Do not go gentle into that good night…

It is January 1592. High above the Glenmalure Valley in the Wicklow Mountains, two men sit, devoid of energy, wrapped in a frozen blanket of snow, ice and hail. Another has been lost. A servant has been sent to the valley below in the hope of finding aid for those huddled together on a rocky height in the mountains above.

Help is granted and men are sent with meat and beer. They find two men, barely alive, suffering greatly from the bitterness of the Irish winter. Their prison clothing barely recognisable such is the depth of the ice built up around them. Both men are lifted to their feet and beer is pressed to their lips, only to be refused by their bodies. Eventually the drink is retained by one, but only one. The other slips away and is buried there on that rocky precipice.

422 years later and on the advice of my companion, I decide against climbing to that rocky precipice, where Art O’Neill lies buried, the spot commemorated by a cross in his honour. We have covered over 40km of the 53km Art O’Neill Challenge, having ‘escaped’ Dublin Castle that very morning at 2am under the cover of the city’s street lights.

Art, his brother Henry O’Neill and Red Hugh O’Donnell had made their break from the castle, as we did, in the dead of the night bound for Glenmalure Valley and for the trio of escapees, the protection of the great chief Fiach Mac Hugh O'Byrne. We were running for the protection of the Glenmalure Lodge, a pint of Guinness and an Irish Breakfast.

Henry was lost to the group in the snow and the mist. Art struggled greatly and was carried by Hugh and the young servant until they could go no further. The servant’s endeavours in getting aid to the two men were enough to spare Hugh, who lost two toes to frostbite and had to be carried to Glenmalure by O’Byrne’s men. Art remains on that hilltop.

This tale of suffering and misfortune is what inspired around 200 people (and probably more) to wrap up in high viz vests and take off from the castle in the dead of the night. The walkers, some of whom would not finish until 5pm, left at midnight, followed by the hybrid group (running the road section and hiking the mountains) an hour later. The ultra-runners, in which I was making my debut at any distance over 26.2 miles, would go at 2am.

There was a carnival atmosphere at the start, with runners and walkers alike milling around, checking their gear, making last minute adjustments and for some, like me, trying to sleep on randomly arranged chairs. I got there around 11pm, knowing that the 3 hour wait would only add to the nerves already building up.

Midnight arrived and the walkers were gone, one man dragging a tyre behind him as he was in training for a polar walk. An hour later, the hybrids disappeared out the castle gate, leaving behind the ultra-runners.

The Art O'Neill Route

This was a good time to take stock. I had devoured a curried rice wrap at midnight and I was still feeling it, sitting there in my stomach – not good. My running backpack felt heavy, even though I had been determined to pack light – not good. At this stage, I had been up for 18 hours straight – not good. Everyone else looked as if they were confident, I wasn’t feeling it – not good. I frequently visited the bathroom – not good. Stock taken, 30 minutes to go – oh dear. 

One last yawn and a bit of a stretch and I thought getting outside to get my GPS watch going would help. 10 minutes to go and I am standing in the courtyard of Dublin Castle with my arm outstretched looking skyward, cursing the GPS satellites under my breath. “You’ll never get a signal in here boy!” says a Corkman over my shoulder, instantly recognisable from his orange Cork Half-Marathon finishers’ hat. He was right, the start came before I knew it, with no GPS signal to record my distance.

Off we went out of the castle, left, left, right, left and straight out towards Harold’s Cross. A mile in my watch came to life as did my brain when I realised I was running it like a 10k - time to slow down, get used to my pack and settle in to LSD (long slow distance as opposed to hallucinogenic substances) running. I was quickly set slightly adrift from what I thought was the back of the field but was determined to run at my own pace.

Enter Ronan and Colette – Ronan an experienced ultra-runner and Colette running her first. They had a plan, slow and easy and see how it goes. Perfect. Away we ran, slowly into the night, through Firhouse and out past the city bounds into the darkness, head torches on.

Not long after meeting the dynamic duo, I ascertained that Ronan had run the MDS in 2013, so picking his brain on the various aspects of what I would be attempting in April 2014 helped to pass the miles.

