Plan for the worst and hope for the best

So said Mike, and who am I to question the voice of wisdom. I had a long list of excuses why this would not be a good marathon, especially the fact that I had been sick a week ago and still felt the effects of it on marathon day. I finally got excited about the race on Sunday night, but when I awoke on Monday morning my mood immediately nosedived when I saw the trees bending over in the wind and the roads covered in puddles from heavy rain.

I paid a fortune for the taxi to get me to City Hall, and then assembled with the rest of the field on St. Patrick's Street. I could see the balloon for the 3:00 group not far ahead of me (and presumably Mick Rice at the other end of the tether) and had to resist the temptation of walking up to him and starting out at suicidal pace. Instead I stayed put and by pure coincidence ended up right beside Marty, so we exchanged a few words and wished each other well. Then we were off, and about 10 seconds later I crossed the line and my race began.



I did not have a fixed time goal, so I ran purely by feel. Not wishing to wear myself out within the first miles I started at what felt like rather leisurely pace, though it really was a bit faster than that. I thought I might see the leading runners at the initial almost-out-and-back section, but I must have been too far ahead in the field for that, the road was still empty coming down the other way. I saw Seamus ahead of me who I had raced with a lot of times in Kerry over the recent months. He seemed to be doing exactly my pace, just 10 steps ahead of me. Somewhere close to the 2-mile marker I finally caught up with him. I reminded him that we were in the same age group when he called me a young man and after a bit of banter I got ahead of him.

Right at the 3-mile sign we were back beside the river and on our way eastwards out of the city. The wind hit us immediately and I tried to tuck behind other runners as much as possible, but it was very hard going and I spent a lot of energy. Of course the conditions were the same for everyone else, but the combination of wind and rain is nasty, especially for a specs-wearer like me. I felt like flying blind, and I lost count of the occasions when I had to adjust or even wipe my glasses because my sight was severely curtailed.

Miles 1-5: 7:11, 7:06, 7:25, 7:13, 7:17

The Cork marathon also features a relay, and the relay stations are all a bit more than 5 miles apart. This makes it easy to divide the course into 5 much more manageable chunks and the relay runners provide a great atmosphere at the changeover points. You just have to careful not to get carried away there, and not to mind being overtaken by a few runners with fresh legs after each station. It was towards the end of the first station that I realised that Seamus was right behind me when someone called his name. The cheeky rascal had stuck to my coattails for the last 3 miles, letting me do all the work in the wind! We headed the same direction for about 2 more miles until we got off the dual carriageway and after a set of slip roads (short steep hills for us runners) we entered the most unusual stretch of any marathon course I have ever experienced, the Jack Lynch tunnel. The road is fairly steep, first in our favour on the way in, but of course we had to pay for that on our way out. I very much appreciated the break in the wind, but it did not last long enough. Seamus must have felt really guilty about using me as a wind shield earlier on because he went ahead to do the work himself for a while. Another set of hills finally got us out of the Link Road, and for a couple of miles the wind was at our back, which explains the 2 fast miles 10 and 11 (7:09 and 6:55 pace).

Miles 6-10: 7:18, 7:21, 7:21, 7:18, 7:09

Just before Blackrock Castle we basically turned around onto a path right beside the water. As I said at the time, on a lovely day this would have been a lovely stretch, but today was not that day. Instead it turned into a few miles of hell as we ran right into a miniature hurricane. Seamus was tucked behind me once more, but I found a little group, mostly lead by two guys in white singlets and for a change hitched a lift myself. Even though the pace felt rather strong, the slowest mile of the day came on that stretch and the fact that the path was entirely flat apart from two overpasses was totally negated by being blown backward with each step. Finally we turned westwards and I knew that for a few miles we did not have to worry about it any more. We re-joined last year's course and passed the halfway point in 1:35:22 on my watch, still in the same group with the 2 white singlets, Seamus, and a couple of others. The pace picked up a bit, but I still felt entirely comfortable.

Miles 11-15: 6:55, 7:19, 7:37, 7:21, 7:12

In fact I felt so comfortable that at mile 15 that I decided to inject some pace. I passed the white singlets and left Seamus behind, having earlier agreed that it's every man for himself. The next 2 miles were pretty good, but I knew that the hilly part of the race was yet to come, so maybe I was just trying to bank some time. The average pace on the Garmin so far had mostly shown 7:14, then dropped back to 7:17 on the windy path and we recovered to 7:15 by halfway. My surge at that point got me back to 7:14. I also passed a tattooed runner in a black singlet after a little chat. However, as soon as the hills started I started to struggle. I have never been the strongest of uphill runners and it showed. The runner in the black singlet went ahead again looking very strong, but I think he was the only marathon runner to pass me (plus a couple of relay runners). On my previous run here, 2 years ago, I had struggled on that stretch as well but found my legs again for a very strong finish and obviously I was hoping for the same again. However, I was starting to cough at that point, and each cough would produce some phlegm from deep within my lungs (sorry for that description). It was a clear sign that not all was hunky dory, but there was nothing I could do about it apart from hoping that I would manage to hold things together for the final 8 or 9 miles.

My left hamstring had started hurting by mile 10, but that was entirely manageable, if slightly worrying. From miles 18 to 20 this turned into agony, but the drop in pace was more down to the hills on that stretch. It was my experience that got me through that stretch. I have been there plenty of times and knew there was a chance that I would recover eventually. It took a while and felt even longer, but by the time I passed the Lough I started feeling better again and I was kind of looking forward to the last few miles. Would I be able to repeat my performance from 2 years ago and have a good finish?

Miles 16-20: 7:06, 6:57, 7:07, 7:20, 7:22

There were a few more hills to cover, but I could tell that I was doing better by the fact that I managed to catch up with the black singlet again, and somewhere around the last relay station I passed him again, this time for good. I'm pretty sure that by re-passing him I had overtaken the only marathon runner to have passed me since mile 10. I, on the other hand, starting catching runners by the dozen, but it was difficult to tell if they were marathon or relay runners, because plenty of relay runners ignored the rules of wearing a number both on the front and the back, not that it really matters in the end. But it's always a boost to gain one more place in your own race.

I am a bit disappointed now with the numbers on the Garmin, which really do not seem to reflect the massive effort I put into those miles. They might have been slower than 7:20 but were a lot harder than the ones closer to 7:00 pace earlier on. It did not help that we first had to deal with the hills, and when we turned onto the straight road that would bring us back into the city we were heading straight into the wind again. My timing was particularly bad; I had just passed a fairly big group and now there was a massive gap ahead of me; no runners, just wind. It took me half the road, but finally I gained a few more places. Mile 24 might only have been 7:24 pace but I must have passed a dozen runners.

Miles 20-25: 7:09, 7:30, 7:18, 7:27, 7:24

Of course all those mile times are from my Garmin, which never quite matches the real numbers. Normally it shows about 26.4 miles at the end of a marathon, but it had long ago become apparent that this time the discrepancy would be higher, even though I had been careful following the race line for most of the race. However, on quite a few occasions we all had to take a wider turn because of the massive and deep puddles on the road, especially on some corners that we ideally would have cut much finer. But looking at my figures and remembering the lines many of the other races took, some runners must have gone a long way more than the normal 26.22 miles at the end.

Anyway, the 25 mile marker was my sign to push the effort even further and I red-lined. My heart rate would eventually reach 180, which I had never managed in a marathon before, I'm sure. I was still passing runners, though I had no real idea of my pace or time and I did not waste effort looking at the Garmin, just pushed with all I had. The last mile really seemed to drag out a lot and the pain was immense.

Miles 26 + rest: 7:05, 6:48 pace for the final 0.5

Eventually we crossed the river again to head into the finish. For the last few seconds I finally saw the timer and at first was quite disappointed to see it at 3:12. All that hard work and suffering for a mere 3:12 marathon? But considering the circumstances, my sickness (I was still coughing up the content of my lungs), the wind, my less-than-ideal training since Connemara, this was pretty good. I guess the lesson is that if I want to run faster than that, I have to train specifically for a fast marathon.

I waited for a few minutes in the finish area and shook hands with a few runners I remembered from the course, and gave some stick to John D for missing his 3:15 pacing target (sorry John. I know you looked shattered). I was just starting to worry about Seamus when he crossed the line in 3:19, having suffered from cramps over the last 10 miles but happy with his effort.

Thinking back, I'm happy enough with mine as well. This was my 4th fastest marathon to date, and considering the circumstances I had done well enough. The first half had felt easy enough to wonder if I had started too conservatively, but considering that I had not managed to run negative splits despite the massive rise in effort during the second half, this is questionable. I easily managed to run another Boston Qualifier (not that I will run Boston next year), and I'm sure I managed to get they marathon racing fever out of my system. Now I can start training for Dingle. After all, that's only 3 months away.

Blurry race photo by Paudie.

2010 Cork City Marathon

3:12:10, 7:19 pace, HR 162
93rd out of 1427 finishers

Getting Your Excuses In Early

Or

Why I don’t think I will have a good marathon

• I was sick a week ago. I have run marathons after being sick before. They were a disaster.
  
• My resting heart rate this morning was 47. It should be below 40.
  
• The site of my dental procedure still hurts like hell.
  
• I haven’t been training properly for 8 weeks.
  
