A bit of hill



Gradient to Moll's Gap



There's nothing like a bit of hill to build strength, and a trip to Kenmare this past weekend gave me the chance to do just that.
On Saturday, with the co-operation of my number-one supporter, I decided to set out from the house and just keep running until I hit the 11-mile mark. I had already checked out Google maps and knew that Moll's Gap was 10km from Kenmare town centre. Add another kilometre from the house to the town centre, keep running towards Sneem (R568) for another 6 or 7 kilometres (about 40minutes) and I would have my 18kms or 11 miles. And this is exactly what I did.  I left number-one supporter in the garden planting bulbs, popped a little rucksack on my back (with one of those water packs with a tube coming out of it long enough to reach my mouth) so that I was hands free and off I trotted down the lane, over the bridge and through the town, pausing to pick up a pack of sweets before heading out the road for the slow steady climb to Moll's Gap. I knew it was going to be a constant tug all the ways to the top (860ft from sea level) at a 9.4% gradient and I just took it nice and steady. It was another sunny day with the odd shower, but mild enough to try out shorts - my first time this season.  I even lathered on some sun factor on my face; the wisdom of old age comes to us all.  As always, the first mile or two were a bit sluggish, although I was distracted from my endeavours by  the local triathlon club freewheeling down the hill in bunches of twos and threes.  I proudly gave each of them a co-sportsmate smile and my best I-am-training-for-a-marathon wave.  

Not wanting to tire out too quickly and conscious of heart rates, but without a monitor, I sang a little from time to time, just testing my breath. I practised running straight, trying to avoid my usual tendency to stoop and curl in the shoulders.  About half way, I met a cyclist who had passed me earlier, climbing on the other side of the road, but now heading back to town with a burst tyre. Again, I enjoyed a fellow-sports-mate exchange, offering sympathetic noises and checking to see if he needed to use a phone. At this point, I was in fine fettle, enjoying the views, in a good rhythm and really believing that there might just be a marathon runner in this middle-aged body.  I continued another while, annoyed by young fellas feeling the need to jeer and beep as they tore me past in an old car.  That kind of behaviour irks me so much, mainly, I think, because it can be a bit threatening. Anyway, that aside, I was in good spirits until I turned a corner and was surprised to see a sprinkling of snow on the Reeks and feeling the full force of a Northerly breeze as I also, quite suddenly, found myself doused in cold rain. It was as if I had walked into a different day. The joys of the Irish Weather, eh? The sudden change in climate was not helped by my mistaken belief that that particular corner was to be the last before the Avoca café and Moll's Gap. My earlier confidence slipped away a little. I shortened my steps, slowed my breath, tucked in under the shelter of the rocky banks and hauled myself ever upwards. It was a considerable relief to get to the top, although I was conscious of cold and wondered should I pause to put on my leggings (backpack was handy for more reasons than one) and my jacket. I could feel the cold stiffening my limbs.
As luck would have it, the clouds rolled on, the sun came out and I basked in all the joy of Spring sunshine as I sailed passed the lake on my right. I relaxed into the last 5 miles, gazing out over the still wintry valley on my left, pock-marked by the local mine.  The view stretched back over the road that I had just climbed, giving me a certain sense of achievement. The Reeks were on my right, although ducking behind Boughill and her sister peaks for most of my run.  At this stage, number-one supporter had arrived to check on my safety and distance. We arranged to meet at the Strawberry Fields Pancake House (http://www.strawberryfield-ireland.com/), and I jogged on, enjoying the freewheel downhill, striding out and warming up quickly after the cold of Moll's Gap. A farmer dipping sheep (well, gathering sheep into a pen?) greeted me, a bunch of lads with a trailer were taking down the Healy Rae election posters, a pair of larks flirted skywards and I rolled on downhill. 
At the Pancake House, it was still only 15kms, so I jogged on the spot while communicating my need to run for another 3kms. On I went, a bit more on the flat now. I passed the starting point for last July's maxi-marathon, smiling as I thought of the long queues at the only three port-a-loos for a race starting in the middle of nowhere. Within a short few miles of the turn for Dereendirough, my support car passed me, turned a short distance down the road and indicated that I am over the 11 miles now. Happily, I took a lift back to the Pancake house where I had, not only a savoury (gorgonzola cheese, spinach and maple syrup) but a lovely, sweet, lemony one too. After all, I had to build up the glycogen, restore the lost carbohydrates ...  and the sooner the better! 

We marvelled a little too at how far I had come since the Winter (and Summer) of my discontent.  Then, it was back home, shower, light the fire and stretch out on the couch to keep an eye on the election count.  A blisfull day!