Bit of a breeze there

13 April, 2023 - Alan Ayling

Dreadful. Appalling. As bad as I've encountered in hundreds of races. Why do I even bother with this stuff?

The above reflect my thoughts on two aspects of tonight's event:

a) The pre-race weather conditions
b) The queue to get out through that stoopid barrier afterwards

The race itself was epic. So much packed into that 8 km. Twisting gravel trails up and down through the woods, fast flat bits, steep climbs, a super technical section over the twin summits, made tougher by a wee crosswind. Battles with old rivals and newcomers.

Must have been a horrible night to be a helper. Big thanks to all who volunteered and especially RD Angela.

Wednesday nights are back. As Austin Powers would say, YEAH BABY!!!

Dance upon Mountains

13 April, 2023 - Brian Kitson

Little Sugarloaf is home soil. My house backs onto its lower slopes and I have run its trails for many years. Places get names when people travel there often enough. Once a place has a name, it accrues history, mythology and stories. I have named several places along those trails that were part of the race last night. ‘The Six’ and ‘The Eight’; functional names of trails locals and I share to indicate the distance of different loops from our homes. The zigzags on the southeast slope I’ve called Ben’s Bends after an old warrior Labrador of mine who wouldn’t flinch at running the 20-mile return from the house to Djouce but always cut the corner of those bends.

The most important place name up there to me is The Pig. The Pig is the steep rise that connects the northern lower trails to the base of the plateau that leads to the summit cone. I learned how to run technical hills by doing countless hill repeats from the old stone ruin up to that plateau and back down. The repeat has four parts. The first and last parts are along a wide trail with a gradual slope, the second and third parts are on The Pig. The Pig is a horrible, rocky, slippery, arse-kicking, steep shingle single-track lung-buster. I love it. I’ve often raced hard up and down The Pig with pals and it’s common to hear loud guttural squeals burst from over-pumped lungs at the top of The Pig. Hence the name.

Last night, by the time I arrived at The Pig the battle was on and things were not looking good. A runner breathing down my neck itched to get past me and I was running on a bad ankle. A good race looked like it might go bad. There had been little or no wind on the lee side of the hill and I felt strong all the way to the summit. However, each runner slewed hard in the high winds traversing the top. Accurate foot placement at speed on the technical summit cone is difficult at the best of times but is much harder in a gale. I danced over the rocky first two humps until a massive gust on the last threw me off balance and I tweaked my ankle. I was about to go flying but was blown straight into Ben Mooney instead. Grateful of the backstop, my roars of apology were lost in the wind to the Irish Sea, and I took off down the rocky descent with a runner in tow. My pursuer made his move as we approached The Pig. There are two types of runners on The Pig; those who don’t know the line and those who run fast. I ran fast. The ankle pain eased, I created a gap and managed to catch another runner as we approached the trail back into the forest and finished in 10th place.

I remember how hard it felt to pull myself away from the stove to leave for the race. How grim it felt to brace against the cold, wind and rain as we lined up outside to register. How foreboding the grey summit looked from the car park. While summer weather was absent from the opening race of the summer league, the summit gale was just the spice many of us needed, if not wanted. It's good to be back. More stories to tell of Wednesday evenings yet to come.


“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”

-William Butler Yeats, The Land of Heart's Desire

Mid Week Breather

13 April, 2023 - Miriam Maher

I did feel it was only right to do up a race report on how I got myself around the course last night. Then I saw Brian had done one of his race reports....*sigh*, no point in even trying to achieve that level of prose. Yes, Alan, I wasn't as put off by yours ;-)

For what it's worth...here's my tuppence worth.

Would have been so easy to give it a miss, brutal weather, the lack of an orange warning which would have nixed plans for the race aside, it was always going to be challenging conditions.

But it was the first of the Wednesday nights on the hills, the signal that the midweek switch off from whatever might vex us or trouble us between April and July had arrived, felt rude not to turn up and give it a lash. So, wrapped up in hiking level running gear, merrily telling anyone who'd listen that I was off to take the early (hike) start, trotted off at 7 pm with the rest of the early starters (we're runners too).

What a blast, combined my huffing and puffing along the trails and up to the base of little sugarloaf summit by having a great catch up with Karen Devenney. Yes, I know it's a 'race' but last night was about getting around for me, only back running properly(ish) a little while.

Hard to find the words to describe my movements in getting up and over the the 3 little rock invested tricky bumps. Think swaying (inelegantly) while being buffeted endlessly by various gusts of wind that seem to come from every direction, crouching as low as I could to scramble along without being tipped over the side, occasionally just frozen in one spot trying to work out how to best move forward without face planting. The rim of my hat most unhelpfully kept falling down over my eyes, not a descent to attempt without clear vision.

In the end, got down in one piece. Utterly amazed by that. My knees bear the repeated scars from multiple trips and spills over the years, I'm the person most likely to fall on a run, but not last night!!!

As we got down off the summit, to my astonishment, the lead runners started streaming by, I'm still in awe of them actually running over those summit bumps in those conditions.

The rest of the race was positively pedestrian after the shock to the senses of that. Just got down and round and tottered to the finish line. Lovely streaky sky as the sunset kicked in, I was too banjaxed to get myself together and grab a pic. And yes, yes, it was a race, what was I doing thinking of photos...but as I said - last night was simply about getting around for me.

Seconds after crossing the line, while gulping the 7-up (nice touch Angela), I was pressed into presidential services to give the amazing talent that is Noah Harris, our super junior, who won the race and set a course record too, his prize. State of me.

So I was slower than I thought it was possible for even me to be. But I drove off home happy out. Throughout all the (very) long time I was out, I didn't give anything a thought other than the experience of being out on the hills mid week, chatting to like minded souls who also think this is just a marvelous way to occupy yourself. That's the essence of what the Wednesday Leinster League offers me.

Thank you to Angela and all the other generous IMRA members who stepped up and gave up their evenings in woeful conditions so we could have a blast!