If you don't go, you'll never know...

30 July, 2025 - Conor O'Daly

Better late than never...
Long time listener, first time caller. In the run in to this event I must have read every race report going back 5 years so it’s only fair I try my hand at my own eventful night on the mountains.

This year for me would be my first proper year of running and doing some genuine long races with my A priority race being Ultra Trail Snowdonia 100km in May. Having moved to Greystones from Sydney a couple years ago, the great access to trails had me out on the mountains a lot biking and running but getting involved with IMRA definitely piqued an interest in trail running and a pivot away from riding the bike. The idea being that it would take less time away from a young family…but I am always wondering what is over the brow of the next hill.

The training block into UTS and the race itself all went really well and so the Wicklow Way was at the back of the mind. I wouldn’t say recovery was amazing and a slackening of focus along with a holiday had me on the fence, but on a treadmill in Portugal I decided I was feeling good and stuck my name down that evening, because a treadmill in Portugal is just like the Wicklow Way.

A mate Kev dropped me to Clonegall and after a smooth reg, kit check and tracker attachment I was ready to go. Quick pint Kev?? Like before I had broken the race down from CP to CP. Nutrition was tried and tested and in my infinite wisdom I decided to start with a relatively new pair of shoes (I know).

Tom Lawler who I met and ran with at last year’s Backyard Ultra told me there was good ground to be made in the first road sections, so I decided to let the effort float up a bit until it got dark and stuck with a relatively forward pack. Nice chats with David Barry and then settling into a decent rhythm with Andy Keeling and Rob Tobin made the early bits pass nicely, even if my heart rate was sitting a bit high. I’ve got the poles with me from the start and given I had no idea of the course until after roundwood, I had marked on a piece of paper stuck to my phone which kms I should take them out. So on commencement of the first climb, out they come, but they are fighting against locking. After a fair amount of faff they are locked in and so begins the sweet sound of an alloy tip clanging into the road. I try to stay efficient and within myself and before I know it CP1 is there.

CP1 – I had planned to be in and out of here very quickly but a slight rub on my little toe stops me for a quick assessment and repatch. The cardinal sin of wearing new kit only has me mildly concerned. Minutes are wasted as I sit in the chair watching people come and go whilst I struggle to open the vas jar. Eventually we are done and on the way. So much buzz and support, you can’t help but peg it out of there. Little do I know I am in for 3 hours of absolute hell.

I’m about 3km into the next section and my hips are tightening up quick. Seems a bit early for that but there has been lots of road so maybe that’s it. Settle into a rhythm with a couple people including 2nd place female but I’m feeling off and really struggling. Eventually let them go as my hips and knees rapidly fall apart. I’ve no idea why this is happening but I am struggling to run at all now, up or downhill. Endless boreens and lanes all merge into one big dark tunnel of misery. I am passed over and over again and can do nothing to stick with a group. The only slight respite is up a steep hill of which there are none. I try run 10 steps, get a shock up through my legs and have to stop. Not halfway through this section the head is gone, I’m dnf'ing. I text a mate on holiday in Bali as I know he’ll be a awake saying I’m done. I get the expected messages of encouragement back, but I am barely 40km in, how am I going to do this for another 90??! I have a mate Nic crewing at Glenmalure and Glendalough, I text her saying that I’m quitting at CP2 and I’ll figure out a way to get to Glenmalure, fully thinking she’d still be in bed and will pick it up later. To my surprise, I get a message back. She’s at CP3 already, keep in it. I apologise, saying I’m 100% dnf’ing but I’ll get to CP2. Text my wife saying it’s not gone well, but letting her know I am bailing out and will be home. The despondency rises and it’s not nice. Everything takes forever. The first battery dies on my headtorch and it takes me an age to get the 2nd one in, not even 500m from Mucklagh. On the steep climb up, to my further surprise, I get another text from clubmate Conall, saying he is at CP3 too, just try make it. I’m resigned to quitting, but it’s in the back of my mind that friends are there. My feet, knees and hips are destroyed as I get to CP2. I know these types of races are not easy, but this is not what I wanted.

CP2 – Lillian asks me what I need as I arrive, I tell her I’m most likely a dnf. She pulls me out a chair and tells me to sit down and take a few minutes. The volunteers here are unreal. A mate Carlos who is also running has his crewman Cormac on site who comes over to ask if I need anything. I do the usual feeling sorry for myself rant and that I am quitting. He offers a lift if I decide to bail up to Glenmalure but he wouldn’t be leaving for a while. In the middle of all this self-pity, I’ve changed shoes to an old pair I luckily popped in that drop bag. Hmmm, they feel a bit different. I wonder if the new shoes/foam have been causing me problems. Lillian comes back over, has a check in. She tells me that she can’t promise it will get any better, but there is some nice single track coming up and if I go 1km and it’s no better, just turn around and come back. It’s what I need to hear – no nonsense. I think about Friday afternoon as I was chatting to my 5-year-old son about the upcoming race, he had one bit of advice - Just don’t give up Dad. It hits me where it needs to. Crew is at Glenmalure. Nice trail up ahead, I can try. If you don’t go, you’ll never know…

I drag myself out of CP2 and slowly up the hill still feeling awful. The moon has half popped out now and the mist makes the trees look like they are icy. I wonder if this is the beginning of some hallucinations but it’s a nice distraction. It’s a weird dark place I’m in, figuratively and literally, but for the first time in a long time, I tell myself to start running and respond. It hurts like hell but I don’t feel the need to stop. I realise that I haven’t told crew I’m on the way so fire off a few texts and to my wife who luckily doesn’t wake up to all the drama as I have very little signal. I know I am going to make CP3 now, morale is picking up, fuel is good. Run a bit more, Legs starting to feel a bit better. Hit the single track by military road and start to have some fun. Alright, let’s go with this. Get your head in the game, you’re not giving up. I’ve 10km to go to Glenmalure and now I am flying. Start to pass a few people here and even the slippery boardwalk through the woods is great fun. I see Glenmalure and open the legs down the hill all the way in. The resurrection is complete! All hail the old shoes.

CP3 - Nic, Conall and Karl are all here with running kit on. “What are this lot at” I am wondering to myself (training for CCC it turns out) but I am focused now. No sitting, fuel onboard, quick check in. Nic know what to say to keep me moving. It’s such a huge boost seeing the guys here. Straight back out on the course and I’ve 5km up and 5km down. Happy days, poles out, but they are now fully stuck and wont lock. Back to faffing around with them for far too long and eventually abandon them. I remember Andy saying at the start he has a love/hate relationship with them. I can now see why. I catch David Barry here and have a bit of a chat. He’s not having a great time, but still pops a smile. My wife and I love watching Dave’s videos and his sunny disposition. It amazes me how a man can be in the hurt locker like that and still smiling. We have a quick picture together which afterwards I realise is a bit of a brain fart asking a man having a torrid time for a selfie. Sorry Dave!

The wind is fully in the sails now. Hit the boardwalk after that climb and the sun is up with a bit of a cloud inversion in the valley. It has been a roasting hot night and I am sweating buckets. Glad I took the extra 500ml bottle as backup as I’ve used it at every leg. Jam sandwiches and homemade granola bars are keeping me in the right spots, topped up with a PH90 gel in each section. I cannot get my head around how well I am moving now compared to 4 hours previous. I come down into Glendalough and pass a couple others including John Lawler being crewed by Tom and we have a quick hello, the lads in good spirits. The wife has phoned me in this leg a bit worried with all the commotion, but I tell her being an emotional wreck is all part of ultrarunning and I’m fine.

CP4 – I’m high as a kite as I see Nic on hand and ready to go. I know there is a big leg coming so had planned on a bit of a reset here. I’ve a couple of blisters from those shoes but nothing causing me any bother so we check and leave them. Get some fuel on board from the amazing volunteers, watermelon hitting nicely and depart with a full bag and 4x500ml flasks. Tom kindly locks my poles out for me as I’ll use them the whole way to Djouce. I’m eternally grateful to Nic for crewing. I realise I’m lucky to have an experienced hand in my corner and I wouldn’t have got here otherwise. I’ve a good march on through the woods. Make it to the tap by the farmers yard and sink a bottle and refill. It’s so humid. I’ve been topping up with sodium tabs and electrolytes in tailwind so fuel is spot on, but the bag is heavy. A fair bit of run/walk through Oldbridge sees me pass a couple more people and get passed on the road but I’m not concerned about that anymore and before I know it we are at Ballinastoe. I know from here to home very well and morale is high, until the blister on my toe shifts right underneath it and stops me dead in my tracks. GIVE ME A BREAK! But isn’t it all just problem solving. I sit on the big rock in the middle of the woods where the start of the Maurice Mullins is, take the pin off my number and pop that bad boy. It feels absolutely no better and my plasters have disintegrated from the humidity so I jam my sock back on and just get going. My nervous system can’t figure out which pain to relay to my brain anymore so it slowly dissipates and by the time I’m up at the shoulder of Djouce we are back running, kinda. Laura and the kids are waiting at Crone for me so I’ve a good boost down the hill, I’m not moving great but we are doing this.

