Tim Lebbon – horror and dark fantasy author

I’m thrilled to be a guest at the brilliant EdgeLit again this year!

Edge Lit takes place this weekend, and Tim is one of the Guests of Honour, so if you are close to Derby all the details you need are here.

10 days after that Tim joins forces with Chris Golden (and others) for the Titans of Terror tour. Dates on the poster below, check with each location for tickets.

Finally if you would like to know Tim’s perfect Sunday, The Cavletter has got you covered.

Secret Lives of the Dead is out now, available to buy instore and online.

There is a Q&A with Tim over at The Nerd Daily while The Daily Dead has a guest editorial.

Tomorrow is the day … the launch of THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT, new tales of Stephen King’s THE STAND. There are events across the USA, Canada, and also in London! Tim will be at Forbidden Planet London with V Castro to talk with Sarah Maria Griffin about The Stand and our stories for this epic anthology. You can find full details and ticket info here. While an interview and extract can be found in People Magazine.

Pre-order from Amazon UK, Amazon US, Waterstones, Barnes and Noble, Bookshop.org, Indigo (Canada), Books a Million (US)

Out next week, (but appearing on shelves already) is Secret Lives of the Dead. Click here for ordering details and reviews.

Tomorrow is the release day for “Conan: Songs of the Slain” Click the image above for hardback and ebook ordering links. There is an in-depth interview with Tim about the novel over on the Conan website.

Facebook users can find a sneak peak of Chapter 1 here.

Secret Lives of the Dead is due out on August 25th and the reviews have started to roll in. Click the image above to find ordering details and links to the latest reviews.

The summer blockbusters are on the horizon and Tim has 2 novels, a novella, and an entry in a major Anthology due. Alongside that a London signing, a festival appearance and a tour with regular co-writer Christopher Golden.

Secret Lives of the Dead is due out in paperback in August. Conan: Songs of the Slain arrives in Hardback in July. The Novella Dead Red and Razor is due in the summer. Click the covers for further details.

You can find all the Edge-lit details here.

On Tuesday August 19th a World Wide Launch event is happening for the Anthology “The End of the World as we Know It” – New Tales of Stephen King’s The Stand. Catch Tim and V. Castro at Forbidden Planet in London.

Finally a book page has been added for the Novella Into the Wild Green Yonder, so if you haven’t picked that up yet, check it out.

I’ve never been a particularly fast runner, so the first time my mate Mike mentioned a Backyard Ultra to me, it seemed to suit. It’s a 4.2 mile loop you have to run on the hour, every hour, until last person standing. It is a race, I guess … but it’s much more of a personal endurance challenge, where it’s more about strategic pacing than it is outright speed.

It’s also about cake. And Mike said the food was bloody brilliant, so that sealed the deal for me.*

(* I was guilty of spreading rumours about salted roast potatoes after Lap 4 which failed to materialise … it was only salted boiled spuds. Sorry everyone.)

Arriving at the race base for a ridiculously civilised 10am start, I was immediately intimidated by everyone there who displayed distinct signs that they knew what the bloody hell they were doing. There were gazebos, easy chairs, tables piled with food, bags filled with spare clothes and trainers, and support crews. I had a couple of rucksacks with random spare clothing, a camping chair, and a cheese sandwich. Trying not to worry, I set up in one of the organisers’ gazebos with Mike and my mate Gareth, greased up with anti-chafe cream, then it was soon time to hit the pen for Lap 1.

The route was nicely mixed (hence the name of the race). It started with a mile on tarmac pavement, then a single steep climb (the three stiles seemed to get taller with each lap) onto the trails, which lasted for a couple of miles (with a bit more road thrown in). Thankfully it hadn’t rained for a while, so there were only a couple of really muddy bits. Then another long stretch of pavement back to the race base. It was the first/last bits of pavement which I found hardest … I much prefer running on the trails.

