I run for City of Derry Spartans Athletics Club, and this
was the week of the Ulster/Northern Ireland cross-country championships – one
of the biggest fixtures in our club’s calendar, and an important target for me
since Christmas. I did a couple of running races over Christmas and didn’t
perform too well, but since the turn of the year, I’d been back at full-time
triathlon training, with a bit of a focus on some tough running sessions. I’d
had a reasonably good 6 weeks of training since the start of 2015, with two
solid 2-week blocks. So I was hopeful of a half-decent showing in the Ulsters.
I like the cross-country racing, it’s really good for leg strength, and I think
the triathlon training transfers better to cross-country racing than to road
racing. The only worry for me is twisting an ankle on the uneven ground.
Clubs can enter 10-20 people into the Ulsters, with the top
6 counting towards the final results. The finishing positions of every club’s
top 6 runners are added up, and the team with the lowest overall total are
crowned champions. The winning squad are presented with an impressive, historic
trophy. The top 6 team finishers get gold medals. For some reason, I’ve got a
decent record in the Ulsters. I first ran for the club about 10 years ago (how
time flies), and contributed to a winning team effort, picking up a gold medal
as 5th scorer. I maybe didn’t appreciate the significance of this at the time,
being quite new to the local running scene. The following two years, we took team
silver and team bronze, then I went off the radar for a few years as I was
travelling. Until last year, the club didn’t win the team event again – not for
want of trying – bronzes and silvers aplenty, but no victory.
Last year I had a good run at the Ulsters (despite having
just had my wisdom tooth taken out) to be 3rd scorer as the team claimed the
trophy for a second time. This year, we were aiming to retain the title. I
wanted to have a trouble-free, stress-free week leading into the race (not much
to ask, surely?) and obviously wanted to have a good run.
A last-minute work trip to Italy meant that for most of the
week before the race I was walking around a freezing cold fabricator’s yard. Temperatures in
Italy were sub-zero. Snow and ice everywhere. We were staying in an awful, ancient,
freezing cold hotel. The first night, I had the heating on full blast. The
heating system was really decrepit, blasting horrible dry recycled air through
the night. I woke up with no moisture left in my body. My mucous membranes were
totally dried out. A horrible feeling. An easy way to get sick. The next night,
I chose to leave the heat off. I couldn’t put myself through that again. The
room was draughty, the window didn’t seal properly, and it was damn cold.
Another easy way to get sick. I put on every stitch of clothing I had before
going to bed; work shirts, gloves, hat and all, and hoped for the best.
I got through the night and was woken really early by a
phone call. The previous evening, I had booked a taxi to the airport. It’s
about an hour away. My flight was quite early. I was due to fly back to London,
head into work for a couple of hours, and then fly back to Northern Ireland.
The phone call came from the hotel reception. The taxi
driver had arrived really early, as he’d heard that there had been a crash on
the motorway, and that it could take ages to get to the airport. Reception told
me to get up and get away as quickly as possible if I wanted to catch the
flight. Within 15 minutes I was in the taxi, trying to establish how bad the
delays were going to be. The taxi driver had no English, I had no Italian, but
we both had some French. He said the motorway was totally blocked but that he’d
go by the back roads and try his best. Conditions were bad – misty, snowy and
cold. Not the greatest taxi ride in the world. Plus, I was dying for something to eat.
The view from the taxi, very early in the morning...
Thankfully I made the flight. Just about. I was the last
person to board. Even 5 minutes later and I’m not sure I would have made it.
Soon I was winging my way over the Alps and back to London. Soon after that, I
was winging my way back to Northern Ireland. Friday – my “holiday” – was spent
sleeping, eating brown pasta, and making the most of the peace and quiet to
spend some decent, uninterrupted time on my Chartered Engineer qualification
work. Some holiday. The next day, I headed down to Lurgan, the race venue, with
my mum. All my dad’s folks are from there. I found out that Lurgan Park is the
second biggest public park in Ireland. It looked nice, with its lake, castle,
and wooded area, and was made much better by the good weather – dry, calm
conditions, a bit overcast, no threat of rain, firm ground – almost perfect for
running.
Lurgan Park
I met up with the rest of the squad. We had new red vests
this weekend and they looked great. The course was to be 6 laps of 2km. We
jogged a lap, to get a feel for it. There were a few mucky and damp areas, but
mostly it was good, firm grass. There were no tight turns to break your rhythm
when running. It was going to be a case of getting up to speed, and then just
maintaining pace. Most of the lap seemed to be running gradually uphill, with
two short and very steep downhill sections, and a couple of steeper uphills as
well. Tough enough, especially with 6 laps to do.