CP5 – Peter has rocked up to see me which is a great surprise. We’ve trained together for most of the year heading into the Maurice Mullins and Wales. I sit down, not sure I should have done that. Start to feel a bit comfortable. Gav Byrne comes over for a chat, mentions I probably shouldn’t hang around too long. Yeh you’re probably right. Quick kiss for the boss and the kids, A1 crew team. Head off down the road, before I get to the woods I stop 2 French lads to ask them to lock my poles out for me. They look at me a bit concerned like I’m on the run but between the 2 of them they get it done so with a quick merci, we are on the final leg.

The wind is now fully out of the sails, everything hurts but I keep telling myself this will all be over in the length of The Lord of The Rings first movie. Maybe the extended edition. I find myself singing Don’t Stop Me Now very loudly on the way up to Prince Williams Seat which must be odd for anyone that sees me as I am not exactly moving very fast. Very quietly, I keep telling myself, Just don’t give up. I HATE the descent to Boranaraltry bridge after the backyard ultra last year. It is so rattly and I am not moving well. I am passed with a couple of chats to people moving better than me. We all know we will finish so morale isn’t bad, but it still hurts. John catches me on the climb up to two rock. It’s not hard as I am sat down on a small rock. The road at Glencullen went on forever and sucked the life out of me. It amazes me when it turns from a physical to a mental thing. You don’t realise it, but it does. Why am I sat down, you’re almost finished. Just like that I move from the 1st to the 3rd person trying to convince myself to keep going. John is in the hurtbox but he has a serious march on up the hill and off he goes. Get up Conor.

This is going to hurt. I’ve made it to Kilmashogue and I want this done. I commit to opening up the legs as much as possible and letting gravity do the work. I’ve caught John who’s quads are blown. He knows he’ll get there now. We’re out of the forest and on to the road, a lad up ahead looks back and sees me and starts running, concerned that he’s in a race. I later learn at the finish line that’s Shane O’Neill and we have a laugh about it. I’ve absolutely no interest racing at this point, but if I got close… Never the worry as Shane takes off and I’m left to my own devices. See the lads at the entrance to Marley. I can’t believe I am about to see this through. Manage to get a little lost at 1 crossroads in the park, round the corner and my eldest is waiting for me to run across the line. It’s immensely special. Just don’t give up.

Lillian – you got me out of the chair at CP2. Thanks.

The IMRA community and volunteers are special and I’m very grateful to be involved.

Raymond Cummins

30 July, 2025

My Wicklow Way: Six Times Through the Heart of the Hills

The Wicklow Way and I have history. This is my third time writing about it, and my sixth time running the full route—four official IMRA finishes, and two other completions done in one go. You could say I’ve gotten my money’s worth—something my wife Suzanne has remarked on more than once, usually with a big smile on her face. It was my first big ultra. In 2019 I had heart surgery and 7 stents put for blockages. So to be able to continue to do this is something that I consider a great privilege.
I speak about this race often—too much sometimes, if you ask my Lakeshore Striders club mates, Suzanne and friends—but always with passion. There’s something about it that gets under my skin. Of all the races I’ve done over the past eight years, none have been as emotionally charged—bar one. I've cried going into Crone Woods in the early hours, chasing cut-offs near The Dying Cow, and while approaching Marlay Park knowing I was going to finish, thinking of my parents the first time I finished it and wishing that they were there, but I am sure they were looking down from above. :-).
My Wicklow Way journey began in 2017, and not successfully. I DNF’d that year, but I learned more from that attempt than from many finishes since. Over time I’ve learned to keep it simple: don’t waste time changing shirts or shoes. I had carried too much and didn’t have my nutrition etc right. When you’re chasing cut-offs, every second counts.
I’ve been incredibly lucky with my crew. Mark Keogh is a pit-stop specialist, getting me in and out like a Formula 1 car. He’s often taken the night shift, while Suzanne—who knows me better than anyone—has been there during the day. They’ve made the hard moments easier and the finish lines possible. I have had great running mates over the years that I have shared the race with, special occasions every time.

A Special Year
This year was meaningful for two reasons. First, I had to pull out after 50km last year due to a rib injury. Second, my good friend Sarah Kearns—who I ran with last year—was back to attempt her second Wicklow Way in under a year, aiming to complete the "double”, North to South and now South to North. I was carrying a knock again, this time a knot in my back that made breathing properly difficult, but I was determined.
There’s always a buzz at the start. So many familiar faces, so much camaraderie. What I love about races like this is how accessible the elites of Irish ultra running are—always humble, always kind.
Sarah and I had recced the first 53km. We knew it was key to bank time ahead of the more demanding sections later. We got to The Dying Cow with time in hand. It was a blur, but I remember seeing Ricki Wynne on the roadside—someone I’d love to talk to about his recent feats. Anna-May from our club was there too, and that little boost helped as we pushed on.
At Mucklagh, we had about 40 minutes before the cut-off. After that, the cutoffs ease a little. Mick and his crew were brilliant, as was Lillian—who, as ever, popped up with encouragement when we needed it most.
Boardwalks before Glenmalure required caution—John Boyle’s slip a few years ago still sticks in my memory. My stomach began acting up, but that’s the nature of these races: you adapt or you stop. I kept going.

Familiar Faces, Steady Miles
At Glendalough, we saw Suzanne for the first time. That moment always lifts my spirits. Adolfo, Avril, and Nicola were there too—great to see friendly faces. A surprise visit from Claire Barry (picking up Dave, who had to drop out) meant a big hug and another boost before we moved on toward the hills.
At Paddock Hill, the hiking truly began. A short, sharp shock for tired legs. Then on to Brusher Gate Hut—last year it took me ten minutes to get over the stile with cracked ribs. Sarah joked at the time she was about to look for wire cutters.
As we neared Old Bridge, the humidity from the night before began to take its toll. Short breaks became necessary. I was doing mental maths, calculating pace needed to hit the Crone Woods cut-off—but we arrived 90 minutes early. Three years ago, I made it with just three minutes to spare, only thanks to Eimear pushing hard after I stopped to chat to an old friend, as Suzanne frantically tried to call me to tell me to hurry on.
As we approached Crone, I saw Sarah Byrne from the Striders coming to meet us. I was tired and Sarah coming out to meet us meant a huge amount and provided a great lift. She walked and talked with me, and I just kept moving.
At the aid station, Niamh Brophy and her daughter were there helping out, along with Caroline Reid. They took our packs, refilled bottles, and gave us everything we needed. Suzanne was there too—another lift. After a short enough stop we got moving again. “Beware the chair”. That stretch from the river to Curtlestown and Prince William’s Seat is always tough, but we’d earned ourselves some buffer, and we used it wisely.

The Final Push
By the time we reached Boranaltry Bridge, I told Sarah to push on. I knew I’d finish and didn’t want to hold her back. I caught up briefly later when a second wind kicked in, but she took off again as we descended toward Marlay Park—ready to be done.
As for me, I wasn’t rushing. I met Lillian one more time and then saw Mark walking out to meet me. He encouraged me to jog it in, but I said no. I was going to savour this. We sauntered towards the finish.

As I approached I could see Suzanne, capturing the final steps. Others passed me in those closing moments, but I didn’t mind in the slightest. Sarah was there with her well earned plaque, along with my good friend Pavel ( along with his lovely wife Maya ) who I have hiked and run The Wicklow Way with over the years.

Reflection
The Wicklow Way means more to me than just a race. It’s a journey I’ve grown with—pain, joy, setbacks, and triumphs. I’ve cried here, grown here, and learned to endure. I’ll probably keep talking about it too much. But hopefully, always with love. I look at some of the men in my age category and admire their pace. I know there is always room for improvement.
As always thanks again to Lillian and all the volunteers who made it so special and possible. Without my wife Suzanne’s support this would not be possible. Mark Keogh who has always been a big help on my Wicklow Way journeys, thanks!!!Thanks to Paul Twomey as always for his encouragement and advise and Michel van der Klei for his coaching plans. Of course to the Striders for their encouragement and support. Without a shadow of a doubt a huge my thanks to Sarah Kearns for her company on another epic adventure, a woman who makes me tired when I know what she does aside from training for ultras. We are not finished for the year yet.
I am not done with this race yet…….

Where are all the runners?

24 July, 2025 - Ger OToole

I wake. It’s 4.15. Hoping it might be a bit later, but good to get any nap on a day like this when the adrenaline is flowing. Shower, make the egg salad sambos, heat the soup, chop the fruit (peaches and oranges for me, nice and juicy, not much eating needed) and add to the drop bags. Then a huge bowl of porridge with lashings of honey. Make a Maurten drink for the bus journey. Splash of holy water and I’m out the door.

In Marlay, the crowd of runners and bags is building. Pierre O’Conghaille sits in for a chat while we wait for the bus. There’s Raghnall O’Donoghue, recovered from the Beara Way Ultra and looking ready to roll. I’m taking my time loading my drop bags and chatting, and when I board the bus it’s full. I have visions of sitting in the aisle all the way to Clonegall, but never fear the IMRA volunteers step into the breach. Alan Kennedy drives 4 of us to Clonegall. A great trip, great chats including about the Balinastoe race of a few weeks back which Alan was involved in organising. Much better than the bus. Sometimes being last is good. Thanks again Alan.

It’s buzzing in Clonegal. Lillian is there welcoming everyone. Delighted to see Tom Lawlor who I had the luck to meet in the 2022 WW and got me through that race. Register, do the gear check, get the tracker and it’s nearly 9.00 already. Very brief race briefing from Lillian interrupted by Primal Tracking calling 30 seconds, and we’re off.

