There are many great and infamous bass lines in this world. Queen’s ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ comes to mind immediately, more for its infamy than its class. ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ by Thin Lizzy stands on its own as a piece of aural beauty. In hip hop, there are too many examples to name. Dizzie Rascal even wrote a song called ‘Bassline Junkie’ that appeared on his 2013 album ‘The Fifth’. And now, to add to the pantheon of renowned bass lines (poetic license notwithstanding), we can add my marathon base line of 2:39.
It’s hard to know how to feel after this race. In the moment, there were many times where I really wasn’t arsed finishing but did anyway. That in itself is a victory. Unfortunately, the training I put in during the block (overall) is not reflective of a regression in my marathon time from last year. More on that later.
The marathon started the day before, on Saturday. I woke up on Saturday morning after having a great sleep and set out at 8:45 for a 20 minute shakeout and some strides. I mainly did laps of an estate close to my house and finished with 4 x 15 sec strides. I walked home, showered, ate and watched all of Season 3 of The Diplomat. I am glad I binged it like this because had I not of watched all episodes back to back, it’s likely I would never have returned to it. I had initially planned to spend the morning and afternoon reading but my mind was unsettled and it was hard to focus on a book. In between US Ambassador to the United Kingdom, Kate Wyler, solving multiple world crises, I was visualising, with some foreboding, the pain that will await me on Sunday. I was a little fixated on paces and splits and oscillated between putting in a massive performance or not making it to half way. There was no in between.
Mercifully, the day actually flew and I was in bed early and had a good sleep that night. My breakfast on marathon morning was a mid size bowl of porridge and a big coffee, sipping on water the whole way through. I woke up feeling slightly full, but not overly bloated, and I concluded that I had won the carb load. Myself and Emma drove into the city and found parking right beside where you drop your bag and where the marathon lets you out at the end. We said our goodbyes and I headed towards the entry; Emma to Bread 41. The gates were supposed to open at 7:15am but due to there still being cars somewhere on the course or area where the runners are to gather, the bag drop didn’t open until after 7:45am. This was not ideal as hundreds of people were standing around outside of the area they needed to be in order to get ready and settled for the race. Eventually, the gates opened and there was a big push towards the bag drop. My concern waiting outside was that there was going to be a mad rush to use the toilets as everyone was being let in at the exact same time, instead of on a phased basis. Lucky for me, everyone made a beeline towards the bag drop and there was a whole host of thrones available for my perusal. Such joy! I got to my business, dropped my bag, put on my race shoes and headed towards the start line.
The mini drama with the delay took me out of the race for the duration it was happening and the absence of thought provided me with some calm. Only after dropping the bag and getting dressed did the mind turn towards the race again. There was the usual hustle and bustle now with thousands of people wishing each other well and slowly walking/jogging/sprinting to the start line. I took my time and ran into a lot of friends and familiar faces en route. I even had time to make a supplementary toilet stop. Things were certainly looking up.
I got to the start line at 8:30am, 15 minutes before the gun was to go off. It was really cold at this point and I delayed taking off my extra layers until the last moment. Really, only now, did I start focusing on the race. I was looking around me and picking out people who I would be confident enough in speculating what times they are going to run. Because I was so unsure of how I was going to run this race, I didn’t really settle on any particular people to go out with. Running well previously in Dublin had meant going easier in the first half and pushing on in the second so this was the plan again – tentatively. The giddy excitement at the start line banished at 8:40am when the gun went off to signal the start of the wheelchair race. For the other runners lining up, this marked the last piece of ceremony before the mass race was to start. I joined in with the thousands of other people and discarded my additional clothing for onward distribution to charity. A cold and strong wind was blowing and I could feel the chill on my shoulders, on my fingers and on all my extremities. As I was blowing air into my hands to warm up my fingers, the gun went and we were off.
