Six kilometres in and finally leaving the bog, there was a water station. It was a self supported event, so there was no water stop in the plans. It was just after 10am and the temperature was already in the mid 20s. The water bottle I was carrying was empty and for the first time since the start line I was surrounded by three competitors from my wave. I took a deep breath and stopped to fill my bottle.
We took our positions on the socially distance startline.I took up a position on the front row to try and avoid getting caught behind a bunch, Karen was standing in the row behind. I was focusing on the trail ahead, well, field ahead. A route marked by small red and yellow poles about 5 metres apart. I didn’t hear the start gun, alarm or claxon. Just 5,4,3,2,1 and I was gone. 20 paces in and my heart was pounding, my breath short and frantic. I ran through the grass field, following the poles. Over the mounds of wet grass that sat on the top of other mounds of grass, ascending the side of an nondescript mountain. My watch beeped for one kilometre. I tried to slow my breathing, still moving, still racing but in control. I looked behind, through the grass fields and no one. Ahead an arrow, a right turn and finally on to a stoney track. I could see back across the field towards the start line now. Only one competitor was visible about 100 metres back. On the track I could finally let loose and run. Up and down the hills and past marshalls. Then a quick left, over a narrow bridge and back into fields. No, bog. I kept light, jumping from tufts of grass to dried mud, hoping I wouldn’t sink, or fall. Through another gate, sharp left and then. I was face down in the grass, my right leg submerged in boggy blackness. Back to my feet and ahead was a competitor from wave 1. Wave 1 started 15 minutes before my wave. I passed the wave 1 competitor and several more as I started my assent of the mountain.
The mountain, a glorified grassy slope, was unforgiving. I kept moving, kept lifting my legs, kept pushing myself upwards. The heat from the sun was suddenly unavoidable and every inch of my skin was moist and salty. My calves screamed with pain as my feet were forced back towards my shin with each step I took. I crested the top and a marshall pointed me onwards. Another field, another bog. Downhill I ran and jumped, trying to avoid another peaty mess where I might lose a runner or worse my leg. I fell, I got back up, I fell again and then a water station.
My water bottle filled and back on a path, I was in control again. Moving fast, the three competitors from my wave were quickly left behind, not to be seen again. I passed more competitors from wave 1. I was running well, running fast. When the sound of trainers hitting tarmac reached my ears I sped up and raced into transition. Helmet on and bike ready, I stopped, took a breath and mounted.
The cycle was glorious. I had two bottles on the bike. One, frozen the night before, was still ice cold to taste. The other, a gel infused carbohydrate mix. I alternated between them as I climbed away from transition and turned right onto the main course. With the speed of the bike, the sun's intensity was eased. I could take in the spectacular views of the Killary fjord and the little lakes that surrounded it. Lakes so clear that if you stare long enough at them you get disorientated, not knowing the sky from the water. The sharp aggressive cliff faces and mountains seemed at home in the beauty that surrounded them. I soaked in the majestic scenery, all the while pedalling hard. A sharp right turn at the halfway point brought me face to face with the most challenging aspect of the bike course, a short but steep climb. I tried to stand up to force myself up the hill but my trainers bent and contorted around the pedals. They had become a soggy mess from the bog and no longer provided the necessary rigidity. Sitting down again I increased my cadence and dug deep. Sweat was dripping from my forehead onto the handlebars of the bike. After every tough climb comes the descent and this was no different. I pedalled fast down the hill hoping that when the road levelled out my momentum would keep me moving at a fast pace. As I raced back towards transition I came across Karen on her outward traverse. She was cycling well and I cheered her on as we passed.
Back to transition, bike racked and out on to the last stage. The first part of the stage was a downhill run. Shortly into this run I realised I was still wearing my helmet. I immediately took it off and then spent what felt like ages deciding whether to leave it on the ground and pick it up later, or to carry it through this last stage. By the time I made my decision I was at the Kayak, I was carrying it with me so. I was offered a single person kayak, a rarity in this sort of race, and gratefully climbed on board and began rowing. The water was still and the sun beaming, this would pass for a relaxing activity on any other occasion. I rowed steadily around the course, picking off another competitor from the first wave. The final run to the finish line would see me pass three more competitors, the last one making an effort to stay in front of me. I sprinted hard to overtake him and finally crossed the finish line.
Immediately after the race my focus shifted to Karen. I had no idea how far behind me she was but I wanted to see her cross the finish line. I stood in the shade scanning transition and the finish line. While waiting I overheard a few competitors talk about how tough the race was in the heat. I knew my race time was just under two and half hours but I had no idea if this was a good time. I knew I was first in my wave but I could’ve been in a slow wave. A lot of the faster competitors would’ve gone out in wave one. This left me subdued. I was happy with my effort but needed to know where I finished. When Karen ran over the finish line all thoughts of my own race went straight out of my head. I was really happy for her and remembered the pleasure I took from completing my first race. The joy in reliving the experience through updating others. It was great to see Karen experience that and do so well.
At 5pm, 5 hours after I crossed the finish line in GaelForce Connemara, I sat outside a hotel in Westport grinning from ear to ear. Karen, Ger and I shared a small table, slightly shaded by the building behind us, that looked out onto the town square. In the square a guitar player sat on a small stool playing just-about recognizable pop songs while an elderly woman danced in front of him. Ger tucked into a plate of fish and chips and Karen quietly sipped on a glass of sparkling lemonade. In my hand was a large glass of ice cold cider and in my head an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction. I finished 22nd out of a field of 387.
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