Connemara! A name forever associated with images of isolation, relaxation and rugged beauty, immortalised in The Quiet Man, and with a lovely lyrical swing to it, it conjures up idyllic feelings of peace and tranquility. But it was only a matter of time before someone realised that extending the name into Connemarathon would be the perfect way to advertise an annual race over the classic distance by tugging at the romantic within the souls of prospective participants.
But whether this thinking played any part in the mind of whoever it was who first had the idea to develop the name, conveniently overlooked the fact that one of the things Connemara is most famous for is its hills – there's even a song about them – and if he had bothered to think about them he might have been a bit less enthusiastic about adding an Ultra marathon (anything over and above the 26.2 miles of the marathon) to the Half and Full marathons he started out with.
I strongly suspect that the originator of this particular form of torture is a close relation of the Hill and Dale fraternity around the Mournes, though I have no DNA evidence of that as yet.
Anyway in preparation for their participation in the 56 miles Comrades Marathon in South Africa in May I decided to help my club mate Brian Hamilton and Lagan Valley stalwart Martina Elliot with their long distance training and reckoned if I was going to do the training I might as well have a goal to aim for – and so the 40 miles (It's actually 39.3 miles but with inflation 40's about right) Connemarathon seemed like a good target for me and a useful stepping stone for them.
Now logic and experts dictate that training runs over distances of up to 35 miles at a time, over a period of weeks would be necessary to face an Ultra marathon and certainly anything that Connemara could throw at us. So that's what we did. Unfortunately Martina had to stop running 3- 4 weeks ago due to shinsplints. So we trained away while she rested, though both of us had knee ligament injuries to contend with and had to restrict our activities to 2 long runs per week. Luckily I was only in pain half the time, when my left foot was on the ground.
We also reckoned that given our past experiences over the marathon distance a 2 hour per half marathon pace would be well within our capabilities to give us a 6 hour overall total. In addition to the three of us, our group also comprised Brian Grimes, a first timer and Dave Wilson a vastly experienced ultra runner., both of whom we expected to do well. Martina arrived at the start line prepared to walk the entire distance should it take her 10 hours!
"Finding out day" was Sunday 11th April at Maam Cross. We set off at 9.00am on a hot, sunny morning and despite the reluctance of my legs to come with me I got through 5 miles in 45.59, just a minute behind schedule, but still able to see my "companions" who set a more ambitious early pace than I could handle, some way up the road ahead.
("Hot, sunny Connemara in April " is actually an oxymoron - see, you can get educated as well as bored reading this - probably a triple one at that)
I reckoned that I could catch up by 13 miles when suddenly at about 9 miles the road decided to carry out an up close examination of my face – I was horizontal as I thought the Pope does this all the time, without the advantage of a sore knee and unprotected hands and arms to break his fall. It was then that I discovered the only good thing about the unrelenting sunshine was that it had melted the tar sufficiently to soften my landing. While I was still in papal mode it also occurred to me that and the unseasonal heat was a phenomenon worthy of investigation by the Miracle Department if such an establishment exists.
But helped by two fellow runners I regained my feet, dusted myself down with my tar coated hands (this is quite an effective method of stemming the flow of blood) and got back to my earlier limping speed. Shortly after I realised that I must have hit my head harder than I thought when I began to think that perhaps my GPs advice not to run might have some merit in it after all. Runners will know just how preposterous this idea is!
Through 10 miles in 91.33 I was still reasonably on target though had abandoned all hope of catching my training partners. Past Lough Inagh the scenery was absolutely stunning and at the suggestion of my then companion, an affable former Dubliner now living on the Isle of Wight, I stopped to take a photograph! Yes, me, the guy who advocates NEVER stopping, even for a drink or the toilet, actually pulled out my phone – it's one of those that can do everything except turn into a Zimmer frame, the only thing I really needed at that time to be honest – and took a picture. It later transpired that it was pointed at the road, due to the tarred hand syndrome I described earlier, and all I got was my toe cap and a section of white line. Meantime my ex-friend had disappeared up the road and I didn't catch him again until the 13.1 mile mark where my time was 2.02, still OK but I knew I was in trouble. There was just no spring in my legs and each mile seemed interminable. The road too was unendingly uphill with the only respite being an even steeper bit every so far, and in the hedgeless landscape, the route could be seen for miles ahead, winding its way into the shimmering distance. And the sun blazed down.