After around 16km, we hit a long, steep hill and though none of us wanted to, we were reduced to walking, or power walking at least. The city appeared below us as we gained height and with it came a gentle sleety rain, something we hoped was not going to be par for the course. As we turned onto a narrow road with an increase in incline, we began to pass some of the walkers and those ultras who had gone out too hard. Power walking past people who are ‘running’ is a satisfying feeling!

The hill brought us into the mist and we were beginning to fear the worst for the weather when we 

dropped down the other side leaving the rain behind and things began to clear up. We were now at 20km and moving well. We allowed time for some pit stops before leaving the narrow road, through a steep downhill grassy section to the valley below and over the Liffey in its infancy into the mountains. We had 11km to go to CP1 (check point) but the hills were just beginning. It was time for head down and slog, running when we could, power walking when we couldn’t. We reached CP1, 31km in, in a little over 3 hours.

Ultra-competitors were advised to be quick at the check points so you didn’t get cold. Found my bag, changed my tops and threw on a pair of Goretex Salomon runners before refilling the water and taking some soup (something my protestant ancestors were good at!). Putting on the shoes I thought of Art in his leather brogues and prison clothes as it snowed heavily as they trudged wearily on – no soup, no bread, no man shouting encouragement at them, no guided hiking groups.

The three of us headed off into the night, having spent around 20 minutes at the checkpoint. Section 2 began with a forest road, which we started walking – it was here we caught up with the man dragging the tyre, still going strong. I was surprised at how strong I felt and decided to push on and try to run as much as I could. Ronan and Colette wished me well.     

Well was not how I felt as I left the road onto a bog trail, where most of the time I was knee deep in boggy goodness. It was a sharp incline and sapped most of my strength before I was even half way up. I took the path of least resistance over some heather and passed a guided group as I came out of the woods on the treeline. South was the general direction towards the mountain pass known as Billy Byrne’s Gap, so off I went taking some advice from another competitor on my bearing. After 4 minutes, bang on, south. After 5 minutes, I was heading west. A minute later I was going east. I couldn’t see more than 4 meters ahead of myself. I wasn’t panicking yet, but decided it was best to use my GPS just in case. Even with the technology it was still difficult to maintain a southerly direction.

Getting to the top of the gap was simply a head down and trudge affair, with the GPS giving a good idea of distance to go. The hill flattened out and I felt relieved as after 10 minutes of running, falling, tumbling, slipping, sliding and more falling downhill, I was below the mist, with some head torches in the distance in front of me to get my bearings.

Apart from the cerebral requirements to deal with descending the steep downhill at speed, you also have to decide on the most efficient way to enter the woods at the foot of the hill that leads to CP2. There are several options once you have crossed the Ballinagee River, which rises out of the mountain you are descending – stay east and skirt around the hill side, maintaining a degree of altitude and enter the woods on its upper road; go low following the river and enter the woods on its lower road; or go hell for leather across the bog and see where you come out! I went for the third option thinking the woods were closer than they actually were. I found what I thought were tractor marks and followed them which took me toward the lower road and I was just beginning to curse my decision making when out of the bog emerged John Condon.

John had done his reconnaissance before the race and knew an entry point into the woods from where we were, he had planned this. I had also done my reconnaissance, but it was done the day after my staff Christmas party and involved a lot of recon from the car. John was spot on and got us into the woods having crossed the river and its tributary. His line of “look for a branch that looks like it is praying” didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but I was reassured after what seemed like an endless crawl through forest undergrowth onto the lower road of the woods. From here we high-tailed it out of the woods, across the road to the welcoming site of CP2. Daybreak has just arrived.

43km completed, a bowl of the nicest porridge I have ever had, a can of Red Bull and some jellies and John and I were off again with 11km to go, billed by the organisers as the toughest section of the race.  After a short flat section of road, we climbed up through a section of felled forest (where I got a nasty gash on my shin from a slip on a large branch) and began to run again toward the hill where Art O’Neill lies buried.

John has obviously done his homework because we took another detour off the road through some forest to come out higher up the hill toward the cross, thus avoiding additional slog through boggy terrain. We then took a bearing to the west of Art’s Cross, which was a more direct route to the finish. We could see some people scrambling up the steep approach to the cross, looking tired and struggling. Our route involved a steep, wet and somewhat painful trudge following a line between Table Mountain and Convalla to an old road known as Table Track.