• I might be tempted to run with Mick Rice and burn horribly over the second half.
  
• Niamh wanted me to walk the 2 miles from the hotel to the start.
  
• Both calf muscles cramped horribly 2 nights ago – while getting off the sofa!
  
• I’m fat: 151 pounds. About 6 more than in Connemara.
  
• My stomach has started acting up. I was a very frequent visitor to the toilet yesterday.
  
• I can’t get excited about the race.

To be perfectly honest, I can’t even figure why I’m running this race. I am running a charity marathon in 5 weeks and if that were my only marathon this year, I might be tempted to race it and completely scupper my chances of a good race in Dingle. Cork is there to get the racing fever out of my system, and the charity marathon will be a glorified training run for Dingle. So far so good. Except that with my lack of enthusiasm for Monday’s race, there is no racing fever to get out of my system in the first place.

Niamh asked if I was excited about the race. I emphatically answered in the negative. The she asked if I was resigned. I guess that just about hits it. As soon as I got sick a week ago, my hopes for a good race went out of the window. Of course I’ll still go ahead, and of course I’ll drag my ageing body across the finish line. That’s what I always do. At the moment I just want to get it out of the way so that I can start training properly again.

Sorry ‘bout all that. I’m sure I’ll find my enthusiasm again somewhere down the line. I had a great race in Connemara. Maybe that’s just the post-ultra blues.

3 Jun

5 miles, 39:39, 7:56 pace, HR 150

4 Jun

0

5 Jun

4 miles, 32:10, 8:02 pace, HR 146

007

No, I’m not about to reveal my undercover secret service identity, that’s my mileage for the last 3 days I'm talking about. I had told you that I had been sick over the weekend, but since the symptoms were all above the neck, I initially decided to go ahead with my normal taper program, which is easy enough anyway. I was just about to go to bed on Sunday when I just happened to read this article by Private on how stupid he had been running with a throat infection. It served as a wake-up call; I put my running gear back into the cupboard and re-set my alarm clock.

Since I didn’t feel great on Monday I didn’t run on Tuesday either. Since I picked up the infection exactly 2 days after Shea, I could see all along how I was about to progress. It started with 2 days of sore throat (Shea Thursday/Friday, me Saturday/Sunday) followed by 2 days of feeling exhausted and achy (Shea Saturday/Sunday, me Monday/Tuesday) and a really annoying cough (Shea Sunday /Monday, me Tuesday/Wednesday). Shea is fine now and I guess I will feel fully restored by tomorrow. Niamh and Maia are following in our footsteps 2 days after me, which meant a couple of rough nights due to Maia crying regularly (5 times between 1 and 4 o’clock on Monday, and Niamh insists she genuinely slept through it Every Single Time).

As if being sick were not enough trouble on its own, I went to the dentist today. My last baby tooth had literally started falling apart (they are not meant to last for 40 years), but it had been in there long enough to fuse with my jaw bone and the dentist spent half an hour breaking it into smaller pieces and pulling out what he could bit by bit, leaving behind the roots and the rest that was too close to the bone. The procedure was as lovely as you can imagine, but I kept thinking I’d be hurting a lot more on Monday, so I could easily take this. But by now the anaesthetic has worn off and I'm in agony.

Anyway, I was back on the road this morning for a marathon dress rehearsal, 7 miles altogether with 3 at MP. I went by effort and heart rate to gauge where my marathon pace was. The result were 3 miles at 6:56 pace with an average HR of 164, which means I am in pretty good shape but just that little bit shy of sub-3 shape.

This is not taking the effects of my illness into account, of course. I felt well enough this morning, but 7 miles are not enough to bring out the effects that you feel after 15 or 20 miles at race effort. I have run marathons after getting sick before; the result was always an ugly, painful race and a disappointing time. I only have to look back at Dublin last year, which is still very much in my memory. Chances are this will happen again, but I’m stupid enough to give it a go anyway and go down in flames once more.

Still, in the morning right after my run I was perfectly content to aim for about 7:00 pace, which would leave me shy of 3 hours but still get me a new PR. Then I heard that Mick Rice, a class act in more than one way, will be pacing the 3-hour group in Cork (he was supposed to do 3:15 and I was hoping to keep him behind me). Now I’m thinking that running a few miles in his company might be worth the inevitable crash, but maybe that’s just the sickness affecting my brain or the after-effect of today’s local anaesthetic shutting down the more reasonable parts of my mind. I guess I might stand on the start line on Monday still not sure what to do.

5 days to go. I’m about to do something really stupid, am I not?

31 May

0

1 Jun

0

2 Jun

7.1 miles, 50:48, 7:09 pace, HR 156
incl. 3 miles at 6:56 pace, HR 164

Another One

Niamh: Say, are you serious about running for almost 8 hours in Dingle?
Thomas: Stop reading my private email!
Niamh: It’s a joint email address. Get your own one if you don’t want me to read it. Well, are you serious about running for almost 8 hours?
Thomas: Initially I said 8 hours. It took me 5:15 for 39 miles in Connemara, that would leave me 2-and a half hours for the last 11 miles to reach 7:45.
Niamh: You’re insane.

Maybe I am. She’s not the first one to say that, and she’s not the first the first one to say it referring to Dingle either.

Potential disaster struck the other day. On Thursday, Shea complained about a sore throat, and on Friday it was bad enough for him to stay home from school. You see where this is going, don’t you? On Saturday, it was my turn, and it was distinctly uncomfortable all day, especially since it came with a dull headache. Today, it’s similar, but slightly worse. Shea was fine after 48 hours, which means I should be ok again by tomorrow; we shall see. But I have been sick before marathons before, and while you may feel recovered when sitting on your chair it’s always different after running 15 miles, and there is now a big question mark over my Cork marathon.

Since it passed the neck test (no symptoms below the neck), I still went out running on both days, though I did notice a raised heart rate today. That’s not good. I’ll see how I feel tomorrow.

29 May

5 miles, 39:29, 7:53 pace, HR 144

30 May

7 miles, 53:28, 7:38 pace, HR 153
incl. 7x100 strides

Trouble!

Niamh: I cannot believe you went running on the morning of the triathlon!
Thomas: You've read my race report, then?
Niamh: Don't you think that was a bit silly?
Thomas: Er, no.
Niamh: Didn't it tire you out?
Thomas: no...
Niamh: And what was that about the happiest day?
Thomas: er... (uh, oh)
Niamh: Bloody Football! And you didn't even mention our Wedding Day!
Thomas: er ...
Niamh: At least the children's births got a mention. But not our Wedding Day!!
Thomas: I said happiest moment, not day!
Niamh: What is it with you and football?
Thomas: I was only joking! And you're not listening to anything I say, do you?
Niamh: Our Wedding Day!!! Bloody Football!!!!

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Sometimes things really come out of nowhere. I didn't see that coming at all. But I did manage to change the subject eventually.

With the marathon only 10 days away, I'm of course tapering. After all the excitement of the triathlon, this week has been rather low-key, and I'm not bouncing off the walls yet. But with only just over a week to go, I don't think I will. Once the countdown hits single digits, time tends to pass quickly enough.

I did 8 miles on Wednesday feeling great. I'm sure Tuesday's complete rest had something to do with that. The pace got rather close to 7:00 while feeling easy before I put on the breaks, just in case. I did a set of 10x100 strides on the way home, which is something I probably should have done much more often, I just keep forgetting about these.

5 easy miles on Thursday were followed by a speed workout of 800s this morning. As ever, my first thought at waking up was “oh no, speedwork”. I don't think this will ever change. The original plan was to do 6 half-mile repeats, but the fifth one was hurting from the first step, so I called it a day after that. This is not the time to wear yourself out and I'm perfectly at peace with that decision. The pace for the repeats was not bad with an average of just under 3:00 per interval, as ever slightly slower against the wind and faster with the wind. I compared them to other workouts before my two fastest marathons, Cork and Dublin 2008, and they stood up well. As long as my legs are able to withstand 26 miles, I'll do well.

26 May

8 miles, 58:40, 7:20 pace, HR 149

27 May

5 miles, 38:39, 7:44 pace, HR 141

28 May

7 miles, 50:52, 7:15 pace, HR 158
incl. 5x800 in 3:05, 2:55, 3:01, 2:57, 2:59

Hooked

I really did not think this would happen, but I decided that the triathlon had been so much fun that I immediately signed up for another one, in Caherciveen in 4 weeks time. Funnily enough, this will be so close to Valentia that the swim start will be less than 2 miles from where we had started last Saturday, but the cycle and run will be on the mainland. It will also be a lot less competitive. The Valentia triathlon had been part of the National League series which meant the top triathletes from the entire country had gathered there. In contrast, my time from Valentia, which only got me 150th place, would have been good enough for 19th last year in Caherciveen!

The kids loved watching too, which makes a change from running races. The constant buzz of the transition area had kept them entertained and the fact that they got smoothies and ice cream didn't do any harm either, I guess.

And one look in the results told me that the only athlete who had passed me during the run section was actually a relay runner, and in fact he posted the fastest run time of the day. His pace had been quite an impressive sight, I can assure you.

