By the Skin of my Teeth

Unusually for me, I did go out for a run the day before a race. I just felt the legs needed a bit of an outing, and subsequently I had the worst run in ages. 4 slow miles with a sky-high heart rate left me wondering what was going on. I sure wouldn’t be able to run a decent race with legs like that. I did come to the conclusion that tempo runs followed by complete rest days are not the ideal preparation. I spent the rest of the day trying to convince myself that I’d be fine by tomorrow.

Race Day started early, at 6am. I had a hard time waking the kids, because, understandably, they weren’t overly keen on getting up early, on a Sunday no less. However, they perked up soon enough and we left on time. We had our seven-seater filled to the brim, with me, Niamh, 3 children and my mum and her husband. That’s the biggest support team I’ve ever had. The weather looked promising, overcast but not too cold, a little bit of wind with the occasional bout of rain.

The drive went better than expected and we got to Glengarriff earlier than anticipated. But we managed to find a playground to ensure that the brood was happy. I got changed, collected my timing chip and started warming up with half an hour to go. Time passed quickly, and we soon lined up at the start. Some local politician took the microphone and started waffling on and on and on, until he was shut up by a deliberate round of applause from 728 runners and walkers. The gun sounded and off we went. I started close to the line, maybe 3 deep, and crossed it within a second. One guy took off like a rocket and was soon out of sight (he won in 1:07, extremely impressive on such a hilly course). After waving to my personal fans about a minute after the start I tried to settle into a conservative pace to start with. I latched on to a big group and ran well within myself. A voice in my head told me to speed up because I was losing time on my 1:30 goal already but I managed to steady myself. There’s a big climb from miles 3 to 5 and I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be knackered even at the base of the hill. The first mile marker came into sight soon enough, and what did I read? 6:30! Holy sh*t! I couldn’t be sure if the marker was accurate, but I was glad I hadn’t set off any faster. The second mile had some climbs in it as we passed through the Glengarriff nature reserve (stunning, btw, and well recommended, but I was in no position to enjoy my surroundings), and I clocked it in 7:01. Ah well, that’s probably closer to my realistic half-marathon pace. What comes up must come down, and since we were passing the starting line again close to the 3rd mile marker, but going in the opposite direction, it meant some downhill sections and I ran the next mile in 6:49. I was about 15 second ahead of my target time, but the moment of truth was approaching fast. The race website mentions a one-mile climb out of Glengarriff. That’s a barefaced lie. It’s very nearly two miles (I measured it twice by car last year), and it’s also pretty steep. Of course I lost my entire cushion as the next 2 miles passed in 7:57 (ugh) and 6:58. I had a difficult decision to make at that hill. A pack had formed, and I was just about hanging on to the end of it. There was a slight headwind, and I had the option of either dropping back and battling the wind on my own or to run slightly faster than felt realistic to seek some shelter in the group. That’s new territory for me, I’ve never run in a pack before, and I felt like I was playing in the big league all of a sudden. Anyway, I chose the second option and clung on to the back of that group, which held about a dozen runners. One or two people got spat out at the back but I managed to hang on until the top of the climb. There a big guy in bright yellow shoes drew level with me and cheerfully remarked “that’s the worst behind us” and it took me a few seconds to find enough breath to respond with something silly like “let’s roll with it”. He also made a strange slapping sound with each stride, which made it easy to figure out how far ahead or behind him I would be for the reminder of the race. As I’ve mentioned before, what comes up must come down and the next 3 miles were all gradual downhill and passed in 6:45, 6:29 and 6:26. The pack had broken up by then, and I reckon I had left the majority of them behind me. I kept battling with two guys in particular, a guy in white shirt and dark shorts, and the yellow shoe guy. We kept passing each other, and each time someone would answer with a surge of his own. Eventually this wore me out, and by mile 8, back at sea level, I was feeling pretty exhausted. White Shirt and Yellow Shoes formed a group with 2 more runners, and I followed maybe 20 meters behind. I remembered most of the course from last year; it’s never flat, after the big hill there is a series of slight up- and downhills all the way to the end. I was hurting pretty bad at that stage and kept wishing for it to be over, but was determined to give the 1:30 target a good shot. I started to feel better eventually, and by mile 9 (6:53 split) the group in front of me had broken up and I had drawn close to 2 of the guys. I surged again to leave them behind, but started to feel the strain again soon enough and had to slow down a little bit. I knew I was pretty much on target, but I also knew I was very close to the edge. On each hill I started gasping for air, which, according to Mike, is a sign that you’re too fast for a half-marathon. I did recover on the downhills, and this went on for another mile, in 6:55. White Shirt and Yellow Shoes must have slowed down, because quite unexpectedly I found myself right behind them. I went past White Shirt, but Yellow Shoes kept ahead of me. On the next hill I pushed really hard with all I had and went past. I gained a few meters on him, and I could her the slap-slap sounds of his strides falling further behind, but then disaster struck: stitch! I’ve experienced this once before in a race; strangely enough it was the very race I was running now, just one year earlier, and at the same point, too. If I were Haile Gebreselassie I would chuck it in right now, but unlike him I still have a few thing to prove and fought on. I tried to change my breathing pattern, but eventually I had no choice but to slow down a little bit until I was able to breath properly again. The slower pace coupled with a more controlled breathing pattern soon got the better of the stitch, but the damage had been done. Yellow Shoes had past me again, and this time I knew that it was for good. Remember back in March, when after a long battle I went past a guy in the Adare 10k, and he had complimented me on it? It was time to repay a debt, and I spent what little breath I had spare to say “Good Man” as he went by. He mumbled something in return, I guess he was at the edge himself. Having repaid my debt to the universe I hoped to be rewarded with mercy from the Running Gods, but I had covered mile 11 no faster than 7:13, which meant kissing Good Bye to 1:30, maybe another time. I was really disappointed, but kept battling on, mainly to protect my place in the field. I could hear White Shirt not far behind me, but there was quite some gap to the front, where I could witness Yellow Shoes going past one more runner.