Art's Cross

The boggy terrain seemed to go on forever and we eventually passed the shore of one of the ‘Three Lakes’, which gave us a long but straightforward descent to the track. This was the part route that Art himself had not managed to reach and as we descended the sun came pouring over the hills, very different conditions to that fateful night in 1592. There are few finer sights in Ireland that the Wicklow Mountains bathed in early morning sunshine.

Crossing The Avonbeg River Just Before Finish

 We hit Table Track just shy of 8 hours of perseverance and pain. 4km to go - all downhill on a track made from cobbles. You would think that was going to be easy but my quads and calves were screaming at me. It was a case of head down and go as quickly as you can. The finish came into sight with about 3km to go, which oddly didn’t help my mental state at all. John and I kept up a decent pace to the valley floor at Glenmalure, where you cross the Avonbeg River through to the finish line, finishing 39^th and 40^th respectively. Hugs all round!

Still Smiling! John and I at the Finish

Respect to Art and his fellow escapees. Respect to my fellow competitor with the hip flask of whiskey who generously shared it round at the finish. Respect to all who competed.

I can safely say it was the best event I have ever done to date, made even better by the people you meet on the slog and by the excellent preparation of the organisers. A bus was laid on to the Glenmalure Lodge followed by a bus back to Dublin. 32 hours after waking up on Friday morning, I got back to my car in UCD, sore, battered, bruised but happy. Most importantly I had passed the acid test for the MDS, it’s game on now.

A big thank you to those who helped along the way - especially to Ronan and Colette on the first section and John and his reconnaissance from mid-section 2 to the finish.

Huge credit must go to Declan Cunningham and his team. They have found the perfect way to salute Art’s final journey.

Can’t wait for next year, if Declan and his crew get permission to run again and I get selected in the lottery!

For Elmer

I can still see the back of his t-shirt fluttering in the sea breeze as he accelerated down the beach away from me. All that was left of him was a set of toe marks on the damp sand in Redbarn. We had covered 7.5 miles at a steady pace and he ran the last half mile like Michael Johnson runs the 400m, still talking to me as he picked up the pace and left me behind. 

He was always in a jovial mood when it came to running, always up for a bit of craic and banter, no matter where we ran or what the weather was like. He was the first person I knew to try Vibram Five Fingers and was a huge advocate of barefoot running. His enthusiasm for it was infectious and led me to buy my first pair. He could have written 'Born to Run' based on his own experiences. 

 

My friend since our early encounters at UCC on a hockey pitch, Elmer was the sort of guy who would happily take on a challenge (although he did decline my offer of the Marathon Des Sables!). Perhaps his most ambitious challenge athletically was to run a sub-3 hour marathon – something he was well capable of it in terms of his ability to run, but he was often a bit unlucky with injuries, even from his days on the hockey pitch (for some reason he always chose the No. 13 shirt). He recorded his progress (and his injury woes) on his blog - www.canirunasub3hourmarathon.blogspot.com - now this blog will sadly remain unfinished.

On the 14^th of April 2012, my barefoot running buddy and great friend was tragically killed when he and other crew members were thrown off a yacht near San Francisco in erratic waves during a yacht race around the Farralon Islands. He died in the midst of another adventure, living life to the maximum. I carry his spirit whenever I lace up and head out for a run. He is sadly missed. 

Finding Perspective and Positivity

So it’s been some time since my last post and a lot has happened (in chronological order)…

My ‘running free’ came to an end not long into March 2012, as I developed an overuse injury of my
tendons at the juncture of the top of my foot and shin, which caused a dull, deep pain anytime I
moved beyond walking pace and the injury lasted until May of 2013, sadly forcing me to miss the
2013 MDS.

The shear insignificance of my disappointment of missing a running race in the desert was brought
into reality when on April 14^th 2012 during a yacht race in San Francisco, my good friend Elmer
Morrissey was sadly lost in a yachting accident in San Francisco. In his memory I will write a
separate piece after this post. 

In  May 2012, the hockey team I coached, Cork Harlequins, won the Irish Senior Cup in May 2012,
which brought a little positivity back during a difficult time.

On the 9^th of October my wife gave me the best present ever in October 2012 when Kate Oakley
arrived on the planet, bringing a whole new challenge to our lives altogether.

