I Used To Be Good At This, You Know

The Connemara Ultra is an iconic race in Ireland, and it used to be an absolute highlight of my running year, at least during the earlier stages of my running life. Things changed a bit 5 years ago, when Ray stopped being the race director it lost some of its shine and I had not been back since. Having said that, the reviews were still as good as ever, so when a few months ago a colleague at work asked me if I were interested in running it as part of a group that remembers Simone Grassi, a two-times winner of the marathon, I agreed to do it and so I was back at the start line after a 5 year absence.

Things had not changed much at all. In fact, the only two things I noticed differently were the fact that we were asked to run on the left side of the road rather than the right side, and the fact that Ray was not there. Apart from that the new organisers wisely left all the good bits in it, and it's still as brilliant a race as ever.

What's changed a bit is myself, and try as you might I knew I was in for my slowest time ever, barring a miracle. Losing 6 weeks in training at a crucial time is not something you can make up for, I really only got 2 decent weeks of training, and those were damn close to the race date at a time when I would usually have been looking at tapering, so I was under no illusions. I expected a very tough time ahead, even more so after cramping on my only 20 mile day, less than 2 weeks ago.

Never mind, we were actually pleasantly surprised by the fact that the torrential rain had stopped just in time as we gathered at the start line, it would have been an utterly miserable 20 minutes wait otherwise. I was particularly glad, standing there in my shorts and t-shirt when almost everyone else was wearing a jacket, and most of them with a backpack as well. However, I make those choices out of experience as well as personal preferences; on a cold day you're overdressed if you're not cold at the start, and I definitely don't see the point of carrying my own water around when there are aid stations every 3 miles.

Anyway, I started a good bit further back than usual and then drifted a few places further back with a slow first mile. All good. I got a couple of comments of "what are you doing back here" and "someone took your place up front" and responded that he must be 10 years younger. Then Barry pulled alongside and we fell into step, chatting relentlessly along the way, and the scene for the first few hours was set. We are both very experienced ultra runners and knew what we were doing. After a few miles a few guys went past, one of them commenting that they were probably doing something wrong passing us out, which reminded me of thinking exactly the same 5 years ago when I went past Eoin Keith early in a race. Ah yes, the good old times. Barry and myself talked a lot about them, and eventually Paul started running alongside us and got to hear a few good stories along the way.

The wind had been almost non-existent at the start but picked up considerably a few miles in, and at that point it was pushing us along, making things very easy. Obviously we knew there would be a price to pay, but so far so good. The first miles just flew by, and we were at the marathon start before we knew it.

In past years I would have caught up with the marathon field in next to no time but today they had been long gone when we got there in 1:53-ish. I picked up a nice bottle of sports drink, which hit the spot and was probably a factor in how easy the next few miles felt, though the fact that we had a rather strong wind pushing us along was a bigger one. At mile 17 or 18 Paul marvelled how easy it all felt, how he had never gotten so far feeling so fresh. The one downer was at the mile 19 checkpoint, where my prepared drinks bottle had gone missing from the ultra table. I had known perfectly well that this had always been a realistic possibility but I still wished the arsehole who had stolen someone else's bottle off the aid station table some violent diarrhea and a miserable race.

Anyway, the sharp turn towards the first proper climb of the day wasn't far off by now, and I pointed out to the lads that I hoped they were ready for 20 miles of headwind!

It wasn't a hard prediction to make.

As soon as we took that corner the wind was in our faces and we had plenty of time to get used to it. At first it was still all good, we all had gotten to that point in pretty decent shape, and by now we had finally caught up with the tail end of the marathon and gradually started reeling in a few of the stragglers. That first climb isn't all that long (I call it the "half a hill") and the "Stop and Pray"church wasn't as inviting yet as I thought it would be.

But there was no doubt that the real work of the day had started, and Barry was the first to feel the effects of a cramp, which was damn early in the race and with a lot of miles yet to go. He was actually moving pretty well when he could, but every now and then had to pull up and deal with cramp. Not good. We got to the downhill part into Leenane, found that running right behind an ambulance still did not provide any wind cover but a lot of Diesel fumes. The road into Leenane is always a bit longer than you think,and by the time I got there I was somehow running on my own again. The 13.1 miles since Louch Inagh had taken me almost 2 hours and I passed the marathon point in about 3:53. From the way the miles had felt I would have thought I would get there a bit quicker, but obviously the clock doesn't lie. However, I was still in reasonably good shape, which was good because the last half marathon would be significantly more challenging.

I might have felt okay but that feeling evaporated in no time whatsoever as soon as I started on the steep climb out of Leenane. Its the other hill of the course, the Hell of the West, that gets all the headlines but personally I think this one, the Devil's Mother, is worse (and the names here are somewhat telling). The wind was brutal, right into my face and I'm sure the valley ahead of us created a kind of funneling effect and doubled the wind speed. It was also much steeper than I could remember. In years gone past I had known that race so well I thought you could drop me off anywhere on the course and I would immediately know exactly where I was but the intervening years have obviously had an effect, though as I went along all the memories of yesteryear kept coming back again.

Anyway, I kept battling up the climb and I kept running because I knew that once I started walking everything would still hurt just as much but progress would be much slower and it would be a struggle to start running again. So I kept running, albeit slowly. Until the moment when I didn't, somehow. Not sure how that happened but it just seemed to take too much energy to run yet another step that barely brought me further up the hill and all of a sudden I found myself walking, thoroughly pissed off with myself for being so soft but at the same time utterly incapable of running again.

I kept on walking for most of the second half of the climb, not quite a mile, and three times unsuccessfully tried to start running again, unable to do so and having serious doubts about the miles again. Once I reached the top I eventually managed to get into a shuffle again, a rather pathetic one that was barely faster than walking but eventually the legs started loosening up to some extend and at least you could call it a run again.

From there on I was making a noise with each breath, and if you hear tales from the tail end of the marathon field about an ultra runner who was moaning with each step, yup, that was me. But I was making progress again, gradually making my way through the field, mostly the marathon field but I also started to reel in quite a few ultra runners as well as the miles passed by, always with some mutual words of encouragement. We were all in this together.

This was tough, definitely, but in all honesty it was going better than expected. I definitely had thought I would be battling tooth and nail with my cramping calves by now, but they behaved pretty well. I did notice one stark contrast to years gone by, however. I am used to weaving my way through the massed ranks of the half marathon on this stretch, and today there was just a sparse sprinkling of marathon runners left, which made for a very different experience. The running itself, however, felt just as tough, despite the slower pace.

Having said that, progress was much better than I could have hoped for. I had found the level of discomfort I was able to tolerate and got into a groove, steadily making my way towards the finish. The mile signs kept appearing reasonably quickly and with each sign I knew I was getting a good bit closer to the end. It was just a matter of keeping going, never mind that moaning noise I kept producing with each breath.

Knowing the area pretty well I kept seeing glimpses of the Hell from way back, and before I really knew it I was already at the bridge in Maam, and shortly after that the climb started. One thing to add, by the time I got there they had already run out of sports drink both in Leenane as well as in Maam, which wasn't great. Basically, it means that the one group of runners who might need some sustenance the most, the ultra runners, aren't getting any. Yeah, not great. Thankfully I had some carbs in my own pockets (some chews, from some goody bag from a race gone past that I happened to find in the cupboard when packing my bag the day before, and I never bothered to check the expiry date) and they made a massive difference. Every time I got some sugar I got a little boost that kept me going for another couple of miles, and by the time I was running out of them I was close enough to finish to keep running on fumes alone.

The Hell of the West was definitely the one place where I had been absolutely convinced my calves would be in full cramping mode, but somehow they were still working away perfectly fine, despite the 35 miles I had already covered by now. I cannot explain why that was the case. I had been so convinced that I would be cramping today that I had started to wonder if that negative attitude would actually bring on a cramp (the head works funnily in running, especially in ultra running), but that was obviously not the case. And unlike the earlier hill I had a handle on this one, I kept running and passing a lot of runners (including the back end of the half marathon by now). Having said that, the climb seemed to go on forever, there was always another turn when you thought you were on the last one, and another steep bit when you thought it was flattening out, but after an age of sisyphean effort we actually made it to the top, well past the 37 mile marker, which I had mistakenly expected to mark the top.

In theory you can see the finish from the top, but not if you're as short-sighted as me and not wearing glasses because you expected it to rain for the full 6 hours. Never mind, I knew where it was and I still knew the road towards the finish pretty damn well - a mile of downhill that feels pretty quick and a flat mile to the finish that keeps going on forever. I was still in reasonable shape, passed a few more runners and actually posted one of my faster miles today, and then, a very long time after starting, crossed the finish line in 6:06.

The time was pretty much what I had expected, though for much of the race the effort I had put in had felt faster than the pace I was actually able to churn out. The last 13 miles had taken me 2:13, contrast that to the 1:41 the same stretch had taken me 5 years earlier, though I can say with all honesty that today's effort had been at least at the same level, it's just the result that was different.

However, I was actually pretty happy about the race. I am still amazed about the fact that I had no problem with cramps today, and I really cannot explain why not, I wish I could. I am just as happy about the effort I put in, it was an equally honest effort as I used to produce in my competitive days and I could not have asked for any more. That mile coming out of Leenane had cost me a potential sub-6 finish but I just had not been able to run that hill, and scraping home under 6 hours would still have been my slowest Connemara time ever, so not really much of a difference.

I missed being greeted by Ray at the finish line, that's something that won't happen again, which is a shame, though I cannot fault the present organisers for any of their efforts, it is still a first rate race and one of the best in the country. I have the sneaking suspicion that I might be back for more.

