Run for your life!!!!

I've been mulling over how best to start off this report and given everything that's happened since DCM 2018, "woke up at 6am" doesn't seem to cut it somehow.
On a personal level, 2019 was peppered with a number of personal stumbling blocks which at times threatened to derail everything I was working towards, but it was running day in, day out that saved the day each and every time. That's all for another day, and not for these pages.
As for my target time, as soon as I unleashed 3:30 out into the ether, it was like a weight had been lifted. It's been something of a holy grail for me since last year, as if it were a rite of passage or something that had to be accomplished before even thinking about a 3:20 or a 3:15. That said, for as many times as I was assured by others that it was not beyond me, there were still the seeds of doubt which, I know by now, are all part and parcel of running.
Throughout the various training blocks in 2019, apart from the handful of races I've done (each of which I'm mostly happy with), I have been completely and solely focused on one thing: to come away from DCM 2019, knowing that I gave it absolutely everything I had. Pressure? What pressure?

Pre-race
I had booked a place on the coach into town with the Lucan Harriers crew and enjoyed some friendly chat with some of them that I already know as parents of kids in the Juniors group. A breathtakingly beautiful late-Autumnal sunrise was a sight to behold and with clear skies forever, I knew the day would bring perfect running conditions. As soon as we arrived into city centre and stepped off the bus, I learned that one of the Harriers works in the Mansion House and that it was tradition each year for everyone to walk up Dawson St, avail of the facilities/get changed/ relax in the warmth of the salubrious surroundings of the main reception room of the Mansion House before making their way to the bag drop. After some nervy chat with the others about our respective target times and previous race experiences, I decided it was time to make my own way to Merrion Square and leave the others to it.
The bag drop, just like the previous year, was super efficient and once I was sure I had everything I needed, I started walking in the direction of the Green Wave. It was right at this moment that I felt as if someone who had been holding my hand throughout the entire training block had suddenly let go, leaving me to figure things out for myself. It was all up to me now.
As I passed the queues upon queues of runners at the line of portaloos, I was relieved that I had emptied the tank earlier, so to speak. I had another 20 minutes or so to spare before Wave 2 took off but thinking that time was on my side, I decided that just to be on the safe side, I should join one of the queues. After what seemed like only a few minutes, I checked the time and saw that it was already 8:55, only 10 minutes before Wave 2 took off. Given the size of the queue, I jumped ship and before moving up towards the start line, I thought I'd find a quiet spot and do a few last-minute stretches. This is where I bumped into Mr. Guappa and we had a brief chat about all the things you chat about 10 minutes before a race. By now, I had stupidly convinced myself that I really needed the toilet so after bidding farewell and good luck to Mr G, I joined dozens of other desperate souls (male and female alike) and found the nearest 'discreeet' spot to...you know....ahem.
Another time-check and with only 2 minutes to spare, I sprinted around the corner to make my way as far up towards the start line as a I could. With all the crowds, the furthest I was able to make it was about 100 metres behind the 3:50 pacers. What are you doing? This was not in the plan!!! Ok, just relax, you'll be fine. This is not the time to panic.
As the wave took off and we walked slowly towards the start line, it hit me like a ton of bricks. This was it, it was happening. All the training, the pre-dawn runs, all the miles covered, the sacrifices made. It all came down to this. Make it count. Whatever you do, just make it goddamn count. Tears.

Miles 1-3
Through the gantry and off we go. Stick to the corners, keep it tight. Keep it simple. Remember to take a gel every 45 minutes. Don't pass a water station empty-handed.
First thing I noticed was just how congested it all was. Running along Leeson St and down past Stephen's Green, even though I knew this opening mile would be handy enough, it felt like I was completely penned in and that there was practically no room to manoeuvre. Not only that but I was also hit with the realisation that as well as having to catch up with the 3:50 pacers, I would also need to catch the 3:40 group and potentially the 3:30 group too. You’re not supposed to be even thinking about mental arithmetic at this stage! Complete schoolboy error, you've just given yourself a mountain to climb and we're not even 5 minutes into the race. Calm, just stay calm and run your own race. Just look at all these people.
After all the shuffling, dodging feet and failed attempts at overtaking, mile 1 came in over 30 seconds slower than planned. Hardly a good start. Put it behind you and just start chipping away. Up past Patrick's Cathedral and still no sign of things opening up. Starting to feel frustrated with the situation now and annoyed with myself for taking my eye off the ball when things had been so relaxed beforehand.
Down the hill along Winetavern Street, putting the brakes on ever so slightly before hitting the South Quays. 3:50 pacers still in front but gaining on them gradually. Not a problem, we've got this. You know what you have to do. Mile 2 was a marginal improvement and we're getting back on track. Up the incline towards Manor St, and once again, that 'crammed in' feeling was becoming apparent as we approached the first water station. Plan was to grab two bottles which I just about managed to do and the bottle-neck at the beginning of Aughrim St. caused another few seconds delay. Getting impatient now but told myself not to worry, once we're in the Park we'll be motoring. Already started planning the approaching miles in terms of roughly when I should be reaching/leaving behind the 3:40 pacers. A buzz from the watch showed Mile 3 had lost me some more precious time. Stay where you are Phoenix Park, I'm coming to get you.
Mile splits - 8:53, 8:15, 8:41

