Mweelrea (Irish Championships): Compli-Sults and Navigational Mishaps

24 June, 2025 - Martin Cooney

By Martin Cooney

A text came through late Friday night to tell me that the West Cork lads were travelling up & did I want a lift. I just spotted it before going into bed so I responded straight away. Up early & got the gear ready and rang Micheal (McSweeney). Sean Leonaird answered; “cat and dog’s home- Jack Russell speaking”. “Hi Jack, where about’s are ye now?” I found out from Sean that they were near Limerick already so would be passing my place around 8.15am. They took the slip-road off the dual carriageway and picked me up on the side of the road outside my housing estate. I jumped into the back alongside the 3rd West Cork disciple that is Henry Browne. Back onto the motorway and let my day begin- the lads were 3-4 hours into theirs already.

The chats continued and I tried to catch up with what the conversation was about- the easiest way to explain it is: do you remember the 3 lads on the Gerry Ryan Show on the radio- where they talked for about 10 minutes and by the end you still had no clue what they were talking about… well THAT!
The topics of conversation varied from non-alcoholic cider which was described as just apple juice to the three stages of a life–cycle of a tick. The first hour passed really fast and I discovered one thing about the conversation. For every compliment one lad paid to another of the lads, there was at least one insult if not two thrown into the middle of it; which I now call a Compli-Sult…
An example of a Compli-Sult would be “You looking fit boy, but the t-shirt maker’s must make smaller t-shirts to your size!” It is something that you cannot be upset about because there is a compliment there.

To watch Micheal and Sean going at it is an art-form. Rather than two boxers going toe-to-toe; I would more describe it like the two Centre-Half’s from the great AC Milan team of the late 80s, early 90s: Baresi & Costacurta. Each man as quick-witted as the other but with contrasting styles; one straight-talking almost no holds barred, the other more subtle yet just as commanding… all the while you have the younger, less experienced Maldini (Henry) sitting in the back seat awaiting his time to be called to cover either of them (with a smart comment if warranted), should he be called upon! Even when a genuine compliment is dished out, there is a pause as you await the insult to follow...
It is majestic to watch, up there with seeing a White Bengal Tiger for the first time. I want to say something to get in on this craic but my brain can't keep up and I am worried it might all come back on top of me.

Two and a half hours of stories and Compli-Sults pass in the blink of an eye as we pass through some lovely towns in Galway and Mayo, with special mention to the new dual carriageway between Castlebar & Westport- there must be some powerful TDs up here. We can’t get a motorway between the real capital that is Cork and the third largest city in Ireland; that is Limerick. Next thing we are landed at a garage outside Louisburgh. Some food and coffees had, we gaze south towards Mweelrea, the largest mountain in Connaught. While the sun is beating down on us, there is cloud rolling in over the summit, just as is forecasted. Back in the car & we get to Silver Strand beach at around 11.45pm with the race starting at 1.00pm. We got over to check-in and a lot of quality runners including Munster’s Sean Quirke, Brian Mullins, Tom Blackburn as well as probable favourite, Matthew McConnell. We get changed, decide on appropriate gear and footwear to go with the mandatory kit for the day. The early start of 16 runners heads off at 12.30 which is just before when Sean and I go out for our warm-up. Sean; having not done Mweelrea wanted to get an idea of what was in store for him. We go up the road less than a kilometre before heading back to the start. It comes upon us fast. After the race briefing; everyone lines up. Once we hit open-mountain, we have freedom to take any line as long as we go to the col before picking up the markers to the summit. Same format for the way down. It is a strange start to a race in that, nobody goes off at a mad blistering pace, probably because you know there is a long slog coming.

Off up the road we all go; the other 37 runners. It is an undulating first kilometre uphill before we turn into a short boreen road. I start slowly as we have 5+ kilometres up slow uphill to come. As I plod long, I can see Micheal McSweeney about 20 metres in front of me- that’ll do nicely. Henry is gone out with the leading pack as that is where he should be and Sean is not far behind me. Up the road, I hold my distance from me to Micheal all the way up as far as the end of the boreen road; all the while passing a few runners. We hit the open mountain and Micheal is moving along well and so am I. We are following a female runner who has found a great line through the soft, spongy terrain. About 2 kilometres in, I inch very slowly past Micheal and Alice. I am just above walking pace but know that it will be walking pace in about five minutes or so. The ground gets a little softer and slippier the further we ascend this weather-beaten mountain, heading up the western slope of it. I am moving well even if only hiking now, I pass a few more as we get closer to the stream which I am sure would be a torrent in the winter. I pass another couple of runners before hugging the stream, where there is a far more defined path to trudge on. I stay on this path but we are starting to reach the cloud cover so I am struggling to see runners in front of me. The path fades and I am unsure what to do so I cross over to the right side of it where thankfully the path continues up to the col. Once I reach the col and just as I pass a couple of early starters, I am struggling to see any definite path. I turn south in direction as I know the summit is in that direction and spot a few small red/yellow IMRA markers, which are stuck in the ground- they are less than a foot in height. Just then Matthew, the race leader comes down against me, focused on his descent. The markers are really faint to see as visibility is probably only 10 metres or so. I keep going and find the path but it is hard to see it clearly as the top section has a lot of natural erosion on it. I get back to a jog and after a few minutes, some more of the leading pack are coming down against me. The next five minutes or so seem like an eternity as I wait to get as far as the summit. Eventually I reach it and make my turn and reset my compass for the downhill.