14 Apr

Connemara Ultra

39.3 miles, 6:06:41, 9:19 pace, HR 142

Under His Eye

Caution: This race reports contains some amount of swearing. It would not be authentic otherwise. If that kind of thing offends you, better fuck off right now.

Yes, that was BEFORE the start

I had been planning to run the 24 hrs race in Irdning for a long time. It is the annual venue of the Austrian championships, and despite having lived away for half my life, that’s still my passport. Also, race reports have generally been very positive, from the excellent organisation to the stunning views and the phenomenal crowd support. At some point I had to give it a go. With the World Championships being held here next year, why not now?

The journey from Ireland was not without hiccups but didn’t really add to the stress. We got to Bad Aussee, about half an hour’s drive from Irdning, late Wednesday evening and had all Thursday and most of Friday to relax. Race start was Friday 7 pm, quite a similar time to what Belfast used to be, which suited me just fine.

I met all my (previous?) team mates from the Austrian national team there, including some who had by now retired and were just running for fun, but also some new and upcoming talents. The vibe was very friendly and relaxed, though I got a bit tense as the start time approached. I knew I was in for a lot of pain.

Training had been … strange. At first it all went phenomenally well. I felt better week by week and could see improvements at an almost incredible rate. However, it seemed to hit a block when I ran the 100k on Easter Sunday. The race itself was challenging but had gone reasonably well, I was happy with how the legs had coped, I wasn’t particularly sore afterwards, but the HR numbers never fully recovered. Once immediate recovery was done, the legs felt perfectly fine but somehow the numbers were significantly worse. I wasn’t worried at the time. I still had 3 months until the race, seemingly plenty of time for full recovery. Alas, full recovery never came.

I also started tracking my HRV, which is supposed to be a great tool to track recovery, but somehow that failed to raise an alarm. My HRV numbers were always good, in fact they were in the green zone so much it seemed to indicate I was undertraining. In hindsight I think I can call that a failed experiment.

Still, at that point things were still pretty positive. But then I ran 3 marathons in 4 weeks. That didn’t ring any alarm bells for me. In fact, even now I don’t see much wrong with it as such, I have had much harder training blocks in the past. But now, with the benefit of hindsight, it seemed to push me over the edge. I ran all those marathons very relaxed, never pushing the effort even close to race pace. I felt good throughout. I was perfectly comfortable at all times, including the late miles. I was not sore afterwards. However, after the Cork marathons my hamstrings and glutes started to feel wrong. Very stiff. A little bit ... well, painful is the wrong word, just not quite right. It was worse on the right leg, but both were affected. And it never got right again.

So, here I was, at the start of a 24 hours race, knowing that something was not right. I could have pulled out but that was never an option I would have considered. I decided to give it a go. See how the legs would cope. I have gone into races not feeling quite right and ended up surprising myself. Admittedly, not 24 hour races. Anyway, I was going to give it a go.

I did not put myself under any pressure. I did not feel the need to prove that I’m an international class runner. If the legs did not cooperate, I’d just have to accept that and deal with it. Just do what you can.

I started at a very comfortable effort. I was slightly ahead of my average PB pace, but that’s normal. Everyone I know starts a 24 hour race a bit too fast. Ok, there are exceptions but I can count them on one hand and still have some spare fingers. In fact, I was probably starting slower than in any 24 race before. Looking at the early mile splits now, there are a couple of 8:40 miles, definitely too fast, but in fact it looks a lot more reasonable and conservative than in my other 24 hour races, including my best races. Honestly, that should have been fine.

In general, I felt very comfortable, as you should. However, the hamstrings were off, just like for all my other runs in the last 4 weeks. In the early hours that didn’t bother me, at so slow a pace some stiff muscles aren’t much of an issue.

Much more worrying was the fact that my stomach did not feel good right from the very first sip I took of my sports drink. It felt almost like heartburn, though not severe. That was a nasty and totally unexpected surprise. I have used that sports drink plenty of times before and never had an issue with it. I kind of expected to get sick of it after many hours but definitely not from the very start. At first I forced them down, but after a few hours I couldn’t do that any more. I started sipping it in very small amounts but even that became unbearable. In fact, it wasn’t just the sports drink. The mere thought of anything sweet almost made me gag – including the coke or sweets at the official aid station, or the gels I had brought myself. The one thing I could eat were my potatoes (ah yes, my claim to fame) but even with them I had to limit myself to only 1 small potato every hour, or even less.

In short, within only a few hours I was pretty much running on empty.

I passed the marathon mark in about 4:15 or so. That’s a bit uncertain because I noticed that my watch started to overestimate the distance right from the off. Exactly the same had happened in Belfast last year, but at least this time round I knew about it and noticed it straight away, so it didn’t come as a nasty shock when my actual distance was significantly less (well over 5% discrepancy) than what the watch had promised me. It doesn’t seem to cope well with 10 seconds GPS intervals, even though you’d think that should be reasonably fine on a course without any tight turns.

At that point I was still feeling perfectly fine. The same at 50k. Then things started to unravel.

Already! I was still in the early phase of the race. I knew I would be feeling tired at that point because it was past midnight and usually I’d be fast asleep by now. However, I was definitely feeling worse than anticipated. I started a run/walk regime. That was pre-planned. Instead of pushing, pushing, pushing until I could not push any more, as I had done in Albi or Belfast the last 2 years, I had planned to pull it back a bit and try to recover somewhat. 5 minutes walking, 25 minutes running. There is some scientific backup for a 5:1 run/walk ratio according to Bernd Heinrich, which is good enough for me. At first that seemed to work. 5 minutes of walking seemed to be just the right amount of time I needed. The legs (the hamstrings, really) felt pretty bad for the first 3-4 minutes of each walk and then they’d loosen up and I’d feel ready to tackle another running stint.

At that point I have to say thanks to Shea, my 17-year old, who did the graveyard shift in crewing. To be honest, he did not have to do much because I could not stomach anything, so the only thing he really had to do was to hand me my jacket when it started raining and hang it back inside our gazebo when the rain stopped. Oh, and voice the occasional encouragement (we can still work on improving that one).

Ah yes, the rain. If someone had predicted that between the Belfast and Irdning races, 1 week apart this year, there would be one with a heat wave in the high 20s and one with several massive rain showers, nobody would have batted an eyelid because we had been there before. However, nobody would have predicted that Belfast would see the heat wave and Irdning the deluge. It remined me of my first 24 hour race in Bangor. Sections of the course were completely waterlogged. Some runners ran on the grass verge, though I think that was silly, the feet would get just as wet as by running right through the puddles. A small section at the start/finish line was not tarmacked and was full of potholes; you had to mind your footing on the uneven surface though it was only a few meters each time.

I joked that that kind of weather was going to give me some home advantage, being more than used to running in the Irish rain. However, with my legs acting up and my stomach refusing almost any kind of food being able to cope with rain didn’t make any real difference.

Apart from the 24 hours race, they also had a few other events going. There was a 12 hours race, which started Saturday 7 am, so basically for the second half of our race. However, far more noticeable were the relays, including teams of 4 and teams of 12(!!!). Especially the 12-man/woman teams were moving much, much faster than the 24 hour runners, and I think they kept swapping after each lap. Even in the late hours there were runners that were basically sprinting. To be honest, that’s not ideal, the difference in speed could easily cause an accident (which has happened in past years), though on the other hand the non-running relay team-members and their support crews are creating a brilliant atmosphere all throughout the course. In fact, for crowd support this was by far the best I’ve ever seen in a 24 hours race; rather than run in our little isolated world for much of the race there was always a buzz around the place, even in the rain, even in the early hours of morning.

My own race, however, had totally fallen apart as the night wore on. The walk breaks might have pushed out the breaking point by a bit but they did not prevent it. At first I was having highs and lows in very quick successions, as quickly as within one single lap, but the highs started to disappear. I started to feel much better when the rain subsided and I took off my jacket (I must have gotten too warm in it, despite being wet) but that was only a temporary reprieve.

It should not have taken me 12 hours to run 100 km. When I ran my 100k in Easter, on a course with considerably worse footing and steadily increasing headwind throughout the second half, I ran 100k in well under 10 hours. And felt reasonably fine. So why had it just taken me 2 hours longer, and why was I completely exhausted? Even the lack of food does not explain this, because that 100k had not been ideal either with the aid stations being 10 miles apart. So why now? Why, why, why?

A few of my Austrian team mates had already called it a day. Heinz, the early leader, left after issues with his blood pressure (I think). Ulli had left very early on. Georg had looked very strong for a good few hours but eventually started to crawl, moving even slower than I was, and pulled out as well.

Why didn’t I? I kept telling anyone that I was too stupid to stop. That’s one part of it. I’m also very weary to start doing that because stopping can easily become a habit, and then you start pulling out of a race whenever things get tough, and then you can forget about 24 hour races.

The walk break got longer, the run stints got shorter. And slower. And MUCH shorter.

Niamh came back; it might have been around 6 or 7 o’clock. She brought some grapes, and by some miracle I was able to eat them. It was the first time I had eaten anything other than some soup (which doesn’t contain any real amount of calories) for far too many hours. It was too late to safe my race but at least it made me feel better. She eventually managed to source some more fruit and I ate some peaches, nectarines and grapes. Again, it wasn’t enough energy to sustain a race but it sure was a lot better than nothing at all.

“You look a lot brighter now”
“No, I’m still a fucking idiot”
“Well, ... yes”

Last year in Belfast I ended up walking for virtually the entire second half when the legs just would not run any more. It was different today. I kept running, not much and certainly not fast, but I kept running. There were times when the legs were so dead I could not imagine being able to run even a single step but then, half an hour later, I felt better again and could run, maybe for a lap or 2, but I could still run.

