unironedman

My opening gambit shall be a video. I referenced this ‘consistency’ quote a while back. January 2019, if you are interested. I am sure you are not. But anyway, here is the link. It’s a quirky little ad for one of my favourite beers, and sadly, it’s not one that’s readily available in my local. Guinness has rather monopolised that market, I’m afraid. And that’s one sacred cow that is very hard to kill…

After last week’s half marathon run, which went reasonably well, I had two runs during the week. It was a game of two halves. Tuesday’s run took me into the park as per normal, and then I ducked out into Lucan village and across the river and up by Laraghcon. Once you are running in and around a river valley, you have to expect to contend with some hills. But the legs seemed in good shape. In fact, the pace seemed to be sprightly enough. It was a route I hadn’t done before (even though I have travelled all the various parts) and when the watch uploaded and I checked the stats, I was pleasantly surprised to find I had done 8.6k in 5:34 pace, which I suspect is the nippiest 5 miles I have done since the road race in Dunboyne at the end of May last year, when my old station officer boss dragged me around the course as if our lives depended on it.

When I uploaded it, I even labelled it a tempo run. The nerve!

So I headed out on Thursday for the second of the week’s three runs, and did about the same distance on a different route, albeit with similar total ascent. But for some reason, someone had sawn off my legs and filled them with molten lead. Quite unfair. But it put manners on me. About 8.2k in 6:45 pace. It was a grind.

So I appoached the weekend run with some trepidation. I had planned to join Gary for a few laps on Saturday out at the Donadea 50k, and indeed, I did make it out there as the race reached the halfway point. This was not halfway for the leaders, of course. The winning man came in just under 3 hours and 2 minutes. The winning lady was 3.16:32. But the cut-off, as such, is five hours. That’s when the famous clock over the finish line is turned off by the last one to make the cut-off. Anyone after that still gets the medal and a time, but not the accolades.

Gary had stepped off the track at lap six. 30k under the belt and a good training run. It wasn’t his plan A for the day, but he is, like me, training for the Connemara Ultra. I was secretly pleased I could head home, gear safely stashed away in the bag, and arrive home in time for the Italy v Wales match. It wasn’t a great game, but the following match between England and France more than made up for it.

All of which meant I had to head out for my long run on Sunday.

I chose to change up things once more, and headed up through the village. I had slipped on my new-to-me Saucony Endorphins all the way from France, and took the Old Hill up towards the Celbridge Road. We have no choice but to obey the Rule of the Valley. The Old Hill was once part of the main route from Dublin out towards the west of the country, but wealthy business folk in the mid-1700s built a road with an easier gradient to the north which must have been a blessing to the horses that drew the carriages of the day. Today, the shaded laneway is pedestrianised. And just as steep as it always was.

The stretch of the Celbridge Road is not overly attractive, but it does take me past our old home which is being swallowed up by development. For many years, when the kids were young, we lived on a gate lodge to Leixlip Castle. It wasn’t the main lodge; indeed, it was something of a surprise to most locals that it was even part of the demesne. It was heaven for us at the time; about forty mature oak trees in the back garden, a pond, a lawn and an orchard. These last three we put in when we moved in. Beyond our little garden were open fields leading down to the reservoir.

The Guinness family sold much of the land around and behind this house, and all has changed. It’s tough to watch it all happening. The orchard is all ripped out and is now the main entrance to a new housing estate. All the oaks have been heavily pruned. No idea why. I keep running. There’s nothing here for me now.

I take the lane at Barnhall into Castletown Demesne, and the river is a balm. But at the gates, there is more of the reality of modern Ireland to contend with. Here, the locals (who are trying to protect Castletown Estate partly from the very state body that is tasked with protecting it) are having an information day, and asking for signatures to raise awareness for an issue that threatens access and conservation in this hugely popular tourist attraction. More here, if you wish.

I normally turn back on myself here and head down the main avenue towards home, but today I toddle on through the main street of Celbridge, past a life-size statue of Arthur Guinness. I cross over the Liffey and head towards Hazelhatch. In Irish, it means hazel wood, but if there’s any woodland in the area, I don’t find it today. I slip through the car park of McEvoy’s pub and onto the towpath of the Grand Canal. The last time I was here, I was in the fire service, and a lady had fallen off her bike and sprained her ankle. We had a hell of a hike down the towpath to find and treat her. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Today, all is quiet. Nobody has come a cropper off a bike. The only risk of injury today is to me, as the towpath has cut up badly with rain and bike traffic. It’s slippy as hell in places, and I hop around, trying to find the most solid/least slippiest route. At times, I fear I might pitch myself into the icy canal to my right.

I stop at a ruined building along the towpath, but I have no information about it, sadly. It’s completely clad in ivy. I can’t tell if it’s concurrent with the canal, or predates it. It feels old. I press on along the towpath that seems intent on both swallowing me up and spitting me out.

The next pit stop is Gollierstown… I realise now I have made a bit of a gag… there actually are pits here, which I assume were quarried, but now that I type it, I wonder if perhaps that’s true, and I think I need to do some more research on this area. The pits are now ponds on each side of the canal, and just beyond, a bridge, which rather sadly is barricaded off with rather severe metal fencing. I have a quick snack and move on. The towpath has not improved. If anything, it’s worse.

A huge metal skeleton looms up beyond the canal to my right. It’s only when I reach the 12th Lock at Adamstown and my cue to leave the canal, I get my bearings, and I realise that this structure is another part of a massive data centre that has sprung up. Every watt of power Ireland has managed to create with renewables has been gobbled up by data centres. It’s not sustainable. Ozymandias briefly pops into my head.

The next few kilometres are into the very built-up hinterland of Lucan, and I am looking forward to crossing the M4 motorway and heading into St. Catherine’s Park. I’m a little leggy at this stage but push on. I have been ignoring the watch so have no idea what distance I have covered.

When I get through the park and reach my door and hit the watch, I’m a little disappointed to see it’s not quite 20k; it’s just over 19k in just under 2 hours. The next time, I can add in a little more canal by heading right at Hazelhatch and taking in Ardclough. But that’s for another day.

I need to shower. The legs are covered in mud, and the runners are manky. But it’s a decent run to end the week.

Not that it’s particularly significant, but I finally seem to have dropped below 80k for the first time in ages. I know the general view of running is that it’s not especially renowned as a method of losing weight, but I’ve certainly found that regular running keeps my weight down.

I start a new job tomorrow. Some routine will be good. Consistency, as they say…