As for my training, I did 6 easy miles on Sunday morning in Valentia. It was still very quiet at that time, but all day long you could see plenty of very fit looking people either cycling or running all over the place. It was never hard to tell the triathletes from the “normal” tourists. The weather was so spectacularly nice, it felt so much like being on my summer holidays that I had a hard time believing that I would be back in the office the next day.

Before that, there was the small matter of my last longish run, 15 miles on Monday. The legs had still some fatigue from the triathlon in them but managed to get me round Caragh Lake without problems. On the last 3 miles Mother Nature pulled out all the stops to provide me with an amazing spectacle; all of a sudden I could see a huge cloud rolling over the mountains down towards me as I made my way home, and within 5 minutes the absolutely clear morning had turned into an amazingly thick fog, almost plotting out the sun. It felt like being in an old horror movie, only in 3D and life-sized. Niamh did not believe me that it had been bright and sunny earlier on.

Today was a complete rest day *gasp*, to recover not only from that run but also the triathlon. All of a sudden I'm in my taper for Cork. The last few weeks had seen the strangest set of training I've ever done due to the recovery from Connemara. As a result I might not be in my best possible marathon shape, but I'll give it a go anyway.

23 May

6+ miles, 48:22, 7:57 pace, HR 142

24 May

15+ miles, 1:57:24, 7:48 pace, HR 142

25 May

0

SwimCycleRun

It was 4 am on Saturday morning and I was wide awake after about 5 hours of sleep. The thought of swimming through the Atlantic was rather heavy on my mind, heavy enough to prevent any more sleep for the rest of the night. No doubt about it – I was rather nervous.

By 7 o'clock staring at the ceiling had lost its fascination and I got up. For lack of anything better to do, I went for a run. I usually go for an early morning run before short races, so why not today? I followed the route that would constitute the run portion of today's triathlon, which is basically up a hill and then turn around and come back again.

Eventually the rest of the family as well as Fionnuala, a friend who would do the race as well, joined me and we slowly got ready. The transition area was supposed to be open at 8am, but when I got there at 9:30, it was still cordoned off. Sigh. We're still in Ireland.

Sitting around doing nothing was not good for my rising anxiety levels and I think at one stage Fionnuala was tempted to throw me out of my own house, my constant fidgeting making even the veteran competitor nervous. Eventually it really was time to go and set up stall. Having Fionnuala around was really helpful and I gathered plenty of little hints and tips. I also appreciated the fact that putting on your wetsuit is not part of the actual race or else I would have been well behind everyone else already. Maybe Niamh was right when she made her remark about my ballooning weight. Having said that, putting it on the wrong way round wasn't the smartest way to start. Ahem.

The Valentia triathlon has a rather unique setting in that the swim portion is from the Irish mainland across the channel to Valentia Island itself. It's a great idea, but swimming through the Atlantic Ocean without any dry piece of land anywhere between the start and the finish was rather intimidating and the major reason for my anxiety.

The transition area was right at the harbour and then all 500 competitors gathered on the ferry for the short journey to the mainland. Well, short if you're on a boat. It's a lot longer if you have to swim. It all happened rather quickly from here on. I had a very quick dip into the water before the first wave set off (after a false start) and there was just enough time for the second wave to assemble at the start and off we were.

Having read enough about the potential mayhem of a mass swim start I kept to the right side of the field, trying to stay out of the worst of the mayhem. Still, for the next 750 meters I kept bumping into bodies coming from all sorts of angles and directions and I had no way of telling if it was me who was swimming zig-zag or them. I kept looking up every now and then and just followed the general direction of the yellow hats in front of me. I had absolutely no idea if I was towards the front, the end or the middle of the field and just tried to keep swimming at a steady rhythm. I had been worried about the fact that there was no wall every 25 meters, but if you don't have the option of resting every now and then you just don't do it and I simply kept going, keeping the effort low enough not to tire myself out unnecessarily. I was very reluctant to look behind because I was worried to see that I had only covered a tiny portion of the swim. The complete lack of reference points made it impossible to tell where we were. For the first half I only saw murky green water, then it must have become shallower because I could sea fern every few meters. I did get a few elbows and feet into the face and inadvertently kicked a few people myself, but no major incidents. Eventually I saw the pier ahead of me and knew this would indeed be over soon, and then came the happiest moment of my life when my feet touched firm ground again and I could stop my poor imitation of a fish. (I'm exaggerating, of course. The happiest moment of my life was of course Paul Dickov's 95th minute equalizer in Wembley against Gillingham in 1999. [What do you mean what about the birth of my children? Go away!])

Apparently for the last 50 meters Fionnuala and me had been swimming side-by-side but I had not noticed a thing, just concentrated on the exit. I quickly waved to Niamh and the kids who very cheering and made my way into transition where I was very surprised to see Fionnuala's bike still on the rack. Having said that, she was there a few seconds after me and I was still struggling to get out of my wetsuit when she took her super fancy TT bike with aero bars and racing wheels off the rack. I followed a good bit later, but eventually I was on my way myself. Niamh tried to take a few photos, but she might not yet make it as action photographer. To be fair, the camera probably did not help.

The cycle starts with slightly over 2 miles of continuous climbing to an elevation of about 100 meters, but the gradient is smooth enough to stay in your saddle at all times. I surprised myself by passing scores of people. It really must have been dozens, and some of them did not exactly look super-fit. My overwhelming thought at this was “I really have to learn to swim better”; maybe it's arrogant but those guys did not look like they should ever have been ahead of me at all.

Anyway, just one guy went by me on that climb, and towards the end of it I even passed Fionnuala. I expected her to fly ahead again at the next part (and so did she), but for the time being I just enjoyed overtaking. I got passed once more, but it turned out to be the same guy again! I have no idea when I had gone past him and if I caught him again later on.

Obviously the climb was followed by a dro and while I did not go past people at the same rate any more, I still kept moving up the field gradually. My proudest moment came shortly afterwards when I overtook a guy on a fancy TT bike in full aero position, and there was me going past on my relatively cheap and heavy frame.

Soon enough we reached the other end of the island where we had to take it easy on a set of tight blind corners, but I went through without incident. I had expected the wind to be on our back for the return trip, but actually it came from the side and was rather strong. Fionnuala later told me that it caused real problem with her deep-rimmed racing wheels and she was really scared most of the way. I, on the other hand, had an entirely different mishap. At one stage, doing quite some pace on a downhill stretch, felt something tugging at the top of my head and a few seconds later, before I knew what was going on, there was another, heavier, tug and all of a sudden it was ok again. Something seemed not quite right, and when I touched the top of my helmet I realised that the plastic cover had completely blown off and just left the styrofoam behind. How bizarre is that. Technically I had just violated the no-littering rule, but I was not going to turn around and start looking for the rest of my helmet, and what was left would just have to do for the rest.

I expected to tire out on the bike eventually. 20 km might not be long, but it's a lot longer than my usual 8 km ride to work which constituted 90% of my “training”. In actual fact I felt great all the way through and kept passing people. Just before the end one rider passed me on an aero bike and I entered transition right behind her. I tried to get out of my shoes while still on the bike, but when I got my first foot out the shoe started dragging on the ground and I was worried about my balance if I took out the other foot, so I got off the bike one foot still in my bike shoe and the other one bare. At least my stall was stationed close to the entrance.

Since I had acquired a blister yesterday I decided to wear socks on the run after all and it was that delay that enabled Fionnuala to once more pass me during transition. Having said that, her 28 seconds transition time was rather spectacular, but taking more than twice that time was still poor. It didn't help that I started running and noticed after about 5 steps that I still had my helmet on! At least I noticed it before going out of transition.

Finally, a real sport! Setting out on the run I passed my personal cheer leaders and action photographer once more and set off, 2.5 km uphill, 2.5 km downhill. I found it rather disconcerting that the overall winners finished their race just as I started my run, 20 minutes behind. Then I remembered that they had been on wave 1, meaning I was “only” 15 minutes behind. At first all the runners coming down looked like super serious athletes (which they were), but the sheer amount of runners ahead of me was not a sight that I particularly appreciated. I did the best I could to recover the situation and passed out scores of people, including Fionnuala. “There won't be any more transitions for you to pass me” I quipped, though I should have saved my breath for the run up that mountain. I could have sworn it had grown since the morning. At least passing people kept me focused and the pace honest. One runner overtook me, and he ran like a whippet, probably one of those 15-minute 5k dudes I have no business competing with. As I neared the top I kept looking at the runners coming downhill, wondering how many of them I would be able to catch. Eventually I reached the turnaround point.

I had expected the run part to be the most enjoyable one, but in actual fact I found it the hardest. The swim had gone much better than expected, the cycle was oodles of fun, but the run was really tough. It didn't help that we were running up the side of a mountain and that the sun was blazing at full setting, of course, but I think there was a different factor. On the swim and the bike my exercise threshold had been lower. But having completed dozens of runs I know how hard I can push my body, and pushing hard means pain. On the plus side, I must have gained a few dozen places. In the downside, it hurt.

As I got closer to Knightstown again I was both looking forward to the end of the torture and ruing the fact that I could still see loads of slower runners who would finish ahead of me because I was running out of road. I always kept concentrating not on the runner directly ahead of me but on the one before that to make sure I would always have a target in front of me, even after I had passed someone. I even found the legs for a sprint finish somewhere, focusing on the woman ahead of me who I passed one step before the finish, gaining one last place (or so I thought. Turns out she was a wave 1 swimmer, so was 5 minutes slower anyway).