The 5 miles from 10 to 15 took me 49 minutes and the next 5 just under 50, though I "hit the wall" at 18 and knew things would only get slower. The last time I hit the wall was also coincidentally at the 18 mile mark, in the 2005 Belfast Marathon which achieved Ultra status when re-routed due to a bomb scare, adding 1180 metres to the distance. Now hitting the wall at 18 with 8.2 mile to go is bad enough, doing it with 22 left is problematic to put it mildly. So I decided I would drop out when I got to the marathon distance, which would be some consolation and at least leave me some vestige of pride. This decision was reinforced when on the long downhill stretch (at long last) by Killary I couldn't run any faster than uphill. And the sun blazed down.
I was being overtaken by everyone, some I think who weren't even part of the race and I just wanted to stop. Through 25 in 4.04, it took a further 16 minutes to get to 26.2 and drop out point.. Unfortunately by then I was feeling better so decided to carry on - only another 14 to go! In truth I had decided that since I was way off my target time I would just settle for finishing no matter how long it took. Not far into mile 27 and the decision didn't seem like such a good idea as I'm forced to walk. No shame in that, the incline was ever upwards, verging on the mountainous in places and I reckoned I was a fairly swift walker so shouldn't lose too much time. But I couldn't walk fast either – although my running had slowed to a pedantic shuffle it was way faster than my walk as I found out when several walkers, not power walkers by any means, who I had passed earlier, came past and left me behind. Thirty miles was reached in 5.09, it had taken 65 minutes for the last 5.
And still the sun blazed down.
It took me a further 77 minutes to reach the 35 mile mark. When I tried to return to my shuffling gait my right calf seized and it took liberal applications of water to get me going again – but it was a stop start sort of progress and I was continuously overtaken by other runners who were walking too, walkers who were still walking and the occasional pedestrian out for a stroll. Eventually however on the long climb out of Leenane I caught up and passed a group of 4 teenagers - they were employed picking up the discarded water bottles and while I was tempted to give them a hand and perhaps earn a few Euros, the sheer joy of overtaking anyone outdid all other considerations - so on I went. And still the sun blazed down.
And then I was at the top of the mountain – 2 miles to go and downhill (allegedly)! I started running again and caught up with one fellow sufferer, then targeted the next moving object on the road ahead. I didn't care if it was a runner, walker or sheep I was going to finish ahead of them. Finally 7 hours 28 minutes after crossing the start line, I made the finish – last five completed in a blistering 61 minutes – and was greeted with a handshake (milk shake would have been better as the sun still blazed down) by the Race Director and I asked him "What's Irish for Never Again?". Well those weren't my exact words but I'm not allowed print them. Thankfully the sky was already blue so not many noticed.
And what of our "group"? Brian Grimes timed his run to perfection, cruising home in 5.59 and Dave clocked a superb 6.16 but Brian Hamilton struggled like me in the unseasonal heat and walked long sections of the route but crossed the line in 7.09, an impressive display after his exertions in Race 1 of the Hill and Dale series on Thursday night and an excellent workout for his South African adventure. And what of poor Martina of the shinsplints and interrupted training? She did 6 hours 30 minutes!! We're trying to arrange similar injuries for ourselves for next year.
There were notable performances from East Down runners in the Marathon too with Brian Donnelly leading the way in 3.58.20, husband and wife team of John and Wendy Findlay in their first outing in club colours recording 4.00.32 and 4.19.04 respectively, and Ruth Francis just back from Two Oceans Ultra marathon heroics a week earlier posting 4.11. Well done to all, these are splendid times in what is in my opinion the toughest marathon course anywhere.
Afterwards I recalled another thing that part of the world is famous for - its Connemara Marble. I'm good at marbles. Now if we could convince the organisers to change the emphasis from hills to marbles next year I might just do better! Provided I haven't lost mine by then.
18 April 2010