It’s a very pleasant evening, but after about a K the humidity becomes noticeable. I run with Raghnall for a while. After 6K we are into the Moylisha forest. Beautiful views over thr patchwork of golden and green fields. As we exit the forest Lillian is there to greet us all again. Sorry to be leaving the forest for the roads again.

A few chats along the road here and it’s time to get the head torches before heading into the next forest. The trails here are mostly forestry roads so progress is good and there are 4 of us swapping places. Out of the forest at Raheenakit and I bomb down the hill. It’s a strange feeling running downhill not knowing when it will end. Nobody follows, clever people, minding their quads. Catch up with another guy on the uphill. At the cottage at Killquiggan crossroads the little dog thinks it’s doing a great job defending the house from these weirdos wearing lights on their heads, the owners won’t be getting any sleep for a while! Another nice long downhill to the Dying Cow (in retrospect I should have taken slower for the sake of the minute or two). There’s a party atmosphere at the Dying Cow, with a huge number of crews. Quickish in and out and leave on my own.

I meet an Italian runner before we hit Muskeagh Lane and we run the lane together. With the high ditches, it feels like running in a tunnel. Down the steps at Crossbridge and across the bridge (remembering the ice cream van from 2022 and Coolafinshogue Lane with all its gates (and Lillian’s directive to close the gates ringing in my ears). Stomach not feeling great now, and the lane and the fields that follow are tough enough going. Pop a few ginger capsules, and hope they’ll do the trick. It’s still overcast so not much moonlight or starlight. On the road to Sandyford Raghnall emerges from the dark and we run together for a while. Slow progress for the next few K, up the lane at Moyne and along the road and the uphill section of the Shielstown Woods. Water is running low too and I have to ration myself and I’m finding it hard to stomach the flask of Tailwind, but have no choice. It’s a warm and humid night and no need for anything other than a light t-shirt. Once I get to the top of Shielstown I have recovered and get back up a decent pace. Pass a few on the downhill towards Ballytiege. Feel my head torch is dimming, but can’t find the batteries while moving. Catch up with a runner from Belgium, and stick with him in case the batteries fail. Down to Iron Bridge and then we are climbing that.cambered track to CP 2. As we head up the hill, the moon wins the battle is the with clouds and makes an appearance.

CP 2 at Mucklagh is a hive of activity with Lillian commanding the troops. There’s a blazing fire and Citronella. A super helpful volunteer unpacks my vest and finds the batteries and changes them. Try some noodles, but too sweet, then remember I have a flask of soup, delicious easy nourishment. A few sambos, Jaffa Cakes, rehydrate, a change of T shirt and I feel like a new person.

Now for the famous detour. Then a nice downhill to the Mucklagh hut, the trees are covered with dew and look like silver in the torch light, magical. It’s a hard climb up from the hut but is over sooner than expected. It’s very foggy at top, the droplets look like a blizzard coming at the torchlight and my glasses are misting over. First light has started and I can see the outline of the hills all around. Down the hill and out on to Military Road. I can see one head torch ahead on Slieve Maan. Then onto that tricky trail beside Military Road, careful here, easy to step into a hole in the dark. As I head up Slieve Maan, I can see a steady trickle of headlamps descending Carrickashane. A great sight as I haven’t seen anyone since Mucklagh. There’s a nice long stretch parallel to the Military Road, my only company is a sheep with her reflective marble eye.

Come to the small diversion before the woods. Glad I’ve been here recently as the diversion is not easy to see in the dark. Into the forest. I avoid the boardwalks here as everything is wet and they will be slippy, but I still end up on my backside when I slip on a flagstone. No damage done. When I emerge from the forest the first sight is the bright lights of the Glenmalure. But the road to Glenmalure is long and winding, but it’s bright now. The quads start to complain on the big downhill to Glenmalure, but I might as well make time as I know the uphill that’s coming after Glenmalure. Arrive in Glenmalure just before 5.00, half way in 8 hrs, happy with that. Haven’t seen one runner in person since Mucklagh. Raghnall is getting ready to leave as I arrive and we have a quick chat.

I can smell the bacon as I approach the aid station here. I get a leaders update and hear that Cillian Fleming is leading followed by Keith Lane next and Aoife Mundow in 3rd.

The next section to Glendalough is basically first half uphill, second half downhill, so I’m ready for a long walk. Looking over the Glenmalure valley and can see runners heading down to Glenmalure on the opposite side of the valley and a waterfall. A hare and 3 goats cross my path on the way up. Then off the forestry roads onto that tough sandy path and on to the boardwalk at Mullacor, high above the clouds in the valleys below. Out the gate and then on to that lovely long downhill. Only problem is the quads are starting to squeal. Time for a Neurofen, hope the stomach will be OK. It’s a beautiful run down. On the diversion at Poulanass I come across Dave Barry, who is having a bad morning. Down to the bottom of the valley. Run along the path beside the lakes. The round tower comes into sight and I’m pounding over the bridge into Glendalough.

CP 4 is Avril Challenor and Brian Hourigan’s gig and there’s another great welcome. More bacon, watermelon and a big coffee. A flask of soup from the drop bag goes down easily. And to top it all, a massage for the aching quads with peppermint and arnica lotion from Susan. For a while I forget I’m supposed to be doing an ultra! I ask how many runners are in already, and told around 26, super news, though I would be around 40th.

Off again up through the twisting paths out of Glendalough. Picked up running poles on Glendalough, and they help with the climbing. Finally out of the forest over the stile and onto Paddock Hill, nice run through the open fields, then along by the shelter, where a couple of campers are having breakfast. Then down the lane and a stop at the farmer’s tap to top up the water bottles. Couldn’t do this leg without this water stop. Our onto the road to Oldbridge. Two hares playing with each other among the sheep. Down the 10% hill into Oldbridge is another challenge for the legs Stop at the Wicklow Way Lodge for another water top up from the tap. Why not?

Haven’t seen a runner since Glendalough, but I spot one climbing the stile at the end of the lane after Oldbridge. I trail him for the next 4 k through the fields and then woods and eventually catch up with him near Pier Gates. Around the car park and along the boardwalks through the Ballinastoe Woods. As I emerge from the woods the sun makes an appearance, but thankfully it’s short lived. No need for the sunglasses. Out of the Ballinastoe Woods passing the JB Malone monument and a glance down to the beautiful Lough Tay, the new bright sandy trail up White Hill stretches out ahead. Along here the watch clocks 100K just before 10.00, and I am passed by another runner (only the third runner seen on the route since Mucklagh). Then it’s onto the shoulder of Djouce. This is tricky going as there are a lots of places requiring stepping down and the now tired legs are not steady. Time for another Neurofen. Then it’s down the rocky path to the Dargle and back up again. On the long descent through Crone Woods across from the Powerscourt Waterfall, the legs come back to life and I can get some speed up. Around a bend and I come across two walkers quietly watching a deer, sorry guys but there’s a race to be run and the deer bounds away into the vegetation.

Into the car park in Crone Wood just coming up to 11.00. Time for a break. Last of the soup, cold by now, but still good. Sausages and the offer of ice cream. Check for blisters. None. It starts raining but has stopped by the time I’m ready to go. Down to the Glencree River, over the bridge and a bit of a canter along the river. It’s almost a crawl up the field from the river and through the woods at Knockree. On to Curtlestown Woods and the long climb starts. After the forestry road the granite steps up to Prince William’s Seat are very tough. Rewarded with stunning views out to the Irish Sea here as I walk the rocky stretch by Prince William’s Seat. Finally back on runnable terrain on the fire roads in Glencullen Forest and happy te legs are still capable of running (maybe they’ll be good for the last stretch after Fairy Castle). Some of the forestry roads have been resurfaced and are much better than they were in March. But then my watch, which was fully charged, dies at 116K. I had been enjoying the stats, particularly watching the vert and Ks slowly decreasing (but not my ETA moving out). At least I’m not depending on it for navigation. On the last descent to Bornaraltry Bridge I pass another runner and we exchange greetings. On the long trudge up to the Glencullen Road, I meet 3 walkers who stop to ask what’s going on. I’m not sure they quite believe when I explain. Onto the Glencullen Road, manage to run/walk this in 250m segments, trying to save energy for that last big climb up the back of Fairy Castle, which is as expected. At last I’m at coming up to the junction where the route turns left onto the nicer sandy section, when I see a runner with a number descending from Fairy Castle, I catch up with him and the poor guy missed the turn and went straight up to Fairy Castle before realising the error. What rotten luck.

It’s pretty much all downhill from here. Pray the legs will hold out. I get going again on the sandy path and pass 2 runners. At the end are the spectacular views over the city. I get down the rocky road to Kilmashogue car park quickly. Not long now to Marlay. But I had forgotten the length of the road at Stackstown Golf Club which is another K, but it’s ok, still motoring. Even having to step on and off the footpaths takes energy now. At the back gate of Marlay I’m welcomed and snapped by another IMRA volunteer. Follow the little flags though the car park to get me on the Parkrun route. But where to turn left? I’m pretty sure I know where, but I can’t see a sign, and my dead watch is no help now. Relieved to encounter the yellow man after 50 metres or so in the woods Flying through the woods now, over the bridge, by the lake, and finally out of the woods and I can see the granite wall and stile and the supporters spread out on the grass enjoying the sun. James Dowling and Arik Var are there to cheer me on as I run through the stile looking for the sign to tap out. I have no idea of my finish time and have to ask. Thrilled to hear it’s 17:16, I had been hoping for 18.00, it’s a 1 hr 34 improvement from my 2022 outing.