Miles 4-7
Running through those gates was a massive relief and eventually overtook the 3:50 pacers at the Zoo but it wasn't till we reached Chesterfield Avenue that I was really able to breathe easy. One down, two to go. I figured that if I was to have any chance of getting anywhere near the 3:30 pacers, I should be free of the 3:40 group by the time we left the Phoenix Park for the second time at the Chapelizod Gate. It seemed like a reasonably achievable target. First gel of the day was taken about halfway up Chesterfield Avenue. Went down a treat and washed down with a drink of water. Who needs Zero tabs eh? Enjoyed the relative peace and quiet of the park compared to the madness of the NCR only moments before. What a difference a year makes, I thought. At this very stage last year, there was indecision, uncertainty and inexperience (and no little amount of bravado) to contend with, simply making it up as I was going along. Now, with those opening miles finally behind me, I found myself striding with purpose (and on pace) towards the Castleknock gates, and more importantly, that bit closer to the 3:40 pacers. The split for Mile 4 brought a sigh of relief and some welcome reassurance that I was still on course. Lost in thought, I had a near miss with the back of a parked Fiat 500 at the side of the road. Concentrate. Feeling replenished after that first gel, we exited the park and into the roar of Castleknock. I wasn't prepared for this last year. Was I ready for it now? Steadily, the crowds grew in size. Signs everywhere. Supporters everywhere. Noise. Music. People. More people. Smiling faces. High-fives.......meltdown. Complete and utter meltdown. I wept uncontrollably. Just let the tears roll, this is the best feeling in the world by a country mile. Look around you and remember this feeling.
Time to check the watch, it's all good. As I started to compose myself and turned off Castleknock village onto College Road, the DJ in the booth shouted my name out. That was me. That was my name!! I gave an enormous "COME ON!!" to the crowd, which was returned with whoops of cheering and complete strangers shouting my name. Jesus wept, I'm not able for this.
Mile splits - 8:07, 7:55, 7:50, 7:54

Miles 8-11
The trundle down College Road was nice and controlled, applying the brakes where necessary and a quick glance ahead showed me the bobbling balloons of the 3:40 group were within touching distance. Lots of over-excited folk here pounding downhill, while a few heavy breathers and even one or two walkers were showing early signs of over-expending. Another buzz of the watch and we're still chipping away.
Back in to the Phoenix Park for another visit and for a brief period, was once again struggling to move past small pockets of runners along the winding path in order to make some headway. Once we got to the Upper Glen Road, the path had cleared and finally, on the descent down towards Chapelizod gate, I passed the 3:40 pacers. Two down. One to go.
Yet another sub-8 minute mile on the watch gave me another little boost as we exited the gates and as we approached double figures, I was still feeling good, even though I was about a minute and a half behind where I'd have liked to be. Took a cup of Lucozade, more out of curiosity than anything. Had a sip and discarded the rest. No thanks. Received a shout out from a familiar face as we crossed the bridge at Chapelizod and turning the corner onto St. Laurence Road, I was more than ready for the first challenge of the day. Told myself from here on in to treat this race as if it were a training run, where I always found myself at my most disciplined. As the ascent continued, I very slightly eased the pace, making sure the it was steady enough while also trying not to lose too much ground. Up over the top and back on to the flat again, making our way towards my dad's home town of Inchicore. As we passed his childhood home, I took the second gel of the day, right on cue, followed by a salt tablet, Much better. Another gulp of water, better still and a drop down the back of the neck for good measure. The easy-ish pace of the previous incline had the split for mile 11 a little slower than the others but was still managing sub-8 minute smiles with ease. Another emotional collapse was fast approaching.
Mile splits - 7:54, 7:55, 7:43, 7:57