Lap 1 was spent finding our pace, and we finished in 45 minutes. A bit quick that, as it meant 15 minutes grabbing a drink/snack/pee, and then hanging around getting cold before Lap 2. Finished this one in 50 minutes, which was a pretty consistent finish time for me throughout. 10 minutes is just right to eat/drink/pee/fuss someone’s dog/change kit/grab a cup of tea/not get too stressed about the next lap.

Weirdly Lap 3 was my toughest. I think my body was just settling into the effort, and I made the mistake of thinking ahead to the laps and miles to come. One foot in front of the other, that’s the way!

And what a great atmosphere. There were 111 people racing, and I must have chatted with 40 of them. As well as running with Mike, Gareth and Paul, I also ended up spending a mile or two on every lap chatting with other runners … and I soon came to realise this was a whole different community to my usual triathlon crowd. Fellow competitors casually threw in stories of their recent 50 mile run, or 100 mile run, and I was so impressed (daunted) by their casual skill. I’ve raced one ultra before, but this was really a whole new effort and mindset for me. The pace suited me (slow … yes please), and soon the laps were passing by quite comfortably.

By the end of Lap 7 it got pretty dark, and I used my head torch for the last rocky descent through the trails. Then came Lap 8, which had always been my target, taking me towards 33 miles run and that amazing tag of an Ultramarathon! It went well, but the cheap headtorch I’d bought to replace one I’d lost (it’s in the house somewhere, dammit!) was not up to the task, and halfway around I knew this would be my last lap. My legs were screaming at me by now (‘What the f*%k are you doing?’) and I can hardly blame them. Poor things.

So 33 miles it was. Job done. Sweaty, knackered, and bloody hungry, Gareth finished at the same time and we spent an hour chatting, eating, groaning when we sat down or stood up, and drinking sweet tea. Until at precisely the same moment our bodies realised it was over and we started some teeth-clacking shivering.

So I packed up and left, and then hit Waitrose. The photo below shows an entirely standard post-Ultramarathon food shop.

It was a superb event, brilliantly organised by Limitless Trails. Competitors were all friendly and encouraging and just plain lovely, and I’m still buzzing from finishing an ultramarathon. I’ll definitely be doing more. I might even train properly for the next one (a bad cold, stomach bug, Christmas and twisted knee hobbled proper training for this one, but I make no excuses).

An interesting observation … I think my mate Mike and I were among the oldest competitors. Which came as a shock, because I don’t consider myself old at all (although perhaps I feel it today). We still kept up with some of the young ‘uns, though! Mike hit 50 miles, and our mate Paul made it to 54. Awesome.

Some perspective … as I type this there are four people still running, on lap 29 and mile 121. Beasts.

Brutal Triathlon Race Report – 7th September 2024

Battlestar Galactica. Caramac bars. Iron Maiden making good music. All good things must come to an end, and so it is with the Brutal Triathlon. This was its final year, and among those who have stood on the shore of Lake Padarn at 7am many times over the years, peeing in their wetsuits in anticipation of the long, tough, painful, glorious day to come, there was a sense of sadness that this would be the last time. But as one of the bike marshals said when I mentioned it later in the day … (tapping his head) “But you’ve got it all up here.” And he’s right. I’ve many great memories of the Brutal, and as it’s difficult to recall what pain actually feels like, all of them are good.

This was my fifth time racing with fellow Brutals in Llanberis. I’ve raced the full twice (including ‘The Brutalist Brutal ever^TM‘ and last year when the tarmac was melting off the roads), and the Half twice, and this year I was set to race the Half again with my friends Mike, Rita and Nat.

(A note: I once used the term ‘Just the Half’ and was berated, rightly, because this is not like any other half you’ll ever race. For some perspective … the distances are 1.2 mile swim, 58 mile bike, and 14 mile run, including an ascent/descent of Wales’s highest mountain in the run. And while I’d usually finish a normal half-iron race in maybe 6 hours, this one took me over 9. So no, it’s not ‘just the half’ at all).

