Race Week Diary

27 March, 2024 - Barry McEvoy

MONDAY

My ankle was swollen this morning from falling in the snow yesterday. I was able to walk though, the issue was when I turned it right, so I decided I’d have to go straight and left all day. It’s lashing again so I go to gym and get on the treadmill and do an impromptu progression run, keeping my toes curled in my shoes as it seemed to take pressure off.

It’s hot in the gym and I sweat so much at the end some washing powder starts to seep out of my shorts which are saturated. For half the run there is a guy in front of me doing cable tricep pull downs while staring intently at himself in the mirror. After each set he flexes a little in front of the mirror. I try not to judge but it’s terrible hard. I’m definitely out of touch lately and I don’t mind one bit. I don’t want to keep up with everything or know what the latest fad is.

I just want to get the little ferry over to the Blasket Islands, hike to the back side of the Island and watch the Atlantic Ocean swirling deep blue and crashing white capped while learning the Irish the birds speak there.  

I don’t feel comfortable in the gym. Afterward I went to the sauna and spent 10 minutes in it and it was a lot harder than the progression run. Sweat is coming through my t shirt still as I leave with big red cheeks.

TUESDAY

It’s lashing again. If I was an optimist I might believe it would be sunny soon but I’m not and the rain is annoying me. I consider starting a GoFundMe for a Vitamin D deprived chap in need of a life-saving sun holiday in the canaries. Treadmill it is again. Do impromptu uphill running session at different gradients. I think to stave off the boredom. Skip the sauna.

WEDNESDAY

Third day at gym, (psychotic) using the last free pass my mother gave me. It’s lashing by the way, again. Do 8*3mins and feel brutal throughout. Go for a subway to cheer myself up. A man in the changing room said I didn't look 35 so I focus in on that and munch on my subway.

THURSDAY

Listen to a chap in work chant ‘Barry's tea, Barry's tea' at me for 6 hours solid, then another lad gives me a move by move account of every wrestling Royal Rumble there’s been in the last ten years, for another six. There’s a lot to be said for a pick and shovel and back breaking manual labour. Wore out after.

FRIDAY

Do a little shake out jog. Don't feel great after all that treadmill running. My legs feel lethargic and heavy. Have rasher and cheese sambos for dinner. Try sleep and can't so I just watch stuff on my phone. I get four hours in the end, not great but I am kind of used to it.

SATURDAY

The alarm goes at 6am. Shower, toast, Vanilla Latte. Drive to Piers Gate and arrive at 8am. It’s misty and bitter. The nerves slowly start to go as the race gets closer. Chat to Gavin Byrne and feel more relaxed. Go numb changing. Do 2k warm up, would have rather a little more, because I’m still frozen solid. First time ever racing in a t shirt, bottled the singlet. Big smiles from RD Clare are appreciated by all the runners. Who are all these runners here today? I'd love to know. Quick handshake with the ever pleasant and genuine Karol Cronin. It’s time to go and suddenly I have no nerves whatsoever.

Peter Roche sets a nice early pace, I'm hoping to sit in today, I follow behind in third before gradually easing to second. There is a strong headwind and I dip my head low. As we approach the new sandy section I sense the pace has eased a little. I don’t know whether to sit in or go on. But I don’t make the decision my legs do and I move out and slowly overtake Peter and gently move on without upping my tempo much. As I go up, it gets colder. The boardwalk to the turn is utter hell. A despicable inhuman wind goes through me and it’s hard to stay upright. The t shirt isn’t doing much for me. I think that this really is absurd to be running up here in this in a T shirt but I don’t stop and turn around. I just bobble onward into it.

I catch my breath for a moment from the battering wind as I move around the side of Djouce and then I roll my ankle, I feel pain but I’m lucky it isn’t serious. I pick through the uneven terrain and don't push it, as I am worried about the ankle. Little faster on the grass, I'm wearing 8mm lugs. I begin to catch the early starters as I descend into Crone. I move fast but a lot more controlled than the way I usually fly down. I don't see anyone at the barrier. I just touch and turn. Looking at people is a lot of effort in a race, trying to process faces and I don’t have great breathing so I find it hard to talk. As I move back up through Crone I know it’s going to be an effort today. I don’t feel good; my legs feel heavy and sluggish. I find the pace where I think my limit for today is and run on the edge of it. I give my brother Niall a big high 5 as I pass him, it’s his first race back in over a year after having some injuries.

All the runner’s stream by me and I wonder what they think when they see me. Do they think he finds it so easy? I don’t, I find it very hard. I keep my head down and pretend the ground is flat.

My quads are weighing me down going back up toward Djouce. I hike a little, give myself a reset, have a gel and take some deep breaths, then tip on again. I really don't feel myself, and getting to the saddle is utter torture. I don't know what I'm thinking about but it's along the lines of 'this is so hard I wish it was over' and that goes around in my head 1000 times, just a constant desire for it to be over.