James finds me a chair and we sit in the sun drinking Coke and Wicklow Wolf 0:0 and massive burrito, cheering and clapping the runners as they finish. Pierre comes back to join us too. A perfect end.

Thanks again to all the amazing volunteers who gave up their Friday nights and Saturdays so that we could all enjoy this amazing event and for all their help, encouragement and good cheer. Primal tells me I spent 1.02 Dwell Time! . Time flies when you’re having fun, they say.

Twenty-six parkruns and half an Everest

23 July, 2025 - Rob Tobin

Arrivals
Mid-morning on Friday. I collect Ailbhe, my better half, from the airport. She is returning from a work trip, running on Pacific time and sleep deprived. I tell her I need to stop into Decathlon for some last minute supplies and she goes with it. She’s a saint. She agrees to run Andy and me over to Marlay Park for the bus. An absolute saint.

Driving over via Kimmage, Kenilworth and Terenure we comb through starters and ruminate on podium contenders and the vulnerability of course records. Andy warns of the dangers of going out too hard and of hazardous hill sections, even towards the flatter southern end of the course. We are also both wary of the sleepers at Drumgoff. You know the ones. Under tree cover. On a north-facing slope. Never see sunlight. Always wet. Yeah, those ones.

At Marlay Park, Alan Kennedy stands with clipboard, ready to herd us all onto the bus. I sit with Andy, first on, who has secured a row with extra legroom. We’re soon surrounded by Rory, Raghnall, Dave, Rachel. All aboard and off to the mart.

On the bus journey, looking out to the right we see the plains of Kildare (benign) and dark cloud formations (ominous). To our left, the Wicklow Mountains and the Blackstairs run almost unbroken for 100 kms, from Saggart to New Ross. A breach in this wall betrays the Slaney’s course through Bunclody and from the remove of the M9 we know that’s roughly where we’re headed. We turn off the motorway and see the lower slopes of Mount Leinster to our right, the summit mast shrouded by a mountain mist. Here on the N80, the minds and conversations wander. I was here last weekend going to and from the Kilbrannish race. The Meath footballers were still in the championship. There is talk of Tandragee and yellow bag Tayto. Jaysus, I’d murther a bag of Tayto now. Any colour bag will do. We pass The Fighting Cocks. I’m sure there’s Tayto to be had in there. Is there a Centra in all this land with a name more exciting than “Zerafa”? Seeing road signs for Myshall we share our best (and worst) impressions of local musician Richie Kavanagh and his alter ego Johnny. We compare the bus’s pending arrival in Clonegal with the D-Day landings. As we turn off the N80 for Clonegal my brain farts loudly, expelling through my mouth the noxious question noone on their way to the start line of a 130 km ultra wants to contemplate: “What percentage of starters DNF this one, historically?”.

The bus pulls into Clonegal. Thankfully we aren’t met with German artillery but with a warm welcome from Lillian and an army of volunteers. Name crossed off, kit checked, tracker fitted. It’s time to drop bags. Cars parked along one edge of the village green opposite Dunnes are destined for the respective checkpoints. It’s a slick operation. Standing too close to the IMRA van lands me cowbell duties, as Lillian calls the field to order. For the first time in the WW race there are over 100 starters, testament to the work Lillian and her tireless teams have put into making this special event happen each year. With that the event has developed a reputation among ultra runners, and they’re here in force. Many are returning for more of a good thing. If it ain't broke... Many more are first timers, myself included. Hopefully it doesn't break me.

Le Grand Départ
We pelt it out the road. Everyone does. Early on I chat with Philip and Brian. The craic is ninety and so is the pace. I go along with it. The high spirits must be leading here as both head and heart know this pace won’t be sustainable through the night. Deputy RD Conor is there as we turn into woods. Philip and Brian push on. I catch up with Andy and Rory, who I am calling “the Beara Brothers”, then find a rhythm with Andy and Conor. We talk running poles, Wednesday league races and the experience of IMRA as returning emigrants (we are three). Looking out to the right, Mount Leinster’s summit is still shrouded. After about 11 kms of all-out running I slow to load in a Snickers, the first of six. The light is dimming. I catch up with Andy, asking if he knows why Graham isn’t here this year. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just enjoying going fast” posits Andy. If I make it through this in one piece that’s the cards marked for these next few Wednesday evenings, Graham.

Darkness falls like a stone. At around 16 kms in, nature calls and I lose sight of Andy and Conor. The junction I chose for this quiet moment to myself is discreet but offers a clear view down towards the forest barrier. As I squat, I reckon the gap between breakaway and peloton is already at more than 2 minutes. I pull up my shorts and fall in with the peloton. There is a different style of ultra running here and at this point in the race it suits me, after going out fairly hard. Energy is being conserved on the uphills but the pace on asphalt and any sort of declining section is blistering. I flex a bit on the inclines. Some of my fellow travellers here are conservative with their headtorch batteries, choosing to run on borrowed light from nearby runners’ headtorches as proximity allows.

CP1 The Dying Cow
There are dozens of parked cars, spectators and revellers taking the air outside Tallons. At a few metres’ remove from all this, the aid station is an ocean of calm. Water, watermelon, orange. More water, more watermelon, more orange. I refill flasks, grab my drop bag and get back on the road. For the first time, the field seems to thin out slightly.

Keep good company
Onwards to Mullinacuffe. In the black of night I routinely glance over my shoulder, just to be sure that there are other headtorches. There is a busy moment along the road at Muskeagh, with a convoy of cars passing alongside, presumably crew heading to Mucklagh. The engine noise fades and I see Myles is the next light over my shoulder. We turn right to climb the boreen. It’s midnight and I am due some sustenance. Myles and I wish one another well. Myles surges on as I march for a bit, chowing down another Snickers.

There aren’t many twists or turns on this boreen but I soon lose sight of Myles. I see a forest barrier accompanied by two brown signs. I don’t read the signs. It must be the Wicklow Way. Fifty metres in I realise it isn’t. I revert to asphalt and fall in with Cillian and Dermot. We joke that it’s going to be a long night if I keep making wrong turns like this. A few hundred metres later I run on past a gate with cantilevered steps, heading into someone’s yard, only for the lads to call me back. Over the gate. It measures little more than a mile but this next section of single track, downhill towards Crossbridge, feels like an eternity running in the dark over uneven stones, dodging leggy briars and nettles.

I skip down the lovely steps to the Derry River. No headtorches in front or behind. I run the long lane of gates all alone to Mangan’s Wood. I run alongside Paul Flynn until we turn off the fire road above Garryhoe. On the way to Ballycumber I feel as though I am running alone again - the ferns are as tall as houses. It’s 1 o’clock and Headtorch 1 has given up the ghost.

I cross the Ballycumber between Kyle and Moyne. My watch chirps for 42 kms just as I turn up the grassy lane. I allow myself the luxury of a stroll here, having run a hard first marathon with two more to go. Out onto the road at the top of Moyne. I push hard over these next 3 kms until the turn into woods at Sheilstown. I am hitting a bit of a rut now, 46 kms in. I last ran Sheilstown in March - the Askanagap race. This memory won’t help me out of my funk - I can’t remember an easy climb from this point. The route winds uphill through Sheilstown. Between trees, headtorches drift back and forth, above and below. I crest the ridge with Pierre. We career downhill towards Ballyteigue while comparing course notes. For some reason I reckon the Mucklagh CP could still be 5 kms away. Thankfully I am wrong.

CP2 Mucklagh
We cross Iron Bridge and climb with the overhead lines. There it is, high above us. Bar lamps glow among trees. A campfire gently smoulders. A plume of smoke rises. It’s giving off Body and Soul, back when it wasn’t its own festival but a radical sylvan commune at Electric Picnic. Don’t ask me to find it by day, but it’s easily located late at night, particularly after a skinful. This legendary WW pop-up is a festival highlight. Welcome to Mick’s Kitchen. RD Lillian is here too. I take a few minutes to absorb. Liquids. Solids. Fumes. Atmosphere. The hospitality is second to none but, as other runners come and go, I coax myself to get back out on the road.

High above the mucky-muck
A few hundred metres up the road I throw a complete and utter wobbly. In my own little world, I expect to stay on the road to Mucklagh Bridge but yellow arrow signs, of the kind shown to starters in Clonegal hours earlier, point left into fire road. I am flapping and in the telecommunications vacuum that is this corner of Wicklow I try to make contact with some of the wise ones back down at Mucklagh to confirm the route.

The next headtorch coming up behind me is worn by Shane O’Neill and we agree to follow the signs. We quickly cop one another, old sparring partners on the road from Old Bawn to Ballinascorney in last year’s AON. It’s Shane’s third outing in the WW and we talk target times. We don’t know it yet, but so begins a longer game of cat-and-mouse, from Mucklagh through Glenmalure to Glendalough. Along the way we renew the chats, sharing banter and motivation as we push on through the last hours of darkness and into daylight. Shane and I keep one another on the straight and narrow around the Mucklagh diversion. Headtorches catch fog. Climbing from Mucklagh hut they catch a series of massive white boulders, which I mistake for the light of some phantom runner’s headlamp.

