Chip Time: 2:39:08
1st half: 1:20:07
2nd half: 1:19:01
https://www.strava.com/activities/12756703217
It’s 8:45am on October 26th. It’s a Saturday. It is exactly 24 hours until the gun goes on Leeson Street that will start Dublin Marathon. As is customary, I set off for a shakeout the day before the race. I’m scheduled to run 25 minutes but by the time I have run for 7 minutes and 30 seconds, I have somehow convinced myself that if I run for any longer than 15 minutes, I will have fucked my marathon. 15 minutes of easy running is ok; 25 minutes will leave me cooked. It is utterly irrational but I believe this is the one and only truth. Not one to turn my back on facts, I instead turn on my heels after 7 minutes and 30 seconds and jog back to the house. The hay is now in the barn.
I have spent most of the last week being rational but the analytical part of my brain has switched off. The marathon is tomorrow and I’m starting to go a little bit mad. Emma is heading away for the day so it will be just me in the house. What should I do? Should I go for a walk? Should I watch videos of running? There is football on – do I switch off for a couple hours and watch Brentford beat Ipswich 4-3? What about reading? Do I spend the afternoon getting lost in a book? The thoughts of how I am going to spend my day occupy my brain for the entirety of the time I take to eat a bowl of porridge and a banana and drink a cup of coffee. By the time breakfast is finished, I’ve made the conscious decision to stop being a fool and get on with the day, in whatever guise that is.
For the most part, I pass the time by chilling out in the house. I snack when I’m hungry; I watch the tele when I’m bored; I read a book when my eyes get sore from the tele. The first point when I feel like I am locked in is when I prepare my bag for the following day. It’s like going to a wedding with a day two – the amount of outfits you have to pack. I have my clothes ready for what I will wear to the start line, including old garments that I will dispose of at the start line. I have my race kit, complete with a pair of socks that are three years old but have never failed me. I pack a pair of canvas Dickies pants for after the race so I won’t get cold if I’m standing around. I fill the bag with sugary treats to give me a boost after I finish. At this point, I start questioning if this is a bad omen – what if I don’t finish? What about the sugary treats then? Am I tempting fate by preparing for the end of the race? It was at this point that it clicked – I had gone mad.
I pulled myself back from the brink of insanity and the rest of the day was great. I began to get excited again about just racing. I went over a tentative race plan in my head. In short, and in long, it was this; go easy for the first half and finish strong in the second. It’s simple but effective. I spoke to Seán before going to bed and he offered some final words of encouragement, echoing the race plan. He said he wanted to see me go through half way outside 2:40 pace as he knew I have it in me to finish strong. As well as enjoying it, he cautioned about the emotion of the marathon and to not get too wrapped up in that. It was time to execute and to have fun. After hanging up the phone, the line about removing the emotion was one that really stuck with me. A marathon is an event that transcends running. As well as being one for the running purists, it occupies a space in the body politic that represents adversity and achievement. Your friends, family and work colleagues are a lot more interested in your marathon than your 10K. I felt comfortable removing myself from that and focusing solely on the task at hand, knowing that I had a block of training behind me that was substantial enough to achieve my goals. It was time to let rip.
On the morning of the race, I woke up at 5:30am. I bounced out of bed having had a good nights sleep and ate my breakfast – a big bowl of porridge and a big cup of coffee. Everything was washed down with copious amounts of water and I was set. Following numerous trips to the bathroom before leaving the house, Emma and I drove to the city where we parked up beside the start line and went our separate ways. From here and until I walked to the start line was nondescript. There was a good buzz around the place and I saw plenty of familiar faces, all wishing each other well. The plan for the morning was to meet up with the crew that I had decided to run with – Anto Brady and Ryan Murphy. I’ve known Anto for a couple of years and we are in and around the same level on most distances. We spoke a week before the race and, realising we had very similar race plans, decided to team up for the race. Similar to Anto, Ryan and I would be around similar paces and would see each other around the Phoenix Park on a regular basis. We had made a plan a few weeks ago to run together as we had similar goals and how to achieve them. Unfortunately for Ryan, he developed a hamstring issue the week of the race and was unsure if he would make the start line. A tester run a couple days beforehand gave him enough confidence to run as far as he could at DCM, thinking it would be about 30K, and then drop out, with Valencia Marathon in December his A goal.
I picked up Anto on the way to the start line and we were both ready to go. When we arrived at the start line, Ryan was there and ready to go. We assembled our band of merry men and locked in on the plan. First half chill and then see how we are. We were a little further back from the front than I would have liked but nothing to be done about that now. We were chatting and then, seemingly without any warning, the gun went off. Let’s fucking go.
0 – 10k: 38:03 (169th)
I was person number 1,711 to cross the start line. As expected, the first kilometre was fairly chaotic and felt slow. Not paying any attention to the watch, and not wanting to mindlessly surge into the back of people, our group stayed close and compact to each other and waited for the masses to thin out. I got my first big shout from the crowd at mile 1 – Barry and Rizelle Whelan as I live and breathe! I didn’t need a boost at that point but I got one anyway.
