Run the Line was a sort of ‘last hurrah’ of the year. Well, I suppose Lock up the Year is officially the last run of the year for me, but this one was a proper paid gig with chip timing and T-shirts and all that jazz. Not that we do these runs for the baubles, of course. My favourite souvenir from a race is the bib number. Run the Line is a fundraiser for the Dublin and Wicklow Mountain Rescue Team, and it’s their biggest event of the year to get in some much-needed funds. Apart from occasional grants to fund specific equipment, they get about 32,000 euro per year from the state. Which seems rather poor, if you ask me. And so, events like today are very important, so it was great to be able to do it.

Being of an optimistic nature, I had signed up for the 26k option. Well, the training since Abingdon has been sparse at best, and last week’s reasonably swift 10k probably did more harm than good. Last Saturday, I went out with the lads in the band and we rather overdid it, to be honest. And then on Monday I had a sore throat which merged into the classic headache, sore back and general aches and pains, snotty nose and a temperature.

I decided to stick it out in work and load up on paracetamol and Lemsip, so all in all, about the worst prep for the run today. I had been sleeping (badly) downstairs to try and spare S from the dreaded lurgy. Which meant I had Bonnie for company. Which meant I had bad nights’ sleep throughout the week. I love you, Bonnie, but you’re a big lump!

A smart guy would have stayed in bed on Saturday and recuperated. A half-smart guy would have dropped back to the short course 13k option. I have never met either of those guys…

I rose about half-seven in the morning and had a quick breakfast. The spin down to Glencullen is just over half an hour, and soon I was parking up in a field which was already quickly filling up. I had little to prepare but having wandered up to the registration point (within the GAP Adventure Centre) to use the portaloo, I decided gloves might not be a bad idea. I couldn’t find them, though I was pretty sure I had brought them along. Oh well. It was grey and overcast, and spitting a little, but once we got going I figured we would warm up.

The race start was a little delayed but I had decided to throw my lot in with the first wave at 10am (the elites!) on the basis that the sooner I started, the sooner I would finish and get back home, knowing I would be returning to a cold house with S away at work, and then I would have to head out again to Portlaoise for a gig.

I noticed a strip of a lad at the front of the pack wearing just a little singlet and no pack or jacket whatsoever, despite the rules of the race. I needn’t have worried. The next time I saw him, he was emerging from the woods on the way back whilst we were all still heading out on the same loop. A quick glance at Garmin suggests our group was at about 7.5k and he was heading for 13k. It was Matthew McConnell, a serious Irish trail runner. He’s also the editor of Outsider Magazine, which is all rather fabulous for a 28-year-old lad. Here are some of his highlights:

• Marathon: Dublin Marathon debut in 2:32:33
• Half Marathon: Personal best of 1:09:31 (3rd place at the Dublin Half Marathon)
• 10km: 1st place at the Parkwest Night 10km (32:51)
• Trail & Mountain Events: Represented Team Ireland at the European Off-Road Running Championships in Slovenia, placed 8th at the Arc of Attrition (25-mile/41.2K), and competed in the Skyrunning World Final (Marató dels Dements).

He was moving like a gazelle, and clearly travelling light suited his style. He would go on to win, needless to say.

Us lesser mortals, however, could only dream of such prowess. The trails here are all very technical. I’ve run most of the route over the past number of years. Certainly not all of it, and never in one sitting. The trail is a mix of mostly rocky tracks and pine forest trails. It doesn’t let up either; as soon as you think ‘ah, this is nice…’ it changes to something else. There are a few sections of fire road, but thankfully not too much. And the course passes through Ticknock at the end, where my Dad grew up. We were lucky with the weather, given how capricious November can be. The last time I ran some of these tracks, they were either overflowing watercourses or buried in snow, or sometimes both. Today, there were hardly puddles enough to soak our runners.