Niamh was still there, trying to help even if I was beyond help.

“Is there anything you’d like?”
“I guess a shag is out of the question?”
… she didn’t dignify that with an answer. Ah come on! It never hurts to ask to treat a bleak situation with a bit of humour.

The area has its own interesting micro climate. It had stopped raining at some stage of the night. When it got bright again I could often see very dark clouds surrounding the nearby mountain overlooking the race course, the Grimming, and in fact I could see it rain just a few km from here, but most of the time the clouds did not make it over to us. We had 2 or 3 rather short rain showers to contend with but from about 12 o’clock on it was a very sunny, warm day. Due to yesterday’s weather it was very humid, which would not have been ideal for racing, but as I was already moving so slowly it didn’t make any difference to me, I think.

With 6 hours to go they started yet another event, a kids’ relay. I must say I am surprised that they send out young kids for such a long time. Even with a relay (maybe 12 per team? Not sure) that can add up to a decent amount of distance for some of them. However, their enthusiasm definitely added to the atmosphere, both when they were running and when they were shouting their heads off from the sidelines.

I fell in step with Kurt, who was doing his first 24 hours race. Apparently he had begged his crew to let him pull out at some stage during the night but quickly got sent out again, and there he was (he didn’t tell me that, his crew did). We chatted for a good while. At some stage I made a joke about how good it was that at least there were others around suffering even more than we were. Justice was swift and harsh. I tried running again but very quickly had to abort the attempt, and that was that. I seemed to have ripped apart the last of my working muscle fibres and from now on I could not even walk properly. As slow as my lap times had been, they completely fell off a cliff at that point from 13 minute laps to 19 minute laps, and several even slower. I didn’t know it was even possible to walk that slowly! That was with about 3 hours still left, and for those last 3 hours I was pretty much the slowest person out there.

Despite the fact that my hamstrings had been the troublemakers early on, during the second half it was definitely the quads that were acting up worse, so maybe those hamstring/glute issues had been a red herring? I really do not know.

I thought about pulling out. What was I doing there? A respectable distance had been out of reach even hours ago. And yet I kept torturing myself. I reasoned that stopping would hurt just as much so I might as well keep going. And I knew that if I pulled out, once the race was over I would have been angry with myself for quitting needlessly. When is it ok to pull out of a race? When you’re sick, when you’re injured, and when you might be able to save yourself for a better day. I had none of those reasons, and feeling tired doesn’t count. So I kept going.

Niamh tried to get a video of me swearing I’d never run another 24 hours race, and she almost got it, but I just about managed not to say it.

The race around me kept going of course. Apart from some early flyers, my old team mates Heinz and Andi had been the early leaders (they would have been the favourites). Heinz pulled out, I did not even get the chance to say bye. Andi kept going and going and going but with 8 hours to go he looked cooked, which surprised me. Rene, a trail runner on his first 24 hour race, had put in a great shift but was faltering badly eventually, which could have been the long hours or the unaccustomed hard surface, or both. There were just 2 runners on the male side that kept looking strong: Klemens and Günther. Klemens had 3 advantages on his side: One, he is a very talented runner, the Austrian record holder over 12 hours, though it had taken him a long time and several failed attempts to translate that into 24 hours. Two, his wife is a great ultra runner herself as well as a top physio, which is the best crew you could possibly ask for. And three, he clearly is the brainiest ultra runner in country, knowing exactly how to race, and how not to race, unlike the rest of us. He was nowhere near the top for most of the race, plodding his way unnoticed and unheralded, until everyone else was faltering and suffering and then he powered through the field, untouchable and unstoppable, and a very worthy champion. On the female side, young Sabrina had clearly learned from a painful lesson in Belfast last year and powered to the Austrian championships despite troubles with her achilles earlier on, but what are a few tears for a tough ultrarunner like that? Congratulations! Oh, and the overall female winner, Nenu Mariana, had always been in full control of the race, though I didn’t manage to speak to her, owing to some language barriers, but we’ll see her again next year for the Worlds.

The end is nigh

I cannot help but look at the results, wistfully thinking that I have run distances right up there with the best of them.

The kids from the relay got a bit boisterous at times, which I didn’t mind, it added to the atmosphere. At one time a boy, maybe about 10 or 12, shouted at me “Thomas, Du bist a hoarte Sau” which roughly translates to “Thomas, you’re one tough MF”, which definitely got a grin back on my face, though I’m sure his mum would not have approved.

What more can I say? Eventually, 24 hours had passed. When the siren sounded we stopped, though it was so quiet that some runners at the other end of the course had to be told. It seemed to take an absolute age for the measuring wheel, which gives you the final distance with the last partial lap, to come by.

My earlier theory that stopping would hurt just as much as keeping going proved to be pretty much on the mark, because I was still in the same world of hurt. In fact, the drive home was rather awful, with me basically screaming in pain half the time, and it wasn’t because of Niamh’s driving!

Two days later my hands are back to normal shape, my legs are still hurting and the feet are still so swollen that I don’t have any ankles.

I’ll try and spend some time figuring out what had gone so wrong but right now I’m stumped. It looks like I was overtrained but I had been training much harder on occasions in past years and gotten into great shape. Running a 100k in April was a mistake in hindsight but before my 2014 race I had run a 100k with 5 weeks to go and some other tough races as well and had gotten into the best shape of my life. Running 3 marathons in 4 weeks seems to have pushed me over the edge but I have done significantly harder training blocks in the past. To me, all those supposed mistakes only reveal themselves with the benefit of hindsight. Until 4 weeks ago, the legs had felt pretty good, even if the HR had been elevated. The HRV figures had always been good. I simply don’t know how I would have predicted the training mistakes in advance.

Then again, there is more to it than just that one race, and just that one training cycle. Have a look at the distance covered in my last six 24 hour races:

225, 215, 207, 189, 185, 170

That is a horrendous decline that cannot be explained by getting older. There is something more fundamental going on here.

Let's not end it on such a downer, so at least have a look at how I'm spending my recovery.

Hot tub with a view

I ran for 24 hours and all I got was ...

29/30 Jun

Austrian 24 hrs Championships, Irdning

170.5132 km / 105.952 miles

18th place overall, 6th M40

April Fools

"Are you here for the sword?"

Paddy's question referenced the winner's prize today, a beautiful full-sized hand-crafted sword made by Cyril. "Alex O'Shea is here. The rest of us don't have to worry about the sword". That summed up the situation. I was here to do a training run. A very long training run, the longest of my build-up, but a training run nevertheless. Alex's presence meant I would not have to stress about potentially trying to win and could just pace myself sensibly instead. At least that's the theory, it doesn't always work out like that.

Anyway, the most stressful part of the day was already behind me, namely finding the start somewhere in the back end of Kildare in complete darkness, but I had managed that in good time. Then we all got ready, had Anto deliver his race directions, including "there's a sign at mile 8 saying towpath closed. Ignore that.", mixed with his usual mixture of jokes and abuse.


And at 7am, just as it started getting bright, we were off. Alex stormed away right from the start to disappear behind the horizon in next to no time. 2 lads went past me at a fairly ambitious pace and then it was me. For the next 2, 3, maybe 4 miles I kept hearing voices chatting behind me but they eventually faded away. By that time Alex was a barely noticeable orange dot at the horizon and the other 2 lads were quite a distance ahead of me. At some point, when going through a turnstile, I caught a glimpse of the road behind me for what looked like a mile and there was nobody to be seen. I guess I didn't have to worry too much about being chased.

Directions were simple enough. Follow the Grand Canal from Ollie's and Charlotte's Spartan Way house for about 30 miles until you hit the turnaround point, keeping the canal 2 feet to your left. Then run back, keeping it 2 feet to your right. It really was as idiot-proof as that; it even saved Anto from having to signpost the course. However, I did disagree with his assessment that the surface was "85% road, 10% grass, 5% shit", and more like "50% road, 40% grass and 10% muck". Especially for the first 15 miles I remember preciously few parts of proper road and kept slipping on the wet grass and stumbling on the stones. In fact, the 2 or 3 miles of "shit" weren't really any worse than much of what we had already covered.


The checkpoints were 10 miles apart, which made me think about the best strategy. Most runners had their backpacks with them, and for a while I did consider that as well. However, water is heavy and carrying heavy load slows you down and makes you tired. Besides, I hate carrying stuff, so I just put my phone (the only compulsory item) into a little fanny pack together with a couple of gels and some caffeine/salt/paracetamol tablets (the last ones with the intention of not taking them, though I didn't see that through in the end), with a small muesli bar as a late addition, and resolved to drink at each aid station, and if I really was too thirsty I'd start carrying a water bottle from one of the aid stations.

Coming into CP1

I caught up with the 2 lads at the first aid station, and since I spent a lot less time in there than they did I was right on their heels as we left, though I wasted that time again to reply to some "Happy Easter" messages to the family back home in Austria when the phone started buzzing. I usually hate people posting selfies on FB during a race (it's race, FFS), but in this situation I deliberately tried to remind myself to treat this as a training run and not a race. That initially restored the gap to the lads again but once we hit proper road surface as we got close to Daingean (what? A Dingle in Offaly?) either I inadvertently sped up or they slowed down because by mile 17 I passed them and from then on was in second place.

