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The Good Mood Cookbook
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When I set out for my long walk, it was raining steadily, but with the wind to my back it was a lot easier than being on the bike. I tried once or twice to trot a little, but it felt like something alien that I had never done before. My feet were raw and all the clothes and rucksack were heavy and restricting.
The first 14k was monotonous tarmac road, passing roaring waterfalls every few minutes but with other no sense of passing distance or time. The rain never stopped, and it made interesting sparkles in the light of the headtorch that were almost hypnotic after a while. It was so slow. I could only run short bursts of 30 secs or so but I kept trying to do it, for warmth more than anything. I did get progressively colder though, utilising my foil blanket as a windbreak at one stage. It was one slow foot in front of the other, Just Keep Going. At the turn for the trail section, I was really chilled and finding it hard. A marshal gave me a spare coat, I allowed that with him being an official it wouldn't get me DQd! The trail was sore underfoot, but a welcome downhill rest. It was quiet and eerie, and strangely beautiful among the trees. I could see one or two torches way behind me so knew I wasn't completely alone out there. More waterfalls and waterlogged trails but the rain eased for a while here, thankfully. I kept an eye on my watch, doing rapid mental calculations of whether I would get in before the cutoff or not. It was soul destroying to not be able to run. The run stage is my thing, my best bit, and here I was, broken. But I had the words of a certain other boards hoochie in my ears: We don't quit. I knew if I gave up I would regret it forever.
I got to the castle at the end of the trail, and at that point caught up with a guy I sat beside in transition. We walked and chatted for a bit, and I asked if he was ok with company or preferred his own, he said he preferred company, so we became a team.
The tarmac turned to trail again, stretching up along the dark outline of a mountain that made our hearts sink. The next two hours was probably the darkest and hardest I have ever spent. It rained so hard it was painful on your face. We were tired and cold and just wanted a warm duvet and some tea. The 5k markers took hours to come around each time. I coaxed, cajoled, bullied and even threatened to sing to my companion just to keep him going. Mostly he didn't even answer, but he was french so I didn't understand much he did say anyway. At one point, my backpack started to play a jingle... my phone alarm was pinging a 3.15 alarm call, just as it had done 24 hours earlier, and here I was, still 20k from home. I was so disappointed to have missed my own personal targets so badly, and to be so unsure I would make the cutoff. The trail twisted and turned but we could only see about 3m ahead so it was like a mystery, no clue what was coming next.
Eventually we came off the trail, thinking we were almost there, but there was still a long long way to go. At least on tarmac this time. My companion had developed chronic hiccups that worried me, somewhere in my mind I recalled hiccups being a sign of heart strain. I kept checking he was ok, he must have been sick of me asking. But I still made him run, a minute at a time, at regular intervals. Feck it. If he dropped, I knew CPR. He wasn't missing the cutoff after working this hard, not if I could help it. A few others jogged past us, and the gardai stopped for a chat at one point (they lied about how far more we had, we cursed them for that).
Eventually his pals came past in a car and told us 4k to go. We nearly cried. We had done it. We were within time. Yeehaw. It was a long 4k all the same, before we got to a marshal who told us to take the final turn back down to the centre. Tears were close all the way down that hill. Just before the final bend in the road, me and Sebastien, Team Awesome, had a final hug and we took off running. We had to make the finish look good. Hands held aloft as we crossed the line, I felt so proud, and glad and relieved, and wanted to bawl my eyes out. More hugs as we got our medals, and we parted company. They called out my time; I didn't care. I just wanted to sit down.
This was a race I was too exhausted to enjoy being finished. It broke me into little pieces that I am still trying to put back together. I get tremors of fear when I think about being out on that marathon again. I am in total awe of those who finished ahead of me, those people are stronger than I can imagine. Am I glad I did it? Hell yes. Will I do it again? HELL NO. I have one medal. I don't want another. I'll stick to safe, easy clean IM.
Some final observations. Donegal is stunning. Breathtakingly beautiful. You must go there (in a car if possible, not a bike). The experience of cycling around it in this race, though incredibly tough, was also an incredible privilege. I am glad I got to race with such amazing people. I loved meeting Bambaata and his wonderful missus (cheerleader supreme). The other female competitors were beyond tough and amazing, and so unfailingly pleasant and fun to be around. My friends were such a support, I could not have done it without them, getting me there, and back, and staying up all night to wait for my finish. Donegal made me laugh with their thing of not so much parking your car, as abandoning it randomly in the road, and
I also laughed at the spooky glowing eyes of sheep as they stared at us from pitch dark fields as if we were mental. Which I suppose we were. I have so many memories that I will carry from this. Once the pain fades.
So as I said many words ago, if you want to do this, think carefully. Do not underestimate. Dave and Maghnus will test you to your limits, and then push you past them. I hate them and love them for that.0 -
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We don't quit, babe. And there wasn't a single target you actually missed - you hit them all and then some. Words are inadequate here, just know you're made of something very special and rare. Now go get yourself that cup of tea...and maybe next time bring a bacon sandwich.
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Dammit I told the organisers I would promote it to the hilt. Just never do it again.Shell to Run wrote: »Inspiring stuff. You are one tough cookie. Thanks for the super race report. It has inspired me so much that I now know for sure this is one race I will never do!:eek: 0 -
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RacoonQueen wrote: »Good to see you posting in your log, was getting worried about you!
How'd the bike fit go? Other than your crank length, I was already told about that
Who was talking about my cranks??0 -
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