After surviving the swim everything else was just a bonus and I was happy enough. It sure had been fun and I guess I'll do that again, but I am definitely a runner, not a triathlete. This was reflected in the final results; I came 150th, 19th M40, and in a race of 500 runners I would have been significantly further ahead. For the next time there is plenty of scope for improvement, during the transitions especially, and of course I could make a radical change and actually train for the swim and the bike parts. Now there's a thought. But for the time being I'll focus on my upcoming marathons and ultra instead.

Update: I was 340th on the swim, 152nd on the bike and 44th on the run. I think I know where to improve.

22 May

Valentia Island Sprint Triathlon 2010
1:17:37, 150th overall, 19th M40
swim: 17:24, T1 + cycle: 38:54, T2: 1:06, run: 20:13 (11:09 up, 9:04 down)

Fear!

Is there really no way I can gracefully pull out of this stupid triathlon thingy now? All week I have been praying for an unexpected storm front with gale force winds that would force them to cancel the swim section, but with half a day to go it looks like that’s not gonna happen. Instead we’ll have a clear, sunny day. That means I’ll be expected to swim from the mainland all the way past dozens of sharks to some island out in the middle of the Atlantic.

Of course I’m woefully underprepared. Swimming was nothing but cross-training to me, and cycling was mainly commuting to work, and even the running has been very low key because I’m still recovering from Connemara.

SLAP SLAP SLAP. Stop crying, you wimp!

Back to reality. On Wednesday I ran another interval workout, 10x400s again with plenty of recovery. I did 87,84,89,84,85,87,86,91,86,87, which makes an average of 86.6, almost a second faster than the previous workout. I call that a success.

Both yesterday and today were easy runs in light of tomorrow’s race. Just as long as I make it as far as the run! I put lock laces on my shoes last night and took them out for a spin this morning. The laces were fine, but I also tested running without socks and promptly got a blister on my left foot. Brilliant! I’ll take socks to the transition area, but still plan on doing without.

The targets for tomorrow are:

Bronze: Survive the swim
Silver: Don’t come out of the water DFL
Gold: Have fun!

19 May

8.1 miles, 1:00:26, 7:28 pace, HR 157
incl. 10x400 in 87,84,89,84,85,87,86,91,86,87

20 May

7 miles, 55:25, 7:55 pace, HR 142

21 May

5 miles, 39:23, 7:53 pace, HR 142

5-4-3-2-1

The alarm went off at 5:15 on Monday as I was planning my one proper long workout for the Cork City marathon. Everything else was just recovery from Connemara, really.

Within a minute I noticed that my legs, especially the right hamstrings, felt very stiff and tired and decided, for the first time ever, to completely abandon the workout and go back to bed.

Then I thought about Saturday’s triathlon, and the fact that now I would not be able to do a speed session this week without tiring myself out for that race, so I turned round for a second time and went ahead with the workout after all.

What I had in mind were 5/4/3/2/1 miles at marathon effort with maybe 2 minutes of recovery in-between. That’s 15 miles of marathon pace, and 18 miles in total. This was going to be tough.

At least as important as the fitness boost from that workout would be the feedback from the pace I would be able to hold. Up to then I had no idea where I was, fitness-wise. Running and recovering from an ultra has messed up my system.

Well, I got going. The 5-mile section was always going to be do-able. I went by feel, and was very surprised by the low heart rate. The legs definitely told me not to go faster, but the HR seemed to be lodged in the high 140s, low 150s. By contrast, I expected to see something closer to 165. That difference is massive. But the pace, 7:00 exactly according to Garmin, was good.

After a brief recovery I launched into the 4-mile part. This started with the only climb of the day, which took some toll on my legs. I managed to make up for that, but I did notice that the pace was faltering towards the end. Had I run too fast?

At that point I took a gel and some drink. This revived me sufficiently to start the 3-mile run with renewed vigour. In fact, I broke 7:00 pace for the first time on this section, and the HR was still below 160. I did start getting tired, but it was definitely manageable.

The last 2 sections were always going to be easy due to their short length. I started the 2-mile section too fast because I was basically chasing after 2 girls who were jogging down the same road and had to put on the breaks when the Garmin told me I was doing 6:12 pace (Thomas you idiot!), and on the last section I just ran fast while still being in full aerobic control without looking at the watch once.

Considering I had very tired legs, this had gone brilliantly. I must be in better shape than expected. I compared this with other workouts for my marathons and found only one, before Boston (10 miles @ 7:18, 10 miles @ 6:48), that seemed better than this. It probably trumped what I had done before Cork in 2008 (17 miles with 15 @ 7:10 pace), so I guess I should be able to better that time (3:09). However, there is only one way to find out and as always in marathons, you only get one shot.

Today, in contrast, I went swimming. I saved the petrol driving to Killarney and went to the sea instead. I was rather nervous about an open water swim early in the morning, and the shock of the cold water literally took my breath away at first. However, 30 seconds later I was swimming properly, and in marked contrast to my 2 previous attempts in Rosbeigh I actually noticed that I was moving. I didn’t stay in there long, about 15 minutes, but now I can sign that waiver in Valentia saying that I have completed an OWS with a clear conscience.

17 May

18 miles, 2:09:01, 7:10 pace, HR 153
incl: 5 miles @ 7:00 (HR 152), 4 @ 7:01 (157), 3 @ 6:58 (157), 2 @ 6:59 (159), 1 @ 6:48 (163)

18 May

15 minutes OWS

Yet Another Weekend

Since I was still stiff as a board even after an off day, Saturday became another easy day of 6 miles. These 6 mile runs seem to have become a staple of my running; I hesitate calling it training because I still remember the times when twice this would have been seen as an easy day. But it set me up for a workout on Saturday.

Following Michael's advice I kept my speed work short and sharp and only did 8x400. By some coincidence, Grellan's latest entry describes a set of 400s as well, and it's interesting to see the differences. For once, he did 10. Secondly, he ran them significantly faster than me; in Daniels' terms, his would have been at R-pace, mine at I-pace. Well, I intentionally held back at each one, running them at my 5K race pace, which equals to 90 seconds per 400, or maybe a second or 2 faster. Even though I didn't check the Garmin while running, that's pretty much the pace I managed to achieve. It was a rather windy day and the repeats kept alternating in and out of the breeze, which is why the even numbered ones were all about 3 seconds faster than the odd ones. With only 8 repeats on the menu, this was over soon enough, whether measured in time or fatigue. Opinions vary wildly, but plenty of people say this is how an interval workout is supposed to be done, at least an I-paced one.

More gardening work didn't help and tired legs led to another easy run on Sunday. I would have loved sleeping in, but at 7:20 Maia walked into our room and rather forcefully demanded breakfast; that was the end of my time in bed. As Niamh later said, just another 16 or so years of that to come.

I might have just complained about my legs, but actually there has been a major improvement this week. The Stick has seen a lot of action, so much so that Niamh commented that I'm sure getting my money's worth out of that thing. Rather than hurting a lot, the legs are now merely stiff from the previous day's training and I finally feel recovered from Connemara and Wexford (which, in hindsight, I should not have raced). With the triathlon coming in a week and the Cork marathon 16 days after that, this may be just in time, but I'm still more than a bit weary about the marathon. I seriously considered pulling out of the race altogether. I had wondered what pace I might be able to achieve, and after Wednesday's run 7:20 seemed optimistic. There will be a pace group going out for 3:15 (7:26 pace), but aiming for a 3:15 marathon seems a bit pointless. It's 10 minutes slower than my PB and I really cannot get excited about this. I feel my only options that seem worthwhile are either to race it and aim for at least 3:10, or jog it to 3:30 and call it a long training run. Anything in-between will take too long to recover from without the chance of providing a satisfactory outcome.

Anyway, let's move on. I also measured my resting HR today. I did the same last week and was shocked to see an inability of my heart to go under 49 beats. That's incredibly high for me. Luckily, my fears were somewhat allayed this morning with a reading of 40, and that coming a day after intervals which probably caused a slightly raised reading. As I've said, I've seen some real improvement this week.

Oh, and I did another open water swim in the sea today. I hope I'll be able to cope next Saturday.

14 May

6.1 miles, 49:44, 8:09 pace, HR 145

15 May

7.1 miles, 51:12, 7:12 pace, HR 160
incl. 8X400 @ 88, 86, 89, 86, 91, 87, 87, 85

16 May

am: 6.1 miles, 50:10, 8:13 pace, HR 138
pm: 20 minutes OWS

Dear Legs,

I know you go on a break after a marathon and ultra, and I know you like staying away for a while, but it is now almost 5 weeks since Connemara and you know what? I really miss you! Those empty shells you left behind in your place might look similar but feel entirely different. They're just not up to the job.

Remember the great times we used to have? Like that morning when we shared the road for 30 miles and then cycled to work? Or a similar pre-breakfast marathon? How we laughed when you started cramping violently on the bike! Or the hill repeats, the tempo runs and of course the countless insanely hilly loops around Caragh Lake, pure magic during sunrise. Please come back. It will be great again. I promise, this time I won't push you too hard.