I know I’ve mentioned that I remember the course from last year, but I had forgotten all about the climb on mile 12. Maybe my memory is deceiving me now, but it all seemed to be uphill. Of course I was already knackered at that stage, as well as disappointed with my time, but I found some reserves and pushed on once more. Despite my own advice of never looking back I could not resist temptation. White Shirt was about 10 meters behind me, while I was some 50 meters behind the runner in front. It seemed a hopeless task to close the gap, but I was determined not to lose my place and pushed as hard as I could dare without risking disaster again. Eventually the road levelled out again and I saw the 12th mile marker. I expected the time to be somewhere in the sevens, but in fact it was 6:49. Since the last mile was downhill again I sensed some faint hope. I thought a 6:30 mile would get me there or thereabouts, and maybe all was not lost yet. I pushed on as hard as I could. Just a few minutes more, then I can relax. The legs filled with lactic acid and I felt the burn, but the gap in front of me was shrinking rapidly and I closed in on my last victim. I also made the mistake of looking behind me for a second time, but was reassured by the fact that I had nothing to fear from there. I shot passed the runner and tried to hunt down Yellow Shoes, but I already knew that it was futile – he had accelerated himself by now. I passed a point where there had been a sign last year “400 to go” and started to sprint all out. However, as I turned a corner, already gasping for air, I could see the actual point where the sign had been. My memory must have failed me somehow. There was nothing to do but to push on as hard as I could, and the last mile marker came into sight, 6:26. I wasn’t sure if that was sufficient, but the line was already in sight.

About 10 years ago Niamh and I had gone to Australia and witnessed the Canberra marathon as spectators (that was years before I took up running). I very clearly remember that the biggest cheer of the day had not gone to the winner. Instead, when the clock read about 3:59:45, one guy started sprinting all out. It was clear that he was desperate to beat 4 hours. He must have been in agony, his face was a grimace and tears were streaming down his face, but he never gave up, ran his heart out and made it with a second or two to spare. He got celebrated like a world record holder. I’ve felt jealous of him ever since.

By the time I could make out the clock it read 1:29:52. I only had a few meters to go and sprinted as hard as I could. Unlike that Australian guy I didn’t cry in pain, and I knew soon enough that I would make it, but I got a big cheer from the crowd all the same. I passed the line in 1:29:57. Oh the sweet smell of victory.

-----

PS: I got a post-race massage, and Ye Gods, did it feel good. Well, maybe not at the time. In fact at one stage he had me yelping in pain. But my calves felt so much better afterwards. He also remarked that I probably don’t stretch enough. I laughed and said that may well be the case.

Result: I came 26th, out of 568 runners, and 7th in my age group. It sounds rather impressive, doesn’t it? Maybe I have indeed moved up into the Big Boys’ league.

----

5 May: 4 miles, 33:00, 8:15 pace, avg HR 156(!!!), incl. 5x100 strides
6 May: 15 miles, including Bantry Bay Half marathon in 1:29:57, 6:51 pace. 26th overall, 7th in age group