Cork City Marathon 2011

I'd like to spend more time editing this blog, but alas I don't have that much time again until Sunday. Hence, it is going as is. The pictures are posted on the next entry, with figures/captions attached to help with this post.

It took me all of 4hours, 22minutes and 18 seconds, but I got there. I did my first marathon last Monday.

In the first 24 hours after the marathon, when I closed my eyes I could see the County Hall and the mile 24 marker on a telegraph pole just beyond it, as clear as a day.  It was etched permanently on my mind.  And despite (or because of) the acute struggle at this point, it brought me, initially at least, the greatest post-marathon glow. My marathon happened at  mile 24. For those of you who are non-Corkonians, the County Hall used to be the tallest building on Ireland and is built on the Western side of the city at the end (or beginning depending on perspective) of a long, straight stretch of road.  It is, therefore, visible from a distance and iconic in any impatient journey. It was during mile 24 that, momentarily, whatever temptation was in me to drop out of the race was overcome. It was during mile 24 that I walked for the first time (with the exception of a short sharp ascent off the Link Road at mile 17) and discovered that my legs had turned to jelly and that my body was crumpling on my left side. It was at mile 24, No.1 said, reluctantly and with more obligation than conviction, should you continue for fear of injury and inability to do other races? Of course, it was a question that brought clarity to the seeming crisis. I decided that, I didn't care about half marathons or 10kms or anything else, I was going to finish this race no matter what! All that remained was to strategise.  

But let me go back a bit. 

The weather was perfect. The day started bright, but cool. The clouds thickened gradually, but there was little rain and for the first four-five hours there was only a brief shower. I gather that later finishers were drenched in a sudden outburst. There seemed to be little, if any, breeze. The race started right on time, although it took me, in my 4-5hour zone, 2 minutes to get to the start. This is fine with me. In a marathon, even half-marathon, there are few advantages to being at the start line. The field thins out quickly enough.  We snaked our way through Patrick Street, down the Grand Parade and the English Market where I couldn't help but give a little regal wave in a private joking gesture towards the Queen's visit. We headed down the South Mall and I rejoiced in the tapering phase of the last two weeks. I hadn't an ache or a pain. I was in awe at how well the programme worked and pushed aside any doubts about the last two weeks and the brevity of the runs. I never gave a single thought to my achilles tendons, didn't have an achy/stiff muscle in my leg. My only challenge was to control my excited breathing, relax my shoulders, put aside the worry of the final miles and settle into the day.  Before I knew it, we had plodded down the South Bank of the River, crossed over the Bridge (Fig.1) and were winding our way in and out of lower Blackpool. This is real old Cork, dominated by Shandon and the Bells one side and Breweries and on the other. The atmosphere was electric. At every corner, bridge and junction there were crowds all clapping and cheering! On some corners, there were musicians playing Irish or African trad with a heavy emphasis on percussion. The final band, close to mile 26, were so powerful that the blood pumping through my veins seemed to pick up the rhythm of their drums. You couldn't but enjoy it.

Just as we entered into Blackpool we met our 2-mile marker and No.1 took my first photo. I remember, because I decided I had better be cheery for this one, at least! At this point, the leaders were also doubling back towards us on the opposite side of the road, accompanied by a Garda escort. It was impressive to see the pace at which they were moving.  Although I soon realised that the fastest on the course were not the marathoners, but the relay people who, obviously, were only running a few miles and so could afford pace. Let me add, that not all relay people were that fast. I seemed to spend much of my time surrounded by them. I knew them by the white background to their numbers, us full-marathoners wore yellow numbers and the half-marathoners wore blue. It was a matter of honour to check when passing out a contestant or two! 

It might be helpful to say here that No.1 spent the day on his bike, stopping, photographing, checking in, moving backwards and forwards around the course, reacquainting himself with minor streets to meet me at another point and to photograph, check and so on.  It's an easy companionship. We both know that it's my race. I can talk or not, smile or not, acknowledge or not as I wish. I know, at the same time, that he is relaxed and happy and enjoying the spectacle. In fact, often he gleans more bits of information about a race than I do, from conversations with other spectators or just by having an overview. That was one of the funny things about the post-race analysis with spectators .. they would ask 'Did you see the guy in the Sonic Hedgehog Costume?' or 'The guy who was dressed in a shirt and pants?' and so on. Of course, I saw none of these things. These people were all either ahead or behind me.  How do they run in those costumes, by the way?