After the briefing and the usual faffing, unpacking kit bags and staring at them, packing them again and staring again, prepping food for race day, checking kit again, and grabbing a few hours sleep during which you dream about forgetting your helmet or going the wrong way on the bike, it was time to get down to race HQ.

The tent was bustling. Hot. Smelling of chafe cream, sun block, and existential dread. It was great bumping into the legendary Sid, who was competing on his BMX! And Nathan and his mate, setting up to race the Full (Nathan completed the Double Brutal last year … beast). I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the Brutal tent so full, with late-comers having to grab some floor space for their kit, but it was buzzing with nervous anticipation and excitement.

The Horrible Hour (early morning pre-race) soon passed, and then we were heading into the water for the mass start. They told us it was “Around twenty degrees.” I know fiction when I hear it. Sixteen I reckon, but thirty seconds and it felt nice. I bobbed around by the first buoy, and for some reason a lot of competitors stood close to the shore until the starting horn blasted its dreadful roar across Llanberis and the valleys beyond. I’m an OK swimmer, but certainly not front of the pack, and by the first buoy I was being overtaken and batted out of the way. It soon settled down though, and I concentrated on enjoying myself. It’s a privilege to swim in such a gorgeous place.

Swim done in 38 minutes (in my defence I swam just over 2000m, either because of sighting or a long swim), I jogged to the tent and faffed around getting ready for the bike. Last year I did a full kit change between each discipline, but this year I elected to keep my tri suit on for the whole day, chucking on a bike jersey for the pockets (food, water/windproof, phone). Off I went, and the weather was teasingly perfect. Not too hot, not too windy, not raining … I mean, this is the Brutal. Surely it’s hailing around the other side of the mountain, or there are meteor storms on the climb to Pen-y-Pass?

The bike was pretty uneventful. I had to stop a couple of times. Once to phone in to Race Base for someone whose chain had snapped … I mean, don’t do a race like this without carrying a phone, guys! And once to help out someone who was cramping up badly, dishing out a few salt tabs. I also stopped and topped up with water both passes of the feed station. I finished the bike just under 4 hours, which is OK considering the stops. I was conscious I could have gone harder, but looming in the future––and quite literally looming to my left for those four hours–– was Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon). So I conserved energy, ate real food, drank plenty, and readied for the run.

Pen-y-Pass was nice, but it was a bit hazy, so the views weren’t quite as glorious as they were last year. First descent into Llanberis was lovely and quiet, so I could really open up and have some fun. The second descent was busy, and I quickly learnt to keep way back from the cars in front because people had a habit of slamming on their brakes looking for somewhere to park. Fishtailing at 40mph is a quick way to realise that my brakes aren’t as good as a car’s.

Rita and Nat caught up with me at the start of lap 2, then stopped off at their rented house to top up water and use the loo. That is some good planning there.

Safe and sound into Llanberis, I quickly changed and headed out onto the lake run. This is a misleadingly tough 5 miles, flat on the Llanberis side but with long slopes and technical trail running on the other side of the lake. I bumped into Niall again (we’d chatted a bit on the bike), over from Ireland with his Tri club and racing the Half so that he could crew for a mate racing the Double! Hats off. It turns out that Niall and I share a dark history. I’m not sure I should share it here. I mean … we both have Quantity Surveying in our lives. He is one now, and I was one twenty years ago before I quit to become a full-time horror writer. I know several local government surveyors who became horror writers. I’m not saying there’s a link. Perish the thought.

Back to transition, and now … time for the mountain. This is always my favourite part of the race. It fucking hurts, but it’s the mountain that makes the Brutal brutal. That first drag up the tarmac road is shattering, especially when I was already seeing competitors running down ready to finish. Humbling. But I kept my head down and stepped it out, drinking, eating a Jelly Baby every 1k as a reward (really, Jelly Babies are a divine creation), and passing tourists. Now, there were lots of tourists on the mountain. The Llanberis route is the ‘easy’ way up, and some of them must have heard this because they were climbing in flip-flops and thin tee shirts. They were encouraging though, and hacking my way through clouds of cherry-scented vape exhaust was more than made up for by claps and cheers of encouragement.