0 – 10K: 38:01
It was busy. It was real busy. It also seemed like the surface of the road was shite as I nearly rolled my ankle a couple times in the first kilometre. I scanned around and couldn’t see anyone yet that I knew so was just running my own pace. The watch fluctuated between 3:30s and 4:05s and I knew that I wasn’t running at either of those paces. I came upon Anto Brady after a mile and slotted in with him for a bit. We didn’t chat much but I know he likes to go out hot but this didn’t feel hot at all. So, again, I had no real idea how quick I was running. We turned right onto Blackhall Place and started the climb in Stoneybatter. In last years build for DCM, I ran this in basically every long run I did, giving this climb the respect that it deserves. I had only run it in 3 long runs this year, 2 of which were easy and not at marathon pace or effort, and I didn’t know if the pace was slow or the effort felt easy. My watch was still showing me shite so I stopped paying attention. I did get a shock, though, when I went through 5K in 19:12. I did a double take with the clock on the street and my watch to make sure it was right. Fuck – why am I going so slow? I decided then to start moving a bit.
I am now in the park and we turned down to the Polo Grounds and right onto Chesterfield Avenue. It was at this exact point that I seen Nichola Sheridan last year and and at this exact point I seen her again. Only this time she was running with Ryan Murphy. I had spoke to Ryan on Saturday and he said he was doing a pace job for Nichola and hoping to hit 2:40. Ryan is doing Valencia in December as his A race. When I seen Ryan and Nichola, and knowing how well paced Ryan ran with me last year, it gave me massive relief that I wasn’t completely off a respectable time. I caught up to them and had a quick chat with Ryan and we started to work together. Chesterfield Avenue was horrendous with the wind and rain (the rain didn’t bother me at all though) and the effort now started to feel high. My watch was showing 3:50s and I figured that was wrong because the effort felt much more than that. I asked Ryan what pace was on his watch and when he said 3:50, I got a shudder down the spine. I was working way too hard at 7K for it to be feeling like this. I had a look around and there was a decent pack with us but nothing then for at least 100 metres so I made the decision to just keep working and see how it goes. We exited the park and went through 10K in 38:01.
11K – 20K: 37:30 / 1:15:31 (171st)
Again I was pissed at the 10K time. Almost identical to last year and feeling much harder. We got through Castleknock and our group was still tightly packed, with one additional member. Adam O’Connor from Wexford appeared on my shoulder, lamenting how slow we were going. Ironman Mark had also appeared too and our group was now pretty solid. We floated down Castleknock, back through the Phoenix Park and out at Chapelizod, in preparation for the first acute climb of the day. St Laurence’s Hill is a ballache and as I was already feeling shitty, I was expecting to feel even worse as we crested the hill. Much to my surprise, Emma appeared (for the second time) alongside Barry, Rizelle and Caelan bringing up the rear of my cheer squad. This gave me a good lift and then, mid lift, Conor appeared (for the second time) offering fluid and complimenting how comfortable I looked. It’s always a mind fuck when someone says you’re comfortable but you feel like ass.
The crowds grew larger and our group grew smaller. By the time we got to Dolphins Barn and began the run up to Crumlin Road, we were down to 6. Ryan and Nichola made the decision to ease off a bit here and the group was now Mark, Adam and I. We passed through 20K in 1:15:35, with 37:30 for this 10K.
21K – 30K: 38:04 / 1:53:35 (158th)
Shortly after we crossed half way in 1:19:55, Adam had to pull over to stretch, giving me another déjà vu moment as he did this at exactly the same point that Anto pulled up to stretch last year. Go figure. It was down to myself and Mark, trudging along grimly up the Crumlin Road. This was a bad experience. The wind actually hurt. It was sore. I felt pain. Wind pain. The road seemed longer than it had before. There were no supporters. I was in hell. The brain was saying stop but I know that it gets better after Walkinstown and that all of my family are there, too. They would not be stoked if I didn’t see them.
Mark and I made it to Walkinstown and had a few words about how awful the last kilometres had been. Seeing all of my family, some friends and Conor again gave me the lift I was hoping it would. The wind was on our backs now and there was a palpable difference in the effort. But to my horror, Ryan and Nichola had caught back up to us and, not only that, the rest of the group we left in the Phoenix Park were now also with us. I was distraught. Any good race I have ran, I am never passed out and never so early. This was a real sign that I was in a bad way, a sign so real that I couldn’t convince myself of anything else. The positive was that it now wasn’t just Mark and I alone but there were other people to work with. I mourned being caught for a few minutes then decided that nobody is passing me out or finishing ahead of me from this group.