There were about 12 miles of almost uninterrupted road surface, which initially felt hard on the legs after all the soft grass, but I quickly got used to it and relished the feeling of being able to stride out properly. Yes, I am very much a road runner. I got to CP2 and had a sports drink as well as a chocolate bar, before heading off towards Tullamore, where we passed the marathon distance. I was really pleased with how great the legs felt at that time, until I realised that taking on the carbs from the sports drink and the chocolate was probably responsible for that. There were 2 road crossing in Tullamore but I got through them without having to stop.

Halfway

I got to some rougher surface again and at about 28 miles saw an orange top approaching rapidly, which was of course Alex on the return journey. This would have been my one chance of taking race victory by attacking him unawares, but instead we gave each other a high five and went our respective ways again. The turnaround point arrived sooner than expected with "only" 30 miles on the watch. A quick drink, some banter with Anto, another selfie, and off I was.

At that point I remembered the weather forecast. It had been cold but completely wind still at the start. However, the remnants of the "Beast from the East" were predicted to visit us once again, which meant an increasingly strong wind coming from the East - oh shit! Basically, no or next to no tailwind on the way out and more and more headwind on the way back. Lovely. There was also some forecast of rain in the afternoon. I really hoped to get through the mucky bit 8-11 miles from the finish before that would arrive.

Anyway, I straight away noticed the breeze blowing right into my face though it wasn't too bad just yet. I kept going for maybe 10 minutes before encountering the first runner heading out towards CP3 and for the next few miles it was a steady stream of friendly faces with a common purpose, plenty of hellos, high fives and best wishes, which made the miles fly by and the wind not particularly noticeable. Shortly after Tullamore, just as it got quiet again, another, unexpected friendly face appeared in the form of Jack Healy, who helped out with an extra support stop and encouraging words. Thanks mate!

Off I went again, and eventually I started to notice the wind properly.

I don't usually run with music. Never in training. I prefer to listen to my body and go through the signal it sends. Music just distracts from that. However, once you run for long enough there comes the point where I prefer not to listen to those signals any more because they're starting to tell me things I'd prefer not to notice, and as I got close to the 40 mile mark I reached that point and I took out my tiny, old, very rarely used mp3 player and tried to drown out the signs of ever increasing fatigue with some good old-fashioned hard rock.

I was still in reasonable shape when I reached CP4 (same as CP2, of course) and didn't spend much time there, just another drink, and put a chocolate bar into my bag as an emergency supply for later. They had some pot noodles there but my stomach revolted at the mere thought of it and anyway, I don't think they would have contained a lot of calories. Some savoury food would have been good; maybe I should suggest to Anto to offer some boiled potatoes there next time, my own special secret for ultra running.

Soon after leaving CP4 I really started to notice the headwind and the miles on the watch ticked by at an every decreasing rate. I still held it together somewhat until I got to Daingean again but once I hit the grass again the wheels really started to come off and I stumbled from step to step again rather than run.

Actually, in some ways I was very pleased with how the legs managed to cope. There was not one muscle that was particularly sore, nothing where I could have pointed to and said "this hurts", and there was no sign of cramping. However, I was undeniably absolutely knackered.

Obviously, this didn't come as a complete surprise. I know I was treating this as a training run but once you hit a certain distance you reach the point where just moving forward required 100% effort, and the idea of taking it easy because it's not a goal race becomes meaningless.

In an ultra you will always have some ups and downs. Sometimes they last, sometimes they come and go quickly. It's how you deal with the inevitable lows that defines your race. As always, I dealt with it the only way I know: I put my head down and kept going. Left foot, right foot, repeat.

The landscape did not help. It's completely flat along the canal (well, duh!) and rarely are there any landmarks you can look forward to. Instead you tend to be able to look ahead for miles and see nothing but a pretty much featureless strip of water and a path either side of it. There will be a bend in the canal at some point and so you run for ages to reach it, only to be greeted by the next stretch of nothingness. And if you let the negativity get to you, you're in trouble.

Approaching CP5

Eventually I got to mile 50 and the final CP. "I need a chair and a coke", and both very provided immediately. I also took a paracetamol here, all good intentions not to take them having long evaporated. They also gave me a fruit bar, which I wasn't sure if my stomach could handle it, but it seemed rude to say no and my stomach did manage. I didn't stay long and left as quickly as I could. I wanted to get this over and done with.

As exhausted as I was, I was thankful to hit the mucky bit before the rain had set in, which was a definite plus. In fact, both the mucky miles as well as the many mile of grass seemed to provide much better grip now than they had on the way out. Unlike on the outward journey I didn't constantly feel like I was slipping all the time and seemed to find good traction all the way. I think the course had dried out a bit in the intervening hours. However, the headwind was now reaching the point where it could be described as "brutal". For a few more miles I was still running every step because walking would have been just as painful but somewhere around mile 55 I did have a few walk breaks, which I think was merely psychological because physically I was actually still feeling surprisingly good with the muscles all in good shape. Just exhausted, that's all.

I did curse Anto's name a couple of times, not sure if loudly or quietly. But mostly I did curse the wind. At some point, when I saw the gorse beside me swaying wildly, which really drove home the fact just how windy it was at the time, I started to scream out loudly in frustration at having to keep running right into the gale, but the wind was entirely unimpressed. I was tempted to just lie down in the grass but that would still have hurt just as much and would have had the distinctive disadvantage of not getting any closer to the finish.

Eventually I remembered that chocolate bar I had taken at CP4 and ate it. My stomach was less than thrilled at the idea of even more sugar and I think any more and it would have all come up again but as it turned out it was the exact right thing to do at the time. Within 2 minutes I was running again and within half a mile I was running faster than at any point in the last 15 miles, headwind be damned (which, admittedly, still wasn't very fast in objective terms). After almost 5 miles of nothing but empty landscape ever since passing Edenderry I finally saw some buildings again, and when I got closer there was a welcoming committee, which was fantastic to see and gave me a big lift. Thank you! There was only maybe half a mile to go, which flew by quickly, and then I was done.

Finally done!

The time was a rather modest 9:34:04, exactly an hour slower than my PB. How much of that is due to the dodgy surface, the wind and a lack of fitness is a question I'm not entirely sure about; however, the main purpose of that run was to build exactly that kind of endurance.

There was a BBQ going on, provided by our fantastic hosts Ollie and Charlotte, and the burger I ate right after finishing was probably the best thing I've ever tasted. Alex was of course long finished, recovered and happy out, and for the next couple of hours gradually more and more runners joined us as they finished. I stayed until about 7 o'clock, happy to have done the race but equally happy to be finished.

Thanks to Anto for putting on yet another great race, to Cyril for crafting a fantastic, unique trophy, and of course all the volunteers who spent all of Easter Sunday looking after a bunch of April Fools.

I never ate my muesli bar.

 

 

 

 

Courtesy of Sean Cassin

28 Mar

4.1 miles, 35:58, 8:46 pace, HR 121

29 Mar

4.1 miles, 31:11, 8:05 pace, HR 131

30 Mar

4.15 miles, 34:17, 8:15 pace, HR 128

31 Mar

4.25 miles, 36:03, 8:28 pace, HR 130

1 Apr

Spartan's Way 100k, 60+ miles, 9:34:04, 9:33 pace, HR 135

   2nd place

2 Apr

4.15 miles, 43:48, 10:31 pace, HR 121

Anatomy Of A Disaster

In the days leading up to the race I felt strangely detached from it all, as if I was watching from the outside. That was very much n contrast to 2 years ago, in Turin, when I had been a bundle of nerves for several days. Maybe the fact that my home race was suddenly the World Championship made it all feel unreal to me, but I did wonder why my head wasn't in it.

Things changed completely overnight. As soon as I woke up on Saturday, race day, I panicked at the thought of having to run for 24 hours. Breakfast was a nervous affair and the last minute packing was all a bit frantic, even though I literally had hours to spare.

I calmed down somewhat when I met my Austrian team mates at the race course and we all got ready for the start. Then, with about 30 minutes to go, I suddenly realized that I had no idea where my timing chip was. I went through all my belongings, increasingly panicky and out of my mind, until our team manager suggested talking to the RD. I have known the RD, Ed Smith, for years, which helped and within a few minutes he had procured a timing chip from one of the open race competitors that had not turned up, and they re-programmed it on the spot. Problem solved, panic averted. I owe Ed a pint or five. Reinhold, the team manager, quipped that a last-minute adrenaline shot may have some positive effects, and that was that. By now it was time to gather for the start.

Things weren't quite as organized, many open race and international runners seemed mingled together rather than separated as they had been in Turin and Albi, not that it made any difference to me. At 12 o'clock we all set off on our long, long journey, at a very sedate pace. This was going to last for quite some time.

I settled into the slowest pace that still felt comfortable. That's tricky, especially when you're full of energy and have been raring to go for quite some time. For me, it was just under 9-minute miles. According to my strava data my third mile was a tiny bit quick at 8:35 but the rest was more in line with expectations - and 8:35 isn't THAT quick, not even for a 24. In my best races I had faster miles in there.

The race course was the same as for the Irish championships last year, Victoria Park. Since last year's race I have mixed feelings about the setting. The park itself is marvelous and the course is very flat. However, the running surface is made of concrete. Last year a lot of runners gave up at some point because their legs could not stand the brutally hard surface any more. But many of the ones who managed to keep going posted great results, so it's a tough but potentially fast course. I guess that makes for an intriguing world championship.

The weather forecast had been excellent for running with temperatures no higher than 16 or 18 degrees, depending on whom you believed, and maybe a little bit of rain in the evening. The temperature bit was right but the rain arrived much earlier than forecast and we were treated to some typical Irish weather in the still early hours of the race - rain, followed by sunshine 5 minutes later, followed by some more rain, and repeat. Eventually the rain stopped, and I heard the announcer saying something about the next 18 hours being dry, which turned out to be correct. All in all, the conditions for running were excellent.