Some trial runs while on a short break to Lanzarote in January 2013, gave me little comfort, despite
some early promising signs.

February of 2013 brought a thankful piece of news from Running the Sahara in the UK, who
confirmed that I could transfer my entry to 2014 without any penalties, giving me a new target and
new motivation.

In May 2013 and on the back of our 2012 success, my Cork Harlequins HC side graced continental
competition as we travelled to Vienna for the European Club Championships. Even though that
much to our disappointment things did not work out so well on the pitch, I began to run again
without pain, all 13.5 stone of me through the morning streets of the Austrian capital in a pair of
Vibram Five Fingers. It was a case of taking some positives from the trip.

The summer saw a return, a gentle return, to running (still in my Vibrams) and I began to accumulate
mileage as I thought about the Dublin City Marathon (DCM) in October.

Disaster struck on a morning run in early September when I felt a slight pain in my left Achilles,
which then quickly became a pain and then a very sore pain. So I did what I usually do, kept training
and made it worse ruling out the DCM and the Clonakilty Marathon.

Saucony Kinvara - 4 mm Drop

This resulted in an October trip to a ‘running re-educator’ named John Foster in Dublin, who advised
me on footwear, orthotics and running form. His advice included running taller with less of a leg
trail, moving to minimal shoes with a 4 mm drop as opposed to Five Fingers with their 0 mm drop
and exercises to help with the Achilles. He also gave me a new perspective on wearing orthotics.

Some weeks later and a 100 euros worse off from buying 4 mm drop shoes (Saucony Kinvaras, more
later), I was still in pain and decided my best option was to get some physiotherapy. Step up Sinead
and Sarah at Performance Physiotherapy Cork – there is nothing like someone squeezing your
Achilles and using friction to treat a problem to make you realise you should not have kept training –
I was learning lessons. To facilitate my fitness, I re-joined the pool and began swimming and aqua-
jogging regularly. The float belt became my best friend!

My New Best Friend

Sarah had me in pain on numerous occasions during November 2013 and was always realistic about
my prospects of running. On December 1^st I took to the treadmill and ran a minute on/a minute off
for 3 miles. I WAS BACK (sort of anyway)!

December brought a good target as I managed to get in to the January 2014 55km Art O’Neill

Challenge (more on this later), which I thought would act as my acid test for the MDS. Complete it

and we’re good to go! The month finished with some good runs and a lot of calf raises in my attempt

to solve the Achilles issue and I was left with a new sense of optimism coming into 2014...

Run Free? TBC...

Nike Free

So the barefoot debate continues - not only in my mind, but also in the minds of my fellow 2013 MDS competitiors. There has been a lot of discussion on t'interweb regarding the training for and completion of the MDS in minimalist shoes amongst the 2013 group. It seems there are quite a lot of people training in Vibrams (me included for the most part, more on that later) or an equivalent minimalist shoe and all have the same question - how do get through the desert's sand, snakes, bugs and rocks in shoes that will essentially leave your feet open to various bits and pieces and in turn lead to pain and blisters? Looking at my Five Fingers Bikila, I think it would be near impossible to run the MDS in them and expect my feet to survive and I'm not even sure if I could get a pair of gaitors (the standard sand defence) attached to them to keep stuff out.

With this in mind and due to a small cold snap in December where my feet froze in my Five Fingers during a 6 mile run on Cork's old train line in heavy rain, I decided that wearing Vibrams for the winter was out of the question, with or without the special finger socks that you can now buy to keep your feet warm! So I decided to try a pair of Nike Free (pictured above) - these are essentially light barefoot runners but with more support than the Fingers that should, in theory, retain the barefoot style I have become accustomed to in my ridiculous looking foot gloves.

At first they felt great, really light with a nice rebounding action during runs over tarmac, and I even managed to run a PB for one of my regular routes. They feel awkward if you heel strike in them, almost pushing you off balance and so they force you to land with a mid-foot strike, with the feeling of cushioning, rather than feedback through the balls of your feet as you get in the Fingers. This gave me great hope of course, but it wasn't long before I began to feel a little bit of pain in my shins, which worried me. This did coincide though with a slight increase in mileage up to and during the Christmas period, as well as my understanding that my luminous yellow, ridiculous looking hockey shoes were doing me no good at all. They have since been donated to Cork County Council for use by their road crews when working at night. I think as well that because they were new and felt great initially that I probably pushed myself a little hard in them, rather than take it slow as I did with the Fingers for the first month.