As we descend to the Military Road we see real runners’ headlamps zigzagging on the slopes of Slievemaan opposite. I break ahead of Shane, missing signs for the diversion after Slievemaan and end up bushwhacking my way between fallen trees. It’s now when I need it most that Headtorch 2 decides to fire a warning shot. Between upturned tree roots I see two headtorches passing along the diversion, a few metres over to my left. It’s Shane and another runner. By the time I pick up the diversion they are out of sight and I have the lovely sleepers all to myself. I try to find the line of greatest traction, whether that’s on or off the boards. It’s almost always off, isn’t it? The ground there is uneven. I alternate. I come off the boards, plant my feet on a wet sloping rock and perform a spectacular pirouette. Noone will ever appreciate how good that pirouette was.

Finally off the sleepers and the lights of Glenmalure Lodge come into view in the valley below. I push a bit along fire road, trying to make up for my recent bushwhacking and ballet efforts. The gradient breaks and I hear someone tearing downhill behind me. Niamh Fitzpatrick hurtles past. We exchange words of encouragement. Niamh’s pedal is down and the distance increases. Our voices strain to be heard. The gap grows to about 200 metres, Niamh turns a corner in the fire road and goes out of sight.

CP3 Glenmalure
Such was Niamh’s descent at Drumgoff that we barely cross paths at Glenmalure Lodge. One in, one out. Paul and Niamh Kelly run a tight ship here. Hats off to these stalwarts of the Wicklow Way Race and the Southeast League, they always run a tight ship. Watermelon, more watermelon, orange, banana, more orange, all the watermelon. Grab bag. It’s uphill to Coolalingo and on to Mullacor.

Terra incognita
I’m running alone but see Shane ahead on straights. Finally, the headtorch can be packed away. After a few minutes I realise the benefits. My head was only bursting under the strap. I meet a few runners heading back down towards Glenmalure. It’s not yet 5am. Another runner’s mates, surely. As daylight breaks I pause to take in views across Glenmalure to Carrawaystick, with low clouds lining the walls of the valley. For me, the last terra incognita on the Wicklow Way is the section of the Miners Way between Mullacor Hut and Lugduff Gap. I climb with Shane before he tears off downhill into Glendalough, running against a backdrop of pink light in the eastern sky.

I am really feeling this descent. My right foot feels swollen in the shoe and dorsiflexion is painful. It could be that laces need loosening or it could spell the end. I’m not sure yet but it’s something to look at when I get to Glendalough CP. As the route levels out beneath Poulanass, I catch up with Shane only to feel another twinge, this time to the left of my spine. It doesn’t feel mechanical. I’m worried it might be an organ giving out. I lash in what’s left of my water and we run on to the CP.

CP4 Glendalough
Ailbhe is here waiting with CP volunteers Avril, Nicola and Susan. I am a bit out of sorts, not sure if I could/should/would continue for another 50 kms. The first item of business is this twinge in my back which is put down to stiffness. I take a seat and it’s shoe off, ice on for a good ten minutes. With the backpack off now there is steam coming off my back that would make Mick’s campfire look like incense. I am glad of more fruit and Lucozade. Avril puts things into perspective, asking if what I’m feeling is hurt or pain. A pain is a pain but a right pain would be hurting. After a few minutes with ice I reckon I can tolerate it. The shoe goes back on with laces loosened. Before parting ways I ask Ailbhe to bring a few comforts to Crone, or wherever I might eventually call quits along the way. Toothbrush, toothpaste, a can of 7up and the remnants of the curry I’d been eating before leaving for Marlay Park.

It is a real struggle to get going again here. I shuffle out of the carpark and after a few hundred metres realise I haven’t cleared the key pocket in my shorts. It's now brimming with ultra running detritus - wrappers from used gels, bars, etc.. Glendalough being one of those very tidy places that doesn’t need litter bins, the bulge in my shorts will be coming with me to Crone.

The beginning of the end
I hike up into the woods beneath Brockagh, cross the stile and find that I can in fact still run, even finding it enjoyable at times. Some cautious footwork delivers me to the Glenmacnass and then the Military Road. Here there is almost a sense of repeating what I've just done to get up out of Glendalough, as I climb through woods to Paddock Hill. Above the trees, the summits of Djouce and the Sugar Loaf come into view, although they are still a fair distance away. Dublin suddenly feels within range. I take great strength from this and feel for the first time as though I might actually finish. Paddock Hill levels out and I run by one stile, over another and pass Brusher Gap hut, where a couple pitched a tent inside the hut. Belt and braces. It occurs to me that I haven't taken on electrolytes since leaving Mucklagh. I've already run down my water coming up out of Glendalough so have nothing to mix into. I remember the drinking water tap on Gaffney’s Lane. I've never been so glad to see a tap. Fill, down in one, fill again, add electrolytes and go.

I turn out of Gaffney’s Lane and see Paul Flynn on the road up ahead. I catch up with Paul as the road climbs. I ask if he’s seen any ripe blackberries on the ditches yet - trying to spot them has become a game for me. I’ve been eating blackberries from my own garden for weeks now. They were everywhere in Cooley on Wednesday night. The Wicklow microclimate says wait. Only with hindsight do I realise the importance of having promised myself good things and little luxuries that I either knew would be coming or that I could at least hope for and cope if they didn’t come. Over the first 90 kms, to Oldbridge, this was ripe blackberries. None to be had but the brambles were always there to be checked, so a worthy distraction.

Paul and I play cat-and-mouse from Oldbridge to the Pier Gates. With about 400 metres left on the fire road through Ballinafunshoge, we spot a runner up ahead and work together to close this gap. As this mystery runner turns left out the barrier, towards Lough Tay, we are left to conclude that this is someone sane, someone who isn’t out running 130 kms on a Saturday morning.

The second wind is now fully in my sails, even if there is an almighty blister coming up on the pad of my right pinky toe. I push on towards Robber’s Pass Hill. I see Niamh Fitz again. We run alongside one another to White Hill. I push on a bit and run the goat track alone, noone in sight either in front or behind.

A wide grassy track a.k.a. “the fairway” (thanks Sean) descends from Djouce to the stile. When the surface here is holding water or even just a bit soft I struggle to stay upright. The going is firm today, so much so that two tents are pitched in the middle of the fairway. I stub two toes on a stone and am almost sent somersaulting into one of the tents. I am going head over heels, clutching at blades of grass and my chin is almost down at my left knee, but I manage to catch myself and keep running. Two toes are singing but everything else is flying. I might have to check those toes at Crone.

Coming up the fairway towards me are two runners and I recognise Paul Duffy. In the moment, with my screaming toes, I feel somewhat envious of Paul, out enjoying what I can only imagine is a perfectly sane and normal run. None of this three consecutive marathons through the night malarkey. A good night's rest and no sore toes. The lucky fecker.

Reaching the stile, I glance back along the fairway towards Djouce. I can make out Paul and his running buddy in the distance but don't see anyone coming down the fairway towards me. To Glensoulan, my favourite. I find a good rhythm on the descent while being careful not to do anything really silly. Looking up the other side of the valley I see Rory and further up again is Patricia. Crossing the footbridge here I often challenge myself to continue running up the other side. Not today. I'm not counting the gap until we're on parallel contours. I hike up and run again. I clock Rory ducking under a fallen tree. 30 seconds. I see Rory again as he turns for Ride Rock. 15 seconds. Rory finds another gear on the descent to Crone and the gap is preserved.

CP5 Crone Wood
It’s time to deal with the sizeable bulge in my shorts once and for all. I disgorge the contents of my key pocket and order is restored. Quick chat with RD Lillian, who lives and breathes this event. I need some of that energy. Caroline, Gavin and Ailbhe are on hand with water, more water, Lucozade, watermelon, more watermelon and yes, more Lucozade. Rory is already out the gate, headed down to the Glencree.

Ailbhe has packed my toothbrush, toothpaste and Friday afternoon's curry. Having asked for all of it to be brought, now I'm having none of it. The curry had replaced wild blackberries as my motivating comfort. Now it was there to be had, but the want had long worn off me. In a moment of ingenuity, Ailbhe has also packed some grapes for this petulant emperor. Gavin remarks on this choice of nutrition. I know on the wrong day grapes could cause bloating, but I’ve been lucky in that department and so I tear into this sweet sugar water.

Mum and my aunt Nikki arrive. Mum is a veteran IMRAite with some 70-odd races to her name. I’ve been reminding her lately that I overtook her race count earlier this month. I also say she is equally to blame and to thank for me getting into this IMRA business, having tipped me to run Leg 2 for our club team, Bravehearts, a few years back. While I'm delighted to have their support, I make my excuses and get back on the road.

The last leg
I never checked those toes. The motivating comfort is now ice cream.

Crossing the Glencree, I reckon Rory must be out there somewhere but the ferns are having a great year down along the river. I don't see him until we're through the gorse and around the stile above the car park at Knockree. We hike the steep track through the woods. He leads us out onto the Lackan fire road. Now somewhere around 13 hours in, Rory asks if I’m aiming to finish in under 15 hours. “Not a f*cking chance!” says I, “I haven't run 10 kms in an hour all night - I won't do it for the next 2 hours”. I push on through Lackan, up the road to the barrier at Curtlestown.

