Nearly There
As I inched up the mountain, right foot forward, left foot dragging behind, hood up to block out the outside world as well as the rain, what struck me most was what I was not thinking. With the wind and rain seemingly joining forces to force me back down the mountain and the stones beneath my feet intent on causing me grievous bodily harm, the obvious thought should be ‘why’. Why am I doing this? Why go on? What is to be gained from finishing now? These were not just the questions I should’ve been asking but the questions I normally would ask regarding the most mundane tasks. Yet here I was wincing every time my left foot was raised to meet my right, waving my arms like a tightrope walker trying to maintain my balance, and I only had one thought in mind: ‘keep going’. By this stage all my competitors had overtaken me and I was even losing ground to casual walkers, but I kept going, right foot forward left foot beside. The stream of competitors passing by as they made their descent slowed to a trickle, the few faces I raised my head to meet would smile and offer words of encouragement, “nearly there”. As I rounded each bend the gradient got steeper, the ground under foot looser and the cloud thicker, right foot forward left foot beside. My head now tilted to the ground searching for my next footing, I had been ‘nearly there’ for the last 200 yards. All thoughts of reaching the top had evaporated from my mind, my energy was reserved for one thought ‘right foot forward left foot beside’. After not looking up for some time I had climbed my way into a crevice, three-foot-high banks surrounded me with my only options to go backwards or climb out. With my left leg only useful for standing, backwards was the sensible option but I couldn’t reconcile that with my mind set, I must keep going forward. Taking a deep breath and sucking a mouthful of water from my Camelbak I leaned forward put my two hands on top of the ridge in front of me and raised my right leg until I could place my knee on the bank, putting pressure on my knee I then lifted my body up on to the ridge and in one last movement I tried to drag my left leg over the bank but pains shot through my body. I jolted as if hit by lightning and rolled on to my back, screaming in agony, my leg dangling from the ridge. As the pain continued to shoot through my body I used my two hands to grab behind my knee and lift it on to the bank, turning in one swift movement, ending up lying on my side, my face resting on the ground. What happened next is what I can only described as a moment of clarity, time did not stand still nor did I forget the cold rain that was now pelting my foetus like body, I just suddenly understood that these things didn’t matter and all that came from one thought ‘Karen is waiting for me at the finish line’. On to my knees and then slowly to my feet I looked up and thought ‘nearly there, right foot forward left foot beside’.
Pot Belly
These stories tend to start with dramatic out-of-breath moments or doctors laying down the law. Some arbitrary line in the sand that marks the ‘change’ when the protagonist goes from being an overweight lethargic mess to super fit Adonis ready to take on the world, but my reality has always been a bit less dramatic. At 32 I had grown accustomed to making excuses not to exercise, I couldn’t run because my knees hurt and I didn’t have time to train, never mind do any event. It is funny how I always found time to try a new restaurant or café for lunch and I could walk for Ireland if there was cake or ice-cream at the end of it. I wasn’t exactly unfit either, I would play football once a week and could tackle the occasional cycle without too much panting, but I could see my future literally stretching out before my eyes. What had been a little ‘pot belly’ was turning into a veranda keeping my feet and gentleman region permanently in the shade. If action wasn’t taken soon I could end up in serious health trouble.
The Spur
My wife (Karen) had taken up running in 2011 and after a sticky start she was soon out three times a week easily doing at least 7km. I made a number of half-hearted attempts to join her but the will wasn’t there and her words of encouragement fell on deaf ears. I watched with pride as she completed several 10km races and could see the sense of achievement she took from each one. I was content to be a bystander cheering her over the finish line. This continued into 2013, I would periodically get the urge to go out and run or jump on my bike but it never lasted, I always found a way to prioritise something else. So it was quite innocuous that in the Christmas of 2013 a small seemingly insignificant action would start a chain of events that would lead to me on that mountain, right foot forward left foot beside. In the week before Christmas Karen and I went shopping for our final presents for our family and ended up in a sports store. Karen was in need of a new pair of runners and as we neared the running section we noticed they had a treadmill set up to do gait analysis. Karen jumped on and after 10 minutes a friendly assistant was advising her on the best type of shoes. Out of boredom I gave it a shot and was then pointed to the best type of shoe for my gait. Not really interested in buying, I tried on a few shoes while Karen tried to prioritise function over fashion. With her decision finally made we got up to go to the checkout when the assistant pointed out that all runners were buy-one-get-one-half-price, intrigued at the thought of getting a bargain I hastily picked one of the pairs of runners I had tried on and we made our way to the checkout. I had a new pair of runners and I was going to use them.
