Yeah, yeah, I’ve used that click bait before. And rather than labour the gag which isn’t that funny really, I’ll spill the beans now, just as I did when I finished my 27th parkrun yesterday. As I sucked air into my lungs between the finish chute and tally scanner, I said to the guy in front that I had worked out the secret to getting fast times.
“What’s that then?” he asked.
“Run faster” I replied.
So this was me the night before. S and I were heading up to a friend’s 50th birthday, and as it’s Hallowe’en, we were dressing up.
The make-up took a little while to do, and as I knew I was parkrunning the next morning, I just bedded down on old pillow and hoped most of it would stay on. Which it did.
The buzz was good down at Griffeen in Lucan the next morning, and there were 124 souls all told, some of whom had dressed up as well.
I decided I may as well give it a lash, so I set off a good pace. I had the Garmin on, though hadn’t really worked out what pace I should be doing. I did dip a little in the middle section which is roughly around the long drag back to the finish (it’s a two lap course). The route crosses a stream twice per lap, and from the second bridge back to the end is one long incline. But overall, I was able to push it over the line and get a new PB of 21.15.
The face became even spookier with the sweat and gunk sliding down. But the Race Director, Paul, was sufficiently impressed to give me a bag of sweets for my troubles. It took a long shower and much scrubbing to get it back to something akin to normal. Or at least what passes for normal regarding my face anyway…
In other news, my mate Ciaran finally broke his marathon hoodoo and came in under the four mark with a time of 3.58. Epic stuff. He reckoned the Dublin Marathon has become too full now; Over 19,500 took part. It’s great for the race overall, and puts Dublin firmly on the global map of marathons to do, but the streets are not that wide for most of it, and he reckoned there was very little room to manoeuvre about and get a good line, or even stick to your chosen pace. Not a problem for Dereje Debele Tulu of course, winning in 2.12:08.
Apropos of nothing in particular, this car sticker caught my eye the other day as I was getting my own fixed.
Irish people know all about the day Garth didn’t come to town. It’s a rather bizarre tale, and truth be told I can’t be arsed to tell it now, as I’m just in the door from a run and need a shower, and then food. But suffice to say it was a hullabaloo of epic proportions. It’s only a couple of years ago though it feels like a lifetime. Someone even wrote a bleedin’ play about. Jaysus, they sure did milk it alright. Mind you, somewhere out in the shticks there’s probably an old warehouse full to the brim (sic) with cheap plastic stetsons. And the owner says a little prayer every day that the Tulsa Legend will return.
That’s all the news that fit to print. Be safe out there if you’re running of an evening. Get that head torch on, and a few reflective bits and bobs.