With thanks to Ger Solan for this report on his Cork Marathon, 6th June 2016.
I went to Cork last Monday with the aim of removing a monkey from my back. Said monkey S3A continued to remind me related to two failed attempts to join him in the sub three ranks. Sometimes, while on the edge of slumber, my mind drifting to the likes of sun infused Picasso like haystacks or other such sweet thoughts, I would be disturbed by a ping. None other than a message from S3A bringing me back the harsh reality of life with a reminder of the existence of said primate on ones’s back.
Cork has not been a happy hunting ground for me. In 2008 full of youthful enthusiasm …ok youthful relative to now!, I went to Cork looking for a good performance. On a beautiful June bank holiday Monday I had made it to the 23 mile mark on the ‘Carrigrohane Straight’ only to both legs to start cramping up, and indeed go ‘straight’, and refuse to bend even slightly. This was June down south…not July elsewhere! I hobbled like a toddler with a ‘present in his pants’ for two miles before finishing at a slow trot. I nearly turned off for my hotel, which at one stage was closer than the finish line, but thankfully didn’t.
Last Sunday I returned to Cork. With the one way traffic system with many streets closed off I was relieved to get to City Hall and collect my number just in time.
Although a 3 minute walk from the start, it was refreshing to be woken by some international visitors in the adjoining room of the Metropole at 5.30. They were clearly a lot more enthusiastic about this run than I was!
It was another beautiful bank holiday Monday morning. Great for supporters of the various races, if not the competitors. I arrived at the start area around 8.15 for the 9.00am start. It was almost deserted. The crowds eventually did gather and once all the local athletes were allowed to dominate the front lines we were ready to start in the warm morning sunshine. After the first mile I came across Una, a local athlete who was targeting a similar pace. I was intending to start out at 6.40-6.45 pace, she was thinking about 6.35-6 40. So we compromised on 6.35-6.40 pace….mainly 6.35!
I ran most the first half of the marathon like the invisible man. I know this because everyone was shouting ‘come on Una’ as we passed. After 4 or 5 miles Una started to feel guilty and started to point out the occasional ‘come on Ger’ or ‘come on Dunboyne’.
The first 13 miles went very smoothly and we passed through the half way mark in under 1.28. The only problem to arise at this stage was that I ended up at the front of a group of 6 in an open unsheltered area running into the wind. I came across a really helpful local relay runner who gave me some good advice and ran in front of me at an agreed 6.40 pace for two miles to shelter me from the wind and to save me some energy.
The next challenge was unexpected. We rounded a corner to find a street brimming over with mis-directed half marathon participants. It was like trying to run through Leeson street at 4.00am on the last Friday night before Christmas….or so I’m told. I must confess to parting with a few expletives as we were engulfed in the crowded half marathon field …or the 13.6 race, as they call it in Cork! Luckily I found out in time that I was taking a wrong turn at the end of the street (i.e. left rather than right). I rather unsportingly dropped my shoulder and scuttled across the masses to get back on course, albeit now with a rather slow mile in the bag.
There were no more incidents until mile 20 when Una came across Nollaig the heretofore leader of the ladies race. After pleasantries were exchanged Nollaig ran through a couple of ailments, which didn’t include going out too fast in the heat!, to explain how she had been caught by Una. All this before she speeded up to overtake Una again. For the next mile and a half I turned from race participant to interested spectator as the lead of the ladies race continued to swap over. In the end I rued the fact that I hadn’t borrowed Mick Foy’s summer frock, to allow me compete rather than spectate on this duel. After a closer than normal shave with the cyclist covering the ladies leader I drifted off to run my own race.
I generally remained inside 3 hour pace up until mile 23 but then started to fade, the heat was catching up with me, along with some of the faster early miles. The battle between the brain trying to shut the body down and the runner trying to hit their goal set in. I settled into 7.12 a mile pace knowing that this was enough to hit my target time. I reached St Patrick street to see the clock hit 2.59, a surprise as had thought I’d a small bit more time to spare (I had forgotten that the recorded distance on my watch was showing 0.25 longer than the 26.2). I got over the line in a net time of 2.59.07, enough to remove the aforementioned monkey from my back! Bizarre, how important it is to try and achieve an arbitrary time over an arbitrary distance! After crossing the line I meet Peter Somba who, after winning the half, looked as fresh as a daisy! I’m sure that he didn’t quite think the same about me…
I arrived home on Monday evening eager to celebrate….I see you haven’t mowed the lawn this weekend…no I was away, but I have good news…what! you’ve invented something that trims grass and hedges!…not yet…ok what was your good news then…ah! ‘Twas nothing important really…
In the club I’m always grateful for the excellent coaching, led by Tony who also shows great patience dealing with runners like myself ! and also there are many runners in the club that act as mentors to others. For me S3A, Emilia, Paul Gannon, Gerry and Rory have all been great with advice and guidance, for which I am always grateful.