Running
In typical undramatic form, I put on the new shoes on a wet day at the start of January 2014 and went for a run. Nothing had changed and by the time I reached the 2km mark the familiar pains set in and I began to walk. I started jogging again but for no more than 200 metres before I was back walking. By the time I got home I had completed 4km, less than 3km was jogging but I wasn’t disheartened, ever the optimist I made the simple plan to go back out in a couple of days and this time don’t start walking until I hit 3km and I did. It may seem accidental but to me it was just obvious, by trying to go that little bit further each time I could physically see the improvements I was making, encouraging me to go out week after week and go just that little bit further each time. I was now running but with no goal in sight days would be missed and after a couple of months I could feel my interest start to wane. In June I was back at another finish line watching Karen complete another 10km when I made the rather snap decision that I was going to do an adventure race. It was a combination of seeing what my wife had achieved and the pleasure she took from it that made me realise I needed a challenge, a race to work towards and a finish line to cross. Not wanting this opportunity to pass, I was on the laptop that evening and registered for the GaelForce West before telling anyone of my decision.
GFW
Although my decision to register for an adventure race can be traced to that fateful day in 2014 when Karen crossed the finish line in the women’s mini marathon, choosing to go to the GaelForce West was much more linear. Having decided to do an adventure race the first one that sprung to mind was GFW simply because my brother-in-law Ger was doing it. I knew GFW did not contain a swim section, something I was not very good at, but very little else. Even when registering I went straight to the register page before reading the race details. For me the important thing was to sign up, so I did. GFW is a 67km point-to-point adventure race containing running, kayaking and cycling. The race also includes running to the top of Croagh Patrick, a formidable 764 metres high mountain in the west of Ireland. The race begins with a 13km jog, followed by 1km kayak and then another 4km jog to the bikes. A 35km cycle takes you to the bottom of Croagh Patrick where you ascend to the top before returning to your bike and completing a final cycle of 10km. The final run is a 2km trail run that brings you into the town of Westport and over the finish line. A daunting challenge for even a seasoned competitor but I was not worried. My aim was to finish, set a time and then the next year do it faster.
End up in Hospital?
With the race booked I stepped up my training. Running was my weak point so I focused on logging kilometres. When comfortable at completing 5km I picked up the pace, completing the local 5km loop in 27 minutes. Then it was time to add distance, extending my local loop to 7km before reorganising my training around the Curragh. The Curragh is a wide, open area in Kildare with plenty of room for both trail and road running, perfect practice for GFW. Only used to cycling around the Curragh I underestimated my initial run clocking nearly 14km, an interesting incident that nearly resulted in Karen calling the mountain rescue team to search for me. With better planning I found some good mixed and hilly 8km to 10km routes that perfectly suited my training while also fitting in long cycles over the weekend. I found carrying a backpack, which I would need to do for the GFW, slowed my pace down on the run but my aim was only to finish so I concentrated on the distance. As the event neared I had covered all the required distances and even fitted in some cycle/run transitions. I was confident that I would not just finish but set a strong time, however not everyone had the same opinion, my Dad joked that I would end up in hospital.
The Day Before
The day before the race was long and tiring, a three hour journey to the west of Ireland was just the start of my day. Driving to the registration and the cycle transition area to drop off my bike took almost 3 hours and by the time I squeezed in dinner and made my way to the B&B, there was little time to do anything but sleep. I was staying with Ger in a B&B 20 minutes from the race meeting point and although we would not be starting at the same time, it was good to share the build up with someone who has experienced it before. We checked over our kit, ensuring we had enough food and drink to last the race and packed it away into our backpacks. Not feeling any nerves I enjoyed a great night’s sleep, waking at 5 to start making our way to the meeting point in Westport. The start line was actually an hour outside of Westport, a journey made by coach with the rest of my competitors. I enjoyed the coach journey, drinking a caffeine drink and marvelling at the beautiful scenery rolling by. After getting off the coach we made our way to the start line, with a slight detour for toilet breaks. The start line was on the beach and as I made my way behind the inflatable start sign, for the first time I thought of the unknown ahead. I knew the distances but what exactly was I facing and how long would it take? 6 hours would be a really good time but it is not unusual for people to take over 8 hours to complete. Luckily this thought did not have too much time to bury itself any further into my psyche, something had been muffled through a loud inhaler and people were running.