Those placeholders could not even handle yesterday's 15 mile run. When I asked them to speed up over the last 4 miles they complained like mad, pretending it was impossible. Liars, the two of them. They did get down to 7:22 pace eventually when I insisted, uphill and against the wind. But it's just not the same.

Dear Readers,

I know you wanted to take out your credit card straight away and sponsor my marathon in July, but it just was not to hand. Don't worry. I don't mind. You can still do it now. It's a great cause and I know you want to help. Now's your chance. Thanks. And thank you very much to the guys who have done so already. You rule!

12 May

15 miles, 1:56:45, 7:47 pace, HR 154
incl. 4 miles @ 7:22 (HR 164)

13 May

45 mins swimming

Asking for Help

I had planned to do a faster session on Monday but the legs were very stiff and sore, which I attribute mostly to the hours of gardening work rather than running. Still, during the first two miles of the run, when still warming up, I repeatedly tried to spin the legs and the pace never went faster than 6:30, so I decided to not even try a tempo session. Instead I thought I'd see if I could hold 6:50 pace for any real period of time, and was prepared to stop at any time. It started out reasonably well, but after less than 2 miles it became tough. I hung on for a bit longer – to the next bend, the next tree, the next house, until I eventually fell back into the groove. The same thing happened again after about 4 or 5 miles, and again I managed to keep going. After 6 miles my average pace was still about 6:48, but I did flag a little bit from there until I reached home and ended up with 6:50 over 8 miles and I don't think I could have kept it up for much longer. Thinking about it, that's not too surprising – a week ago I had not managed to run faster than 6:46 pace for a half marathon race. The strange thing was that today my legs kept complaining while at the same time I had real troubles elevating my heart rate, which was the complete opposite to what it had been like last week.

Sadly, the legs were really sore for the rest of the day, and I only did 5 miles today. On the plus side, I started out with really sore legs and returned home with perfectly fine ones. Endorphins are great stuff. Remarkably, the temperates were only around 2 degrees in the morning. No wonder it felt a bit chilly.

I have started another no-sugar diet. Since Easter my weight has ballooned from 144 to 153 pounds, which equals my heaviest reading for the last three years. Just like during lent, I'm cutting out sweets and chocolate. I decided not to be quite as strict this time. While things like sweets, chocolate and ice cream are banned, I do allow myself some more reasonable things like jam on my toast for breakfast. That way I hope it will be easier to maintain, but hopefully will still cause a few pounds to drop off my frame. On Sunday, when Niamh saw me in my wetsuit, she said “Thomas, how many pounds have you put on?” Thanks, honey! Of course we all know that if the roles had been reversed, she would have killed me.

But there is something much more important on my mind. You might remember that I'm running another marathon 5 weeks after Cork, this time for charity. I have created a donation page and would be thrilled if you could spare a few quid. The 32 marathon challenge is a really great way of raising funds and deserves support. Any donation, even the smallest one, will be gratefully received.

10 May

10 miles, 1:10:32, 7:03 pace, HR 159
incl. 8 miles @ 6:50 (HR 164)

11 May

5 miles, 41:03, 8:12 pace, HR 141

Weekend

Saturday
Woke at 6:20, tried for half an hour to get back to sleep, gave up, got up, got ready. Went on bike for what was supposed to be a 90 minute ride but extended it a bit to get to Kate Kearney's Cottage (where the Gauntlet Half Marathon started and finished last November) and missed a turn on the way home. All in all just over 29 miles in 102 minutes, which comes to 17 mph (no, I didn't exactly kill myself). Immediately went for a run to make this a brick workout. The feeling in the legs when running off the bike is very weird, but it didn't slow me down. I started out at about 7:30 and got faster with each step until the average pace was down to 6:48. I had vague ideas of adding a second run later that day, but that fell victim to gardening work which took up the rest of the day.

Sunday
Woke up at 6:15, tried for half an hour to get back to sleep, gave up, got up, got ready. Had planned to run longer but sore legs convinced me to take it easy, so 6 miles at easy pace it was. More gardening work followed, but I stopped at 5 o'clock to drive to Rosbeigh for my first open water swim. I felt like a right langer walking down to the beach in my wetsuit but it worked a treat; while my feet were freezing, the rest of me felt fine. I didn't stay in long, but I now know what's in store. Ideally I'd like to do another OWS before the tri, but we'll see.

The weather was much better than forecast. At least I think she said there would be scattered showers, but I tend to get slightly distracted by the tight fitting leather dresses worn by the weather lady. I thought it might be early signs of an oncoming midlife crisis, but apparently I'm not alone.

Thank God tomorrow is Monday. I'm shattered and need some office hours for recovery.

8 May

29 miles cycling, 1:42, 17mph
3 miles, 20:29, 6:48 pace, HR 158

9 May

6.1 miles, 48:34, 7:57 pace, HR 143
open water swim

Short and Concise

Whenever I think of the training for the Cork marathon, I get two opposing panic attacks. The first is “Oh my God, I need more long runs, I haven’t run longer than 13 miles since Connemara” and the second “Oh my God, I need to rest more”. This contradiction is so far unresolved.

And then there is the small matter of my first ever triathlon. The closer the date gets, the more I’m dreading it. I think that’s not a unique perception of your first tri. But luckily I have told far too many people about it, there is no chance to get out of this now. We might get to Valentia this weekend and I’ll make sure to bring my wetsuit.

The last few days have been really windy, which I can feel both on my runs and on my bike commute. I had the wind behind me for the first half of yesterday’s run, which of course meant fighting it for the return leg. But I found that it doesn’t really matter on easy days. The effort remains the same, and the fact that the pace slows a bit does not matter.

It might be way late, but I thought I’d post our video from the Easter Egg hunt anyway. The kids had great fun, and you would not believe how much organisation has to go into setting up a dozen or so treasure stations. Unfortunately my computer is more a museum piece by now and had real troubles with the size of the video files, which is why the final video isn’t quite as nice as I’d have liked, but it’s the best I could do with limited resources. The kids love watching it anyway.



Ewen, how’s that for a short post?

6 May

8 miles, 1:03:45, 7:58 pace, HR 146

7 May

5 miles, 40:35, 8:07 pace, HR 143

Restarting Recovery

I found myself in 2 pictures from Sunday’s half marathon. In the first one, shortly after the start, I’m strong and confident, looking forward to the next 13 miles. The other one from the finishing line shows me in slightly less flattering light. Every single one of the previous 13 miles has left its mark, leaving me looking like Quasimodo’s less handsome older brother.

I didn’t know a half marathon can take that much out of your legs. I wasn’t too worried about being sore on Monday, but when I was grimacing walking down a stair on Tuesday I realised that my legs were in the same sate I usually am immediately after a marathon. On the plus side, they feel much better today, so the recovery is definitely happening. I have no idea on how best to train for Cork, so I guess I’ll just have to wing it. The whole business might feel like a really bad idea come mile 15. I know, because I’ve been exactly there in Dublin last year. Problem is, apparently I’m refusing to take in the lesson.

Had I been at home on Monday I would have gone swimming, but I wasn’t and therefore I didn’t. Instead I did a very easy 5 mile double-loop around the Stillorgan reservoir before jumping into the car driving home. Thanks to a new stretch og motorway, that only took 4 hours. Give it a bit more time and the Irish road network might even get to the state where most of Western Europe was 50 years ago, yippee!

Anyway, I belatedly entered the swimming pool on Tuesday. I won’t follow Grellan’s lead in posting details about the swimming itself because my training is just too pathetic and I’d look like a complete idiot in comparison. (Note to self: don’t ever enter a triathlon that he’s competing in). I still have to do an open water swim. We might go to Valentia over the weekend in which case I could do it there, or I might head to Rossbeigh at some stage. But I really, really, really have to do this. The triathlon is a mere 17 days from now. Crikey! I didn’t even realise it was that close until I just checked the calendar. Oh, and I did a bit of cycling during my lunchtime. I thought I might as well take advantage of the nice weather.

Another easy run followed this morning, and the legs are definitely much better than on Monday. On the downside, one weekend in Nana’s house has seen my weight balloon up to 151 pounds again, basically the same level I used to be before my no-sugar diet over lent. Accordingly I‘ll start the same regime again until the Cork City marathon. I just have to empty the chocolate cupboard first. I might get there by Friday.

3 May

5 miles, 43:04, 8:37 pace, HR 139

4 May

swimming, cycling

5 May

6.1 miles, 49:54, 8:11 pace, HR 145

Damage Limitation

It's fair to say that I expected better things of today's race. Going into it I knew perfectly well that I was pushing my luck, racing a half marathon a mere 3 weeks after giving it all at the Connemara Ultra. During the last week my body kept giving me conflicting signals; on the one hand my paces for tempo runs were better than ever before, on the other hand my heart rates were sky high and the pain in my quads told me I had not yet recovered from the Ultra.

With that in mind I decided to go ahead full steam and keep my chances of a new personal best alive during the early miles. If I blew up, well, it's only a half marathon, how painful could that be?

We left Dublin early with a car full of tired children but the journey was much faster than expected and I was at the race registration at 9 o'clock, well before the 9:30 deadline. Niamh scampered off to visit a friend (which is how I had managed to sell the trip to her) and I warmed up before we all assembled at the start line. We got introduced to last year's male and female winners, and then we were off.

