The Long Road

This story, of the 2010 Dingle Ultra Marathon, a fifty mile road event in the sweeping vistas and hidden glens and coves of West Kerry, emerged and still emerges.  

My motivational words to myself unfolded, in the weeks and the days leading up to the race:

I’m daft enough to dream, hungry enough to chase and curious enough to persist. And I’ll still down my share of Guinness after the Dingle Ultra!! I hope they have some decent Black Pudding at the post race BBQ also.

Borne along by these words to myself, I arrived, for this race, the third Ultra of my first year stepping up from my inaugural Marathon in Edinburgh the previous year.

Alarm ringing at 0430, its race morning, an unusually early start albeit I have little experience in races really. The alarm is set to wake me, and provide me with enough time to ensure I dress myself correctly for the fifty miles of road ahead. With my three drop bags packed from the evening before, not to be touched in the morning, simply carried untampered by me, I could concentrate on the task of being ready to go, to the pick up point in Dingle town, where a coach would take us all to the race start.  

I need to eat my breakfast by 0500, as my pre race preparation was founded on having a food cut off two hours before race time, with no food after that until into the race and into running mode. Race start time today is 0700. Breakfast this morning consists of  cold hard boiled eggs, soda bread, butter, and some milk. I’m hungry enough to devour everything laid out for me from the night before regardless of the early hour to eat, and I eat in expectation of the effort ahead and the sustenance which I will need to cover the race distance and to finish. 

Our coach transfer to the start leaves at 0545, and it is a ten minute walk from the bed and breakfast where we have stayed. Beautiful T sleeps, stirring enough to kiss me bye, and then she slumbers back to sleep. I hope she slumbers and sleeps, as a half marathon awaits her later in the morning, a majestic run from Dingle to DunQuin.

This coach transfer to the start is not my most comfortable journey, memorable for discomforting physical and nauseous reasons, as the roads are narrow and the driver hurries along. I am uncomfortable, and remain so until I can stand on my own feet again, my heavy breakfast staying solidly put is a bonus though, as some nausea plays in my head and other parts of me. 

Once we get off the main roads, we transfer to a mini bus. Cue a rallying mini bus trip to conclude our transfer to the start point, deep in the woods and hills, roads and lanes in here are not fit for the big coach we started our journey in. It could not travel the narrow lanes here, or get within several miles of the start. I’d rather have walked in, time was against us.

Recovering from the shaking and swinging, shaking off the nausea, I tried to centre myself physically and mentally, preparing for the imminent start. I begin by drinking some water, then finding some space and quiet to go through my pre race routine. This tended to focus on quiet conversations with myself, reminding me of my race strategy, and donning my metaphorical “racing helmet” – the set of conditions and the mindset for race day. 

Writing now, almost ten years later, this limited preparation seems a curiosity, almost unreal in its simplicity, as my pre race routine then was negligible in comparison with the comprehensive physical and mental preparations for my later race events.

However, it was real then.  In later years, my racing helmet would be donned a few days before, I was still a novice and learning my trade in 2010.

Its a majestic morning, so much better than forecast, here in a wooded glen, in the hills yet within smelling distance of the sea. There is a morning cool, and dew, and brilliance, all to entertain us and dream us away from what faces us, what lies ahead, known and unknown. Quiet, still, infectious, adrenaline flows and chases amongst experienced and novice runners. Called together, we are given our final race instructions, and we were set off at 0700 on this majestic morning. 

Cool, damp, in the forest. And all around is quiet, all around me is quiet, except for my beating heart and my padding feet, and my evident over-excitement. Evident then, in hindsight, yet hidden from whatever vision I used that morning, so clear as I look back from many years hence. We had a couple of gorgeous rain showers of liquid softness in the opening hour of running, those soft gentle warming more-than-mist yet less-than-rain showers of God’s sprinkles. All seemed set for a great day ahead, with a forecast for cloud, for showers and 18C.

Relaxed and comfortable, I chatted to myself about what we passed, what floated through my head, some songs, ignoring the fact that I was passing runners too quickly and too early. Sat here writing, I’m unsure if I knew this on the day, or if this is hindsight and wisdom. Rolling along, mainly on my own. Some miles in, I realised that my Heart Rate was  higher than I would expect for the pace I was running at. I would have expected my Heart Rate to be around 130 beats per minute for this easy nine minute per mile pace, yet it was actually averaging 140 beats per minute. I thought it would settle, and I felt comfortable. Thus my own story, what I told myself, how I talked myself up. As I ran, I recall looking myself up and down, doing a body scan, finding what I wanted to find rather than some of the signs that I was “running hot”. I chatted to American K, clearly an experienced ultra runner, who was running religiously to his heart rate – “some things never lie, and Heart Rate is one of them” he proclaimed several times. Useful food for thought, as I disappeared into the first of the on course toilets, my pit stop at the Mile 10 Portaloo. This had the effect of getting me down to racing weight. 