Soon, we were heading East. The buildings, familiar landmarks just gliding by. At this point, mindful of the advice given to me by someone I have never met, though have spoken to on the phone and is known to me only through a cousin, but is an experienced runner, I really did my best to slow down. I had put myself behind the 4:30 pacers (the guys who were there to keep an even pace for those wanting to run 4hours 30, wearing bright yellow t-shirts with their pace time on their backs and carrying green ballons, also with the time marked on them). I didn't last a mile behind the 4:30 guys. I decided to skip ahead and keep on eye on them from in front! Yes, Seán Mac S, you may well laugh! As we were leaving Blackpool, I then spotted a more mature marathon runner and politely asked him his intended time. He told me 4h20. Perfect! That was my own hope - a 10 minute mile. I decided to stay with him. But, again, before I knew it I was looking back at him over my shoulder until about mile 4 when I did the honest thing and acknowledged I wasn't really pacing with him! I know, I know. I was in fine fettle and impatient to get there.  In my defence, I really was not tearing ahead. I was really watching my breath, muttering to see if I could talk, checking for discomfort and so on.  Despite these efforts, I found myself gaining time at each mile, right up to the mile 15.  In fact, so conscious of it was I, that I managed to stay with another contestant also aiming for 4h20 before losing him at mile 16 (Fig. 2). I knew it was going to happen though, because something had become strained between us (his breathing!). It was a brief relationship ... about 5 miles long! I never saw him again, but I hear he lived a long and happy race! (I was able to check his race number in photos and against the results).

I feel a small bit guilty about him, actually. I hope I didn't kill his spirit? We didn't chat too much, just a little. At mile 13, on the bridge leading off the Mahon Walk my first lot of supporters (No.1's family) were gathered to cheer and wave. I gave them a cheery bouncy greeting, as you do. Then, in the spirit of sharing, told him the next bunch would be at mile 18, the next lot at mile 20 and so on. As far as I was concerned, he could benefit from my cheerers too! In the meantime, No.1 appeared at the end of the Lough Mahon walkway, as we turned onto the Marina by Páirc uí Caoimh. My short-term race companion told me, a little ruefully, that his family were all on holiday. Another few paces and he walked for a bit!

Anyway, I found the run around the harbour cold and felt my muscles react and tighten somewhat, most notably my right hamstring, but it never really matured into anything. There is no polite way to describe the other niggle of the day, though. Most of you, I'm sure, have had a twinge at some time or other in your Gluteus maximus. Well, mine started at around mile 10 or 11, just a little twinge, ignorable but there. It was a constant factor for the rest of the marathon. I can't tell now when it got worse or how it got worse, it just tightened and tightened and tightened so that by Mile 24 I decided to experiment with walking steps to see if I could relax it a little. Walking seemed to make things worse.

To return to mile 16, my first 'change' in form came here where we left the Marina, Central Park Road, crossing through to the South Link Road. At this point, one of the many Relay Changeover Points happened and there were huge crowds. For some reason, I felt the first momentary sense of distress that became a greater battle for me at miles 22 to 24 later. It was just a little tweak of panic, breath too short, the slipping away of the comfort that had been on me. At this point, No.1 appeared and with a wide stretch of road cycled, at a distance, up the slipway from the Link Road, through Turner's Cross to mile 18 and then ahead to pause with the next bunch of supporters all decked out in our supporter t-shirts, darling Aislinn and all! The support made the day, both from those who were there for me and those who were there for everyone. I began to measure my marathon in terms of where each bunch of 'my' people would be.

At around mile 19, the Lough, the next lot were gathered, cousin Sinéad, her lovely son Séamus, teenage nephews who ran out with water, father and wife and sister (Fig 4, 5, 6). It was awesome to hear your name being called and a cheer. It was fantastic! Shortly up the road from the Lough, the race support team had one of their many tables with water or lucozade and, for the first time on this route, wet sponges. It wasn't particularly hot and I initially dismissed the idea of the wet sponge but then, more for the fun of it, grabbed one and did my best to look as professional as possible swiping and dousing. I stopped short of squeezing it over my head, though!

On I plodded, really plodding now. It was at this stage of the race onwards that other competitors would pass and give encouragement. One in particular at mile 25 was hugely important. I was really stiffening up at that stage and it was a case of managing the pain and discomfort rather than relieving it.  We were just heading onto the pedestrian bridge (elegant by the way) at the Mardyke and this fellow runner paused and looked at me, half sternly but well-meaning. I actually can't remember what he said, it wasn't much. But whatever he said, he made me realise that I was no different to anyone else, was suffering no more or less, was I serious about this or a fool-acting, stop looking for attention and just run the run! He said none of that, but that's what came over me for whatever few words he did say. At the same time, I had just come from another few walking steps and begun to run again for the last mile. As I began to run, I got a most encouraging cheer from the crowd. Mind you, the spectator who told me to smile was lucky I had more important things on my mind!!!! At mile 25, I also came into the company of an older lady who was so bent over that her chin seemed to touch the ground. She was a full marathoner. I was distracted by another lady, who was part of the relay, but also really, really struggling. She was almost weaving around the place.