I made sure not to get carried away and started nice and slowly. After all, the first thing we did was to cross a big bridge and that meant going uphill at first. It wasn't until I reached the apex of said structure that I checked my Garmin – 6:08 pace. Oops. I put on the brakes, or rather took it a bit easier coming down the bridge and a few runners went past me, leaving me somewhere around 13th position. We headed down the quay and then onto the road towards Rosslare. At that stage a few more runners caught up to me and we formed a group of 5 runners, though we tended to get torn apart on each little hill and reassembled again on the downhills. So far this was mostly flat and the little bits of elevation change hardly deserved to be called hills. One look at the Garmin told me that we were doing 6:23 pace, which would easily get me a new PB. Things were looking good.

Unusually for Ireland the course was marked in kilometers, and while I'm perfectly able to calculate that into miles I relied mostly on my Garmin to figure out where we were. I knew there was a big hill waiting during the first half and a look to my right gave me a pretty good idea of what was in store. I had checked out the elevation profile in advance, and from what I gathered it would be a climb of about 250 feet and then it looked like a gradual descent over the next few miles. Then again, I seemed to remember quite a few people moaning about the hills after last year's race, and they were definitely talking about more than one. We would see.

While the legs felt perfectly fine, the heart rate on the Garmin gave me cause to worry because each time it was coming up as 180 and more. That's what I would usually see in a 5K, not a half marathon. Still, I pressed on, trying to stay in touch with the rest of the group. After all, this was only a half marathon. How hard could that be?

We took a right turn and the climb started soon enough. It was really steep and I was suffering. I think I once made the mistake of looking at the Garmin and saw a HR of 184, but that memory is a bit hazy. What I do know is that our group fragmented for good with 2 guys storming off ahead and the 2 others falling back, leaving me on my own in the middle. Then I saw a the road flattening out ahead of me at a junction and decided that this was nowhere near as bad as expected. Fooled! Seeing the road rising again right behind the next bend was a blow, and I was really suffering now. Then, oh sweet Lord, the water station came into view. That's the top, thank Goodness. However, as I approached the water table, the steward did not seem particularly inclined to hand me a cup. “Come on, water!!” That came out of my mouth before I knew what I was doing, and it struck me a rather rude, but I was past it now and it was too late to apologize. I really detest runners who abuse volunteers, so if the guy in question reads this, I am really sorry! Anyway, my punishment followed on the spot as it turned out that there was yet more climbing to do, but as far as I can tell every runner got punished that way, not just the one who deserved it.

When I finally reached the top, this time the real one, I glanced at my Garmin to see if I had used up all of my cushion required for a new PB, which would require 6:30 pace. To my horror, I had moved back all the way to 6:39! This was much worse than expected, but I might be able to catch up again on the downhill. Or so I thought.

What I had not factored in was the wind, and it was really strong, much worse than forecast. Even though the road descended at a gradient that allowed striding out very well, it felt like we got blown halfway back with each step and it was hard work. One thing I noticed was that last year's female winner came back into view, and since I had seen another lady ahead of my group early on it meant she would probably have to settle for the runner-up spot this time. But I had my own problems to worry about. When we reached the bottom of the hill I had indeed made up some time – all of one second, with the average now at 6:38. I kissed all hopes of a new PB good bye and was highly tempted to jog the rest of the way to the finish. I was absolutely knackered by now. I vaguely remembered a race a couple of years ago when the legs had felt fresh but the HR was too high, and as it turned out it was the HR that won out. And now I was heading straight for a repeat performance. I think the one thing that kept me pushing hard was the sight of last year's top lady. Beating a woman is still one thing that keeps a fragile male ego going.

I was still only about a third into the race. I was totally knackered and each breath was accompanied by a moaning sound. It was way too soon to be feeling like that. I had known that I might have been headed for trouble, but I had expected only the quads to be acting up. Instead it was that all-encompassing feeling of pain and exhaustion that was getting a hold of me, with every muscle in my body singing a slightly different note of pain to perform the full-body harmony of agony.

As it turns out, the conflicting information about the elevation was resolved in favour of last year's moaners. There was no gradual drop back towards sea level but a grueling sequence of up and down, up and down, up and down. All of it seemed to be against the wind and that was getting even stronger, or maybe it just felt like that. Who would have thought a half-marathon can hurt so much. The next miles are just a blur of hill after hill, step after step, breath after breath. I caught up to the walkers who had started well ahead of the runners and on more than one occasion got really annoyed because they were walking three abreast at times and the runners had to find their way around them. On one occasion, shortly after the halfway mark, we went off the road for a short stretch onto a narrow path, and the two girls ahead completely blocked it. It could only shout “Oy” and one of them stepped aside just in time, which was the second time I had been a bit rude today. Maybe it just wasn't my day.

Last year's womens' winner kept her distance from me for most of that stretch. At times she seemed to be getting closer, at other times I thought I was losing ground, but eventually, on a long downhill stretch (which unfortunately was against the string wind again, like all the others) around the 9-mile mark I finally caught up with her. I wanted to say something but nothing came out of my mouth and I just passed her in silence. Actually, I was really surprised that I had not lost a single place in the field since the first mile. Maybe everyone else was having just as hard a time as me? That theory was disproven about a mile later when a runner in a yellow shirt went past. We quickly exchanged a few words and then he was gone, running quite a bit faster than I could manage. Where had he come from all of a sudden?

Not much later we were back in Wexford town, and a very pretty town it turned out to be (it was my first ever visit here). We went through a maze of little streets which you don't see very often any more, well preserved and even in my exhausted state I could appreciate the neat surroundings. I lost sight of the runner ahead at times on those twisty passages, but a steady stream of walkers was there to keep me company. I heard the announcer at the finish, but a look at the Garmin told me there was still a bit over a mile left. Eventually we arrived at the quay again, where another runner managed to pass me. I tried to hang on and had faint hopes of re-passing him on the final stretch. To be honest, I have no idea where that idea came from. Since I don't have a finishing kick, I never catch runners on the line. It must have been my oxygen-starved brain fantasizing wildly.

And then my left quads finally went into the long expected state of total agony, though it was more on the outside of the leg rather than right in front where they had been hurting all week.

The last stretch included a zig-zag with two U-turns that were obviously there to make up the distance. Straightforward as they were, in my state I found them really confusing, and had I not been following the runner that had just passed me I would have gone the wrong way. Incidentally, exactly that happened to a guy in a white t-shirt that came steaming down the wrong way against us, looking confused, but I think a steward managed to steer him onto the right path. Try as I might, not only did I lose contact to the guy ahead, I was passed once more, this time by a heavily tattooed guy. Losing not just one but two places on the last half mile really annoyed me, and it really summed up my day.

The bridge, which had seemed a world away as we entered the quay, finally came closer and I crossed the line in 1:28:41, over three minutes slower than my PB and hurting badly. I think I heard the announcer saying I was 16th, out of about 750 but that figure must include the walkers. I limped towards the exit, collected my medal, some water and a banana before finding a bench where I could sit for a minute until the worst of the pain subsided. I recovered reasonably quickly and rang Niamh who collected me half an hour later. I used the time to walk around Wexford, taking in the scenery at a more sedate pace than earlier. My legs felt too painful to do a real cool-down (I tried), but walking around for half an hour did me a world of good. Obviously the long miles of Connemara are still in there. I really have to take care of my legs over the next few weeks. Recovery is paramount, and right now I'm not so sure the Cork marathon is really such a good idea.

If you're wondering how the photos fit into that report, they are from Mount Usher Gardens where we stopped for a walk on the way home. They're stunningly beautiful, even if the admission fee is rather steep.

2 May

15+ miles, including:
Wexford Half Marathon, 1:28:41, 6:46 pace, avg. HR 176 (ouch!)

East Coast, Ireland

As Niamh pointed out, this is her fourth trip on consecutive weekends, Connemara, Dublin, Trabolgan and Dublin again, and while I didn't partake in her first Dublin trip I did bring the twins to Cork that day, so it definitely has been a busy month for all of us. Of course, this also included the small matter of a 39+ mile race around the Connemara country side, which is why there is still a question mark about the state of my legs, especially the quads.

After the tempo session early this week I was really getting worried about that pain that was getting chronic by now. I don't remember ever being sore for so long after a race, which was even more surprising considering how great I had felt the day (and days) immediately after the race. Eventually I dug out The Stick from the back of my possessions and not only started using it then, I also brought it with me to Dublin, an unprecedented course of action. Maybe it was the regular treatments with that glorified rolling pin, maybe the compression tights that I have been sneakily wearing underneath my trousers, maybe the succession of easy runs or maybe just the inevitable outcome after giving it enough time, but my legs are definitely feeling better now, and I'm reasonably confident that they'll get me through tomorrow's race in one piece.

If that race is really such a good idea is still open to question, of course. In fact, I do have a sneaky feeling that it might not be. But why let reasonable caution interfere with the fun?

With an eye on tomorrow's race as well as the pain in my quads, the last few runs have all been easy. 6 miles in Kerry on Thursday were followed by 5 in Dublin on Friday, and another 5 this morning together with a short session of 10x10 sec hill sprints in Deer Park. Just like last week's equivalent workout in Trabolgan, the hill in Deer Park had seemed much steeper in my memory than it turned out to be once I got there, but once again it would have to do. At least it was on grass rather than road, and nobody told me to get off the grass either. The heart rates for all those runs were higher than what I would have liked to see. The hills of Connemara are definitely still in there.