Miles 12-15
Kilmainham was looming large and knowing exactly where my wife and kids would be, I positioned myself and got ready to start picking their faces out of the ever-increasing crowds. As we neared the Royal Hospital, the noise grew and grew and I began frantically scanning the crowds in case they had somehow not managed to secure the spot where they said they'd be. Where are they? I don't see them. Too many faces. Turned the corner onto South Circular Road and still struggled to spot them but just when all seemed lost, there they were, right at the front of the barrier, waving their homemade signs and smiles as big as you've ever seen. Ran over to them and instantly, the emotion of the day got the better of me. Gave them all high-fives and ran on, burying my head in my hands, shaking my head as I tried to compose myself. I looked back and pumped both fists in the air towards them, feeling like the happiest man alive. Come on, compose yourself, you can cry all you want at the finish line.
Watch buzzed with another decent split and by now I was trying my best to figure out whether the 3:30 pacers could be caught at all. Surely if I just kept things ticking over and clawed back those lost seconds of the first three miles, 3:30 would still be doable. Don't worry about that just yet, you've still a ways to go. Keep doing what you're doing.
The support along Rialto was superb with folks handing out all sorts of alternative fuelling options, none of which I fancied. I now felt like I was in the zone and when I thought back to last year, I remembered it was at this very point that I felt things take a turn for the worse.
As I got ready for the long stretch between Dolphin's Barn and Crumlin Rd, I heard my name being shouted out. Looked immediately to my left and saw skyblue and Lazare, cheering me on. What a lift that was and perfectly timed too. Now I felt ready for anything and to my amazement, as I ran underneath the halfway point along the Crumlin Rd, I saw that I was bang on target according to where I should be at exactly this point of the race. So far, no signs of fatigue in the legs. Could this be the one? Keep the head down. Focus. The support all the way along this stretch was excellent. Took another gel and was delighted with how my fuelling strategy was working out.
The seemingly endless drag along Crumlin village continued but I knew that my parents would be waiting for me at the Submarine Bar, which would bring another welcome boost. Finally, we made our way up Walkinstown Road and as we got closer to Walkinstown Roundabout, the crowds were once again growing in size and once more, I felt myself choking and being completely overwhelmed by everything and everyone around me. Keep the head now, by all means relish it but no more breakdowns, please. As I ran past the roundabout, the music was pounding out of the speakers and for the second time, my name was called out by the DJ. How did I react? Exactly the same as I did in Castleknock.
Mile splits - 7:47, 7:48, 7:57, 7:46


Miles 16-19
Looked ahead into the distance for a sign of the yellow balloons of the 3:30 pacing group and barely made them out up ahead. I knew too, that I didn't actually have to catch them if I wanted to meet my target. As long as I kept up this kind of pace, I knew it would be enough.
As I approached the Submarine, I saw my Dad first and then my Mam, went bounding over to them with a big happy head and after exchanging high-fives, I ran on and after a few metres, spontaneously leapt into the air, with one arm raised and shouted "COME ON!!". More cheers from the crowd. Is it meant to be this much fun, I wondered?
By now, my pace had quickened if anything and I was into sub 7:45 minute mile territory. My head space was cleared of any doubts, I was feeling in complete control and as we made our way down Fortfield Road, I took another of my salt tablets, just to play it safe. Now, let's enjoy this downhill jaunt and see where it takes us eh?
What I loved most about these miles was that I was actually able to properly enjoy and appreciate them. Last year, running through Terenure and the miles that followed, I was all over the shop, feeling disoriented and out of sorts, wondering even then, how I was still managing to make my legs move. A year later, I find myself freewheeling along and picking off runners for fun as well as spotting the various parts of the route where my many 2018 'blow-ups' occurred. A shout from a work colleague kept the spirits high.
Still not too concerned with the pacers but a small part of me was wondering if this could still happen.
Mile splits - 7:38, 7:42, 7:38, 7:34


Miles 20-23
Into Milltown now, an area I'm not overly familiar with at all but at least I knew where abouts I was on the route. Took another gel and salt tablet. The incline just after Wilde and Green made me wonder why this particular hill doesn't get as much of a mention as Heartbreak Hill, two miles down the road. Managed it ok though - slower than I'd have liked - and once at the top, was able to settle back into my stride. The split for mile 21 came in about 20 seconds slower but I wasn't too worried as I was still under 8 minutes per mile and still felt capable of maintaining this steady pace. I was now in territory where I could start doing a bit of mental arithmetic but thought better of it for now.
Running into Clonskeagh, I picked out yet another scene-of-the-crime location where the previous year I had stopped by the side of the road in desperation and asked a complete stranger for a drink of their Coke.
Thankfully, Heartbreak Hill was a non-event and didn't break me this year, but it did slow me down more than I'd hoped. Further on, a welcome cheer came from some of the Lucan Harriers/Griffeen Parkrun crew and it wasn't long after that that I could finally feel the miles starting to catch up with me. Getting tired now.
Unsurprisingly, the split for mile 22 was just over the 8 minute pace. Only the first one since mile 4, something that gave me a little bit more hope to cling onto.
Most importantly though, I was still on my feet and decided once and for all to forget about the 3:30 heads, just leave them to it. Great support down along Foster's Avenue towards the Stillorgan Road and once we turned onto the dual carriageway, a quick calculation told me that if I kept this up, all I would need were three sub-8 minutes miles to take me to the promised land. A mile 23 split of 7:58 made me think that this was really happening. What could possibly go wrong?
Mile splits - 7:34, 7:51, 8:19, 7:58