There is one runner in front of me so in my head I want to keep with him. We pass a couple of early-starters as well as people coming up the mountain including Micheal & Sean, who are only about a minute behind me. The pace quickens and I am just behind the runner who has a blue top on. Suddenly he stops and turns to me confused- “I can’t see any markers”. I look right and slope looks to be very steep so I am guessing it is the cliff face, the one place we don’t want to be. I tell him that I am going back left and slightly uphill. He follows me but after 1-2 minutes, we hit another cliff face so I know roughly where we are. We head back over towards where we came when we bump into Micheal McSweeney and Sean Leonaird, then by Tom Blackburn and another runner- we all seem to have missed the markers. As I run along the cambered shaley ground, I lose my footing and take a little tumble. Back to my feet immediately, then we run over no more than 200 metres. Suddenly for a moment the clouds lift just enough to see the col right in front of us; before it disappears again. I see that down to the left the defined groove of the stream, which is like a furrowed brow and we all pick it up at the same time.

This is something that has never happened before where Tom, Micheal and I all started in the same spot for what would be in essence a 4km downhill race. All of us would really enjoy the downhill but the favourite here is surely “King” Tom. As we pick up the top of the stream, there is variance in how we are approaching it. Micheal and I take the more defined track on the left, whereas Tom heads off down the right side of the stream. It is just run as fast as our feet will take us, without falling! I am moving well along the shaley descent but know that I must cross the stream at some stage. The contour of the stream veers right and I decide to cross here before it widens too much. As I cross over at a narrow spot, Micheal is in line with me, he is staying on the left for now. I glance up and can see Tom slightly behind me but higher up on the slope so it is hard to tell if he is in front or behind me at this stage. I find a sheep track which has mixed surface; stony, slippy, muddy, gorse. I haven’t time to pick my way through it so it is just try to adapt as my feet land. 500 metres down & I am still hugging the stream with Micheal at the far side. I spot that the track is edging away from the stream so I follow it. I am starting to catch some runners, not sure if they are early starters or normal starters. I am clipping along now but before I can get comfortable, I can hear heavy breathing behind me. Either one of 2 things is happening: there is a bull following me or else Micheal has crossed the stream and closing in on me. It is the latter; he is flying it and with every stride is getting closer, based on the increased loudness of his panting. We are now in the middle of this large muddy field descending like lunatics escaping from an asylum. Just as we pass another runner, Micheal passes me. S*ite; he got me- I lose my concentration for a moment (and it was only a moment), kick a tuft of ground with my right foot which sends my right foot into the back of my left calf. Momentarily; I am airborne floating through the damp air before crashing back to earth face first zipping along the slimy, muddy surface. I bounce back to my feet without actually losing too much ground, and now have to start chasing Micheal. All the while not having a clue where Tom Blackburn is.

The ground starts to flatten a little as we make our way right over towards the fenced off area and gate which we need to pass through to get to the finish. I haven’t really changed my pace over the past kilometre and feel comfortable within myself. As the gate comes into sight, I seem to be catching Micheal a little. I stay calm and see what happens. With every stride I am getting closer until we end up for a short while going stride for stride beside each other. “Go for it Martin, my day is done” says Micheal. I am happy to be beside my Munster comrade as we are ending this technical descent so I acknowledge it saying “I’m happy the way it’s going”. “Go on Martin, push it man. Try to stay ahead of Tom”, I hear. I had completely forgot about Tom and assumed he is ahead of us at this stage though I hadn’t seen him. Micheal looks to be slowing so it could be a case of ‘Game Over, Ball Burst’ for him. I keep my pace going and edge slowly away from him on this fast section as we meander around and through some Rushes and taller grass. I see the gate and it is open as another runner going through it. I pass him just as he has it opened and head down the boreen road as fast as I can, passing hikers and runners alike. I check my watch for time but somehow it seems to have paused- I must’ve accidentally stopped it when I fell up on the mountain. I reach the tarmac, which will bring me to the finish and meet an onlooker. “Anyone behind me?” I shout. “No; nobody close to you at all” I hear back. I roar back a thanks for the information and run down the road as fast as my legs will take me. The undulating ground is sapping my legs but the thought of holding my current position keeps me going. I take the odd glance back but can see no runner. Last 300 metres takes me downhill and I turn into the carpark exhausted. I struggle to breath for a while. A minute or so later Tom B. arrives in followed by Micheal so I am thrilled to get that result with these quality runners around me.

