Yes, it was ages ago. I’m coming out of what I call a post race dip of eating, drinking and sleeping. Perhaps dip is the wrong word, but it’s a rest up, but ar last here is my story about Connemara.
The race was great, if you haven’t heard we ran 04:11:20 a twenty minute improvement on our New York Marathon of 2009. My ASICS worked really well for us, and despite feeling ill the day before, and bit a struggle for me in the first half, we finished strong and happy.
After an hour bus journey (spent eating) to the start we stepped out into the wild west. We were among the first to arrive, accompanied by Germans and spattering of other timely nations across Europe and a few Irish. We sat on a mossy ditch and tried to keep warm and enjoyed the stunning view of Twelve Bens rising up over Lake Inagh into the clouds.
There was no starting line yet, just an A3 sign on a stick saying “Start Connemara Marathon”. Yes, we are in Connemara. It’s low tech, low fuss and super friendly. The Germans went up and took turns having their photo with the sign- some excellent return on investment for race director “Ray” on that front.
The excitement built as morning drew on people went through those same rituals I witnessed in New York: tubs of vaseline, Deep Heat, watch calibration, lace tightening, the perpetual fiddling with shoes, bibs and all manner of things. I was surprised by the European/American mix of people- how had they even found out about this little race? Running adventurers, seeking out exotic places to do their next 42, and it was their “next”- their legs had years of long runs.
In the midst of it all in a growing crowd Ray tried to avoid having any runners getting run over by a buses and ambulances while waiting for the off, “Lads, will ye keep in out of the road! There’s a bus trying to pass!” People would reluctantly move, the growing line for the port-a-los would step away so as not to lose place and cheat death by a half inch.
We got ready to start 10am but before we set off, we had one of the best moments of the day. Before the marathon start, they wanted to let the Ultra marathon leaders to run past, so as not to be hindered by the slower marathoners. We all moved over a meter or so, and then they came, fast and smiling a small group of runners went by and a huge cheer went up, whistles, clapping, people leaned and arched their necks to catch a glimpse of them go by. I thought to myself – you are heroes. Fearless and smiling into that distance. I was stunned they were going so fast.
A few more came by, some alone, more applause and support, it was incredible. I was touched by this moment which wasn’t orchestrated, no speakers, no cheer leaders. What could have been a better start? I was so happy to see Ultras get this support, not the usual shaking of heads and calling them crazy but respecting them and cheering them on deservingly. How could I not be inspired to run my best, they were taking on 60 kilometers I could surely do 42!
We started and my sickness took it’s toll on me at the start, uphills and downhills put pressure on the lungs that were just getting by. The Man pushed me on, pushing the pace and not letting me make excuses. As the miles went by I settled down to running and enjoyed it more. Water stops came every 3 miles and indeed with mile markers I didn’t count the kilometers any more. I just ran. The crowd thinned out and somtimes it was like we were on one of long runs.
The course was so varied it kept every kilometer interestring, we never knew what was around the next bend, uphill or downhill, bridges, crossroads, pubs and people out clapping for us. The first turn was at Kylemore on the 6 mile mark and a with a sharp right up a hill and then later we had the slope down along Killiary Harbor and on into Leenane to ease the legs. The turn up and out of Leenane was torture and at that moment runners we greeted by U2 in Macnas style street performance outfits at exactly the half way point. The Edge gave me a high five. They were playing “Stuck in a moment”, which may not be the most helpful song for someone stuggling at the half way point, but took my mind off the hill and that was the whole point I guess.
For me, things got easier as time went on though I was happy to have brought extra gels and a few sachets of sugar (a trick from Ron Teunisse) to keep me going. As we dragged up the hill after Leenane, the Devils Mother rising up on the left we set out into the second half.
I have less sharp memories of that part of the race, it was easier to run though. At one point we came around a bend and the landscape opened out in front of us and then the wind brought a abelt of drizzle into our faces. I dont remember panicking, just thinking “well, what did you expect in Ireland?!” As I’ve had before, the drizzle was almost nice, cooling us and putting a new perspective on things.
We chatted with people, we passed them they passed us. As the race progressed we started to play our usual game of choosing a runner up ahead and focusing on catching them. Each one you catch is a victory and then it’s one to the next one. It’s a rewarding way to run through tiredness and your mind feels reassured. One thing with this game is that there is always one irritating person who keeps speeding up and passing you out again and you have to take them again, and that can be a no win.
As we ran on, we saw what they call the Hell of the West come into view, a very very long hill stretching up and out of view. We stuck to our game but after a while, we realised that everyone was walking. I hate walkers. I will say it plainly but I was actually angry at people at this stage, they were marathon and half marathon RUNNERS and they were all walking, a few ultras manged to run on. We always see walking as the total last resort and I would rather stop than walk.
The Man had coached me through my tough first half and now he was finding it hard to put up with running through walkers. I tried to keep us going. This is when you need inward focus, where you have to disregard what everyone else is doing and just keep going. Blinkers on, we just ran. I thought of all the Ron Teunissse stories, the Knippenburg stories, the pure determination, the need for strength that it’s not in your legs- it’s in your head. I told The Man – “Ron wouldn’t stop now-would he?” Stop now and you’re dead.
The Hell of the West levelled out after what felt like years, but I always imagined that the finish line was at the top of the hill. You can imagine my disappointment when I saw the road stretched out into the distance, the finish not even in sight. Well, we’d have to get home so the only thing to do was run.
The finish did appear and we crossed the line in 04:11:20, exactly the same time for both of us. We got our medals- a beautiful one- and then wandered into the usual post race pandemonium. I kid you not, Irish people were queuing for BURGERS after the race,- my stomach turned. Some people just needed a burger I guess. We got a our baggage back and then ensud the nightmare bus ride back to Galway. A bus after a race is never a good idea and after 20min we both sat there with one empty baggage bag emptied and ready for what was ever left in our stomachs. Imagine? You run 42km and it’s the kilometers in the bus that get the better of you.
We made it Galway with our stomachs intact, thought with thoroughly green faces. Text messages and phone calls made, trying to explain how it went, the message never quite getting across. You realise that people can’t really understand unless they’ve been there and it was just us.
Ray and his team of volunteers put on the Connemara Marathon. The water stations were perfectly staffed by teenagers and children showing that young people can be incredibly supportive, responsible and uplifting. Everything happened on time and as it should.
There is no cut off time at this race, Ray waits himself to give the medals to the last runners over the line, they receive the same honor and congratulation as those who win the race. For the days after, every plastic bottle cast aside on the day is picked up and recycled. This is a race that respects it’s runner’s and it’s route. It’s not the biggest race, not the most spectacular. You won’t spot any celebs or high profile running stars. It’s full of ordinary people who do extraordinary things with their lives. I still don’t even not who won.
Running this race was good for me physically but it goes much further than that. Have a look at the photos on flickr and you’ll see that the memories will probably never fade. I know mine won’t.
Visit the Connemara Marathon Flickr group: Bill is was the last finisher, Ray is the race director