As we were warming up, the girls were running their own 3-lap
race. We gave them a few shouts, but as our starting time drew nearer, everyone
seemed to get a bit quieter, focusing on the upcoming task. People were going
into their own pre-race routines. I stretched a bit. Did a few strides. During
the team-talk, I pulled on my running spikes and looped my timing chip through
my laces. These are quite tense moments. In the Ulsters, it’s all about the
team. You want to run well for yourself, of course, but you want to make damn
sure you run well for everyone else on the team. We knew we were after
back-to-back titles. With “let’s make history” ringing in our ears, we jogged
down to the start line.
I felt something in my right shoe. Like a small twig or
something, nestled in the hollow where toes meet foot. Feck it! I fumbled with
my laces for a moment, but they were tied tightly. I didn’t have time to do
anything about it. All I could do was try to forget about it. We toed the line.
A few handshakes and back-slaps. “Good luck”, “Have a good one”, “Let’s go
boys, come on”…
Then we were away. 12km is a long run on the country. My
plan was to try to have the discipline not to go out too hard, and let the race
come to me. I’d hopefully pick off a few people in the second half. This
strategy served me well at the Ulsters last year, and I wanted to be in the mix
at the finish line today, not falling away after half distance. Usually in the
Ulsters I finish somewhere between 15th and 20th. I started at what I thought
was an acceptable pace, not too easy but resisting the temptation to run with
the leaders. Pacing is difficult to judge. I think everyone ran quite a
conservative first lap, as I was still within just a few seconds of the leaders
after lap one. Five to go… so far so good. The race settled down. The lead
group began to pull away. I seemed to be maintaining position.
And they're off... 12km to go...
There were two short and sharp climbs per lap, as well as
the steep descents. I didn’t seem to go too well up the first climb, but seemed
to go better up the second climb. Even by the end of lap two, the field had
already thinned out a bit and there was plenty of space. It suited me well. By
the end of the second lap, it was starting to feel tougher. Then our amazing
support really came to the fore. Without doubt, we were the best supported club
out there. Right around the whole course, we had people. The Spartans know how
to do support.
And such positive support. Some other guy just in front of
me was getting dog’s abuse from the sidelines: “C’mon ye f*cker, work harder!”
I think even he was getting fed up with it, and he countered, “I AM working
hard…” to which he got another earful: “No you’re not, shut up and stop
talking, run harder!”
Our supporters were awesome. Everything was positive. We
were all “looking great” and “running brilliantly”, right throughout the whole
race. Probably more effort was put into the shouting and yelling and
encouraging than was actually put into the running. It was inspiring. The
shouts from the sidelines kept us looking forwards to catching the man ahead,
not looking back and running scared of being caught. It was impossible not to
be lifted, a tidal wave of support, driving us round the laps.
Not that it got any easier. There was no letting up. There
was a sniff of a team gold, as people on the sidelines tried to work out positions
and crunch numbers. We were just running as hard as we could. Trying to catch
and pass even one more runner, giving us one fewer point for the final total.
The hills were a grind, but they were short enough to blast up. I seemed to be
closing gaps on the hills, and I wasn’t going backwards, I was leaving people
behind. I was maintaining pace. Tough, but good. I saw my mum and aunt at the
bottom of a hill and tried to give them a nod. Soon there were two laps to go.
By this stage it was maximal. Pure guts. Gritting it out and
hanging on. This is what you train for. You don’t train hard to take the easy
option and ease off, you just keep going and trust that the work you’ve done
will carry you through. Shouts started coming, “The gold medals are there
boys”, so we knew we were up there, but still relying on holding position,
still straining to pick people off. Tunnel vision. All you can see is the
course ahead, the man ahead. Focus. Lift it. Catch him. The sidelines were
turning into a blur. Still you could hear the Spartan support.
One lap to go. 2km. 6 or 7 minutes. What was all that
training for? Push push push, just keep going. It got a bit tricky going
off-line to pass the runners being lapped. Try and stretch out on that
downhill. Over the bridge and into the woods for the last time. One more bloody
hill. Rip it up. Don’t even look back. Down the other side and the finish is
ahead. 200 more meters. Into the final straight. Leave it all out there. Don’t
let anyone past. Grit the teeth. And over the line.