14km Run
I followed the crowd, not yet running but a fast walk, climbing over dunes trying to get off the beach. On to the path and the pace was quite fast, knowing what I was capable of I slowed to my preferred running pace (7 minutes per km). I was passed by several competitors but overtook others. At about 3km in there were a series of steep gradient downhill runs. I noticed others used the hills momentum to propel them down but I was steadfast, maintaining my pace. A short climb later and we hit the trails, by this stage I had settled into the middle of the pack, I could see competitors in the distance ahead but could not see anyone over my shoulder. The trail was more difficult than I expected and in parts I was slowed to a walk, dodging puddles and slippery rocks. As the track eased and the surface returned to a more solid footing I felt strong. I was maintaining my pace and even starting to overtake some competitors. A narrow mucky trail marked the end of the first run and swiping into the kayak transition area I felt confident and even buoyed. I would take on some much-needed nutrients and keep going.
Waiting
Unfortunately, my race was to take a turn for the worse and there was nothing I could do about it. I was met with a line of at least 30 competitors in front of me, all waiting for kayaks. Rumours were rife that some people were in the queue for over 40 minutes and as the time ticked by I began to believe that I could be waiting even longer. Standing around on the Connemara coast is never the warmest of occasions but after running 14km and with several hours of competition ahead tensions began to grow. I tried my best to keep moving but gradually I could feel my legs stiffen. Others around me were feeling the cold and some resorted to opening their emergency blankets to keep warm. Finally at the top of the queue, an hour had passed, cold and stiff I climbed into a two-man kayak with a fellow competitor sitting behind me. We were pushed off and straight away I knew something wasn't right. The top of my legs were tight and sore. I shifted around to try get comfortable, dangerously rocking the kayak and taking on water. Unable to ease the pain I concentrated on rowing, the quicker we got across the quicker I could stand up. At the halfway point it happened, my legs jolted straight with cramp forcing me to lean back. The pain intensified and as I wriggled to try to get some relief. I felt a sharp burning sensation in the top of my left leg, this was not good. Lying back I did my best to row and as soon as the water was shallow enough I jumped out and limped on to the beach. Searing with anger I looked for someone to vent at but there was nobody around. I settled for angrily throwing my ore on the ground and limping into the field. I had 4km ahead of me and at limping pace I needed to get moving.
The Limp
Tired, wet and sore I limped into the bike transition area. The site resembled the morning after a music festival. Volunteers in high-vis vests rambled around picking up discarded food wrappers and unwanted clothes, a small number of people gathered around the port-a-loos in various stages of undress and competitors stood beside bikes with blank “what day is it?” expressions etched across their faces. As I reached my bike, I grabbed a protein bar from my backpack. Standing beside my bike I ate the bar slowly, concentrating my mind on the task ahead. I didn't know how my damaged leg would hold up on the cycle and I was concerned I would not reach the mountain in time to be allowed to ascend, but for now I needed to compose myself. I finished the bar, took a deep breath and then started moving. Cycling shoes and shorts had to be put on and I also replaced my t-shirt in an effort to feel at least a little bit dryer. Finally ready, I pushed the bike to the road, threw my right leg over the crossbar and braced myself. In one simultaneous movement I pushed the right pedal forward and lifted myself on to the saddle, finally clipping in my left foot. I was cycling without pain. The cadence of my peddling was not affected by the left leg problems, I felt good.