The pictures above might suggest lots of cozy woodland trails with carpets of soft needles. The truth is they were the best opportunities to take a quick snap on the run. The rocky stuff is so technical that you can’t take your eyes off it for a second or you’ll come a cropper in ugly fashion. This also applies to running in a group; not ideal for trail-running when you need to focus on the ground at your feet rather than the back of the runner you are following. The forest paths are indeed lovely to run on, but a large part of the course was more like the first photo; a cunning obstacle course of granite lumps designed to catch the unwary traveller. Indeed, when you know a little geology, you may smile at the thought that granite is an igneous rock formed from molten magma birthed deep below the earth’s surface, so these devious paths are indeed the original roads to hell. But if you let your mind wander for a brief instant, these traps will spring, and you could be done for in an instant. I snagged my shoes once or twice when I started having thoughts other than the sole purpose of deciding on the next step. Running on it seems like a strange form of Russian Roulette. But that’s the gig we signed up for.

We dropped into Tibradden around the 7k mark, and crossed the road at one of the main aid stations. Then there was a fire road climb to take us up towards Cruagh Mountain. I was wearing an old Dublin Marathon long-sleeved top and as I drew level with a couple of lads, one said ‘there’s a marathon runner, we should stick in behind him and he’ll break the wind for us…’ which instantly prompted the response ‘lads, I’m more likely to break wind…’

Nothing if not hilarious here at unironedman…

Around the 10k mark, my right knee became a little ‘twingey’ and I wondered if it would get any worse, and would I have to drop out. The only thing about dropping out here is that you would probably have to walk back anyway. There were plenty of marshalls on this well-marked course, and I have no doubt any seriously injured runner would have been whisked away, tout de suite. But I wouldn’t have troubled anyone with a twinge, and so I resolved to soldier on and see how things felt after a few more kilometres.

There are four major climbs, as you can see from the elevation map, and hidden in there are some crackers. And of course, it’s not as simple as up and down. But as the distance added up, the quads were groaning and I actually began to wonder if I preferred the uphill sections where you had no choice but to walk. The downhills, as any trail runner knows, pile the pressure on the front of your legs. On the plus side, my hamstrings were quiet, for a change. And the knee seemed to have reached some form of stasis and was not bothering me.

The craic and camaraderie on the course was great, from both marshalls and runners. If you found yourself side-by-side with a runner who was breaking out their jelly stash, you would be offered one. If someone pulled up, the next few runners would stop and make sure they were okay. Quite early on, some lad took a tumble (in the woods, of all places), and a knot of competitors stopped and made sure he was okay to continue.

I hadn’t really studied the route map in detail so I wasn’t sure when the last climb was going to kick in. But kick in it did, and it was the worst of the lot in terms of elevation. I could feel the right leg was on the edge of cramping up so I pulled over for a few seconds ’til it passed. On the plus side, I knew where we were so there was not too much more left. Soon we rejoined the last stretch which would lead us home; all downhill and easy to run on. That welcome boom of the PA from the finish line wafted up the valley, welcoming us home, and the gantry came in to view. Finally, we could stop running and collect our T-shirt and collapse into a chair in the marquee with a cup of tea and some biscuits. Tea and biccies never taste as good until you’ve dragged your sorry arse around the rough tracks and trails of the Dublin Mountains on a cold November morning.

My finish time of 3.13:56 was very much mid-table, and a sobering reminder that I have precious-little trail-running fitness in my legs. By my watch, the course was a little short. 245th place out of 391. But I was glad I had done it. I bought a bobble hat at the merch stand for a few extra quid into the coffers, and it was much needed, as the walk back to the car seemed to take twice as long as it did earlier that morning. And I was in need of a warm car with the heating on.

Home, finally. The fire was lit, and the bath was run. As I unpacked my gear, I found my gloves tucked into the back of my hydration pack. Idiot. Oh, well. Fail to prepare, etc.

Aujourd’hui, je suis Kevin. Et maintenant, veuillez m’excuser: je vais manger une glace énorme…