Great chats had afterwards followed by a long drive home, even detouring to central Mayo and Galway before picking up the motorway in Tuam- 4 happy gents on the way home from a great day out.

Thanks to the volunteers on the day for making this happen so that the rest of us could run the fantastic race.
Congrats to Matthew McConnell & Becky Quinn on their respective wins; to Henry ‘Maldini’ Browne on a 3rd place finish. Even a Congrats goes to me for taking the M50 category, edging out Micheal in the end.

The best race in Ireland

21 June, 2025 - matthew mcconnell

One of my favourite races on the Irish calendar — Mweelrea. The tallest mountain in Connacht. A true sea-to-summit test, starting from the golden sands of Silver Strand and climbing over 800 metres to the roof of the province.

A long, sustained, runnable climb followed by a rapid, wild descent. “The best descent in the country,” as Brian Mullins puts it as we congregate in the carpark.

We’re lined up at the Silver Strand car park, the ocean behind us, the peak hidden in mist ahead. Liam Vines' voice replaces the starting gun, sending us on our way with a casual shout, no ceremony, the rawness of mountain running.

It’s a fast start, familiar now. I dig myself into a bit of a hole early on the road section before we shoot onto open mountain. I take a hard right to cross the river before it becomes impassable, something I’d scoped out during my warm-up.

What follows is a few frantic minutes of trying to pick up one of the many faint tracks that snake up the mountain. Finding the right one is key. The long, energy-sapping climb can hurts the lungs more than the legs especially when the ground is as wet as it is today.

There are moments where it feels like I'm running through treacle. But strangely, today, I feel like I’m floating. I’m catching a few early starters, slower runners that start 30 minute before the main race. There’s the usual exchange of breathless pleasantries. “Good Snowdon training,” I tell Vivian O’Gorman, who manages the Irish team for the Snowdon International every year.

I accidentally spook Lillian as I approach her near the top of the col. Visibility is almost non-existent now. The flags are there, placed at regular intervals, but even so, I question my route choices more than once. Up is best.

The final few minutes to the summit begin.

Just two weeks ago, at the trial races for the World Championships, I secured selection for both the uphill-only and classic up-and-down disciplines. I approached this race differently. I want to treat it like an uphill-only race and empty the tank before I even think about the descent.

As I near the summit cairn, the visibility somehow gets worse than it was at the col. But I feel strong, well within myself, despite the fast start. That gives me huge confidence as I begin to refocus my preparation for the World Championships.

Nearing the summit, I know I’m on track to run the climb faster than last year, and I was very happy with last year’s time. I spot my dad near the top, volunteering as summit marshal. He’s fumbling to pull out his phone for a photo, and I feel like saying, Don’t worry about it, but I say nothing. I tap the cairn, lap the watch, and begin the descent.

There’s something special about this descent, Mweelrea truly is one of the best in the country. A real gem. It’s one of those rare descents where you can almost completely let go. Even if you were to fall, it’d be soft. Boggy. Wet. Wild.

That said, the top section is anything but easy foggy and a bit of a minefield of rocks ready to snap an ankle. The flags are there, generous in number, but there’s still room for missteps. A wrong turn could cost you.

So I lock in. On the line. On the effort. On the decisions.

“Inspiring,” someone says as I pass them, grinding their way up while I bounce down off the summit.

“Disgusting lead,” another voice mutters, not unkindly, maybe even admiringly, as I descend from the col.

I enjoy it. Confident in my route from experience, I shoot out of the cloud, hit the long run to the gate, and know exactly where I’m going. That gate marks the end of the mountain proper, and the start of what I believe is one of the hardest parts of the race: the final road section. On smashed legs that have grown fond of soft surfaces, the hard trail and tarmac is a rude awakening. Over a kilometre of undulating tarmac. Net downhill, but it doesn’t feel like it. Not when your legs are jelly and your lungs are burning.

I glance at the watch. I’m on pace to beat previous years time, which was itself a significant improvement. I glace over my shoulder, no sign of second, but I don’t let u. Partly for the mental discipline. Partly for the training stimulus. Mostly because I know that the satisfaction at the finish will outweigh the discomfort I feel.

Even though a faster time means very little to anyone but me. Well, perhaps my coach too who’s grown used to receiving excited post-race texts like this reporting an improvement, I’m not used to sending them yet. They always give me a quiet thrill and I never take them for granted.

The wind picks up in the final stretch, head-on, as if to test me one last time. I round the final corner and spot Mick Hanney and Liam Vines, first-aid officer and race director, waiting at the line. Mick had planned to race, but when no one else volunteered as First Aid Officer, he stepped in. Sacrificed his own day so people like me could have theirs. These are the true legends. The quiet heroes of the mountain running community.

I cross the line and I send the text.

Two wins from two in the Irish Championship.
The stoke is high.
Best race in Ireland.
Until the next one.