Anyway, tomorrow will require an early morning morning for a day trip down the coast to Wexford. Niamh will visit some friends while I will measure myself against the local running scene.

29 Apr

6.1 miles, 48:10, 7:54 pace, HR 146

30 Apr

5 miles, 38:45, 7:45 pace, HR 149

1 May

5 miles, 40:34, 8:07 pace, HR 156
incl. 10X10 sec hill sprints

Nine Years On

It might have pretty much bankrupted me, but apparently my spending spree for the twins’ birthday got me a nomination for the Best Dad Ever award. You could learn lesson on naked materialism from the younger generation, it seems. But now is not the time for moralising sermons.



A better lesson could come from my good lady wife, who once more surpassed herself in the birthday cake stakes. This one wasn’t just amazing to look at, it also tasted fabulously. Since I have long re-gained my temporarily lost pre-Connemara weight, I did not have to worry about added pounds. I’m a fat slob as it is.

With the next half marathon just around the corner I thought it would make sense to get some tempo miles under the belt. I had canned the initially planned session over the weekend due to sore quads, but when I woke on Tuesday they seemed perfectly fine so decided to go ahead. As it turned out, running at easy effort was perfectly fine but as soon as the pace dropped below 7:00 the pain returned. I pressed on stubbornly and repeated 5 miles at tempo effort. The first two were with the blustery wind and slightly downhill, the next two against the wind and slightly uphill and the final one more or less sheltered but with another slight downhill. The paces reflected the conditions at 6:19, 6:05, 6:35, 6:39 and 6:16. I must have totally spaced out on the last two because I didn’t check the Garmin as I approached the end of the mile and carried on, both times running well over 1.1 miles before re-joining the conscious world and realising my mistake. But the real eye-rising moment didn’t come until afterwards when I checked the numbers from the Garmin, back home. The effort had been comfortably hard but do-able, but it turns out the heart rates were through the roof. They were so high that I initially thought they were the max HRs per interval rather than the average, but that was not the case: 161, 170, 175, 176, 173. They should all be in the high 160s, really. Assuming the numbers are correct, I’m a bit at a loss how I could push myself to such high heart rates without even noticing. On the other hand, I’m absolutely delighted with the pace figures. I have never run mile repeats at even close to that pace (6:23 average) in previous years. Ultra training seems to really agree with me. Or maybe it’s just the reduced mileage.

As mentioned, the quads did plenty of complaining during the mile repeats, but obviously did not slow me down. To give them a rest I decided to go swimming today. I really didn’t feel comfortable in the pool and felt like my swim training is going backwards, but somehow I manage to increase the number of laps each time I get into that pool, for the same amount of time (45-50 minutes), so maybe I’m making progress after all. But I was glad to get out of the water eventually and I did forgo a planned cycle during lunchtime to give the quads some extra rest.

I did notice one big difference in my attitude to running and cycling/swimming. When running I more or less refuse to do even a single step without my Garmin or a similar device that I can feed into the computer afterwards. On the bike and in the pool I’m perfectly happy to simply get on with it, figure out the distance afterwards and not worry about it for another second.

We’re off to Dublin tomorrow evening. The kids are very excited about the prospect of seeing their new baby cousin. Actually, so am I.

27 Apr

8.1 miles, 55:49, 6:53 pace, HR 163
5xmile @ 6:19, 6:05, 6:35, 6:39, 6:16

28 Apr

50 minutes swimming

Worn Out

Three days of Trabolgan have left me more exhausted than the Connemara Ultra a fortnight ago. Constantly running after 4 pesky kids turns out to be the equivalent of a long distance run; maybe I should have worn my Garmin during the day. The kids did climbing, zip wire, go-karts, trampoline, archery and probably a few other things I forgot to mention, in addition to plenty of time on playgrounds and 2 hours in the swimming pool every day. The pool was big with a massive water slide and a wave generator, but the one thing you could not really do was actual swimming. It was too crowded and even though Niamh and me shared the roles we still had to constantly keep our eyes on two children each. Shea especially demands constant attention, he keeps getting drawn to the deep end like a moth to the light and I had to drag him out of there on more than one occasion every single day. Triathlon training this was not.

I did some running as well, but certainly less than anticipated. On Saturday I headed out for what was supposed to be a fairly short run at easy pace but I got lost, the hills were unreal and somehow I managed to speed up with each mile. Towards the end, when I had finally managed to figure out the way home, I wondered why I was breathing so hard only to find that I was doing 7:15 pace uphill against a strong headwind. That’s not quite easy pace, then.

I did pay for that with rather sore quads for the rest of the day and the fact that I was on my feet constantly did not help either. Accordingly I opted for 6 much easier miles on Sunday, running towards Whitegate on the only flat piece of road I could find (it still had one nasty hill in there). Whitegate would have a lovely view over Cork harbour if only that would not include a power station on the right and a gas terminal on the left.

Unfortunately, the short run did not sort out my quads, and I reluctantly shelved the planned tempo effort. On Monday I ran even less, but included a set of 10x10 second hill sprints. When I got to the grass hill inside the holiday village ground it turned out to be a lot less steep than I had remembered it from the day before; carrying Maia up the hill must have increased the gradient, and now it appeared a lot flatter. But it had the right length, one sprint took exactly 10 seconds, and I did a big semicircle on each descent, marking a huge D into the dewy grass.

It was only late into the weekend that it dawned on me that Connemara had only been 14 days ago, and the main reason why my quads feel like they have run an Ultra a fortnight ago is that they have done exactly that. Maybe running a half marathon a week from now isn’t such a great idea, but I’ll do it anyway. The best way to learn from my mistakes is to make them in the first place.

And big congratulations go to Rick, who ran a fantastic PR of 2:47 in London at the age of 49(!!!!), giving hope to geezers all around the world, including myself, and to John MacLaughlin at the same race. 18 months ago we shared a few miles in Dublin, both hoping to break 3 hours and both missing out. After a few more attempts John finished yesterday’s London Marathon in 2hrs 59mins 38secs. Well done mate, and that’s the only time I’ve ever knowingly called a ManU supporter my mate, so you better feel honoured.

24 Apr

10+ miles, 1:14:48, 7:24 pace, HR 159

25 Apr

6.25 miles, 49:25, 7:54 pace, HR 142

26 Apr

4.2 miles, 34:58, 8:18 pace, HR ?? (forgot HR strap)

A Small Setback

I’m partially upset at them moment – only at my stomach, and only because it caught a bug; the rest of me is reasonably ok. It started on Tuesday night, when first Cian spent some time hanging out over the toilet bowl, and then Maia started screaming after throwing up in the very early hours of Wednesday, which left me with the task of cleaning baby/toddler and bed on my own because Niamh either pretended to sleep or actually managed to sleep through the racket. It may have been the latter, because she sounded amazed when I told her the night’s events. Then again, she is a trained actress.

Anyway, I felt perfectly ok on Wednesday morning, but after the fairly hard bike ride on Tuesday opted for a swim session rather than a run, to give the quads that are still in the rebuilding process after being torn to shreds in Connemara some time off. Having said that, as sore as the legs had felt straight after the ride, they seemed perfectly ok the next day. I do remember reading that cyclist can train hard day after day, very much opposed tor runners, and my extremely limited experience seems to carry that out.

However, come Wednesday evening and both Niamh and me were feeling absolutely awful. The kids seemed to have recovered and it was very much our turn now. One dreadful night later it was a rather easy decision to forgo the morning run, even for me. I don’t think I would have made it out of our driveway without collapsing. Unfortunately we had to drive the twins to Tralee for a piano assessment at the Kerry School of Music, and I used the time to sneak to the shopping centre and spend a fortune on their birthday presents. I really did not feel like it, but it was our only opportunity. The birthdays are on Tuesday and we’re going away over the weekend. That task knocked me out sufficiently to head back to bed for an hour over lunch, and Niamh drove me into work for the afternoon – I had not even suggested cycling.

Just like the kids, we both recovered quickly and today things are much better. I felt brave (read foolish) enough to head out for an easy 5 mile run, and while I didn’t feel too good I kept a close eye on the HR and that was fine at all times. I did sweat buckets though, and it was not a warm morning. However, I’m confident that particular episode is pretty much behind us; unless the twins, who haven’t been affected so far, have to go through it as well, in which case our weekend trip away to Trabolgan might be less fun than anticipated. Having said that, my stomach is still not back to normal and anything fancier than toast causes a new wave of discomfort and nausea any time I try to eat.

And of course I was only joking when I asked Niamh if it’s ok to pack 3 pairs of runners. Like she pointed out, who on Earth would even contemplate taking three pairs of running shoes on a 3-day break? Who indeed! I’ll just run my planned tempo run in normal runners then. Just like I had planned all along. Obviously.

