58:05 – 68th
Travel west of Tramore on the N25 and you will arrive in the town of Dungarvan. Sat in the back of a beautiful harbour, you can look out to sea and find Helvic Harbour to your right and the Ballinacourty Lighthouse to your left. If you had of turned your back on this beautiful vista on a clear February 1st morning and, instead, gazed in land, you’d have seen the Dungarvan 10 Mile in full swing. Specifically – you would have seen me shit the bed and be shat out the back of a decent field.
I had high hopes for this race. It goes head to head with the Trim 10 Mile on the racing calendar – Trim being a fast course where I previously set my PB – and always attracts some very fast runners. I have since learned that this is somewhat misleading. The fast runners don’t go there because the course is necessary flat; they go there and run fast because they are fast runners.
My race weekend started on Saturday where I did a little shakeout in Dublin before hitting the road for Waterford. In heavy shoes, I did 4 x 400m off 60 seconds and felt really good. It was the perfect shake out that filled me with confidence and the type of hubris that probably deserved the outcome it got. Or maybe basing your whole race off a mile of fast running, broken into 4 segments, isn’t the best way to gage how you will fare in a race.
The trip to Waterford was lovely and uneventful. I arrived in Dunhill at 6pm and was greeted with a beautiful chicken and orzo stir fry cooked by Conor. I loaded up on the carbs and chatted to Conor and Aisling for hours before going to bed – now even more confident than I was previously. The three of us travelled to the race together the next morning and found good parking in Dungarvan Town. Conor and I set out for our warm up and although it was a bright, sunny day, with basically perfect temperatures, there was a decent onshore wind blowing that I was immediately concerned about. Conor took me on a small course recce and pointed out a killer hill that comes 400m before the finish. Conor actually told me this was 3km from the finish but, try as I might, I can’t say this had any material affect on the day. For his part, Conor did give some great advice on the course – particularly saying that it isn’t actually flat and that there are rolling hills. It was the first I had heard this but I had done some Strava recces earlier in the week and did notice that the elevation was… elevationy. We finished our jog, put on our racing shoes, bid Aisling adieu and then headed towards the start line. More conversations with Waterford local Pat Fitzgerald further confirmed that this was not a flat course. The wind was blowing, the hills were waiting and my confidence was slowly draining from my body.
Even still, I felt pretty good. I lined up about 10 minutes before the race and got a good spot near the start. One of Conor’s friends, Paul Flynn, spotted me at the start line and introduced himself. I announced my goal as wanting to run 56 mins and Paul said he might be a little bit slower but I immediately got the sense that we would be running together. As the time drew nearer the 11am, the start line filled up and the gun went – we were off.
1km – 5km: 17:36
Conor had told me he was going to run steady so I was shocked when I seen him 400 metres barreling up the road. He was in conversation with Paul and I came upon them both, Conor deciding to drop off as he had initially planned and myself and Paul now in lock step. The first kilometre circles the town and was a little manic with the groups figuring themselves out. Once we left the town, we turned right back to the road we started and continued for about a mile down the coast. There was a group about 20 metres ahead of us that were pulling away slowly but steadily. I was conscious of ending up in no mans land and I had a glance behind me to see if anybody was near. To my horror, Paul and I were leading a group of at least 40 people and taking the wind full force in the face for this shower of ungrateful swines. We were nearing a right turn around the 3km mark and I told Paul we were leading the group and we probably shouldn’t do that. As we took the right turn, I went very wide, Paul followed and we let some of the group pass us without having to break stride. The next couple kilometres were uneventful, with most splits around 3:30, and going through 5K in 17:36.
5km – 10km: 18:10 (35:46)
The warning signs were clear. I was hoping to go through 5K in 17:30 and I was 6 seconds off that. 6 seconds isn’t much but the going got tough just as I went through 5K. It felt that I was now working to stay with the group as opposed to running comfortably within it. Unfortunately, Paul also dropped off the pack and ultimately dropped out. The correct decision for him as he has an issue with his hamstring but also very selfish to leave me there to fend for myself. Just after 7km, there is a bit of a downhill and you can see right up ahead on the road. Conor and Pat were right – the hills started to roll. From here until 12km, there wasn’t any flat running. The route opened up into the countryside and it was now blowing a gale across the course. I was fighting harder with each step to stay with the group but was slowly and surely being dropped. Runners were starting to come off the back of me and I was doing my best to hang onto them but the respite was short lived. I was in hell. And I had 6km’s of hell to go. I went through 10K in 35:46.
11km – 15km: 54:03 (18:01)
It was so grim at this point. I wanted to go through 10k in or around 35 mins and the 35:46 felt stark. My legs weren’t hurting too much but my engine was faltering. There were more lights on the dash than I care to mention. The safety blanket of the group was officially gone – I was alone. The 11th kilometre of the race is down a big hill and I thought it best to speed up to try catch the group. Obviously, they had the same idea to speed up so the gap stayed the same and I remained alone. At the bottom of the hill, the course turns right and it was a straight and flat run back towards the main road. The wind was slightly behind us here so this was the place to make up time if I were able. But I was not able. I felt like I was on the verge of a cardiac arrest. I took a drink at the water stop at 7 miles and nearly choked on the small amount of water that landed in my mouth. After my coughing fit ended, two runners came on me and breezed past me with insufferable ease. We climbed a short and sharp hill onto the main road, swung left again and the finish line started to feel like a reality. Mercifully, the wind was now on our backs and we could get rolling a bit more. At least I thought I was rolling – the 3:43 14th kilometre was the slowest of the race but I thought I was sucking diesel. Adam O’Connor from Wexford caught me, had some polite words, and then burned me. I reached 15km in 54:03.
The Finish – 4:20 (blaze)
I couldn’t do the maths in my head to figure out what I needed to run to at least get under 58 minutes. All I knew now was the hill that Conor showed me earlier was coming soon. With 600 metres to go, the course takes a hairpin turn left and then you climb the hill. Such was the discomfort I was in, I had no room for anymore pain and the hill didn’t hurt as much as I expected. If I had any rhythm at this point, it would have destroyed it. At the top of the hill I turned right and the course has a slight downhill to the finish. When the gantry came into sight, the clock read 57:50 and I raised a sprint in hope, not expectation, that I would at least dip under 58 minutes. I didn’t. I did keep moving and crossed the line in 58:05.
It’s not the race I wanted, it’s not the time I wanted either, but it was an hour of good solid work that will no doubt stand to me. Coming back from a calf strain has meant I haven’t had too many continuous efforts at paces like this so perhaps this is the correct measure of where the fitness is at, even without all my complaining of hills and wind. There are 6 weeks to Barcelona and that should be plenty of time to write any wrongs. Onward.
Buckets of Rain 