I have skipped ahead. The bunch of supporters that gave me a surprise were at Roger Casement Park(?), just beyond St. Finbarr's Cemetery, where we turned right through a housing estate to cut out onto the Wilton Road. Standing at a corner, and I nearly missed them, were my brother and mother. He came onto the road to check on me. In an effort to deal with the struggle that was beginning to grow, I told him that I wanted to cry. The poor divil was all concern. He ran up the hill with me, wanted to go further but I told him I was grand now and wanted to be on my own. A funny thing is I remember him practically offering me the contents of his fridge ... at home ... in Killarney. "I should have brought stuff, I have a load of it at home, in the fridge."  I could only see this fridge in Killarney full of 'stuff' ... the fridge became a big image in my mind. I was touched by his kindness. He ran a few steps up the hill with me. And in the few moments after his departure, a calm descended on me. I had a moment's realisation that I had fulfilled a wish, the seed of which had been sown at mile 18 outside the mosque in Clonskeagh. When Singapore brother had run his marathon, I went out to support him, keeping step for a short distance then as this brother kept step with me on Monday. 

On I ran, on very familiar territory now as I turned at Dennehy's Cross onto the final miles. I spent much of my college years cycling up and down Model Farm Road. It's a slow tug. No.1 had turned up again here and so, wide of the race on a wide road, accompanied me up the hill on his bike. The support on this road was something else. Someone sprinkled us with his garden hose (I hope) as we passed, it was nice gentle rain. Youngsters and their Mums were out with jellies and I took them!   At the top of the incline (very gentle), I asked to be left alone again and plodded Westward, passing through the final relay handover. By now, the half marathoners were passing us in bunches and knots. My first real distress came here and I presume it is the 'wall'.  It's hard to describe. For me, it's more like panic. I wanted to hyperventilate. I slowed my pace in order to control it but a fellow runner encouraged me to keep going which I did, but could feel myself losing control again so knew I had to listen to my own instinct. Of course, at this stage I was losing the time and pace that I had gained earlier in the race and, as if to really drive the point home, the guy in Blackpool whom I had first set as my own private pacer passed me! Seán Mac S., I thought of you then and despite my distress smiled! He ran past me as spritely as can be, no signs of distress on him.  Anyway, it became a battle for me then, not so much to manage my body which I was just running with regardless of all sensation, but it seemed to be all about my emotions (Fig. 8). How shall I put it? I just wanted to 'flail', have a moment of hysteria. I could feel myself wanting to hyperventilate. Once before did I experience it and that was on top of the Devil's Ladder, on the way up Carrauntouhill, on a snowy icy day when I managed to wrap myself around an icy boulder unable to move backwards or forwards. It was my first and only experience of hyperventilation in myself, when the breath just becomes short and shallow and out of control. On Monday, I just had to treat my 'emotions' or whatever as separate from myself. I started to speak to them as if they were children saying that I recognised it was difficult but that they had to trust me that I knew what I was doing. A quick note on some of the more recent thinking of the so-called wall might be helpful here. Many believe that the mind reacts to the depletion of glycogen before the body does as a form of self-protection. It recognises that your stores are getting low, that this is potentially dangerous and should be stopped. It happens long before the critical point, however, and can be safely overriden, as it were. I presume that this is what I was doing for those few miles.  With me, the tendency to hyperventilate, needs to be managed by slowing down, relaxing those breathing muscles and just getting the whole system to trust my will, as it were. It is weird. As I write this or even as I experienced it, I realise that during a long run, you can begin to fragment your self into all sorts of components: legs, muscles, particular muscles, breath, head, will and so on.

At the end of Orchard Road, the turn onto the Carrigrohane Straight, the bunch of followers at the Lough were waiting for me again (I believe they were all squashing into one car at this stage, weaving their way through and around road blocks etc). I'll bet it was fun in its own right. However they managed it, they and Mam and Café-Java brother all found their way back into the city centre for the finish. I just think that they were amazing.