21 Apr

50 minutes swimming, 29 km cycling

22 Apr

0. Bad. Ugh.

23 Apr

5 miles, 40:15, 8:03 pace, HR 144

Easing Back

Training was curtailed over the weekend by the fact that I had 2 children to mind. Unlike Saturday there was no time for myself on Sunday and it ended up with a total of 0 as far as sporting activities were concerned. However, minding only 2 kids is a complete doddle. I don’t know what some people are complaining about. I also didn’t realise that I would be assessed for my parenting skills afterwards, apparently I got 9/10 with special praise for the cooking but deductions for not giving them a bath or shower. Ah well.

Anyway, after a one-week absence I was back on the road on Monday. I had no idea how this would go and ran 5 easy miles on the Ard-na-Sidhe road, as I have done on countless previous occasions. I was a bit surprised to see the pace below 8:00, but the HR was slightly elevated which was always going to be the case. I added a mile this morning, which went even faster even though the effort was still rather easy. One thing I noticed was the relatively cold temperatures early in the morning, it was between 3-4C (37-39F) degrees. Since I have done virtually all my training runs in those conditions, I am even more surprised that the 20C (68F) in Connemara didn’t really bother me. I know that isn’t exactly hot, but it was considerably warmer than anything I was accustomed to.

The weather is still rather nice and I used the opportunity to add some extra miles on the bike. Yesterday I went the long way home, more than doubling the distance, and today I took the bike out for a spin during lunchtime. I got slightly lost and took almost an hour to get back, arriving at my desk 10 minutes late. Oops. But the 18 miles were worth it. I just wished the roads were not is such a bad shape. A few spots were in absolutely appalling condition and took the fun out of riding. Halfway through the ride it struck me that I neither knew where I was nor had any kit with me in case of a puncture. It would have been the most pathetic phone call of my life: “Niahm, I did a cycle at lunchtime and my bike broke down and I don’t know where I am. Help!” Luckily, nothing happened and I was spared the embarrassment.

It struck me that the Wexford Half is only 3 weeks after the Ultra and yet I had no hesitation signing up. I already feel recovered, there is no noticeable leftover in my legs and I feel ready to rack up the training already. Instead, I’ll play it conservatively and take it easy for a bit longer. Some extra cycling and swimming will be on the cards, partially for cross training purposes but also because I do have a triathlon in less than 5 weeks. Eek! During training for Connemara I managed to focus purely on that, but now I have come to realise that the time when I have to swim in open water is getting rather close. I now understand why some first-time triathletes were rather freaked out by the prospect. Only too well, in fact.

19 Apr

5 miles, 39:16, 7:51 pace, HR 147
plus 35 km cycling

20 Apr

6.1 miles, 46:09, 7:33 pace, HR 148
plus 43 km cycling

The Long Road To Recovery

My good lady wife lost a bet today. She is in Dublin at the moment, so it fell to me to drive the twins to Cork today. Niamh was sure that I would use the time to go running while they attended their classes. She was wrong, I went swimming instead. I remained in the pool for over 90 minutes, which turned out to be my longest swim session to date, by a considerable margin. I was surprised that I didn’t seem to get tired. Sure, I didn’t exactly kill myself, but I have never managed to swim for so long without feeling tired. It looks like the running fitness has transferred to my swimming as well.

Since I’m still not running, I still can post a few things about the race. I never posted my mile splits, and I might as well do that. The Garmin’s splits together with the elevation change per mile are as follows:

1 8:11 –7
2 7:59 –6
3 7:56 +3
4 7:55 +32
5 8:02 +16
6 8:00 –21
7 7:48 –30
8 7:50 –2
9 7:33 –6
10 7:21 –51
11 7:55 +34
12 7:49 +3
13 7:28 –31
14 7:35 –4
15 7:29 +20
16 7:30 +1
17 7:35 –4
18 7:46 +51
19 7:38 –9
20 7:50 +62
21 7:33 +10
22 7:43 +21
23 7:51 –24
24 7:43 –180
25 8:07 +7
26 8:05 +2
27 9:25 +67
28 9:07 +150
29 8:03 –78
30 8:05 –58
31 8:13 –20
32 8:37 +33
33 8:23 –40
34 8:08 –37
35 8:21 –13
36 8:38 +41
37 8:58 +204
38 7:42 –84
39 7:58 –69
final half mile (7:03 pace) +6

The 10th mile was rather fast but I did well until mile 24. Number 27 isn’t too bad considering it contained a walk break, but I kept the best until miles 36 and 37 when I flew across the Hell. The Garmin showed 39.5 miles at the end, an extra 0.2 miles compared to the official course length.

They also posted the official results together with the 13.1 mils splits. My splits were unusual in that the middle section was faster than the first one. But compared to some runners, at 1:43, 1:41 and 1:50 they were fairly even. Some runners’ splits (e.g. 1:41, 1:45, 2:33) are scary, those last 13 miles sound very painful. Mick Rice, meanwhile, wins the opposite price for the most even splits. Oh, and I was the 4th M40 and 5th master overall. That’s pretty cool I think.

Just out of pure curiosity, I tried to calculate how many runners I overtook along the way. I finished the ultra in 5:15:32, which means that I went past every marathon runner slower than 3:45:32 and every half marathoner slower than 2:15:32 (that’s assuming all 3 races started on time – a small difference is ok, the numbers won’t be too far from the true ones). Out of 480 marathoners, 392 were slower than that target, and 888 runners out of 2053 in the Half, which means I had to make my way around roughly 1280 people on the road. Now consider that it took me about 6 miles to catch up with the back end of the half runners and you can imagine how busy the last 7 miles were.

And what does the near future hold? Well, we’re going to Dublin over the May bank holiday weekend because Niamh wants to visit the new baby yet again (once in a month is not enough, obviously), and when I innocently asked Niamh if she would mind a trip to Wexford on that Sunday, she immediately asked by when I had to sign up. That woman knows me only too well. Anyway, the Wexford half marathon just happens to be on that day and by then I should have recovered sufficiently from the Ultra. Then of course there is the Valentia tri three weeks later, which I am very much looking forward to, and my next “proper” race will be a fortnight after that in form of the Cork City Marathon. I hope my endurance will carry over to that race, and with some speed work and tempo training between then and now (only once I have recovered, of course) we will see what’s in store.

Random Post-Race Ramblings

When chatting to Mick Rice (who had come 5th in a time that would have comfortably won last year’s race) after crossing the finish line, he told me I would have to change the name of my blog into Diary of a Vastly Improved Marathon Runner (or was it Ultra Runner?), but I’ve grown rather fond of the old name and it stays. Mick is a class act in more than one way btw, take my word for it.

I had a look at the Garmin’s chart of my race, but it does not really tell me much I didn’t already know. The spikes at miles 10 and 19 were caused by me trying to get my stuff off the aid table; I was walking for a minute just before mile 27, and the pace on the last drop after the Hell is very uneven because of the cramps. The two climbs at miles 26 and 35 are plain for everyone to see, but I was surprised that I had enough juice in me to push the HR well over 170 on that last climb.

I have not managed to find any photos of me yet, which is probably just as well. Every single item I wore that day was chosen for its practicality without any regard whatsoever of colour and/or fashion sense. Matching knee-high white compression socks with ugly grey shorts that show black compression shorts underneath them will never he the height of fashion, I’m pretty sure about that. But I did come across this fantastic photo of the elite Ultra runners; I think it’s just after the marathon start. It really captures the scenery extremely well.

I still have the outlines of my flimsy green singlet (now dubbed my ‘lucky’ singlet – I’ve worn it in all my good races) marked on my body. I neglected to wear sun cream because a) I did not think the sun would be so strong in April and b) I was worried it would interfere with my sweating, and as a result am now sporting a pair of bright red shoulders and matching neck in-between, with white lines to separate the burnt parts.

On the other hand, the fact that my shoulders are the only things that still hurt is a very good sign. Yesterday I was still grimacing as I went down a staircase, this morning I did the same without even realising that normally I should still be having troubles with that. I’m recovering quicker than after some of my marathons, but I’m holding off running for a bit longer. Last night I slept for almost 9 hours and yet was still tired by the time I had to get up, just before 8 o’clock – and that’s quite something coming from someone who usually regards anything later than 6 o’clock as a lie-in. I might go swimming tomorrow if I wake up in time (I won’t set the alarm), otherwise it will be yet another recovery day.

I was a bit worried about cycling to work on Tuesday, but I needn’t have worried. The legs actually approved having to work a little bit, and it made them feel better for the rest of the day.

I spent the afternoon after the race swimming with the kids in the pool in Clifden; Niamh was amazed that I didn’t fall asleep comatose on the bed following the race, but I was full of energy and more than happy to join the rest of the family. Obviously I didn’t do much real swimming, and the calves cramped soon enough when I tried to do a few lengths, so I just clowned around with the four of them while Niamh managed to do some actual swimming. The same scene was repeated the next day, before we travelled home to Kerry.

Niamh is going to Dublin on the weekend, leaving me in sole charge of the twins. Normally this would cause me plenty of anguish because I can’t go running, but in this case I’ll just have to recover for those days. If I’m absolutely desperate I could do some time on the indoors trainer, but I very much doubt this will be the case.

The weekend was absolutely perfect as far as sport went, btw. I had a dream race at the Ultra, Kerry won, Tyrone got relegated and City hammered the Brummies 5:1. It really doesn’t get any better than that!

Update: I should have checked my email! a few photos can be found here.