At the halfway point I met Samh. He’s a young lad (I mean, he’s twenty, I could be his bloody grandfather). Samh was finding it hard, so we walked on together and started chatting. He didn’t have that much water with him, but he still looked good and fresh. Samh told me he thought I was 30 (I’m 55), so as far as I’m concerned he’s a friend for life. We soon caught up with Nat, and the three of us ended up doing the rest of the mountain and crossing the finish line together.

It was tough, brutal fun. Nat was a bit worried about her sister Rita, who’d told her to go on without her, and I was looking out for Mike. My mate Mike is a proper mountain runner (he’s doing a 50 mile ultra in two weeks!), and while I knew I’d been ahead of him up until now … he’d be closing in soon. We paused a bit at the turn around, then started running back down the mountain. In retrospect it was probably a bit dangerous, especially sharing the path with herds of tourists, but we were going for it. Nat and Samh set the pace, and I kept up.

We saw Mike, and he wasn’t far behind! And then we saw Rita, and she looked good. She had an hour or so to go, but we left her with a hug and continued on our way down (Rita is a bloody inspiration). That last three miles … I was fading, finding the pace really tough, but determined to keep up with Nat (a self-confessed mountain runner and strong), and Samh (20 years old, lean, a mountain goat, and did I mention he thought I looked 30?). And we did it.

Crossing that line was a great moment, but it also struck me then … this is the last time. I hit the deck for a few minutes, because that last half hour had absolutely hammered me. I wouldn’t have been nearly as fast if I hadn’t stuck with Nat and Samh. Someone bent over and drape a medal around my neck, and a few minutes later I took it off and gave it to Brutal Claire, and asked her to give me my medal. A hug, a quivering lip (me), and then Samh’s lovely mum bought me a coffee.

Mike finished, bearing bloody scrapes and bruises from (another) spectacular mountain tumble (he was fine). We went to stand in the lake … lovely. Faffed around a bit, saw that Rita had finished, and that was it. Job done.

I finished in 9:17, which I was pretty pleased with for an older bloke (although I agree with Samh, I’m actually 30). That was halfway down the finishing list, and I’m happy with that. More perspective: the winner did it in 6:19. Final Half finisher was 15:41. I estimate that this race is 50% harder than a normal half or full-distance triathlon, at least. Hey, they call it The Brutal.

Home. Shower. A beer sitting outside with Mike. The four of us had a curry, then sat on a bench by the lake with a beer like a bunch of wayward teens, looking up at the looming dark mass of Yr Wyddfa and seeing the faint head-torches of people still up there racing.

With the Brutal Triathlon, Claire Smith and her amazing crew (and they are amazing, every marshal is experienced and smiling and utterly encouraging) created and ran something wonderful. It’s been truly life-changing for me and many others. I told several people on the day that I rarely enter the same race more than once or occasionally twice. This was my fifth time at the Brutal, and I loved it as much as every time before. My mates in my brilliant N.E.W.T. triathlon club take the piss and ask if I’m on commission* because I always rave about it (*I’m not), and I’m glad I’ve talked* (*hassled and bugged) friends like Mike, Rita, Lyndon and others to experience it. Without doubt my favourite race, I’m sad it’s done, but like that marshal said (tapping his head) “… you’ve got it all up here.”

Good memories.

Approaching Long Course Weekend, I’d done plenty of swim, bike and run training. BUT … I hadn’t run more than 16 miles (slowly), and hadn’t biked more than 70 miles. My swimming was fine, but apart from that I was feeling underprepared. Combine this with the fact that in 13 years I have never started a race that I did not finish, and I had a fair amount of anxiety* going into the weekend. I really, really wanted that 4^th medal.