Overall they went through some long adventures - a good ten miler through Cratloe Woods on Christmas day, a long hungover run across the city to collect my car the day after St. Stephen's (Boxing) day and a 12 miler up and around the Knockshanvo hills at home in Clare, where at one point I was knee deep in a large pool of "mucky muck" in a bog (I would have been goosed if I had been wearing the Fingers), not exactly Sahara conditions. As well as that they went through a good few shorter runs as well as a couple speed endurance sessions on a sand-based astro-turf pitch, slighltly more akin to Sahara conditions (I know I'm grasping at straws).

By the first week of January, the pain was back in my shins, albeit not as bad as it was in late November. This was then compounded by a long, wet, foggy jaunt of a hill walk to the west of Galtymore in Tipperary (which I consider part of training - long hilly walks are meant to be good preparation, especially those with a back pack weighing you down) in my old hiking boots.

The switch back into the Vibrams was immediate and coupled with a long cycle to make up for mileage, my legs were significantly better by mid-January. I've also switched to an old pair of Salomon shoes for hockey, which seem to be doing the trick considering you cover up to 6 miles during a match (yes, I sadly strapped a GPS onto myself for a couple of games).

So where am I now in relation to Nike Free? I'm not really sure as to whether or not I should give them another lash. Should I use them in my bare feet (I had been wearing socks) and take my time, nice and slow, to see if I can run in them injury free over distance? Should I abandon them now and stick to the Fingers? Blog readers, if you have any thoughts I'd like to hear them. Nike Free - TBC.

Furthermore, what do I do for the MDS? One possibility is Merrell's Trail Glove, the Goretex version should keep sand out and also should allow for a gaitor to be glued on to protect from sand getting in. It's an option anyway.

One highlight of my January training was the bike ride - it gave my legs a nice rest and a nice distraction from another day running on a road or over a grass pitch. Replacing a run with a cycle has a lot of merits but in terms of monthly mileage, how do I incorporate miles cycled into miles run, or can it be done? I had originally thought of simply dividing by 3 - i.e. 30 miles cycled is 10 miles run but as usual the internet provided a far more complicated method of conversion taking into account things like average speed, how many dogs chased you, wind resistance from periods cycling behind JCBs and the pothole quality of the backroad between Glanmire and Midleton (it was very specific), all of  which seemed far more accurate. 

After all of that, January 2012 finished with over 120 miles (up from 105 miles in both November and December) in the training diary (running, cycling, hill walking and hockey miles included) but with a lot of questions in  my mind over footwear and the like. Not a bad start to 2012...      

Down in the Dumps

Tramore Valley 5k
"And We're Off"

Amidst a flurry of Movember moustached men (and some women), the inaugural Tramore Valley 5k in aid of Marymount Hospice was hosted in the former Cork landfill site or city dump, which will shortly be opened as Cork's new "super park". Despite a slight smell of methane from what I suspect are badly capped landfill cells (yes I am an nerdy environmentalist), nearly 300 people ran the 2-lap course on a fairly windy day.

The new park, once officially opened, should be a superb facility and will have a link by footbridge to Vernon Mount, so there are high hopes for it to be a decent running facility, especially if they put in some lights for night running. This is good news given that the long term future of UCC's Farm is in doubt (apparently).

This was the first 5k I had raced in over a year and it was always going to be a good test to see if the consistent training due to a lack of shin splints (more on that later, some bad news I'm afraid) was having the desired effect. The course itself was relatively flat, with a slight downhill at the start and a slight drag at the end, so all in all fairly even.

The road, however, was a different story. There was relatively new paving for the best part of 3k which still had a lot of loose chippings, not great for the Five Fingers, but manageable despite the odd stone jamming into my heel, and with only one tight turn near the start slowing down the pack, it was a relatively fast course. I ran 20.06, which is my fastest for a while, so things seem to be moving in the right direction for the most part.

Coming In To Finish (Red Long Sleeve T-Shirt)

For the other part, my legs, in an act of submission to my training demands, decided it was time to familiarise me with an old injury, the shin splints have returned to my left leg. I don't really think it has been anything to do with my barefoot approach to running, rather it has coincided with my return to the hockey pitch and my clod-hopping astroturf shoes.