We got rolling. Walkinstown to Terenure to Rathgar was really good running. Wind on the back, road surface was good and the effort wasn’t tipping me over the edge. In fact, I hadn’t started to feel any worse from the 7K initial feeling. I had basically been hurting the same amount for the last 20K. Going through Rathgar, and approaching the 30K mark, I knew I had enough to now at least get home. I did a body scan and the legs felt good, shoulders were loose but the breathing was the same. I knew a PB wasn’t a possibility but that if I could stick with Mark and this group, then I would be in and around it. Just as we approached 30K, I looked at the writing on my arm to see what I had planned my 30K split to be. It was at least 2 minutes behind where I wanted it to be, splitting 30K in 1:53:35.
31K – 40K: 38:03 / 2:31:38 (146th)
We floated down through Milltown, up the hill in the village and then Mark and I pushed on a bit on the downhill towards Clonskeagh. Mark and I were alone again and I felt like I was hurting even more. When we turned right and started the long drag up to Fosters Avenue, the wind smacked us right in the face. I felt like I was going backwards, it felt even worse than Crumlin. Mark, no longer running beside me, began to move away and I did my best to hang on to him. Seeing I was dropping, he was encouraging me to get in behind him. I am a tall man but he is a much taller man and must have expended a lot of energy protecting me from the wind. I wasn’t able to offer him anything, unable to even countenance taking the lead. I took a gel midway through this section to try and have some extra fuel for the final kilometres. We went up the hill at Fosters Avenue without any great fanfare and then started barrelling down it. My friend Adam appeared on the bike offering encouragement (which I took) and lucozade (which I did not take). We rolled down to the N11 and turned left, the wind finally on our backs again. I was able to get moving here, or at least it felt like it, but it was probably no more than 3:45s. Mark and I were in lockstep and we careered down Nutley Lane and took the left onto Northumberland Road.
In a quirk of physics, we now had a headwind again. 5 minutes ago we were running this direction on the dual carriage way and there was no wind. Now we are running up a smaller, tree lined road and there is a headwind. It didn’t make sense. I would have loved to pull into the side of the road and ponder this quirk but instead decided to look behind me and see we had now opened up a gap on the group sizeable enough that I couldn’t see it (I did not have glasses).
I looked at the watch as we went through the 40K mark. My brain was tired and I was unable to make much sense of the maths but I gave a tentative guess that if we ran 3:50s for the remaining part of the race, I would be in and around 2:40. The watch beeped 38:03 for the final 10K.
41K – 42.2K: 8:05 / 2:39:33 (137th)
Now I started to race. There were bodies up ahead of me and coming into view and I started to pick them off. There were two lads in Raheny tops who were in our group in Walkinstown who must have gone ahead of us but I didn’t see them. Just as I copped it was them, one of them pulled in to the side to get sick and the other stopped. Thank God. My streak is maintained.
We went past them and the smattering of bodies I could see now were all people I recognised from the beginning of the race who had almost sprinted past me. We went past the RDS and I started to feel a small bit of bounce in the legs, enough that I started to move away from Mark. He had done so much of the hard work for me at various points of this race and it felt somewhat stingy to drop him at this point, but that is what happened. The crowds were getting bigger and each 100 metres now had a sign saying how much of the race was left. At this point last year, I remember the elation as I crossed the canal, knowing I was on for a big PB. This year, I crossed the canal wondering where it all went wrong. I had spend the last few months putting in a very solid block of training and now I will be running slower than I did last year. This was probably not the time to have those thoughts but that is what was on my mind.
I turned right and had the Pepper Canister Church in front of me with Emma on the left shouting as I went passed. The gantry came into my eye sight with 2:39:20 on the board and I hadn’t anything left in the legs at this point to raise a sprint to chalk a few extra seconds off. I crossed the line in 2:39:33 with a feeling I can’t really describe.
I stood at the barriers for a minute and watched the majority of the group cross the line not too far after me and I thought of that as a success. Even though I didn’t hit my expectations, I did at least run somewhat well. I wasn’t down in the dumps but I just didn’t know how to feel about it. I still don’t. This was not a crippling disappointment. This was not the euphoria of a PB. This was just a race that I ran and, if things are to be taken positively, then I ran within myself. Whether or not that is true will be tested over the next few months of winter training and another crack at the marathon in Barcelona in March 2026.
Buckets of Rain 