*(a lot)

Long Course is an incredible event in Tenby that attracts over 10,000 athletes. The full event is basically an ironman over three days. So that means a 2.4 mile sea swim on Friday evening, a 112 mile bike ride Saturday, and a full marathon on Sunday, closely followed by a red carpet ceremony and 4^th medal for those who complete it all. Even more closely followed by a huge Italian meal and wine and beer and cake. Many people do shorter events, or variations of these distances. But I was in for the full Monty. Except without the stripping.

My wife Tracey and I travelled down and met up with our good friends Mike and Sian. Mike is a great training partner––we’ve done loads of biking, running, swimming, drinking coffee and eating cake together––and this was the big weekend! We had a lovely apartment overlooking South Beach, where we almost had great nights’ sleep. Almost. The reason why it wasn’t quite perfect is below.

It’s said that in Tenby, even the sea swim is hilly. Funny joke, right? I mean, how can the sea be hilly? Easy. From the roads above the beach on Friday evening the water looked ‘like a millpond’ (my wife Tracey’s words), but that was from the high steps and I suspect she didn’t have her glasses on. I loved the build-up to the swim––the music, the fireworks, nervous chatter with fellow competitors, meeting both old friends and new, and being able to pee in your wetsuit with two thousand people standing around you––but once in the water I realised just how rough it was. It wasn’t too bad out to the first turn buoy, where the usual chaos ensued––best description is a giant washing machine filled with fists and feet and you have to swim through it.

But after this turnaround, and embarking on the long stretch towards the lifeboat station, there was a huge swell that pushed you off course and frequently slammed you down from the tops of waves into the next trough. People were puking from sea-sickness and swallowing water smashed into their faces by the swell. Sighting was incredibly difficult when you couldn’t see over the top of the wave coming towards you. Remember that last scene in The Perfect Storm? It was a bit like that, except without George Clooney. Okay, I’m exaggerating a little, but it was still choppy as a martial arts film. Many dozens of swimmers were pulled from the water by rescue boats (the speed boats had a busy couple of hours). Lots more competitors swam one lap and then didn’t get back in. ‘Bollocks to that’, was a phrase heard more than once on the beach.

And weirdly, I loved it. I don’t know why, but I found the whole rough swim great fun. Saw a few jellyfish. I refrained from punching any this time. Er, let me explain. When I raced Ironman Wales in 2016 I saw a jellyfish the size of a VW Beetle at the first turn buoy on lap 2 of the swim. Punching it was entirely unintentional and merely a function of my somewhat panicked few swim strokes to get over and past it, and I’d like to apologise to the jelly and hope it’s OK. If it is still alive it was hiding last weekend. Anyway, I swallowed some water (euch), and I ended up doing two 40 minute laps to complete the 2.4 miles (my Strava said more like 2.6) in 1:21. I was wobbly running up the beach to the finish, and I already knew my neck was chafed into raw meat (so bad that it hurt to keep on my medal. But I kept it on, of course. Well earned). But that was the swim over and medal #1 –– done.

We spent Friday evening in our apartment eating pizza and getting ready for the early bike start. This consisted of looking at my bike for ten minutes wondering what I’d forgotten, staring at the huge pile of bike kit I’d brought deciding what to wear, and generally taffing*

*(the triathlon version of ‘faffing’, which involves agonising over what you might do wrong, what kit you’ve forgotten, whether you’ve brought the right food, if that tyre really should have been replaced, etc.)

A 5:30 alarm call was actually OK, expecially after a brilliant night’s sleep*

*(Not. I hate seagulls)

The weather was perfect for the bike, and Mike and I stuck together. Our plan was to take it easy and preserve our legs for the marathon the following day. I must have been over-enthusiastic with the hydration, but the regular toilet stops acted as brief breaks for our legs. Lots of flapjacks helped the ride pass, and salt tabs to fend off cramp. Oh, and a big shout-out to the feed stations and brilliant marshals––arriving at the first feed station and a veggie sausage bap was epic, and those serving chips at a later feed station should be made Dames and Knights of the Realm. I mean it. Marshals are a special breed of humans, and I love them all dearly.