So off I went to the physio and after an hour of varying degrees of pain, there was an improvement. Between the shins, having my it band and iliopsoas released (whatever that means) and dry needles stuck into my legs, I felt much better (thanks to Sinead Murphy). There is still some tenderness after I run in my left shin but Christmas will bring a break from playing hockey, so we'll see if my astroturf shoes are the cause of the pain or not.

Dry Needles - Great Craic

Apart from that, it's been a good month for training, running over 25 miles a week, including one long run per week and a speed endurance session.  I'm hoping December will get that number closer to thirty and the new year will bring even more miles (at least that's the plan for the resolutions!).

No movement on the old MDS waiting list, still stuck at 48 but not too worried about that for the moment.

Where's That Sinking Feeling? - Cork to Cobh 2011

Icebergs Ahoy!

Given the race destination. it would have been easy to include in this post comments like "I didn't hit the wall, it was more of an iceberg" and "as Cobh came into view, I got that sinking feeling" but the fact of the matter was I never hit a wall, nor an iceberg and there was no sinking feeling.

The historical significance of our destination however, meant that the irony of the situation was not completely lost on me. It was after all the route that many would have taken from Cork to join the Titanic at it's last port of call before they drowned in an icy sea. It was also the last journey for many prisoners were taken from Cork Gaol to be deported to Australia (thank you Wikipedia). So all in all, safe to say it was essentially a punishment route, a very long Green Mile (thank you Stephen King) if you will.   

Having not ran anything over 10 miles since 2007 until the Cork Half Marathon in September, the 15 miles Cork to Cobh race was going to be a whole new challenge. September was a miserable month in terms of training, a combination of laziness, work and an occasional lack of motivation, meant that the half marathon was about as good as it got, and if you read the previous post, you will know that it was no highlight for me, with my legs exacting retribution on my body at the 10 mile mark.



Having seen the photographs from the Cork Half Marathon (see previous post), I was disappointed by my poor heel-striking form in the Five Fingers. It therefore meant that I would have to alter my approach to the race to try and maintain good running form, so as there were no pacers for the race, I thought I would try an hold a steady 7.30 mile pace for the 15 miles. It was going to be a little bit slower that what I thought I was capable of, but it would ensure that I ran with a decent foot strike.



Heading Out the Lower Glanmire Road
Check that foot strike!

My only time constraint was that I had to be in Cork Harlequins to coach my side in a Peard Cup clash with Bandon. The match was to start at 1.00 pm, which meant meeting at noon. The race started at 9.30 am and would take somewhere under two hours to finish, so there was little margin for error, but I was still conscious off heading off too quickly and struggling after 10 miles.

The plan was to finish, grab my bag from the van that takes your bag from the start, jump in the car (which was dropped down the night before) and high tail up to Harlequins. Nice and straightforward. All this while I missed the Ireland V Italy rugby world cup match, mind you the stewards kept us well informed during the race, even if you had recorded it and were hoping not to hear how it was going.

The route was fairly flat, straight out of the city from near the train station, out along the Glounthane road, passed Fota and straight out to Cobh. There's a bit of a drag once you got passed Fota and another one coming into Cobh.

Two sachets of energy gel, 3 bottles of water and a segment of orange from a nice lady on the side of the road saw me home in 1.53. I came through the half marathon distance a minute and a half faster than in Blarney and held my 7.30/mile target pace. That's about as exciting as it got! Another triumph for barefoot running, well Five Finger running.

It was after the race when the real punishment began. As soon as I finished, I started looking for the van and was then told the bags were in the community hall. "Grand" says I, "where's that?". The man pointed at the long, very steep hill rising out of the square in Cobh. "Up to the top of that hill, turn right and then up the other hill".

It must have taken 15 minutes to walk up the hill to the community hall and get the gear, before running down to the car, getting slightly lost and driving along the back roads (as the main roads were closed) to get to Harlequins, in my singlet, short shorts (I wear them) and my Five Fingers, my classic coaching outfit! Delivered the team talk, out onto the pitch to watch a 2-2 draw, extra time golden goal win. Happy days.