I look back and see no one, ease up a bit and put the finger in the air like Ingebrigtsen. I have found I do strange things in races to get me through. Winning is nice but I don’t mind not winning. I wonder sometimes why I do this, why train and push and stretch myself if not to win? I guess I don’t focus on winning or losing, that seems transient, today winners quickly become tomorrow’s losers. What happens if you don’t win but you ran the race of your life – are you sad? I put the focus back on life, what way do I want to live it. I do it to explore what I’m capable of, to get uncomfortable, to learn to manage myself, to give it my all because I can. Results rank a race one way but there are other ways to rank how you got on. I use the KACW (Kebab and Chip worthiness) ranking. On good days it’s chicken kebabs and chips and dips and cocoa colas and on bad ones I might be going home with a plain bag of chips and a heartful of sorrow.

I don’t want to be better than anyone else, I just want to run hard because I can and I love it. I try to remember the feeling of being fit and free on the mountain as I move. Its hard to capture it but I’m glad I got to do. Glad I got to di it with good people in the most beautiful places on our Island.
I hope I can keep doing it, the more I go up and down, the more things start to level out.


I cruise into the finish, click my heels, smile, photo, thanks and run back up again to see the rest come in, encourage them onwards and wait for Nialla. This makes me just as happy as finishing myself.
In the end I was disgusted that I was upstaged by a sausage roll. Didn't speak a word in the car on the way home. 

SUNDAY

In work for a night shift and write a Sestina (I forgot the Tercet at the end) about the race as you do at 4am.

Prayers drift up towards the sky,
Heavy clouds block out the light,
Somewhere out in the mist a mountain
Waits for the wayward ships
Bobbing merrily down below
Unaware of the choppy waves.

The little trawlers cast off into the waves,
Slowly disappearing into the sky
Which never touches the earth below.
But hangs above sad and devoid of light
Which is needed for ships
Choosing to sail up a mountain.

Wind torn frozen place called Djouce mountain,
Waits and watches for waves
To crash into the fragile ships.
There's no birds flying in the sky
And darkness threatens to absorb light
And prevent it from escaping down below.

The Dargle river can be seen below
Sinking boats built for a mountain
Shipwrecks in glib treasure chest light.
Thrashing wildly in violent waves
Take one last look at the sky
Captains go down with their ships.

Soon those that make it sail ships
Homeward. Tired and exposed below
The grumbling grey sky
You'd think was never blue on the mountain,
At the saddle softer lapping waves
Flood the darkness producing light.

The harbour calls again full of light
Come home little ships
And rest from those endless waves
Which helped you see the sky
A little closer up the mountain.
Sailors with smiles below.

Peace!

Peter O'Farrell

12 March, 2024

I haven't done this event in a good while and had never sampled this delightfully friendly out and back version of it. I also had a go of car-pooling via the website car-pooling option , something else I had never done before. That worked out really well, Alan Sorohan kindly picked and then deposited myself and Rory Burke to the ginormous parking area via some interesting chats.
Race registration was progressing nicely, especially if you were an early starter. Having noticed this I made the near fatal error of asking an arriving friend if she was taking the early start. She was not! To compound my error the lady directly behind me in the queue assumed that I had assumed based on gender but no! I firmly believe, possibly with some mature recollection, that my friend had mentioned taking the early start earlier in the week on that other car-pooling option - the whatsapp grouping of hillrunners that live close to each other.
Anyways......The race itself was deadly, up into the biting wind and the mist, across the coutouring dropping shoulder, down to the friendly valley filled with well wishing early starters, onto the barrier in Crone Wood, a handful of jellies, attempt to eat the jellies for the next kilometre, watch some runners I had hoped to catch get further away, climb climb climb and then finish just over my hoped for time.
The sausage roll at the end was perfect, it had been a long enough race in cold enough conditions.
I think I dressed pretty well for this event. The running bag option wasn't a runner (ha bleeding ha) as I knew the valley and the Crone Woods would be warm and the shoulder of White Hill would be Baltic so the wee bumbag was the job allowing me to shed layers on the go nice and easily. However, as I was standing on the startline in a t-shirt, a long sleeve, a gilet and a jacket I did think I was possibly wussing out a little as I watched the big guns strip down to their single layers.
To complete my day of car-pooling I went with option 3, doorstep some random hillrunner as he attempted to quietly leave the carpark in his car. This I managed thanks to Fionn Higgins for gracefully allowing me into his car despite his need to quietly ache following an unfortunate fall 200m from the finish.
Out and Back races are the craic, there's so much more going on. It was great to see the leaders returning, the early starters giving it sox and many many thanks are due to Clare, Viv, Mick and the merry band of helpers who very good humouredly put on a great event for us.