I don't use the word lightly. I *hate* this next climb on the fire road. I told Lillian as much back at Crone. “It's the last real climb” came the reply. I've always regarded getting from the Glencullen up and over the ridge to be a fair auld slog, but on Saturday morning I found that it simply doesn't compare. Even if the legs grow incrementally more tired with time, distance, elevation, once you crest above Curtlestown you are as good as home and hosed. Allowing myself to hike most of the way, I catch up with Sam as we climb the fire road. More words of encouragement both ways: “It's nearly over”, “Only 15 kms to go”, “We're nearly there”. I reach the top of the fire road and run onto single track. This next section is known as the “Rock Garden of Death”. Maybe a slight exaggeration but treacherous all the same. Loads of loose stones. I hike up to where the Wicklow Way meets Nellies Way, then run all the way to the Glencullen.

I blend running with hiking to the valley road and from here I spend to the end. The last climb (but not the real last climb) doesn't faze me. I catch up with Patricia on the ridge and Pierre on the zigzags going down to Kilmashogue car park. An approaching cyclist knows runners’ names. It's Peter O’Farrell on his gravel bike!

I boot down Kilmashogue Lane, pass under the M50 and meet Stephen and Henny as I enter Marlay Park. I almost had nightmares on Thursday, such was my fear of losing track once inside Marlay Park. In the end I needn't have worried. Along the wall, through the woods, over the footbridge, through more woods and finally out into the open. Ailbhe is there with Mum and Nikki. Conor and John Joe clock me through the gap in the wall. I claim my piece of granite and head for the ice cream van. C’est fini.

What a perfect waste of time

22 July, 2025 - Sean Forsyth

For the 2nd year running I find myself at the start line, for the 2nd year running this was not on my radar, it was a late decision to sign up.

I was very unsure of myself for this, I had discussed this with Derek Hay on the way down in the car, I think we were both 75% prepped for it. I had spent the best part of the year training for another failed attempt at the Wicklow Round in May, I hadn’t done a huge amount of training after and nothing specific for this one.

The 3 weeks previous had been spent in Italy, where running in 37 degree heat seemed like wading through water, so I decided to do some warm weather carb loading of Pizza and Pasta instead and was hoping that my body would remember how to survive the night and day on the WW.

We arrived in Clonegal to loads of people waiting for the start. Through registration to the start line and the 5 words or so that Lillian managed to get for the race brief.

We move well at the start, probably too well as I find myself sucked along at the fast pace I was dreading, the sweat already rolling down within the 1st km. It’s warm and already people are stopping to take off tops and jackets. I drop back to run with Derek (he’s the man with the plan for CP1) John Murphy is there too and we move along up through the woods, joined by Neil Dowling at this point. Then we are through onto the road, I can’t believe it has gone so quickly when time seemed to stand still going towards Clonegal last year…the mind boggles.

Anyway, back to the race. Up Stookeen, down the byways and highways into CP1, 5 mins before the planed eta of 3 hours. Darragh’s there to help, got water bottles filled, ham and cheese sambo eaten and away we go. The next section is where the 1st of the lows hit, it’s a funny oule thing the head, I’ve been here before, I know what to expect and that I should be thinking small and only to the next turn or section but I start to think about how long we have and I get a bit down on myself…but then, the mind also starts telling me this feeling will pass and it does. Just bizarre.

The chats have been great with the lads so far, some good stories, recommendations, anecdotes and adages, some good ones too, so good that I was thinking that we could get together a book of them at some point…sure enough by today, I’ve forgotten every single one of them but they were great (I’m nearly sure they were anyway) and got me through the lows.

As we moved on up the road towards the 1st proper trail, the spirits rise again for me as we get some good running in, down to the steps with memories of last years ice cream drifting through my head, no such luxuries this night and I wonder will we be treated later in the race.
At this point I’m worried about Derek, he’s in a low and not moving great. We walk for a bit through the gates and on up to Raheenakit, then some running down to crossbridge and through the country lanes. Walk, run, shuffle, walk is the routine now. Dereks up again but poor John is flagging, his heroic effort of getting home at 4.30am and up at 8.30am on the day of the race is taking it’s toll. He waves us onwards.
On we go up the lane onto the road and all of a sudden there is about 10 runners running down the road, like a herd of sheep, a quick hello to Dave Doherty and then 4 of us pull away..Maksim has joined our trio for a bit.

We trudge on towards Mucklagh, gritting the teeth waiting for the never come turn to the Sheilstown forest. Finally, its here and up and up we go, some chats and laughs, some headlights dimming as the battery packs drain. Luckily, I have an industrial size head torch that is still going and we getting running down towards Ironbridge and up the slope to Mucklagh.

Oodles of noodles await and I mistakenly take a spoon of super spicy ones, which are quickly discarded for chicken and mushroom (nobody wants a story that ends with the hero squatting in the woods). Thanks to Daniel here for the help with bags and water bottles, he was aces.
But I’m a bit all over the place here, I change the T-shirt but can’t manage to find a replacement buff, Derek and Neil have their poles but I had decided to pick mine up at Glendalough, but I’ve doubts about the wisdom of that. Lillian to the rescue though with a lend to the end. My mind is turning again and I’m going back to bigger picture rather than the next section.

We leave the check point, bellies full and march on. The diversion is horrible, there’s no running, then when there is running my legs are aching a lot and I’m only able for a few minutes of it. It just seems to drag but then the someone points to the sky and dawn is breaking, the moment I waited for, will my body feel free like it did last year??? Not a bloody hope but the mind is back in mode and we manage to get some running down through Drumgoff and into Glenmalure.

Theres Lillian again and Niamh, absolute rock stars of the Check Points. Words of encouragement, a sit down, some water refills and food, then off again.
I’m seriously flagging though shortly after leaving, my legs, hips, knees, ankles, shoulders are slowly trying to kill me off, I think this is it, my bodies telling me who’s the boss, I start to believe it too.

Derek, Neil and then Julian to the rescue though with some tales of glories, talks about life and future endeavours in the mountains. All of a slap we are over the boardwalks and down into Glendalough. Derek is flying here, Neil is strong and Julian is steady. Into the CP and there’s Alan Kennedy, fulfilling a request I made to have a pot noodle ready to go…Now my one recommendation for future pot noodle related races, is to send Alan on a course on how to make them. I’ve been here before with Alan, it was better than the last but ….well the less said the better.

Nicola Cleary was brilliant here, water bottles done, plenty of good advice given and heeded. While looking for some paracetamol I had on me, I found my bloody spare buff in my front pocket…typical eh!

Anyway full of salty noodle water, coca cola, buttery flapjacks and a painkiller we were off again. The mind was engaged, 80km done, familiar ground to come and I was able to break everything down in the bite size sections as I should have been doing.

Up to Brockagh woods, down to military road haring through the forest sections was great. Derek and Neil with me, chats going again, over Paddock, down Gaffney’s lane and onto the road, Julian passes us by with a wave and on we march to Old Bridge.

Quick discourse on how old Oldbridge might actually be..then we seen it stated on the bridge…very old. What type of stones, construction methods and quick chat with a local runner and then Derek is done!!!!! I’m genuinely heartbroken for him, it’s a huge call to say you’ve had enough but at 92km there’s absolutely no shame, he ran a phenomenal race, and he got me through the night, as the Red Dwarf crew would say about Ace Rimmer….’WHAT A GUY’. With Dereks well wishes me and Neil push on.
We have been checking times since Glendalough, we had planned on being in there for 9ish and had vague eta for Crone for about 1.30. We seemed to be ahead of schedule and possibly on a different day we could have got in for 12.30 but that climb towards pier gates was tough, reduced to a lot of walking and the odd shuffle, an unexpected boost comes to see Darragh coming our way and big smile and a big lie telling us we are looking strong but it works.

A quick discussion with Neil and we think about what’s to come, just push the climbs and try shuffle the downs, it sort of works all the way to Djouce shoulder, as we start down the shoulder I start to feel the quads burn, another quick chat and we agree to walk to the ‘fairway’ and then push down to the stile. We manage to ride it out but 12.30 is now 12.45 eta and by the time we climb out of the Dargle Valley its past 1pm. A few pushes more and we finally make it to crone at 1.20ish with a lot of relief and plenty of cheers from the crowds.

A seat is taken and Darragh is there again somehow, with Niamh and others to fill bottles, tie shoe laces and I gobble down a thick wedge of fruit cake smothered in butter, washed down by coke. I was wrecked…distance confirmed as a half marathon to go, I really wasn’t sure if 4 and a half hours was enough. I had told my wife it should take 3 hours from here but my body was a shell of itself. I asked and was told it was enough…they wouldn’t lie to me would they? Then Darragh is telling us to get the hell out of there so off we went. I called Maria to tell her the new ETA but I just couldn’t get the words out without sobbing. So a quick text and hopefully she understood the gibberish that was typed. In all the rush I also missed the ice cream.

On we went, a shuffle to the bridge and walk through Glencree, the new plan was to walk to Curtlestown, climb and then push down to Bonaralthy bridge. We got out to Curtlestown and reckoned we have 3 hours or so to cover 15k…5k and hour and we’d be in before the time. My mind couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of my mouth….5km in an hour in a race.