Miles 23-26
As we headed towards the slip-road, I could feel that the fatigue was now starting to become a thing. How long have we got left? Quick check to make sure the legs were still moving. Yep, still moving. Checked the pace and we're looking good, even though we're creeping ever so slightly towards 8 minutes, at times, slightly over. Push on, you have to do this. Crossing the dual carriageway and back down the other side, I was finding it more and more of a challenge to keep up the pace, even though I was still passing out a decent number of runners. I couldn't understand how, in such a short space of time, I was now faced with such an uphill battle. This is nothing new. At Ratoath, I struggled during the last two miles. At Frank Duffy, I struggled in the last two miles. At the Docklands 5k, the last mile was hell. Finishing strong is clearly not my forte. Despite this, I also had to pinch myself that the end was almost in sight and that once we turned off Nutley Lane onto Merrion Road, the enormity of what I was undertaking would once again truly hit home.
And it was quite literally, at that very moment, as the split for mile 24 showed 8:38 that I knew the jig was officially up.
With still a mile and a half to go and the legs beginning to quit on me, I tried my best to prepare myself for the final push. Even with the shouts of encouragement from the crowds lining the streets, a quick look at the watch spelled trouble. You’re losing it, come on just TRY!!! Push HARDER!! I was beginning to fade in a big way but ridiculous as it sounds, a very small part of me refused to give up on 3:30, not really appreciating what it would have required. I was grateful for yet another massive and enthusiastic shout out from skyblue and Lazare, to which I had no response. I was officially spent.
Where is the finish line? Has anyone seen the finish line??
The noise was immense and as much as I tried to respond to the shouts and cheers of the crowd – some of whom were inches away, calling out my name – it was no use. Walkers everywhere I looked. Why not join them? You know you want to. Just stop now, it’s ok, nobody will mind.
Looked ahead and saw the last bridge before the finish line came into sight. Eh, you can give up on that 3:30 thing now. Ok, sounds good to me.
Ah yes, the famous blue mat. Finish line getting closer but still fighting the urge to stop.
Me: How did this happen?
Me: What do you mean, you’re practically there! 100 metres, come on, don’t be silly.
Me: No, I can’t.
Me; YES YOU CAN.
Me: Whatever.
Me: I forgot to smile, can I do the blue mat again?
Me: No.
Prepare to land. Touchdown. Stop the watch. NOW you can stop running.
Mile splits - 8:13, 8:38, 8:53 (8:35)

Official time: 3:31:46

So I stopped running and almost immediately, out of nowhere two guys came rushing over to grab an arm each. Asked if I was ok. No words came out. Can you stand? Can you walk? Too many questions, one at a time please. Straight over to the medical tent, still in a complete daze. They kept me in for about 15 minutes, did all the usual tests (very low temperature apparently) and after a feed of Haribos, I was free to go.
Still coming round, I walked out of the tent, almost in a dream-like state, before collecting my medal, race t-shirt and goody bag.
Despite my solemn demeanour, and after giving myself a few moments to let things sink in, I suddenly realised what I’d just achieved. I couldn’t have been happier.
I destroyed my previous PB by a whole 26 minutes and had an experience that could not have been any more different to my 2018 outing, in every single way.
In the end, I was so close and thankfully, not too far away from my goal to make me think that it would always be a bridge too far. I wondered how things might have panned out had I started the race closer to the 3:40 pacing group. Would I have finished in a worse condition that I actually did? No matter. I have decided not to dwell on these conundrums for now and just enjoy the moment, which I most certainly am doing.
Rang my wife to let her know I was still alive (she was beside herself with worry, having tracked my progress on the app) and after collecting my bag and (very slowly) getting changed in the dignity-free zone that was Merrion Square, I made my way to McGrattans to meet all of my “internet friends”, some of them for the first time. I am so thankful that I know all these wonderful people, who share a love of something that I know that I would be now lost without. Also, a special mention must go to the DCM2018 Novices crew who at times kept me on the straight and narrow more than they might think.
Lots of PB stories being exchanged, some great performances all round.

With the dust now settled, it has not taken me long to think about what comes next. For a while, I have had my eye on the Manchester Marathon in April, which would require an almost immediate return to training.
If it works out, I’ll be sitting out DCM 2020 and perhaps spend the rest of the year focusing on shorter distances. We’ll see.

Lastly, I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who reads this log and to those who offered so much invaluable advice to me since the beginning of the year.
I have learned so much in the last 12 months and the goals that I had set myself have all been achieved. I wanted to be a stronger and wiser runner and I feel like I have made some pretty decent headway in that regard.
Now if Liverpool could only go and win that damn Premier League……:rolleyes:

Thanks guys, glad you enjoyed reading it!!