We meandered down to Wood Quay and then crossed the James Joyce Bridge onto Blackhall Place and the bottom of Stoneybatter. For all of my long runs since the summer, I have taken in this climb in some form. It didn’t matter if the long run was easy or a session – I ran up this hill. Barry and I often speak about how there is rank disrespect given to the pull from the quays (the bottom of the race) to Castleknock (the top of the race). Most people concern themselves with the 200 metres of Roebuck Road and freak out about that hill. Through innocence, I have ran the first half of DCM ahead of goal pace and died a horrible, horrendous death in the second half. Through experience, I have ran DCM by going easier in the first half and had enough in the tank to finish strong. This was the tactic for today. Myself and Ryan were checking in with each other every few hundred metres and making sure not to push on too much. I had plenty of friends in Stoneybatter as well so I was conscious not to raise a semi sprint upon seeing them and hearing them shout my name. We turned left at the top of Aughrim Street and went through 5 kilometres and Seán was on hand with the messaging. “Positive reinforcement” was the shout from the sidelines. I did a quick body scan. I felt good. This is good.
We entered the park, rounded the zoo and turned right onto Chesterfield Avenue, beginning the long and continuous climb to Castleknock. I saw Emma here, equipped with her bike, a bottle of water and a gel (should I need them). Emma’s excitement got me excited and I started moving a bit quicker after seeing her. Looking around, the group wasn’t really going with me. Ryan was so helpful here, giving very simple updates every few minutes. “This is good” and “Too hot” are the only messages I needed to hear. Not long after, Anto surged and was a little bit ahead of us but he came back to the group before we left the Phoenix Park. I think he was more keen than us to push on but thankfully we stayed in our group. There was a pack of about 20 lads up the road ahead of us, Ryan recognising some of them and knowing they were running for 2:40. We decided to not push on to catch them and let them come back to us. They still held a gap on us as we went through the first 10K split in 38:03.
10K – 20K: 37:54 / 1:15:57 (159th)
The first 10K was exactly as I wanted it to be – uneventful. I had written out some 10K splits on my arm and I was only slightly outside of that but feeling comfortable. As Ryan had suggested earlier, a large pack of runners going for 2:40 had been reeled in without any fuss. We definitely hadn’t sped up and they had definitely come back to us. I recognised a club mate of mine, Ryan Rafter, in this pack and was a little surprised he was this far through the race at this point. When I got to his shoulder, we had a quick chat and I said “Looks like you’ve gone out hot”. Ryan gave a grin and said that was his plan and he had hoped to be able to hold on in the second half (ultimately he ran a very good PB) against the advice of his coach. Ryan tucked in with us and we started the descent from Castleknock down through Chapelizod. I don’t recall looking at the watch through this section once and just let the hills carry the body through. When we got into the Phoenix Park, I did start to notice a strong cross breeze coming from left to right and I knew this was going to be a challenge when we got through Crumlin. That was a worry for another 7K though.
We got to the Chapelizod gate and Seán was there again with one of my friends who he also coaches, Paddy O’Reilly. Through their applause, Seán shouted the immortal words “Keep it easy!”. He has commented before on the grimaces I wear on my face throughout races so I can only assume he thought I was in a spot of bother at this point. I wasn’t and I was feeling good but his words did foreshadow the next problem of the day – St Laurences Hill. When we left Chapelizod village, we had become the de facto leaders of a large group of runners with nobody really ahead of us. We started the short but sharp climb of St Laurences Hill and aimed to keep a consistent effort. We managed this portion of the race quite well as I remember feeling a bit of a boost once we crested the hill and went through Ballyfermot.
The road was starting to thin out ahead of us and our pack broke up behind us. Myself, Ryan and Anto were still together as we went through the next 10K split in 37:54. We had made up a few seconds on the first 10K and we split halfway in 1:20:23.
20K – 30K: 37:48 / 1:53:45 (136th)
When we split halfway behind sub 2:40 pace, I knew the race was going to plan. This is where we needed to be. Still, when the clock said we were outside of our goal pace, the doubts started to creep in. Would we be able to pick it up for a negative split?
Not long after half way, I spied Tudor Moldovan hanging out in the forecourt of a Texaco garage wearing a race bib and a sad face, not where he wanted to be I suspect. No sooner had we spotted this did Anto declare he needed a piss and pulled into the left hand side. He never caught back up to us but he did run a good race and PB’d.
Our group was now down to two. Ryan and I. Unsure how Ryan’s hamstring was at this point, the only words we shared were that the wind had really picked up and this was now the struggle bus. The climb through Crumlin is always shite but this felt exceptionally shite. I was going through my first bad patch and having not yet dispelled the doubts of being able to pick it up, the head was now starting to work to keep things positive. We split a 3:52 kilometre, by far the slowest of the race (save for the opening one), and I felt every bit of it. Mercifully, we got out of Crumlin and turned left towards Walkinstown.
The Walkinstown roundabout is always packed with supporters and some of my family were there, too. Even better than that, though, is that the course has about 9 kilometres of great flat to downhill running as a prize for making it this far. I grabbed a water bottle from my sister at the roundabout and we were starting to move a little better. “That was shit”, I said to Ryan. To which he responded – “Yeah”. I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad that he was also now feeling it.
