Two Towers 2024

27 August, 2024 - Ryan Stewart

The end of another racing era. The final race of the 2024 editions of the NIMRA and Ulster Championships. I’ve had highs and lows, navigational mysteries, belly laughs and clobber that your great aunt Betsy would be proud to wear to a 70’s disco. ONE MORE RATTLE!!!

Mourne Runners took myself and 90 other folk needing to reconsider their hobby choices to partake in the Two Towers. I found myself utterly riddled by the host club’s race name choice given its similarity to the ring destroying, hobbit riddled adventure rather than a name befitting of the toe tickling adventure across Slieve Commedagh and Meelmore ahead of us. Every time I found myself trying to google the two towers race, I’d be met with a depiction the white wizard himself, Gandalf, instead of finding the mileage and elevation I sought to plan my effort.

Clarity was found at approximately 1106am mind! You see, the race was due to set off at 1100. By 1103, there were 90 hill clatterers stood rapidly cooling down having completed their warms ups about 15mins previous wandering if Mourne Runners were running off Greenwich Mean Time early this year. We had all settled our hearts and breathing to the extent that we began to hear a distant laboured breathing. We looked left. We looked right. We shrugged shoulders wondering where this race effort sound board was coming from. Alas! We turned to see Mourne Man, Adam Cunningham , gunning it up the happiest of valleys with a recently discovered dibber that he had forgot to attach to his pinky….. lucky he had his very own Gandalf, The Gray haired (and blue vested) race director on the gun and performing time miracles like he was in Middle Earth or he may have found himself racing the local sheep instead of the NIMRA athletic machines. Though, as we all know, with Ballymena men in attendance, this wouldn’t be an accurate statement as said sheep would have already been terrorised off the hills by this stage too.

Well, this is the rumour mill reasoning for the late start and valley sprint exhibition we all witnessed. I have since heard that the Cunningham house was plagued by the pre-race jitters. You know the score. About 16 trips to the toilet carry on. I believe young Adam devasted the Cunningham toilet roll supply and was running late to travel to the race. So when the Spanish inquisition came a knocking to enquire about the bottom napkins just as Adam was about to make a French exit, already late, he blamed it on the dog. The good old, “the dog ate all the toilet roll” trick. His parting words had left a dark mark on his soul. He was concerned about the welfare of his furry friend who may be getting marched to the vets to face the needle of destiny as he stood on the start line in great time. His conscious eating away at him, he darted back to the car to make a quick call to the wife to apologise for his rear ends behaviour and exonerate the dog. We will never know but we digress

The classic countdown was upon us. 3…..2……1…… and the stampede was off…. Well at least 91 of the 92 stampede were on their horses. Veteran Jonny Steede decided to dive head first from the line (in a rather satisfying visual slide) instead of run. He had spotted what he believed to be a fiver floating in the shrubbery before us all and he had already had it spent by the way he leaped. It wasn’t a fiver. It was just his pride sliding away as a chorus of EYYYOOOOOOO rang out across the Mournes. Dejected, he got up at the rear end of the race pack and trying to save some face he professed, “What Cu8t tripped me!!!!!”…… but no cu8t had done a thing. Jonny’s season ended in that moment as he looked to the race director hoping he could meet the dignified end of a thorough bred and be hit with both barrels. But Gandalf was having none of it. Off you trot Jonny boy! And mind your feet EYOOOOOOO the race director expelled from his pipes



Tom Crudgington had been asking Keith Johnston about the Two Towers route during Adam’s debauchery in a way that surprised me that Tom even knew where to turn up to for a race today. All those racing feared Tom would become just another statistic this day, especially when he burst away from the get go. Tom was literally never to be seen again by any other racer during the course such was the pace the young buck was throwing down. A nip delirious from the effort I had faced, on approaching Meelmore I looked ahead to catch a glimpse of some being running on the wall. I got my phone out to make sure the magical Mourne Racing Organisers hadn’t turned back time again as for a split second, I thought it was the 12th of July all over again. Was I hallucinating that King Billy was back on the wall? The sacred wall was in fact being pummelled by a fair haired man from Maghera. Panic over.

I thought my year’s racing spookies were over me having finally ran a race in the right direction for the first time since 1990 (my birth year) but on approaching Meelmore, a group of female hill enthusiasts from England had stood together to form a human wall. Perplexed as to why they where standing as if they were holding tackle bags for the Ulster boys in Ravenhill, they advised me that Keith Johnston had demanded they stop me as he passed and as I slowly reeled the Armagh man in on the climb. This put the fire in my walsh pbs and I was off on the kill. Keith went inside the Mourne wall whereas I decided to remain outside and cut her early. I eventually caught Keith though neither of us would signal our presence. You could just hear the odd rock clattering and an expletive on the inside wall whilst we were literally separated 2 feet by the Mourne wall for the majority of the climb. Knowing the dibber was on the inside, I had to play my cards and jump over the wall onto Keith’s SIDE. I did so shouting “PEEKABOO” as I jumped down beside Keith on the inside of the wall. Keith didn’t utter a word back. Didn’t even look at me. He just kept on keeping on to the dibber. This is the moment when I realised that 2nd place would not be happening. How could someone playing children’s game outdo an Armagh fell running Assassin? You just have to accept your gravy isn’t bisto some days and suffer your asda value version granules self. We cleared the wall pretty much hand in hand. I daren’t wish Keith good luck as he sailed away as he would have plentiful time to pan in the windows on my C4 before I’d be at the finish.

Crusing off Meelmore, I was certain 3rd place was in the bread basket, as I Mosey’d down her banks. Not so! The Mourne dog executioner had caught me about 300m from the line. I didn’t turnaround to confirm the identity for I ken’d the earlier start line breathing fiasco. I tried to go from 3rd gear into 6th gear and sure didn’t I stall her! Even NI international turned part-time spectator for the day, Joshua Mcatee couldn’t believe his eyes at the end having watched my entire descent in his balenciagas .No words were exchanged. His eyes said it all. “Ryan. you have F*$ked this one son”

I found my self snookered behind the black ball with only a brush shaft to escape but it was enough to claim the Ulster Championship. Here’s to a Winter reflection and to lose my nut in the hills one more year. See ye 2024!

Special mention to the already crowned NIMRA champion, Ashley Crutchley, who had secured the title with more 2nd place finishes this year than a wife has with her husband in a lifetime. He spent this entire final race week posing on a jet ski in Spain which was great motivation to all his racing colleagues back home chasing the unclaimed Ulster title.