Smilingly emerging, I hoped that would sort me out! My Heart Rate was still too high for my pace at Mile 15, which was the start of the walk up the Connor Pass – perhaps an hour of walking will sort me out? Reaching the summit, at the Top of the Connor Pass, and feeling tremendously full of beans, I refuelled with some Red Bull plus food from my first drop bag, and off down the hill I went, headed to Dingle town, some four miles below. Indigestion from Red Bull, which I have never drank before, and the taste of which is bloody awful I thought, as the sun warmed and heated, drawing sweat from me profusely, here on the easiest part of the course.

I started to get tight and feel uncomfortable across my chest as I was freewheeling into Dingle on the long downhill of four miles. Choosing wisely I thought, although perhaps a little too late in hindsight, I eased off the pace and walked up Main Street in the shade, taking in the crowds gathered for the marathon as I went. From Dingle, we followed the full marathon course, having completed nearly twenty four miles already. the marathon runners were long gone from already. Their energy trail, and that of the crowds, took me along through town and over the bridge and out onto the marathon course. 

As I noted that I was through half way, my timings told me that I was fifteen mins ahead of my eight hour schedule – most of the time picked up by going up and down the Connor Pass faster than I expected. Plenty of time to get around the course and finish inside schedule, or so I thought at that point. 

Don’t get complacent, I sternly tell myself though. I have time in the bank, and I need to protect this for use later in the race. I tried to push on from Mile 25, I tried to pick up the pace from this half way mark, having had a shady mile plus some food and more water.

 At this stage, its late morning, its early September, and a warm day. The sun is beating down, and has been for the past five miles, since the top of the Pass. Looking around at a blue and cloudless sky, it appeared that’s how it was going to stay. So much for cloud & 18C, more like 22C and rising!

Struggle, pant, puff – what the hell is going on? My Heart Rate is now hitting 153 and I’m doing just under ten minutes per mile pace! I can’t maintain a running pace even on the flat for more than a few minutes, as my lungs are refusing to do their job, and are trying to escape through my ribs. Meanwhile, my heart is working overtime for no effort level! One thing for certain – I’m in a condition I have never experienced before and it’s a little bit scary. Legs are strong, mind is awake and supportive, while the rest of my system is having a prolonged meltdown. My system just does not want to know.

When I reach Mile 30, its time to pause and consider, and  I make the big decision. I choose to forget about my eight hour target to finish. The only game left to play today is about finishing without doing any damage to myself. I accept and start to enjoy the scenery, stop pushing and relax as much as possible, as I’m not calling for any medical support. That would see me out of the race, and I did not come this far for such an outcome. By resting for a few miles, in terms of walking and eating and replenishing my fluids, can I recharge and find a magic solution? I know the answer really, but have to go through the process of asking these questions then answering them in an appropriately structured way.

I walked for two miles, then sat for a few minutes. Part sitting, part lying on the quiet roadside, I had a good stretch, in the spirit of cooling down as I would after a long run. Yet, still my Heart Rate would not come down to “normal level”. Ok. I accept fully where I am now, and tell myself that now I’m really in for a tough day. I told myself with as much gentleness and acceptance as I could muster, as I still needed motivation and energy to finish the race. It felt empowering more than fatalistic, putting down one definition of the challenge in favour of another definition. Finishing was this new definition. For many, this defines Ultra running, as its only when we have finished a silly distance that we can consider if we have done ourselves justice. 

It would have been easy to just walk the rest of the course. Inevitably, I’m thinking about walking some, running as much as I can, so that I can finish as quickly as possible. I’m racking my brains to figure out why I’m not able to perform today. There seems to be precious little evidence in my training to help me. My statistics from training and  preparation and focus provide the basis of comparisons between today’s and what I have available as previous experiences . There are, inevitably, no obvious answers available. I am a novice at this ultra running sport. It is my third such race, having completed a thirty five mile event off road and a seventy mile event on mixed surfaces.  