During one of the early laps I looked up and right in front of me there was Patrycja Bereznowska running just a few steps behind Tracy Falbo. How often do you have the chance to witness two world record holders live in action like that?

I passed the marathon mark pretty much exactly in 4 hours. That's what I expect to be my early pace in all of my 24 hour races, so all was good. And, most importantly, I felt good, very much in contrast to Albi last year when I was totally knackered at that point already. Things were definitely looking good and I was optimistic for the next 20 hours ahead.

With this being my home race there were tons of friends around, some of them running the course, either as internationals or in the open race, but also as spectators, volunteers and crew. I got plenty of cheers. That's what I love about ultra running. Virtually everyone is supportive and friendly and there is always a ton of mutual respect amongst all the runners. It's what shared suffering does to a group of people, I suppose.

I did have a bit of a problem with the fact that international runners were not allowed to run together with anyone from the open race, or anyone from the other gender, because that could be interpreted as illegal pacing. Obviously, many times I found myself running side-by-side with someone I knew very well, and of course we did chat for a few minutes. However, I was always conscious of that rule, so after a while I always had to send them off again, not daring to risk the wrath of the judges - though in reality I think they weren't bothered by runners chatting while running together for a lap or two.

Running for many hours in a 1-mile loop doesn't lend itself to a race report because details are merging into each other, time gets lost and the increasing fatigue plays all kind of tricks on you.

At one point Katy Nagy went past me and a few second later Florian Reus did the same, so I had a front seat witnessing the two reigning World champions greeting each other happily, and the mutual respect between those two great athletes was great to see.

I still felt pretty good during the second marathon and reached 80k in about 8 hours. 10 km per hour is exactly what I expect to run for many an hour - in Belfast 2014 I managed it for almost 16 hours before slowing down, so it certainly did not ring any alarm bells whatsoever. But I must have started slowing down a bit around that time, though very gradually at first. I still felt reasonably okay. Obviously there was a fair amount of fatigue but after so many hours that was perfectly normal, especially with my usual bedtime approaching.

My stomach held up well. At some point I took some caffeine, after which it felt a bit iffy for a while, but it settled down again and all was good. Lack of nutrition certainly was not an issue today. I drank plenty but didn't use the toilet for almost 10 hours, which may be longer than you might expect but not unusual for me.

At one point Pat Robbins passed me (again) and when I said "Hi Pat", as you do, he did something I really had not expected, he slowed down to my pace for half a lap and we had a nice little chat for a few minutes. Thanks Pat, very much appreciated! It wasn't just him, the entire British team were absolute top class, as runners as well as extremely nice human beings. So were the Irish. And a few others. Have I mentioned how much I love the camaraderie and mutual support amongst ultra runners?

There was a screen with lap times and overall mileage at the start/finish line. That was a great feedback device and in fact that screen was the reason why I wore my glasses today. Usually I'm happy enough to run half-blind but today I wanted to be able to check my progress, which is important, mentally especially. Therefore it was a bit annoying that it kept failing, either being frozen or turned off completely. At first I thought the rain had affected it but they got it working again and then it remained dry, yet the screen kept failing again and again. Not good.

The other thing that wasn't good was that my legs started complaining. Obviously everyone gets tired after running for many hours. I get that. But I have been there many times before, and the way my legs went downhill wasn't the same. It was the quads especially, though the hamstrings weren't happy either. By contrast, my calf muscles, so often my weak spot, were behaving impeccably. Before the race I would have bet my house on the fact that the weakest link would be my calves.

Anyway, working somewhere in the haze of increasing exhaustion and burning quads, I kept going. And going. And going. I was still happy enough with my progress but then I noticed something very strange. A look at the screen, showed me at 88 laps. When I then looked at my watch, it said 83 miles. That did not make sense because 83 miles on a loop of just over 1 mile would be closer to 81 or 82 laps. I think I was still puzzling at the conundrum (the brain starts working in slow motion after so many hours of running) when a few laps later the screen said 95 laps when a look at my watch said it could not be more than 85 laps. What the **** was going on here? Were they counting laps twice? Was my "borrowed" timing chip an issue? I resolved to check again the next lap but when I came through the finish the screen was blank again. I didn't know it at the time, but it would remain blank for the entire rest of the race!

Things are getting increasingly hazy from here on, so some details and times may be getting mixed up. My legs went downhill very quickly. I went from running the entire lap to walking through the feed zone, to walking half a lap, to walking the entire lap in an alarmingly rapid decline. My energy levels seemed fine and my stomach was still taking just about anything they gave me. But my quads were shot and I just could not lift the legs any more. Walking was okay for the time being and I was optimistic that the good times would return eventually - in a 24 hours race you will always have big ups and downs, you just have to handle them.

From my watch as well as the screen I figured I had been close to 120k at the halfway mark, so a decent final tally seemed still on the cards. It was now past midnight and once I stopped running I got cold quickly, so I put on my jacket. The other things I noticed was that I had to go to the toilet almost every lap - and that after not going at all for the first 10 hours! I reduced my fluid intake, which got that issue back into balance. However, my quads just would no cooperate.

At one point, in desperation, I took one paracetamol. I did not like doing that. It's just a bad idea. Pain is there for a reason and masking it to push yourself through it is just asking for injury and health issues, but there comes a point when you try just about anything. Well, it did get me back running. For all of three laps, so about half an hour. Then it was over again. No more running. I also decided no more pain killers. While I was prepared to hurt, I wasn't prepared to damage myself, at least no more than whatever damage came "naturally".

I won't go into too much detail; I don't want to wallow in misery and go through the entire ordeal again. I spent many hours contemplating quitting, both that race specifically as well as ultra running in general. And of course I wasn't the only one suffering, half the field was struggling, including some of the best runners in the world. I no longer had to worry about being accused of illegal pacing, so I had the chance to chat with Andrew, Darren, Dennis, Aoife, Aine and a few others while we slowly circled Victoria Park again and again and again (apologies to anyone not mentioned).

After a few hours of walking (as well as 12 of running), my feet were swollen and the shoes felt increasingly uncomfortable. The top of my feet seemed to press against the laces so I decided to change shoes. My other pair were some Hokas, which I don't actually like because the cushioning feels wrong and takes away energy from my stride, but they were slightly larger and I knew they would feel better at that stage. When I put on one of the shoes I noticed something in there. I reached inside - and pulled out MY TIMING CHIP!!! So that's where it had been, and if I hadn't completely lost my head in my panic I sure would have found it before the race. Ah well. Too late for that now.

Since this race was held at the start of July and fairly high up north, the night was very short and after only a couple of hours of darkness the light returned already. If I had been running I would have very much welcomed the sun - walking through my misery as I was, it didn't make much of a difference.

At some point our team physio decided to give my quads a massage, to which I agreed only too willingly, mostly because it gave me an excuse to sit down for a couple of minutes. I expected this to be rather painful but she was actually quite gentle. Alas, as far as running was concerned, it did not make any difference whatsoever. My quads remained as dead as a dodo.

My legs weren't the only thing out of whack. Doing constant calculations in my head I kept thinking that 200k were still very much on the cards, until the moment when Finn O'Mara patiently explained to me that with 15 hours gone there were only 9 left to go, not 11 as I kept on thinking. Oops. Actually, the fact that I was disappointed by the fact that my projected mileage had just taken a fatal blow rather than relieved that I was closer to the finish is a good thing. At least mentally I had still been in the race.

The hours ticked by slowly and I was still walking. At some point I stopped questioning myself why I was still doing this because even that started to get old. I really have to thank the crews from the open race for their never-ending support and cheerful attitude. Ger, Don, Audrey, George, … ok, I should not start naming names, I can't possibly list them all. If you were there, consider yourself thanked. I can’t remember all the names, there were too many of you!

Usually towards the end of such a slog you start smelling the finish and the legs start responding again. Not so this time. If anything, things got worse. After too many hours even walking had become increasingly painful and when I tried running again I was more likely to fall over than to gain speed, and now my energy levels dropped to zero and even remaining upright was challenging enough on its own. I remember one particular moment when I needed to use the fence near the finish line to stop myself from falling over but thankfully that was once-off. Right at the end I really was at the end of my tether. I didn’t even hear the final claxon and only reacted to others stopping still.

Done. Finally done. There was a tree nearby and I rested against it, waiting for the measurement wheel to come by. I really wanted to lie down but knew that I would not be able to get up again. However, within less than half a minute (estimated) my ears started ringing and black spots started appearing in front of my eyes. I’ve been there before and knew I had only a couple of seconds before I would pass out. I didn’t want to fall down and bang my head uncontrollably but my legs wouldn’t bend over either. Thankfully two guys nearby saw me and literally caught me. I mumbled something that I was about to faint but probably didn’t sound too coherent, though the message got through. Whoever you were, thanks a lot! I lay in the grass for a while and even that was uncomfortable. Some sugary drink got some balance back into the system and they eventually helped me up and I slowly, very slowly made my way back to the tent.

Not much was said there. I mumbled something along the lines of “I would love to say that was the hardest thing I've ever done but I'm sure Spartathlon was worse!” which pretty much sums up my day. My watch displayed 121.7 miles, and even with the usual slight overestimation you get from a GPS device I thought at least I had cracked 120 miles but the official results have me at 115 miles / 185 km. I have no idea where that massive gap came from. I thought I was very close to 120k at the halfway stage, and surely I must have walked more than 65 k in 12 hours! Maybe the data at the halfway mark was off already, but when I compared the watch and screen data after 50 miles/ 80k / 8 hours, there was about half a mile of difference, so I would have expected a total discrepancy of maybe 1.5 miles at the end, not almost 7 miles!

