challenge is designed to be a motivational boost to get back into activities I can do, to refresh the mindset on eating and to get out of some really bad habits. It also coincides nicely by ending the day before we pick up our new puppy (more on that another time), so a time to focus on getting back in the game before I'm distracted with puppy cuddles and cleaning up poo/chewed items etc.

The other benefit of the challenge is to get me into doing some activities that I might be able to keep going with whilst recovering from the foot surgery.

The challenge involves:

• One hour of daily exercise activity that is totally non-running/cycling related. Could be yoga, strength training, swimming.. anything. A chance to try some new things.
• One hour per day TV limit. TV has become a really bad habit, instead of doing stuff in the evenings, I've turned into one of those people that just flicks through TV channels, it's going to stop now.
• One day per week drinking rule. The other bad habit we've developed is drinking too often. It's totally unnecessary and expensive. All that wine money can go on puppy toys instead. 

Throughout the 40 days, I'll be generally aiming to eat healthy meals and cut out pointless snacking too. I'm not banning cake completely but no cake/chocolate/ice cream etc will be purchased during the challenge (and don't worry, I haven't stockpiled any either).

Post-Nuptial Consumption

Well, this is a bit embarrassing. As a health and fitness professional, I spend most of my time motivating other people to exercise, eat healthily and make positive lifestyle changes (some call it nagging, whatever). I am pretty good at it; with a lot of happy clients getting fitter, stronger, leaner, faster and indeed, happier!

The embarrassing bit is that my own personal goals have fallen by the wayside; I’ve become a bit.. complacent. For fitness, I’ve relied on the exercise I get from training my clients, it’s an active job and absolutely helps to keep me fit but it’s definitely not effective for meeting my own goals.

More embarrassing than that is a syndrome that I’m going to call ‘post-nuptial consumption’. This can be defined by weight gain through excess celebrating after becoming Mrs Egg. It started with gin cocktails and pub dinners on our mini-moon, then the celebrating every time a friend comes to visit, now it’s just Friday and I’m married so why not raise a glass?

Back in the day I used to celebrate stuff with a press up endurance test or step reps, now it’s two bottles of merlot and a Chinese takeaway. Disaster. Really poor nutritional choices and lack of proper exercise has snuck up on me like a ninja and I hadn’t even realised because I’m always so busy thinking about training and nutrition, just not actually doing it.

As most of you know, I have one major health stumbling block: I’m a glutton. I love the food. All the food. I also have a (self-diagnosed) physiological mutation where I lack the feeling of being full. I combat this by trying to only put on my plate what I think I should eat. My beautiful wife who has the metabolism of a gazelle has a different problem. She likes to think she's a glutton, filling her plate to her heart's content and ordering copious volumes of food. She then can't eat it, and palms it off to me, the person who can't bear to see food wasted. 

You know when you weigh yourself after having a huge dinner the night before and despite gaining a bit, you think "ahh it's just food weight in my gut"? Well I've been doing that for two months and just came to the conclusion that I can't now have almost a stone of old food sitting festering in my colon. It's time for action.

First step: excel spreadsheet, obviously. 

What I've got is a 16 week training plan taking me to the Vale of York Half Marathon in September, via three triathlons. The first 10 weeks include a nutritional plan and very conservative weight target to take me back to race weight without starving myself of any of the food I need for the increased training volume.