Today, there are a few certainties which stand out in comparison with today.  Earlier in 2009, I ran a three hour fourteen minute marathon on road, which works out at seven minutes and twenty four seconds per mile, and my average Heart Rate was 153 for that race. Today,  I’m hitting a Heart Rate of 153 when running over two minutes per mile slower. I also ran a training marathon in just under four hours, and that was three weeks previously, at an average Heart Rate of 133. Is my Garmin watch and Heart Rate Monitor system working properly? Even if it isn’t, I can’t escape the chest pains and tightness, lungs that won’t work and are trying to burst through my ribs as I run, walk even, at no effective racing pace.

At Mile 37 I called beautiful T (thanks to the kindness of strangers who allowed me to borrow their phone) and left a message to tell her I was likely to be an hour behind schedule and not to worry – I was fine, just backing off. Now I had a new target which I had to deliver, despite my obvious debilitation on the day. Focus as I tire, bodily and mentally. It is time to walk when I can, and try to run when I can, what we call a walk/run strategy. In simple terms, its like fartlek running, where we get to the next marker and the next marker and the next. Time and distance take on little meaning now, its simply one interval after the previous, prepare for the next interval, to the marker, that will do.  In my conscious mind, at this stage, I’m focused on keeping it going, within the confines of not being able to run for more than a few minutes without the lungs and heart escape committee getting active, as gently and as progressively as possible., Relentless forward momentum. .

The Gaelic for Ultra is “An Bothar Fada ” – The Long Road – and I’m certainly getting some of that between the eyes today. Through Ballyferriter, on towards Gallarus. Seven miles left to the end of the race, and I have ninety minutes remaining of my revised nine hour target. Facing the last hill, and its a big one, I tackle this at a good walking pace, even a little run on a flat section until the escape committee comes knocking. My chest tightens, my lungs feel like they are collapsing in, my legs and my body weaken, so I slow to a crawl, lucky not to be on all fours. 

Cresting the hill, there is the final food and water station waiting for me, and souls like me, on their way to whatever crossing awaits. I down some Isotonic drink, and start to set myself for the final push. There are three and a half miles to go, mainly downhill – “Are you going to run it” the girl at the station asked me, “I’m going to fly” said I and off I went, running at a fast pace down the hill. 

That didn’t last long. As I rounded the the second bend I could hardly breathe, and I was out of sight of the girl. No embarrassment in doing so, no one watching, so I backed off and went back to walking. As a result, I was passed by a strong finishing  competitor on the flat but passed two others myself between there and the finish line. 

As I approach the town, I’m aware that I’m within the final mile. There is a little uphill section then its around the corner, and down to the bridge where I crossed in the other direction an age earlier  – where’s the finish? I thought it was just past the bridge, by the sea. I thought it was here! No – it’s at the Marina, silly man. Damn, that’s another half a mile and I’ve been pushing to try catch solid S & make sure no one else catches me. 

Beautiful T is waiting for me on the run in, takes me by the hand and runs me to the line at an increasing pace!! I can hardly breathe over the line, but it’s worth it. She clearly showed no ill effects from running the half marathon earlier. Her sympathy was for all the hard work which she knew that I had invested in this event, and wanted me to have the best finish time possible. 

I got home and over that finish line, safely so at last, in eight hours and forty nine minutes. Smiling a little, as it takes no effort, I recognise that as a pretty decent effort considering the really bad day at the office in hot conditions which I had endured. I had managed to keep myself together, and I had finished strong. Adrenaline pumping, so I felt in good physical shape despite some scary moments. Standing there, medal around my neck, the beaming beautiful  T with her medal also, by my side, loving efforts shared, we were hugely proud of ourselves. I shared that with myself for having the sense to back off and find a way to a decent performance. There may well be some underlying issue to identify and sort out; there may also be nothing more to this than a bad day out, one of those running things. .

I am also greatly cheered by the impact which an utterly majestic course had on me during the day. In the darkest and most uncomfortable of time on the road, I was surrounded by incredible beauty and almost solitude.  This was also another deep learning day for me, learning about self and running. My achievement of finishing as I did may not match the bare numbers of my aspiration for a finish time of less than eight hours, but I’m all the wiser and richer from that experience.

…………..

On Sunday morning, I’m running a body check. My body seems to be in good shape. My chest and my ribs hurt a bit, in muscular terms. There are a few blisters on my toes that I did not see and sort after the race last night. I’m still glowing inside and outside about my run. This was an illuminating experience also. Ultra running explores and pushes our capabilities in a different way than marathons. This view has been hard-formed, out on the road today and on other ultra running days, and it remains true. Fast marathons are more testing and more debilitating. Ultra runs are more soulfully enjoyable in the running of them, and more beneficial for our spirit.