A note here about the phrase ‘Schoolboy Error’. And another phrase, Read Your Race Pack. And another one … Always Follow A Plan. I could tell you that Mike and I came in at the end of the first 70 mile lap just 8 minutes before cut-off intentionally. I could say it was planned, and that we knew what we were doing standing around in feed stations chatting and making sure we didn’t smash the bike too much. I could, but I won’t, because it’s not true.

Anyway, back out onto the second lap (which is a repeat of the toughest and hilliest part of the first lap, just for fun), we met a competitor at some traffic lights who asked if I had any painkillers. I’d necked mine by then unfortunately, to stave off sore feet I sometimes get on the bike, and when I asked what was wrong she said, ‘It’s just so long.’ And she’s right. It’s so LONG. The organisers should accept this fact and state it in the race title.

Our bike went generally without incident, although we did see a couple of nasty accidents. Sobering. Some of those roads are tricky, but I noticed just what good conditions Pembrokeshire roads are in compared to those around where I live in Monmouthshire, whose roads are more suited to gravel bikes. Mike and I sailed over the finish line, and it was medal #2 –– done! Back to the apartment, it was time for spag bol and cake and refuelling for the next day. Less taffing this time … trainers, tee shirt, shorts, number, jelly babies, job done.

Another night passed listening to seagulls arguing and screaming and shagging and just generally living it up directly outside our window, and a very civilised alarm call of 8 a.m. meant it was marathon day. This was always the part of the weekend that worried me most. I’m not a great runner, and my training had comprised lots of 8, 9 or 10 mile runs, and only a couple at around 14 or 16 miles. Not ideal.

Mike is a natural runner, so he skipped merrily off into the distance and I settled in for a long day. My plan was to stick at 10 or 11 minute miles, and as usual the first couple of miles were faster. But I soon settled into my plan. The best thing about the run? The people. I ran with my friend Jules and his son for ten miles, then just before Pembroke (the halfway point) I went on ahead, a little worried about the 6 hour cut-off time. I also ran with 7 or 8 other different people at various stages, and every one of them was lovely, encouraging, and helped the miles pass by.

I love triathlon. I love everything about the sport, but most of all, it’s the people. If you have any doubts about humanity, just go and race a triathlon (or a marathon, long bike ride, whatever), and your faith will be restored.

Which leads me to the finish of the marathon. Down that last nasty hill into Tenby (and after 25 miles, a steep downhill is torture that should be illegal in most civilised countries), and the support from Tracey, Mike (he’d already finished in a banging time of 4:04) and Sian, and many friends from my tri-club the brilliant NEWTS, actually got me a bit emotional, especially heading onto that red carpet and down the finishers’ chute. My big smile was because IT WAS MEDAL #3 DONE, in a not dreadfully terribly crap 5:15. I was very happy with that time! All three long distance events finished, I grabbed a beer and some food, bumped into some more old mates around the race village (hi Matt, hi Nathan!), then headed along the red carpet with hundreds of others to collect that 4^th medal. Brilliant. Around 800 people started the full distance Long Course, and only about 400 finished all three distances. I’m guessing that’s mostly because of the tough swim.

I’d been looking forward to Sunday evening for a while … a nice Italian meal with Mike, Sian and Tracey, some wine, some beer, and a bloody good relax. Despite the seagulls. It was lovely.

I’ve had lots of chats with people about whether Long Course is harder than an ironman (which takes place in one day with a 17 hour cut-off time). I’m still undecided. With an ironman you’re toe-in-the-water at 7 a.m. and you know you have a long day ahead of you, and you’re mentally prepared for that. With Long Course, you have the evenings and nights between disciplines to stiffen up, rest, refuel, and stress about the next day.

Whatever, that competitor Mike and I met on the bike who said ‘It’s just so long’ was right. But it was great fun, and Tenby rocked! And I see they also run a Long Course in New Zealand, Belgium, Mallorca … perhaps it’s time to go on tour!