In other news, I'm up to 48 on the waiting list, slowly but surely getting there, and am looking at doing the "Run the Gauntlet" Gap of Dunloe Half Marathon in November, so trying to keep the head down training.

Barrack Hill, Cobh: "Up to the top of that
hill, turn right and then up the other hill".
The route to collect your bag. Balls.





No Sand, No Pack and Over 140 Miles to go...2011 Cork Half Marathon

Cork Half Marathon:
Spoon Shaped Course

There is an awful feeling you sometimes get when running road races – it’s the feeling that you’re close to the red zone and you are not even half way. Your body starts with “hold on a minute here, we’re running a bit longer than usual” and then for me it goes “screw you Phil, I don’t like this pace”. This is followed by “I know what will slow us down, I’ll threaten to cramp your legs and while I’m at it, I’ll mess with your breakfast and upset your digestive system, that’ll wipe the smile off your face.” I don’t think I was smiling anyway but I was in relatively high spirits finding myself slightly out of my depth with the cheery pair of balloon carrying runners leading the 90 minute pace team for the Cork Half Marathon.

The course is spoon shaped, going out and back on the same 4 mile stretch with a 5 mile loop in the middle. My plan was straightforward – keep the pace team in sight until half way and then hang on and try to get in around 95 minutes or so. Simples! 

The Smiling 90 Minute Pace Team in Orange with Balloons
(That's me on the left trying to hang on)

This was the first time me and my Five Fingers took to the road for a race, which made me a little bit nervous. After 4 miles I had been dropped from the pace group, but they were in sight, the lead runners laughing, joking and smiling for the occasional camera. That’s when the awful feeling set in, not even half way into the race. I was neither laughing nor joking at that point and I didn’t want to see a camera. I knew when I was driving to the race that I hadn’t trained to half marathon distance and that I would treat this as a training run, a starting point for increasing mileage in preparation for the MDS and so I decided to take it easy, but you get carried away with the pace group and before long your swimming against the tide, or to be more accurate running slower and slower as the pace group drift further and further up the road.

Chasing the Pack - Dropped After 4 Miles
Note the Right Foot Heel Strike - Poor Form

And I mean up the road. The first miles to the end of the spoon handle were over a relatively taxing but gentle incline, but you felt better knowing that you had to run back down the incline after the loop section. At the start of the loop the incline became steeper, still ok to run but slowing down the average pace by a fair bit. Just as it levels out, there’s a blind turn off the road to the right and you find yourself at the bottom of a punishing increase in incline into the village of Grenagh, a hill-top village overlooking the Mallow Road into Cork.

I set off with optimism, which quickly changed to that feeling you get when you question your own sanity, but I eventually found a rhythm and ploughed on for about half a mile. As you entered the village at the top, the crowds were unbelievable – there must have been 8 or 10 people clapping on the runners – you could barely see the road.

Onward and downward we ran out of Grenagh, down a steep hill past the 7 mile mark. It then levelled out thankfully and I had time to assess the situation – 6 miles to go, feet ok, legs a bit tight but it’s all downhill for the last 4 miles!

More lies from my brain - it actually wasn’t downhill at all, more flat from there to the finish with the odd incline. And somewhere between 9 and 10 miles, Team Phil disbanded, my body had had enough of me and thought that it would be good to tighten all my leg muscles as much as possible and so it did and it lasted until the end of the race. My last 3 miles were all well over 8 minutes, pushing my time to 1.38.38 and disappointingly away from my 1.35 target. I did meet Niall O'Crualaoich at the finish though, and he assured me I was on the right track for the MDS.

It was the first time the fingers had gone beyond 10 miles and the first time they had raced. My feet were a little sore afterward, mainly because of my neglectful approach to training in September, having had a very good and positive August of running. On a positive note, I had at least avoided BNS (Bleeding Nipple Syndrome!) as I got to grips with a tub of vaseline prior to the race - I learnt my lesson from the 2000 Dublin City Marathon.

Still haven’t decided whether to run Cork to Cobh 15 mile race on October 2nd, although having run the half marathon, it doesn’t seem as daunting.

My last thought was that if it was the MDS, I’d only have around 142 miles to go! And then I thought that I’d have been running on sand carrying a 10-12kg pack...well at least it's a start.