I'm not disputing the official result, it was just one final disappointment at the end of a thoroughly disappointing race. This just wasn’t good enough. Not good enough for me, and most definitely not good enough by international standards.

Let's finish on a positive note. I once more managed to keep going even when things had long gone south, which must count for something, though I very much preferred never to go there again. And being in the same race where Patrycja Bereznowska set yet another amazing world record was quite something.

1 Jul

24 hrs World Championships, Belfast

185.48 km / 115.25 miles

103rd place / 17th M45

I'm back! I'm back!

Let's start with a confession: I would not have gone to Longford if I had picked my own race. I would have gone to Connemara instead, a race very close to my heart. But I guess the coach preferred a race 6 miles shorter, thus requiring less recovery time. To be honest, it seems a lot more sensible. In the last 6 months I have done exactly one run of 17 miles and that's it for long runs. It seems extraordinary to even attempt an ultra on so little endurance training, even a (relatively) short one. Nevertheless, that's what I was in for.

Longford is a long way from Kerry. This better be worthwhile! To be honest, I didn't sleep well the night before. I was too nervous.

The plan was very simple, start out at 8-minute pace, or whatever felt easy and natural, and stick with it for as long as I reasonably can and then suffer until I'm done. I would re-assess at miles 15 and 23 how I felt and adjust accordingly, but that seemed a long way off at the start.

Aidan Hogan was there, which was great because it meant I would never have to worry about potentially winning this race, leaving me to run this as a training run, just as planned (I would have gotten into serious trouble with the coach had I raced a training run). He asked me what my plan was and didn't look too pleased. I guess he had hoped for some company but my pace was too slow for him to even consider.

Anyway, at 8:30 in the morning (ok, a bit later) we were off, together with the early marathon starters. Aidan and another runner stormed off at the front and I was left in third place, at first pursued by a few others but they slowed after a while and I knew I would have to run on my own for a long time. Two marathon runners passed me after a bit, one of them usually finishes closer to 4 hours so I have no idea why he felt the need to start at 7:30 pace, the other one slightly more sensible but I caught him later on as well, close to the half marathon mark.

The course consisted of 10 laps along the Royal Canal, each lap being about 5.2k, plus about 1k extra at the start. The run along the canal was very flat but there were three bumps along the way past some bridges, which I knew would grow with each lap. About 2k were tarmac, 1k was smooth but narrow single track and the rest double track, which was rather uneven and stony, which I didn't particularly like to be honest. On each lap I was looking forward to the tarmac section, and while the single track was nice and smooth, it did make overtaking bit tricky, and there would be a lot of overtaking today.

At various stages we were joined today by a 10k, a half-marathon and a full marathon, 700 runners in all apparently (that's amazing on the same weekend as Connemara and London!), and while the better runners of those races were obviously moving faster than me, most did not and I have no idea how many times I went past another runner but it could have been over 1000 times, all on a rather narrow course. On the plus side, it ensured I never felt lonely and there was always someone to chase - a welcome change to most other ultras. I do like the company of other runners!

Anyway, the pace I settled in was a bit faster than 8-minute pace, which initially worried me a bit. I did slow down a few times but every time I checked the watch I found I had unwittingly accelerated again, and soon enough I stopped looking at the watch and just ran by feel alone.

I did expect to suffer. I hoped I would get to halfway feeling good, which would still leave plenty of scope for suffering, and I hoped to be done in roughly 4:30. I also worried about cramping - surely running twice as far as your single longest training run, at pretty much the same pace, was almost guaranteed to bring on some cramps, going by past experience. On the other hand, a bit of suffering might be character-building, or at least I keep telling myself.

There was one minor incident after 3 laps when the 10k runners were assembling at their start line. Since the course is so narrow, it really required everyone to be careful with everyone else, especially when one large groups assembles on the path while other runners are already in the middle of their race. Actually, the other runners were all great, for all races. My problem came when one of the marshalls stepped out, right into my path. "Excuse me" - still stepping out. "Excuse Me!" - still stepping, and now he's getting uncomfortably close. "EXCUSE ME!" and bang, I bumped into him. I could not step aside because there was absolutely no room to do so, and I hadn't slowed down because I really had not expected him to fully block my path, especially with me shouting 3 warnings. Anyway, no harm done, though I did wonder how he possibly could not have seen or heard me!

That was as exciting as it got, really. I did notice 2 runners running less than 30 seconds behind me for over 20 miles, but when they accelerated and finally overtook me they turned out to be marathon runners from the early start, so I didn't lose my place in the ultra field.

At mile 15 I re-assessed and decided that I felt surprisingly good but accelerating was most likely a bad idea with so much race still left and I just kept going at the same pace.

I did the same at mile 24 or 25, a little bit later than planned but the miles were still ticking by so fast I had missed my cue. At that point my hamstrings were definitely tired and my hip flexors were starting to complain as well, but overall I was feeling a lot better than expected; before the race I had expected to be in a world of pain by that point. Instead my running form seemed still solid (as far as I could tell at least) and I was still moving at the same pace. I decided to try and keep going as I was, but without increasing the effort past a certain threshold, which realistically meant I would slow down a tad. That's ok. Aidan lapped me, moving at the same pace as the faster half-marathon runners, which was very impressive to say the least. He still looked totally comfortable going considerably faster than 7-minute pace well past the marathon distance. Afterwards he told me he finished with a sub-6 mile. Blimey!

Anyway, my own pace did drop just below 8-minute pace but I was well ahead of schedule and, most importantly, feeling so much better than expected I could hardly believe it. I passed the marathon mark in about 3:24, still very comfortable though at that point I definitely started tiring and it got a bit harder from here on. But with the finish in sight that wasn't much of an issue.

Right at the end of my last lap the microphone guy announced an ultra runner just finishing, which I obviously took to be me, until he said "number 7", which was not my number, and it was only then that I realised that I had almost completely caught up to the second runner who had headed off fast at the start, but finished maybe 2 or 3 seconds behind him. Honestly, had I known that I would have run just a tiny bit faster, not that it mattered. Both of us were so far behind Aidan that he had time to shower, change and eat, and he could probably have finished reading a book or paint a landscape to pass the time waiting for us.

So, I finished in third place (at least as far as I know, not having seen any official result), 32.85miles on the watch, in 4:16:40, which translates to 7:48 pace, a bit faster than expected, but feeling so much better than I thought I would. I was really pleased, not with the time, I didn't care about that, but with how well this had gone. I had no business to believe this would go so well, with my reduced training the last few months, but apparently I don't have to run 100 miles a week to get into some decent shape. Maybe it's muscle memory.

Anyway, now there's some time for recovery. But my confidence level has increased by an enormous amount, which is the main thing I take away from Longford.

Lap paces: 7:46, 7:45, 7:49, 7:42, 7:43, 7:33, 7:46, 7:56, 8:03, 8:03. I'm very happy with those numbers and how well they held up.

I'm an ultra runner again!

21 Apr

4 miles, 32:52, 8:13 pace, HR 135

22 Apr

Longford Royal Canal Ultra, 53k

4:16:40, 7:48 pace, HR 154

23 Apr

4 miles, 33:57, 8:29 pace, HR 141

It's A Long Way To Tipperary

When the coach put a 40 mile training run onto my schedule, I had nightmare visions of stumbling around the local countryside on my own for hours and hours. Thankfully, I spotted the Glen of Aherlow Ultra race on some calendar, by some miracle on the same weekend that my coach had targeted. Even the coach agreed this was perfect. The race was 39.3 miles over 3 loops, though half and full marathon races were on as well, with a later start.

However, the timing around real-life issues was less than perfect. I'm in the middle of a training course at work that I found much more mentally demanding than expected and I was drained of energy every evening, The exam is on Monday - crikey! Add to that a bout of teenage drama at home and my mind wasn't exactly in the base place.

Getting up at 4am had Niamh worried but for once I decided to follow my own ideas. The drive to Tipperary was fairly uneventful, apart from finding out that the road between Mallow and Mitchelstown was closed and required a detour but thankfully I had a few minutes spare and still arrived on time.

Apart from the long miles ahead of me, I was pretty much out of my comfort zone because this was a trail race and I am very much a road runner! However, the IMRA have a reputation for being open and friendly, though they could do with making information a bit easier to come by. I only found out on Friday night that a rain jacket is required gear no matter what the weather forecast says and in general I found it very hard to get any info about that race.

Never mind, I was there. I had less time than anticipated and jogged half of the mile from the race HQ to the actual start so as not to be late, which was the first time ever I did a warm-up before an ultra.

I was under strict instructions to take it easy, REALLY easy, on the first loop. The race starts straight away with 3 miles of steep climbing. The fast guys took 5 minutes to disappear out of view, after which my competitive instincts realised they were unwelcome today and disappeared entirely (not that I would have had a hope to compete at the front anyway). A couple of looks at the HRM told me unfailingly that I was working much harder than it felt, even when I was genuinely trying to run as slowly as I could, and eventually I joined into everyone else's spirit and walked the steeper parts, though that still had the HR at a higher level than I would have preferred,

On top of the ridge I was in a group of 4. The footing was very tricky for well over 2 miles, which is the part that bad been described as "the awkward section", and yes, it really was awkward. I was glad I was in my trail runners, I don't know if I would have made it through in slippery road runners. After a long while, when we were already wondering why we had not seen any markers for quite some time, we came out to the first aid station at the road crossing and the second part of the loop was much more runnable. I (inadvertently) dropped my companions over the next few rolling miles, passing another aid station and then dropping for a few miles over various different surfaces back towards the finish area. I ran together with Gabhain and Stephen, though the latter pulled away before we go back to the start area.