35km Cycle
On the bike and on the road I felt comfortable, but there was no one around. I had lost a lot of ground after the kayak and without competitors to measure against I found it difficult to discern my progress. I peddled onward, keeping the gear ratio high and tackling the hills head on. I felt as if I was working with the road, each tough climb was rewarded with a long smooth decline, giving me a chance to take on nutrients. Spotting two competitors ahead I smiled, I was making up ground. I quickly over took a couple bickering, either he was cycling too fast or she was cycling too slow, perspective is everything. I peddled on and more came into view, each one acting as the preverbal carrot. As I encountered hills I would attack, over taking on the climb and increasing the gap on the descent. Turning on to bog roads the ground became rough and unsuited to the stiff road bike. I cycled on passing others who took the safer option of walking. Then the road plateaued, suddenly there was a new element to tackle, the wind came rushing in from the side forcing me to counterbalance its force. The rain began to attack my bare skin as if angered by its very existence. On I went, not always quickly but always making ground. As I climbed the last hill and spotted the Croagh Patrick transition area I smiled, for a brief moment before unclipping each foot I forgot about the problems with my left leg and the challenge that lay ahead.
Croagh Patrick
I got off the bike, placed it on the ground and changed my shoes. Taking the opportunity to stuff some tropical mix into my pocket to munch on during the climb. Checking I had everything ready I slowly walked to the climb entrance and tagged through. Ahead of me was a short 100-yard jog through a marsh-like field before starting the climb. Here we go I thought as I headed into the field. Stepping over a small ditch it was time to start jogging again. My left leg didn't agree. Straight away the pain shot down my side, “your done” it said but I wasn't prepared to listen. I was going up that mountain even if I had to drag my leg behind me. After eventually crossing the field I started my climb and the process of right foot forward left foot beside. A process that would take me into and out of the Crevasse, lift my wet, tired and sore body off the ground and eventually take me to the top of the mountain. The top of the mountain was shrouded in dense cloud cover, it took me several minutes to find my bearings before I finally spotted the tagging station that was two foot in front of me. Even if it had been a clear day I was in no mood for taking in the view, I needed to push on. As I turned to start making my way back down I stopped, “was that a church”. Looking over my shoulder I validated this strange sight “Yep, a feckin church”. The descent was not any easier, each step had to be watched, but this time it was left foot forward right foot beside. Easing my way down I was joined by a fellow competitor who had injured his ankle on the climb, together we successfully reached the bikes and before parting he asked “Are you going to finish?”, my response was emphatic “Even if I have to crawl”.
To The Finish
Back on the bike it was not long before the terrain took a turn for the worse. The tarred road turned to rough track, littered with rocks and stone. At first I kept peddling, with vibrations shooting up my arms, but as the track wore on I began to lose control of the bike. It was mostly downhill and as the bike picked up speed my ability to control and even stop was dramatically reduced. After getting bounced from one side of the track to the other and narrowly missing a rather sharp looking fence I decided to walk. I limped on, holding my bike by the saddle as it tried to race me down the hill. Turning at a rather steep corner I spotted a volunteer ahead, indicating I was finally nearing a proper road. Right enough the volunteer was there to warn competitors of oncoming traffic. As I passed him and moved over to the left side of the road I climbed back on my saddle for the last time. Progressing along the road I picked up speed. Peddling hard as I made way to the outskirts of Westport and followed the coast road into the final transition area. Dismounting and walking the last 10 yards, I dropped my bike on the first spare piece of grass I could find. Another change of shoes and I was on my way. Only 2km to go. As I entered the final trail I met a fellow competitor called Declan who had injured his knee on Croagh Patrick but like me was determined to finish. We limped on together sharing stories of our ordeal. After what seemed like the longest 2km of my life, I spotted the inflatable finish line up ahead, one slight bend and we will be on the home straight. I looked at Declan, we shook hands and as we turned the last corner we jogged. I saw Karen ahead and ran straight to her, hugging her as I crossed the line. I had done it.
Worthwhile Pursuits
An hour later I was sitting in Ger’s car on our way to Sligo. After crossing the finish line I switched to auto-pilot. My race was finished but there were things to do, I needed to pick up my bike, get out of my wet clothes and get something to eat. The bowl of pasta that was shoved in my hands while I waited for my times had barely scratched the surface of my hunger. Now sitting in the passenger seat of the car, half naked with only a towel preventing the conversation from getting awkward and a brown paper bag made translucent by its devoured greasy contents lying on my lap, I finally took stock of what I had done. I set myself a challenge and didn't stop until it was achieved. I dealt with setbacks and kept going and suffered excruciating pain and pushed through. Most of all I enjoyed every minute of it. Smiling from ear to ear and licking the salt and chip grease from my fingers I knew the question had changed. It would no longer be ‘will I race’ it was now ‘when can I race’.
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