I'm not finished yet. That gluteus maximus was really tight now ... probably the consequence of my screw kick on the left side (I throw my left leg a bit and it gets worse with tiredness). It was really squeezing and pinching and I was trying all kinds of things like sticking my finger up against the pinch, walking a bit, changing stride (not a hope!) and so on. I didn't want to get into a major cranky battle with the situation either. Go for it or don't. I wanted to run those final miles with some kind of grace, not that awful stop/start/I can/I can't/grumble and growl. In a way, I had to walk/run, but it was more about strategy and making sure I finished than anything. Really, you just gotta ignore the legs and keep up the pace of which there seemed to be plenty left in me. Certainly, by mile 24 I wasn't handing over that race to anyone. It was mine. I got over the bridge, through the leafy walk which I had never been on before, onto the North Mall and there were the Three Nieces, their Mam and Dad. This was another major surprise ... not that I didn't know they were coming, but didn't know where they were. It was just gorgeous to see them smiling and waving (though the third was asleep, I think). Their little hearts were pouring out to me. I didn't have much mind to stop though. Greedily, I was reaching for mile 26 which was now just steps away. Apparently I turned to No.1 and said 'We are nearly there.' I know this because he told me that it was all he could do not to cry, both there and when we finally met at the end. He doesn't do the crying thing much.

Those lost .2 miles were (in the words of  American niece) sweet! Over Patrick's Bridge, straining to see where exactly was the Finish Line and then I saw it. I took off as if these last few strides would make all the difference between winning and losing an Olympic medal. I have no idea where that energy came from ... this in one who could barely walk twenty minutes ago. I heard my name (Café-Java brother told me he gave a roar); I was all tears and yet choking and then I was under that Finish Line ... sweet, so sweet; but sore, so sore.

I have never known such soreness so immediately after exercise. The stiffness of the last day or two I have experienced from hill-walking, but that immediate almost inability to stand, the ache, the attempts to pull of the barrier and squat and stretch out, the desire for a banana which was only 6 steps away, but out of reach until my sister got it for me. I cried, I smiled, I looked around for No.1, I hugged, was hugged, I heard my name and hugged again. Mam had bunches of roses for me. Café-Java brother was beaming. We bumped into a colleague of his finishing the half-marathon. I got my medal. No. 1 arrived on the bike, we hugged and kissed and couldn't believe that we had done it. Folks, it was pure joy! It was untainted, uncorrupted, the product of effort, encouragement, planning and just so purely physical. I like that. It's just me testing and pushing my limbs, my heart, my lungs and coming out strong. That's the amazing thing. I am stiff and sore, but even that is easing every hour now. It's like I have a body of two halves: stiff and sore in the bottom half, but without trace of a marathon in the top half.

 "We did it!" "We all did it!" This is not false modesty on my part ... it just feels like it happened, somehow, through chat, encouragement, planning, adopting and adapting advice and patterns ... it feels like a 'we' event. In that spirit, we headed back to Rochestown for post-race food and frolics which was just wonderful. I showered and then just sat, moving from time to time to try and catch everyone. It was just wonderful. We also raised a significant amount of money, heading towards 3,500 euro which is super.

I spent Tuesday in a post-race bubble of happiness, just kind of satisfied and glowing and reliving it. Even today, at work, I am still so so ... content and, just happy that I did it. I don't think much about the time. it was two minutes slower than my 'idea' time, but still under my lowest goal. When asked immediately after the event would I do another, my immediate reaction was to say, 'Never again!' And I really meant it. Today, though, I'm not so sure, maybe I will, and Etty will say, 'I told you so! I have a touch of envy when I see people beginning their training for the Dublin maraathon, partly, I think, because I am not sure that I will ever do it again. I'd have to really want to do it as much as I wanted to do this one.

I'm healing quickly. My legs were so sore immediately afterwards, I was cold and all the usual stuff. A hot shower, good food and a party soon sorted me. Etty sent the most wonderful bouquet of flowers which was a complete surprise. I think I had made peace with her absence a few weeks ago, though I was disappointed initially. Tuesday I popped up to the pool for a gentle swim/sauna. Wednesday was back to work and so on. Today, I am still tired, but the stiffness has eased except for specific tender spots like my gluteus maximus and my right quadriceps. I am  hungry and cold (but then it is only 9 degrees celsius). Overall, though, I am in awe at my 'normalcy'. I am just going about my business, the same but different. I have a contented sense of having achieved an important goal for me. I am grateful for the kindness and encouragement en route. I am amazed at the trainability and adaptability of the body!

Folks that's it from me. I am drawing a curtain over my contribution to this blog. It has been a wonderful journey. Thank you for your encouragement, support, engagement (on and off the pitch). Without it, I am not sure that I would have stuck to the programme. Without a rigid training programme, I doubt that I would have completed the marathon. As I sign off, I wish each of you good health, love, joy, courage to pursue your dreams and friends to support you! Go n'eirí an bothar libh!