Photo by the MMRA

We all picked a different strategy for the big climb of the second loop and straight away walked most of it, though my HR was still way over 150! The sun came out and it got actually rather hot, so I was glad I now carried a bottle with me, in contrast to the first loop. I also took on a few extra calories and after a while they must have kicked in because running eventually became much easier and I definitely started to enjoy it a lot more. There was a turn-off towards the right about 4 miles in which I did not remember from the first loop, but wavered between spotting places that looked familiar and thinking that I had not been along this route before. I was pretty sure that things were different this time round when I got to a jeep road that was very runnable, because in the first loop the miles towards the first aid station had been a horrible scramble through muck. This was confirmed when I reached the aid station from the jeep road; I could see the trail where I had emerged from the first time round. I talked to the  guys manning the aid station who thought that I must have take the long way round in the first loop but looking at my GPS I didn't think so. Anyway, they told me to go on and not to worry about it.

The next few miles seemed strangely unfamiliar again, except that this time I was pretty sure I must have run along here before as the markers were so obvious. The legs felt surprisingly good but I still took it very easy, there was no point killing myself in a training run and messing up the training for the Euros. However, I was cruising along at a decent enough pace, even if the HR was still much higher than I would have thought. I eventually caught up with Stephen, a lot later than I would have expected. I told him the same story about that missed turn in the first loop, though dismissed his suggestion that keeping quiet was an option. So when we got to the start area once more, I talked to the officials there. I estimated I had cut off about half a mile, maybe a tad more, though with the awful footing on that section the time difference was probably not that great. I did offer to run an extra out-and-back bit but they eventually told me to just carry on on my third loop and not do anything about it for now, so go onto the third loop I did.

This kept playing on my mind, though I tried to put it away and just get on with the race and actually enjoy it. I'm used to pushing as hard as I can on races, even very scenic ones, which leaves very little scope to actually look around and take in the views, so this made a nice difference (however, the views were not as good as in Kerry - sorry!). The sun was still shining, which would have been an issue had I been racing as it would have provided much scope for suffering, but at my much lower effort today this was much more manageable. It also provided the benefits of somewhat drying out the mucky trail and footing actually became slightly better. The legs did feel the effort of over 30 miles on unaccustomed territory but overall I was feeling better than expected, really. I started passing a lot of runners, though I think they were all marathon runners on their second loop. At the aid station the marshall asked if I was an ultra runner (they kept notes to make sure nobody was missing), while calling the other runner "ordinary", which was a bit harsh - he was still doing a rather tough trail marathon!

I was a bit worried about my shoes - I wasn't 100% sure if they'd fall apart before the finish.

I think my shoes have had it

Catching up with and passing about a dozen runners made for a fun game for the last few miles which passed the time. I was still feeling good, though I started to stumble over rocks with increased frequency, every time just about managing to avoid a fall, close as it was a few times. When that happened after about 35 miles a spasm shot through my calves - I was heading towards cramping territory again, though I only had a few miles left, most of them downhill, so I never had to deal with actual cramps. In fact, when we left the trail for about half a mile on the road I could feel the muscles relax and managed to do some actual running at a decent clip - smelling the barn undoubtedly helped. Then I got to the end, reminded them once more about my missed turn on loop 1 but they told me to just finish and leave it at that.

I just managed to sneak under 7 hours - my slowest 39 mile race by over an hour, though with all the others having been road races that doesn't mean much. The winner, Barry Hartnett, had only taken just over 5 hours - that is just mind boggling, an absolutely outstanding performance!

Yes, I think my shoes have had it

Actually, partially to make up for the lost distance, and partially because the coach had originally written down 40 miles, I jogged the extra mile back from the race finish to the village, which means I got a cool down as well, a first for an ultra. I got a much harsher second cool down as well because the showers only had freezing cold water! They more than made up for that with the delicious post-race beef casserole (I had a second helping) followed by some cheesecake. It's a shame I had to decline the free beer as I was driving straight back home.

Obviously I would have preferred not to have taken a shortcut, accidentally as it was. I find it amazing that all 4 of us in that group missed the markers - of course it meant the first runner missed it and everyone else just followed blindly. The organiser were a lot more relaxed about it than me - I guess because I was not in the running for any prizes it did not matter all that much and I think the IMRA are a more relaxed organisation anyway. Anyway, if you fancy a few hours on lovely trails and excellent organisation, and don't mind getting dirty, this race is well worth checking out.

17 Sep

Glen of Aherlow Ultra

39.3 miles, 6:58:53, 5th place, avg HR 144

When The Force Wasn't With Me

Without a shadow of a doubt, the Energia 24 hrs race in Belfast in 2014 had been my greatest race ever. Ever since then I have been itching for a return; I missed it last year with a heavy heart because with the world championship in Turin (where I only ran because of that Belfast result) and then the Spartathlon I was already pushing my luck as it was. When I heard that the 2016 race had been moved from the Mary Peters track into Victoria Park, my first reaction was not to run it at all because I really favour a track setting for that kind of a race. It took a few months to come round, and eventually I signed up after all.

Going into the race I knew perfectly well that I was not in the same shape I had been back in 2014. I do measure feedback in my training and the cold hard numbers made it quite clear. However, I figured I was in similar shape to last year's race in Turin, and with a better race, especially in the later hours, I might be able to hit 220k, though I always knew it was an ambitious target. 216k, to get a guaranteed Spartathlon qualifier, was the fallback goal. 200k would be the minimum goal, but only because it happens to be a round number.

I'm not sure how, but I do have a habit of snapping up top class crews for that kind of race, sometimes at a very late notice. My support this year was particularly impressive in the form of Valerie Glavin, no less than the the Irish National record holder for 24 hrs indoors, and Ger Donohue, fresh off the podium in Portumna 2 weeks ago. Valerie was working Saturday and would arrive late but Ger would undoubtedly be able to handle the first few hours on his own.

The start- photo by Mike Flanagan

The date of the race had moved as well, 3 weeks earlier than anticipated, which screwed my training plan and for which I never properly adjusted (my own fault, of course), though with the European Championships in France (the running, not the footy!) in October, that was actually a good move. Or it would have been, had I adjusted my training properly. More on that later.

Even the start time had moved - from an evening to a noon start, though that didn't make much difference to me to be honest. I got there with a few hours spare, though with all the hellos to dozens of other ultra runners and their crews they flew by so fast that in the end I barely had time to get ready in time.

I started at a very measured effort, as befits a race of such monumental effort. Within a lap or 2 I found myself right beside Thomas Klimas and we just happened to run the same pace, so we spent the next couple of hours running together, which brought a fair few remarks that we were re-running the Spartathlon, including from ourselves. At one point the two of us were running with Don and Brian, which almost made this a Spartathlon reunion (we did miss Anto!). However, I found it really hard to find a comfortable rhythm. After about 45 minutes Thomas remarked how he loved this phase of the race when everything feels so easy and you think you can keep this going forever. I, on the other hand, just never felt comfortable and was definitely wondering where this would go, but for the time being there wasn't much to do but keep going and try to eventually find a decent rhythm. After a couple of hours Thomas had a break at his crewing table and we went our separate ways.

I thought I sped up a bit after that, but a look at the mile splits doesn't really confirm that. However, I did soon get into the flow and was finally feeling much more comfortable and optimistic about how the race would go.

You cannot win a 24 hours race in the first few hours but you can certainly lose it, so I was definitely surprised to see Eddie Gallen start out at what must have been at least 260k pace. Eddie was running his 33rd 24 hours race (I don't know if anyone has run more) and I certainly wasn't going to question his approach. Alex O'Shea was starting rather fast, which definitely had me worried for him. Keith Whyte, the Irish 100k record holder, on the other hand, seemed to start at a much more measured effort, and I was really looking forward to witnessing what he would do today. So far I could only admire his incredibly smooth running style.

I did run into a potentially serious problem early on. My right thigh was getting quite painful and lifting the leg became a bit of an effort with each step. I think it was the pectineus muscle, though I'm not an expert in that field. It was far too early to have muscle problems, really, but that's what I was faced with.

The first marathon in such a race is basically the warm up. I finished it a few minutes after 4 hours, pretty much where I planned and expected to be. I know I can't keep that pace for 24 hours but a slowdown is always part of the calculation. I was feeling very comfortable at that time and looking forward to the next few hours. It became increasingly obvious, however, that the weather forecast had not been correct; instead of the clouds and maybe even the odd light shower it was really warm and sunny, very much to everyone's surprise. Quite a few runners started moaning about the heat - I didn't feel too bad, maybe my heat adaptation was unexpectedly paying off after all.

About 45 miles into the race I passed the start area just as one of the 100k runners, Natalie Bowbanks, was having a bit of a mental low. We ended up running a few laps together. Physically she was fine (for someone past the 40 mile mark that is) but she was struggling a bit mentally. However, she did recover and I was delighted to see her finish a few hours later.