I knew my time was running out with Ryan, 30K fast approaching, so was trying to run in step with him as much as possible. I felt we really got moving again once we got to the Ashleaf shopping centre and the warning lights started to recede from the dashboard. Between halfway and 30K, I overtook 20 people and the majority of that was on this stretch of road. I even managed to raise a smile when we got to Terenure and there were more friends there to cheer me on. Emma looked a tad scared when she seen me and Barry was just earnestly holding a gel and a bottle of water. Even though I felt good, I must have looked shit.
As we turned off Orwell Road, I could see the 30K marker in the distance. I did another quick body scan. The head was in a better place now, my arms and shoulders felt loose and my legs had pop. I wasn’t in a hole yet. No sooner had the body scan ended, Ryan turned to me and told me his race was run. I asked him how his hamstring was and he said it was ok – but this was the end for him. I raised a fist and he bumped it as he peeled off to the left hand side. He was gone. I was alone. The 10K split was 37:48 – the fastest so far.
30K – 40K: 37:34 / 2:31:19 (110th)
I had now entered the business end of the race. There was still a kilometre of downhill running into Milltown before the hills started again. I tried to do some quick calculations to see if I was on for sub 2:40 but I didn’t have the mental acuity. A rough calculation said I needed to be able to run 12K in 47:30 and I posited that this was achievable. I began targeting the runners up ahead of me to see if I could move up the field. The fatigue hadn’t started yet, but I knew it was coming, and did not want to get into the routine of checking the watch every 30 seconds to see had the pace fluctuated.
I got into Milltown and over the hill at Alexandra College into the village and then down the other side, taking the right towards Clonskeagh. This is my least favourite part of the course as it is 33 kilometres in, there is a slight but long incline and there are very few supporters on the course. There were also no runners in my immediate vicinity so I felt like I was running alone. The closest person to me was a man, who I learned was named Jonathan, about 30 metres away. He had the form of a man who was moving well and I had been this far away from him for about 10 minutes, both of us moving up through the field. I decided I was going to get onto the back of him and slowly caught up. I burned a couple of matches doing this and felt like I was hanging on for dear life when I was eventually with him. I was in a slight bit of bother now as this was the first time I was counting how much race I had left to run – 8 kilometres. I stayed in touch with him as we kept moving through the field. At one point, Jonathan moved to the side and let me go in front but I had barely anything to give at this point and felt like I was slowing. He quickly moved out from the back of me and put a gap between us.
Not long after, I was at the bottom of Roebuck Road. I wasn’t concerned about the steep hill but was so excited to get over it and have a downhill to flat run to the finish. I leaned into the hill, shortened the stride and was up the hill before I knew it. That is essentially the last real challenge of the day and it’s over. In previous years, I have struggled to run down the big hill in Fosters Avenue but I had no such problems this year. I had caught up to Jonathan and we trundled down it together. I checked the watch as I passed the 24 mile marker and the time said 2:28ish. This meant that once I can run under 4 minute kilometres for the next 3.2 kilometres then I would be home in under 2:40. I was stoked! It’s on. Another body scan showed up a warning light in the glutes but there was no time to worry about that now. The final 10K split was 37:34.
40K – finish: 7:49 / 2:39:08 (102nd)
The last 2 miles of Dublin Marathon are fantastic. It is completely flat, the avenue is treelined and the supporters are out in their droves. It had been a while since I felt like I was full of running, at times I was just getting through it, but now I felt good. I was a little shocked that kilometre 40 was only a 3:50 as it did feel much faster, likely because I was fatigued or else because the bounce came midway through that kilometre. I wasn’t phased though. I was at the point in the race now where I knew I was going to finish, I was definitely going to PB and my goal was very much in sight. I don’t recall too much of the last mile, only that I was again moving through the field. It has since dawned on me that I can’t recall anybody passing me out once the race got going. All the guys I was coming upon here were on the struggle bus hard. Jonathan had put a little gap on me but he was coming back to me again. Before we crossed the canal, I was past him.
Another look at the watch. 2:37 crossing the canal and only a few hundred metres to go. I’m about to do it – run under 2:40. It’s been two years since I PB’d in the marathon and now I was finally going to be under the 2:40. I quickly forgot what Seán had said about emotion and decided to soak in this last part of the race. The crowd was big and I had the road in front of me to myself. I tentatively threw my hands in the air to get the crowd going and just as I did it, I seen Barry and Rizelle going rasher on the left hand side. Fuck it – I’m going rasher too. I felt like I danced through those few metres and then turned right towards the finish line. One small roundabout to negotiate, and a last sighting of Emma, and then onto the purple carpet – 200 metres to go. The gantry is in sight and the seconds are ticking towards 2:39. I raise a small bit of a sprint and nearly roll my ankle on a pothole that is hidden by the carpet. I stop looking at the gantry and pay attention to where I’m running and cross the line in 2:39:08. That was too much fun. Stoked.
Buckets of Rain 