Now, I despise the curtlestown climb, really really hate it, so its always a drag and a low point for me, I try to cling on to someone and with Neil it was a good omen, we also got talking to another Sean who we had swapped places with since Glenmalure. The 3 of us struggling up the hill when the most amazing thing I have ever seen in a mountain run happened…about two thirds of the way up, I looked back and this guy is strolling up behind us like a Sunday stroll, he glides by with a smile, I thought he must be a local hiker but as he passes I see his race number, I was thunder struck, he might have well had his hands behind his back and be whistling for all the effort that he seemed to have to put in. in no time he was gone…I think it took use another 10/15 mins of torture to get to the top.
Anyway, we were up and over, off Sean went, myself and Neil coaxed 4 Km in 40 mins out of the bodies which gave us 2 hours left to get to the end…5km if Check pointers were to be believed. It wasn’t 5km, it was 8 and that push to bank that extra 20 mins down from PWS was worth the pain because I don’t think I could have tried to race it in to beat the clock.

Eventually we got to the long fireroad/road section to the underpass and onto the path and there’s Brian Smyth and Lillian to welcome us to Marley Park, the welcome sight of some IMRA flags to guide the way in and the last jog to the end.

The cheers were amazing, it really makes it all worth it to see and hear all the supporters, over the wall, Maria was there, beer was there, ice cream was there and that beautiful piece of granite handed out by Conor.

There’s a line from a song written by Big Guy Garvey of Elbow fame that speaks about camaraderie and spending good times with likeminded people.

‘Another sunrise with my sad captains, with who I choose to lose my mind and if it's so, we only pass this way but once, what a perfect waste of time.

For a race like this and a community of runners like IMRA, I think it’s a very fitting tribute to everyone I stood with at the starting line and met along each CP and those especially that got me through it out there.