Dealing with a low - photo by Ed Mc Groarty

I still felt good for a few more hours but it was never going to last - ultra races are usually defined by how the runner handles the inevitable lows. I often have a dip at 30 miles but got through that just fine. It hit me all the harder at 50 miles, though. I got there in almost exactly 8 hours, still very much on schedule, but the next 4 or 5 miles were by far the most difficult so far. I was totally devoid of energy and found it very hard to keep running. I tried to eat but must have overdone it because my stomach started to feel too full - then I stopped eating but within 2 or 3 laps I staggered up to our table, barely able to hold myself up, feeling dizzy and all I could do was stammer "I need sugar or I'm going to faint". A few jelly babies later I was feeling better and eventually started to run better again. That also more or less coincided with Valerie turning up, and she immediately took control - neither Ger nor myself are experts on nutrition during ultras (I just never had any real trouble, so never had to learn my lessons), and she really was a godsend. She declared I had eaten too much and put me on the Coke diet - a few sips of coke per lap, nothing else for a while. It worked. I quickly felt better again.

However, once more it wasn't going to last long. I had barely been able to enjoy a brighter spell when it all went downhill again. Crossing the 100k mark was no cause for celebrations - I was almost crawling at the time. I was also getting whiny and started moaning to my crew - I hate it when I do that, it's just pathetic. I apologised to Valerie for wasting her time with my poor performance, and I can't even remember what I said to Ger but I made him promise afterwards not to tell anyone.

I passed Darren Sheridan, the winner of the Donadea 100k three weeks ago, and mentioned how back then I had covered 100k in an hour less and had felt a lot less exhausted, to which he replied he was in the exact same position. This low was a lot worse than the one at 50 miles, and it took until I had crawled to mile 70 that I finally managed to get to grips with things again. Unfortunately, the last 10 miles had taken me 2 hours, and my goal was starting to slip out of my grasp.

I wasn't the only one struggling. Runners of such high calibre as Ger Copeland and Thomas Klimas had had to pull out completely and even Keith Whyte was clearly suffering and struggling (he had stomach issues from what I gathered). Eventually, after 12 hours I seemed to get second (third? fourth?) wind and for the next 2 or 3 hours I finally started to feel like an international runner again. My pace increased and I started to pass people that up to now seemed to have been running rings around me. Most importantly, though, was the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed this stretch. I was back in the flow and things just clicked for a while. I was never really aware what distance target was still realistic but at least I wasn't slipping even further behind.

Almost halfway - photo by Valerie Glavin

Alas, it wasn't going to last. At 90 miles I felt reasonably good. At 92 miles I was in the depths of hell. I hadn't hit the wall - I had fallen into a bottomless pit. It was a very different low to the previous 2; my energy levels were actually fine but my legs were completely killing me. My right pectineus (presumably) was hurting badly and I was barely able to lift the feet off the ground. Running was basically impossible and even walking was slow. Mile 92, 93 and 94 were the 3 slowest miles of the entire race. Having the 100 mile mark reasonably close helped mentally but it was a brutal grind and very hard work. It took me 90 minutes to cover 6 miles - walking pace, basically. I tried a few things, like a toilet stop, not because I needed one, just to give the leg muscles a minute of rest. I did the Morton stretch, to no avail (it was hard work to get back up). Grellan tried to get me going but at that point there was nothing left. Eventually, after an eternity, my legs very slowly started to come round again. Valerie just came back from a break when I told her that the last 6 miles had been pure agony. "But you still did 6 miles" was her short response, and that was that. Somehow I managed to start running again, but at that point I very much doubted I'd reach 200k.

I'm not sure what position I was in at that point in the field. Someone told me afterwards that I had been 13th at some point, which sounds plausible. I never particularly care about my finishing position, that is always secondary to trying to maximise my mileage, but of course I still want to finish as far ahead as I can. I clearly wasn't in the running for the medals today. I could see Eddie Gallen and Eoin Keith running very well and Alex O'Shea and Tim Brownlie in contention as well - but the real surprise was Aidan Hogan. I've known him for a couple of years and was perfectly aware that he was a very good runner (2 sub-3 marathons within one week!) but I could not have predicted such an extraordinary performance. When they talk about someone running like a machine they must have a picture of Aidan in mind!

100 miles complete - photo by Valerie Glavin

Anyway, when I finally got going again I actually started to move reasonably well, though the damage was already done. I reached 100 miles in 18:18, about 2 hours slower than 2 years ago and at least 90 minutes later than anticipated (not that I had a fixed schedule in mind). Seeing how the last few hours of a 24 hours race have always been a bit of a death march for me, I wasn't sure how far I'd go and 200k still seemed optimistic, especially after the last couple of hours. But in actual fact I started to feel better again. I was still on Valerie's Coke diet, with the occasional piece of melon but not much else thrown in. I did have some porridge when it was served by the organisers, which took about 30 seconds to wolf down, but apart form that it was the black liquid. I must have drunk enough coke to give myself diabetes had I not burned it off straight away.

Gary Reinhardt kept passing me like I was standing still. I've know him for a long time and I've never seen him run as well as that. At one point he was just a lap behind me and the way he was moving had me seriously worried he was going to finish ahead of me. He has improved immensely as a runner over the last few years and was one of the surprise packages of the day.

A late push - photo by Ed Mc Groarty

Maybe it was the fact that it was getting bright again but somehow I found an extra gear when I thought I had already spent everything I had. Ger and Valerie had settled into a Good Cop/Bad Cop routine and every time she told me to run, I ran.

I sidled up to John O'Regan, who wasn't having his best day either. "John, how come we always forget how much this hurts, every single time?" "I have no idea!"

At about 8:30am it started raining, but only lightly. I put on my rain jacket and kept going.

Victoria Park is right beside the airport, which simultaneously provides the stunningly different sensations of running beside a peaceful water feature and having a commercial airliner pass over your head so close that you can almost touch it. The park itself is lovely enough, the loop just over a mile long, very flat and perfectly suited to a parkrun. I'm not entirely convinced about its suitability for a 24 hours race though, in all honesty. The surface is basically concrete with rolled-in gravel. It is a totally unforgiving surface and after several hours your legs are going to notice. I had opted to wear Hokas for the first time in a 24 hours race, the total opposite to the lightweight trainers I usually prefer, and I wasn't the only one. I never ever expected to see Eoin Keith in Hokas, but here he was, as was John O'Regan, and quite a few others. On that brutal surface, however, I do think that heavily cushioned shoes are indeed the right choice.

I wasn't sure what to expect over the last 4 hours. I was dreading yet another crushing low. What I did

Pushing through the pain barrier on the final lap
Photo by Mark Ramsey

not expect, especially after the tough hours I had just been through, was that I would start feeling stronger and stronger as the race went into its final stretch. The only runner who was still moving decidedly better than me was Eoin Keith, and he was untouchable. Eddie Gallen was having a strong finish as well. Others were moving about as well as me, like Don Hannon, Jamie Killeen or Aidan (apologies to any other strong finishers - this is not a definite list!), but most runners still out there were in death march mode. I was still in 11th place with a bit over an hour to go but was clearly making my way through the field. Grellan had been 3-5 laps ahead of me for hours but was having a rough time towards the end, and even started to develop a slight lean, though he never stopped moving. I wasn't actually aware when I was passing people if I was overtaking them or moving up a lap, but according to the final results I did move up into 7th place. The watch actually stopped working with 10 minutes to go, which was a minor irritant. It had been about 1.5 or 2 miles ahead of my official distance at that point. It would have gotten well over 130 miles had it lasted for 24 hours but the official result has me at 128.4 miles / 207 k, which sounds about right.

It was definitely less than I had expected. I knew 220k was always going to be a stretch but 216k, and with that a guaranteed Spartathlon entry, did feel achievable before the start. In the end I had to be happy to avoid a personal worst, though I have now managed over 200k in every single one of my four 24-hour races, which is pretty good as far as consistency is concerned. I clearly did not have a very good day but I like to think I was very good in squeezing out the best possible performance that my misfiring body was capable of that day,

Ed, myself and Jamie - all happy to be done. Photo by Ed Mc Groarty

So what went wrong? Amongst the things that went through my head during the dark spells in the middle of the night were that I'm too old, that my 2014 performance was a fluke and that I should retire from competitive racing right now, but thankfully the drama queen went away eventually.

I did get my training wrong. Following the outline set in 2014 I was planning on 2 long training runs, a 100k 6 weeks out and a 40 miler 3 weeks out. I cannot imagine running so far on my own, so these were official races but regarded as training runs, as I've done multiple times before. When the date for the Energia race was announced, it was 3 weeks earlier than anticipated, but for some reason I never changed my training. It ended in me running too little and too much - too little in the months before June and too much in June itself, and I never got to do that second long run.

I don't want to end this race report on a down note. There are plenty of positives to take away. I can run 200k even on an off day. I have learned a lot, about training as well as nutrition, and neither lesson would have been half as effective had I had a great race. I now know that I can still run strongly after 20 hours, something that is very new to me, If I can combine a better preparation and nutrition and mix it with the fortitude I've shown today, I still have at least one spectacular performance in me.

Also, congratulations to some great performances. Eoin was incredible but my "merit of the day" award goes to Aidan, who ran the best Irish 24 hours debut in history. Ed Mc Groarty improved massively on an already high standard, and Aoife Lyons should be very proud for covering 100 miles as still a rather inexperienced runner. Don Hannon ran a great race (I think it was a PB), and Eddie ran a PB in his 33rd 24 (the mind boggles)! Gary Reinhardt had an outstanding race, as did Jamie Killeen and Alex O'Shea. Lets's not forget Catherine Guthrie and Finn O'Mara who lightened up the day with more very strong performances.

I guess I should not have started naming names as it's impossible to name them all - no less than 12 runners ran 200k or more, which is almost unheard of outside an international championship. The standard has increased by a frightening amount and I am proud to be part of that group.

As some other guy with a similar accent once said, I'll be back.

25th/26th June

Energia 24 hours race in Belfast - Irish championships

128.4 miles / 207.204k, 7th place