Race done. Doubled over, gasping. Wrecked. A tough run. There are
already a few red-vested Spartans in the finishing area. It turns out one of
our guys won the overall individual race. A super effort. More red vests cross
the line. Have we done it? With everyone finished came the confirmation. Champions again. Awesome. A huge team effort, by
the guys who took to the start line, by the coaches, by the supporters, by the
ladies’ team who had raced with distinction just before us and still lined the
course to cheer us on. Handshakes, back-slaps, hugs, knackered smiles all
round.
The far side of a finishing line is a great place to be at
any time. The running/triathlon camaraderie is brilliant. The shared sense of
achievement, the competition, the journey or a race completed together, the
companions who are adversaries who are friends all at the same time, the
feeling of elation, or perhaps frustration. The satisfaction. Maybe the
disappointment. The giving of your best. The striving to better yourself. These
are the reasons we compete. And to be on the other side of that finishing line
as a champion, with great people all around – the team, the other runners,
coaches, supporters – just makes it so much better.
With oxygen debts repaid and heart rates lowering, the
trophy appeared on the scene. And the medals. Loads of photos. I had a good
look at the trophy, and showed it to my mum and aunt. It dates back to the
1920s. It’s a magnificent old thing, and seems to be right at home in Derry/Londonderry/Doire.
Days like this make all the hill sprints in the dark, rainy winter evenings
worthwhile. By now we were getting cold, despite the late afternoon sun peeping
through. I started to shiver. It was time to throw on a tracksuit top and bottoms
and go for a jog, to shake the legs out. We did another slow lap, and then
headed for the team bus.
I finally got my spikes off. And I was a bit shocked by what
was inside. I thought a twig or something had got stuck. Thankfully during the
race it didn’t give me any bother and stayed underneath my toes. It was a set
of four safety pins, clipped together. The safety pins are to pin your race
number to your vest. But I had used my pins, they were holding my number to my
vest! I have no idea how another set of pins got into my shoe. It could have been
a disaster if one had opened during the race. But mercifully, they had done no
harm. I’ve never ever had such a problem before, but a mental note for the
future is to check, check and re-check my shoes.
We got changed, had a bit of chat on the bus, saw some of
the photographs and got some much-needed food and drink down our necks. We
weren’t even that mucky, as the conditions had been so good. I hadn’t even
realised, but it was Gerry’s birthday today – Gerry is the heart and soul of
the club, and without him (and a few others), I wouldn’t be involved. After a
chorus of “happy birthday”, the bus was ready to leave. I jumped off as I was
going to see a few aunts/uncles/cousins in Lurgan. I walked back through the
park. Strangely quiet now. All of the course markings were gone. Not many
around. There wasn’t too much indication of what had just taken place.
An extra passenger on the bus home
I saw a few relatives, and was really happy to have the
following photo taken with two of my uncles, in the same spot outside my
granny’s house as a previous photo had been taken, almost 30 years ago. Time flies indeed.
On reflection, on the way home, I felt I had ran well. I
kept decent strength throughout. Much better than my Christmas races. There’s
always a bit of “what if” about my running races nowadays – what if I wasn’t
doing triathlon and focusing only on running? But anyway, I couldn’t have asked
for more out of the day – team gold medals and a decent showing from myself. I’m
definitely at a good level of fitness and it’s still very early in the season.
I’ll just have to be careful not to peak too soon, and to make sure I get
enough rest and recovery.
I’ll hopefully recover quickly after the
cross-country, and get a few more good training weeks in, then I plan to race a
10k in Aberdeen towards the end of March. I’d certainly be hoping to get under
34 minutes, possibly even dipping under 33. But I need to remember not to get
too carried away with the running – too much fast and tough running is risky as
it carries the highest risk of injury out of all the different types of swim,
bike and run training I do. And I really, really don’t want to get injured.
Anyway, a great weekend with a great squad of people.
Hopefully we’ll all be around next year to fight for 3 in a row…
It was an easy training week this
week, tapering down for the race:
Mon 9 Feb: Rest
Tues 10 Feb: Rest
Wed 11 Feb: 25 min run
Thu 12 Feb: 30 min turbo
Fri 13 Feb: Rest
Sat 14 Feb: 12km cross-country, 39:27
Sun 15 Feb: Swim 1.6km
Totals: Swim 1.6km, Bike 10 miles,
Run 10 miles
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