unironedman

I am still awaiting confirmation that I have a ticket for the Dublin Marathon. Its popularity has seen it move from an event that most folks could be confident they would get a ticket for, to a lottery system, in a fairly short space of time. It was inevitable really. It moved to the more standard ‘big city – name in the hat’ option for the 2020 event, with over 22,000 runners.

The possible ticket is coming from a guy I worked with in the fire service, and it’s my ex-boss and Station Officer who is arranging it. As I’ve mentioned before, I have made my peace with this event. What I really need is a focal point to kickstart a training programme. Everything went off the rails when I had my injury, and it’s been idling in the sidings ever since, waiting for a points change (enough of the train analogies! ed.).

My old Station Officer messaged me last week to see if I would be interested in a 5 miler. That was on Wednesday afternoon. The race was that evening. So naturally I said yes. It was in Dunboyne, a small village about 8 kilometres away. I know this place well; we lived there about thirty years ago when Dallan had just arrived. The meeting point and registration were in the local GAA club, a few hundred yards down the road from where we had our first decent apartment. And to access the start line, we had to jog through a little strip of woodland that was about the only safe and pleasant place to walk when you had a newborn in a buggy. I’m pleased to see it hasn’t changed much over the years. Unlike the big, hairy bearded son of ours, who is studying law. Time does that, I suppose!

I have been doing a few shortish runs, with little or no pace. I’ve been avoiding anything strenuous, including parkruns. So the thought of hoofing it around an 8k course at pace was going to be an interesting experience. We weren’t even 100% sure we would get in; the event had been advertised as online entry only, and by the time we were aware of the race, entry had closed. But never fear; when we arrived, we found there were a few other lost souls like ourselves who had failed to get an online ticket, and so we were able to pay at the desk and get a number.

Ciaran is in a similar spot as me, in terms of fitness and training. He was with me when I managed to get my first sub-four hour marathon at Dublin a few years ago. And like me, he is coming back from a few injuries. Nothing, thankfully, as dramatic as mine, but enough to stop you getting in the miles.

So we set of with a large group of runners, and let the speedsters head off at the front. Our plan, such as we had one, was to try and keep to 8 minute miles. Or five minute kilometres, if that’s your thing. The target was to get in under 40 minutes. In my prime (such as there was something you could call ‘prime’), I would have been targeting a sub-35 minute run. But that was then, and this is now.

The conditions were good for running. No rain, a good breeze, and plenty of cloud cover. We chugged along, and our watches beeped at key distances; Ciaran’s in miles, mine in kilometres. Whilst the first mile had been a little pacier than planned, we settled into the required 8 minute miles and followed the course back to the club. As we neared the finish, we could hear that PA announcement chatter drifting along the breeze; always a welcome sound when you are on your last legs. And I was indeed on my last legs. The last section was on the athletics track. Ciaran suggested a sprint finish. I didn’t have the energy to object, but I put on a bit of a push, and crossed the line in 39:45, according to the official results.

Fair play to Ciaran; he dragged, pushed and cajoled me all the way. I can see why he makes a good team coach at his local GAA club. Our mate Des was hot on our heels. Good to see him out and about again. He’s had a bit of a sabbatical (another good man lost to golf) but needs to get back out there, as he is a regular pacer for the Dublin Marathon (usually at 4 hour 40 minute time).

May was not exactly a rich harvest in terms of miles. June had better be more prolific. That’s entirely up to me, of course.

In other news, I was doing a little sideline on Saturday, driving some musicians. Usually involves picking up at airports, dropping to hotels, getting them to sound-checks, and then doing much the same, in reverse order. It’s a busman’s holiday sort of gig for me. It does get you access all areas, and all that sort of thing, but in reality, there is just an inordinate amount of hanging about.

The concert this weekend was an open-air festival with about 20,000 capacity. And judging by the crowd and the noise, it was made up of largely late-teen and early twenties young ladies. The band I was working for put on a good show, and, more importantly, everyone was safely delivered to their hotel.

I also received good news on Friday just gone. I have passed my OSCE exams, so I am now an EMT. More on that another time! And to finish, some nonsense from the online world.

And finally, a dog…