It’s what makes mountain runners the best runners

Im Alive - Just about

22 July, 2025 - Dillon Ryan

Its 3 weeks out from the race and I'm carefully scrolling through the IMRA calendar looking for a challenge before I take on the eco trail and the Dublin marathon (My annual ritual). I keep coming back to this race and I decide to read the race reports from previous years. All very romantic talking about night sky, stars shining bright, beautiful rolling hills, ' a nice long run'...hmm do I? My sons 6th birthday is July 17th the day before the race and all week he has been asking me for a homing pigeon for his birthday. Inspired by an episode from curious George, he was adamant he wanted it. I made an agreement with him...Ill be a homing daddy and start miles away from home and see if I can make it back? he loved the idea and so drew me a map. The map was lots of squiggles and a smiley face. Follow this daddy and you wont be lost. (To be honest, id probably be better off following this than trying to understand the actual map). I sign up, start of July, feck it! I inform my wife of my brave endeavour 'gonna run that Wicklow way thingy love'. Oh really? - Now when your wife responds with a question but the tone is pitched slightly higher, that means ' this will be very difficult but I love you and I got your back'. we got 3 weeks to turn these legs into gladiators, out I go straight up to Hellfire on a 20k jog. My training involved back to back 20ks with a 30k and a 40k sprinkled in around my playground of Ticknock, Pine Forest, Cruagh and Heller - Real hills I assured myself. I only got to do this 5 more times...piece of cake .. right? The planning got more intense the closer the race came...not so much by me, I was useless. My wife sorted every food item, found the perfect drops bags, had my gear ready while I sat shaking in the corner trying to convince myself its all good. The whole world knows at this stage so there's no backing out. Right lets get real here - Plan is - Stay in zone 2 the whole way and your good to go! In the days before the race, the backpack is starting to get bigger and bigger. Christ almighty I say, I got to carry all this crap? I'm heavy enough as it is! Whistle in...waterproof leggings in...compass.... a quick play with this instrument turning it around watching the magnetic thingy swing around to North showing Leo...TBH I haven't a clue how to read this dam thing. In it goes right down the bottom never to be seen again. I pulled out of the race a couple of times during the last week. If it wasn't for my wonderful supportive wife Joan, reassuring me, having everything ready, I d never have toed the start line. Did I mention the days leading up to it I got to lie in bed and she took the kids out all day? hmmm I could sign up for these ultras more option and be treated like a king! Race Day - I sit beside the great David Barry. Myself and Joan were one of his first YouTube subscribers and I highly recommend you all check out - Filmmytrailrun on YouTube. Some really good content, but he is just a wonderful human to be around. He tells me his race plan - ' Run to Mucklagh like its a marathon' then the race begins. I nod in agreement with a gulp down my throat pretending how easy that sounds. Of course I say, why wouldn't you? I look out the window of the bus passing somewhere in Kildare...endless fields of gold. God getting so far from home now and I'm usually in bed by 9pm!! Cant get out now! I send my last few texts to my loved ones assuring them I haven't pissed my pants and all will be fine. Lilian says her piece and off she sends her lambs to the slaughter when the gun goes. First km 5.30per k - Very easy paced yet I'm hanging at the back...what the hell are those up front doing? Don't they know its 129k? I felt like shouting up 'relax y'all its a really long race' The usual smile and wave to the sprinkle of locals while the body has energy. Cant imagine there will be any waving hours from now. I run with a gentleman who tells me all about pacepro and we discuss which way would be easier, going from north to south or south to north. After 21km, I was done with tarmac and fire road and was convinced south to north is way better as you get the scenery at the end. I've never ran further than 50k and that was over a year ago, never ran at night either. 2 hours in, its pretty much pitch black and I'm trying to keep focused. We arrived into the dying cow or should be called the dying soul of an IMRA runner. Something out of a haunted scene where there's a shindig going on in small rural pub inside, and outside is corpses arriving into the carpark hunting for scraps along the table. I rip open my first checkpoint bag like its a Christmas present. Down the gullet with the protein drink (will pay for that later) in with a waffle, down some coke and off I go. I'm not one for stop start type running so getting going again is a right battle. Its really dark now and I shuffle pass Andrew Moore. Keep going mister Goose I say but he doesn't respond. (I think that's his business name or fitgoose) He looked laser focused and on a mission, either that or he too was scarred from the dying cow. The next 24k takes us on never ending fire road and some off beat tracks. My only company at this stage was the bats entering into my only bit of light from the head torch. I'm not fully gone yet but hanging in there. The mental battery is waning and I'm thinking how the hell can I get home from this torture. My wife wishes me a good night as her eyes are now exhausted from the tracker. God I wish I was at home in bed but I put the phone down and troop on. Its me against me. I go astray down a farmyard and begin to panic. Thankfully Dave Docherty and another had followed me. (If I'm going down you both are coming with me) None of us saw the silver stile and went wrong again veering left into the farmers field. within seconds, I was keeled over and vomiting every where. That protein drink didn't want part of this journey and is now gracefully coating a bail of hay. A moment of deep depression and panic, I was saved when Dave Docherty generously gave me his last dioralyte. This stuff while tasting manky, turned my stomach and head around for awhile. Id of been lost and possibly dead if it weren't for you guys. Finally get to 50k and I'm extremely dehydrated. Both 500mls gone since 47k as the night was quite humid. The map on my watch says 50k...but where is this aid station? it directs me into the left a bit, off the road and into a bush. Starting to panic now. I cant die like this I tell myself! there's a big horrendous climb and I decide to march up wobbling side to side. 'How the hell do the rest run this? A quick look at the tracker to see how far back I am and looks like Cillian's going into Marley...Get out of town no bloody way. I rub my eyes again and see he's heading out from Glenmalure. Good Christ!! Mucklagh aid station is at the very top of a very steep hill. A carrot on a string for runners if they want their food and it resembles a place where the dead come to pay their penance at 3.30 in the morning. I see the IMRA Van and I'm targeting a big jump into the back. 'take me home Lillian, I'm done! Don't be daft, get these noodles into you, some ginger ale and get to Glenmalure. Daft or dead I think to myself. Right but then I'm done! I'm in awe of the volunteers up at this hour. Just cant believe people give up there time especially at this hour when they could be cuddled up asleep in their beds. I'm thinking this as I'm glued to the chair. God I miss my wife and kids right now. But stop moaning lets go! I ran with a gent Ciaran Boggan from Enfield for this stretch. He wasn't to happy about his boss giving him a full day work today and he had no time for dinner but came straight to the start line. What a beast! Thanks for the chats dude, kept my mind from cracking for that part. We start to descend into Glenmalure and my legs are fried. I've done my PB, Gotten over 50k and the lodge looks bloody stunning from the hill. Almost majestic beyond the mist. Marty passes me and checks in with me. He looks strong. He tells me to keep going and doesn't agree that I should quit, well certainly didn't say' ah ye you should', more of a keep going, you never know how you'll feel after some time. Rachel Harney passes me by coming down the fire road. I'm walking down the road now I'm in that much pain. I pass on my 'well done keep it up' she looks strong but a little tired but didn't look like stopping. She is leaving CP3 as I'm entering and my race is done. Grace and Kev played a blinder here. Grace was crewing for Sarah Clarke who unfortunately pulled up with stomach problems. Grace and Kev kindly hung back an extra hour or so just for me which almost brought me to tears that someone would care to wait around for my slow ass to get in. I said I'm done, no more, got my PB. Let me quit. Both said just get to Glendalough, its one climb and you can roll in. They stuffed my bag, glued my hands to poles and away I went. I informed my wife that Ill throw one more dart at the board and see how I go. I turn up this never ending climb for 4km and burst into tears. My head broke and my body has had enough. I send my wife a tearful message saying I've failed and I'm sorry for all the work you have done to get me here. Also tell Leo that his daddy is not a fine coated racing homing pigeon but rather a useless fat street pigeon. She knows me more than anything and gives me the right motivation to keep going. I think of the race reports of previous years and try very hard to find any truth to them. This is frickin torture, what good are stars at night when your bolloxed? endless fire road with 2 feet of visibility? there has to be something to this. Surely?? Up ahead I see Rachel. She's no longer shuffling but rather walking but not with intent. I found a little strength and my walks are starting to be more productive. I pass her and check in, 'keep going Rachel, your doing great, are you ok?' She mumbles back 'I'm ok, I never ran through the night and I'm tired, I'm just going to lie down for 10 minutes.' I tell her to keep focused, that might not be a good idea and to keep going but Marty and another lad are not far behind maybe 500 meters, they might convince her. The sun is coming up and the hills are yawning ready to greet whatever trespassers today. I feel like I have climbed for eternity. There's no hills like Wicklow hills I thought to myself. Like a migrating animal in search for the watering hole, I start to smell Glendalough...nearly at 80 woo. A guy passes me down the long descent to Glendalough wearing barefoot shoes. The base of his feet must have a 6 - pack I thought to myself. I have also been chaffing in a place where the sun don't shine for the last 40 plus km and of course, my wife gave me those wonderful unopen-able tins of Vaseline. I've been spinning the lid on this thing for 15 minutes and felt like I was shuffling a deck of cards. Trying to open this thing 7 hours in to a run and no sleep is unbearable. I smash it against a rock, shout Allelujuah..it opens! I felt like I discovered the 4th secret of Fatima. One felled swoop and down the back side it goes, Thankfully no one was watching! The smartest decision I made all night was to keep the lid open and into my pocket. I was so badly chaffed at this point my cheeks were beginning to lose volume and I'm sure had I not got that open, there would be blood trails down my legs! Never the less, we are fixed and a smile comes to my face, the trail starting to look real pretty now! hobbling into Glendalough was painful but beautiful at the same time. Those trees and the lakes are just class. Felt like I was in Florida. The sun was beaming and I was ready to put my feet up, quit and figure out what bus will take me back to Knocklyon. Avril looked like she was opening her own restaurant having us try all sorts of cold potatoes with some fancy toppings, other bits and bobs I cant pronounce but she did great job. My stomach as a tight casket at this stage and nothing was going in. Alan Kennedy, what a man, had my drinks ready, filled my cups with Fanta and helped change my t shirt into a tanker. He is such a positive person and brings the best out of every situation. Thank you to the lady who gave me a massage on my cemented legs. I was so drowsy at this stage nothing was going into my brain. All I remember hearing was something about cows milk something something is what she was using as the massage oil. I meet Bryan who was to run with Rachel and he was pacing up and down. I could see the worry in his eyes and I felt like saying she tried to sleep but I decided not to. I think Avril announced that she's not far off and that gave me a lift from my chair! GET IN I thought, she's kept going. That gave me a boost then to stand up. Bryan was delighted and was all action ready to rock. I imagine it was like to scene from homeward bound where Rachel makes it in to Bryans delight. Bryan gives me some words of encouragement before I head of. Guardian angel - Alan taps my shoulder and says, I have a well established runner and navigator named Kath who will take you back to Crone where your dad and mom will take over. I was thrilled as I was completely goosed and hadn't a clue where I Was going as my watch died. Kath stayed behind me the whole time and kept my head focused. She asked me questions about my job, my family gave and life and kept checking in with my head as she knew I Was fading badly. She pushed me to run the flats which I managed to do quite well and power hike the climbs. We were at 86km at this stage. She reminded me of my wife and kids watching and waiting for me and to just take everything 1km at a time. On the road to Ballinastoe woods, I got overwhelmed seeing my dad marching up the hill followed by my mother. Seeing a familiar face after this long brought added strength and grit and determination. How is Joan I ask? Can I ring her? speak to wife, she's proud and says keep fighting. Agree to the orders and march on we go. The day is getting hotter and my shoulders are burnt to a crisp. The sweat beads become enlarged to my eyes as they drip from my eyebrows each painful step upwards to Djouce. Kath pushing me up the hill with reassurance that my form is fine I'm doing great when in reality I'm sure I looked like a drunkard falling out of a pub at 2am. I get up to the sandy part before the boardwalk where they are doing renovations just before the shoulder. I asked Kath, please tell me Rachels ok, has she arrived at Glendalough? She said, Dillon she's right behind us and she's doing fantastic! I took a quick look around behind to see her but no sign, maybe she's just behind the hill. I got a little emotional thinking of the strength that girl has from almost being asleep on the trail to never giving up. She's a fighter. Keep going I said to myself. THIS PIGEON IS COMING HOME! we get to the shoulder of Djouce and Kath says Dillon, we can make this cut off but you need to push now. I need motivation and she begins reading all the comments from the tracker aloud. I begin to sob and push down the shoulder with nothing in me and a pair of poles to keep my balance. Down the descent to Dargle river at an alarming pace. ETA - 13 Minutes come on you have to push Dillon. Cross the bridge and she says, Dillon, your going to have to have the climb of your life to make this cut off its slipping. Now climb like you've never climbed before. With that I grunted and stabbed the ground with the poles to push up. Mid way up I'm exhausted and stop...I cant do this, I'm done. Think of your wife and kids they are watching u come on just 1 more effort. With that, a flash came into my head about rocky 2 when Apollo has beaten him in the corner for 15 rounds and he's nothing left. The Ref is counting down and its echoed in Rockys head in slow motion. I'm climbing the ropes 1 by 1, you may defeat me race but you'll never win! I made it to the top. Ok so you need to run a 6 minute mile to get this cut off - go go go. ETA...2.38 Hopping over the Powerscourt rocks, swinging left around the barky surface I see a rock ledge about 4 inch's of the ground...grand national, its the beeches brook come on Dill hup we go...yes I cleared the fence round the bench and the barefoot runner is walking in, he turns and claps me saying go on you can do it. I didn't get time to congratulate him but well done chief you were a beast. ETA...2.34 Dillon, you need to push harder. I have vomit in my mouth and my legs have gone to another planet but my mind is not giving up. I will make that cut off if it means dying. This pigeon will succeed. Family there to greet me on the last bend, dad , mom and 2 brothers. They form a entourage of support heading down towards the checkpoint. ETA 2.31...Doubts creeping into my head, I really cant hold this pace any longer especially 105km in. 10, 9 ,8 ,7 ,6 5, I made it. 4 seconds to spare I crash into the chair. Lilian there to help me sit down and reassures me I've made it with the skin of my teeth. Kath you were the guiding light through that last 20k and I would not of pushed it if it weren't for you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! I was delighted to see Marty there with a big smile on his face. He looked great but cooked too. I asked Lillian how and were Rachel was and she was just crossing the Dargle river. Knowing she hadn't made the cut off, she never ever quit. I think being the only female at the back made it even more inspiring how strong one can be, for me, I had 1 more shot at Apollo Creed and I beat the countdown by seconds. Rachel, knew her shot was gone but she never gave up and that brought us all to tears at that point. Wish her well I said, and I marched on with the family to destination - Marley. Thinking about seeing my wife and kids was just to exciting. Ill never put her through this again. I get to the top of the hill at knockree and take 1 step....done. I look down and my legs don't move. Take another step and nothing. I look at my mom and say...oh no.. She encourages me on but nothing. One more step and I keel over onto the side. Mom picks me up and links me. I break down for the last time..my race is ran. While I didn't make it back to Marley, I made it 113km more than double the distance I've ever ran and I couldn't be prouder. I try to find reason and purpose for challenges and experiences and this one wasn't about getting to Marley, it was about everything in between and before. The personal growth, the power of the mind, the will to go on when your body says no, the encouragement from fellow comrades and the care people give to you. The example you set to your kids that anything is possible if you put your mind to it. Daddy you made it! A Big hug from the kids and that look of delight from my amazing wife that her hubby is home safe and sound...never again guys dont worry ;).

Thank you all for an amazing event especially Lillian. You are meant to be Lillian, just a wonderful person! Too all the volunteers, crew spectators you are fabulous! Selfless people who devoted their time and energy to the causes of others.

To Kath - I sure you were a guardian angel plucked from the skies of Glendalough to guide me home to my loving family. Words cannot describe how grateful I am. Apologies' for all my moaning and giving out! You are a ledgend!

Mom dad and 2 brothers - How awesome to run together and have you all crew me. That's the stuff of dreams!

Lastly to my wife Joan, Id never have toed the start line if it weren't for you. The sacrifices you make so I can do these crazy things and the support you gave me throughout not to quit..<3. Thats a wrap folks Best of luck to all whatever journey or endeavours that come your way! Dillon

Minimalist home styling vs Race recovery needs

20 July, 2025 - Andy Keeling

It's times like this i very much regret our choice to remove the banister rail in favour of a more sleek minimalist look to our home. Legs are in bits. 24 hours ago we grouped at the central junction a sleepy Conegal. Brief race brief from our commander in chief Lillian Deegan with countdown from primal tracking's John Joe and we're off. No escort car this year which was a relief to our lungs. As our heart rates get "Gently" warmed up we're spared the exhaust fumes of a internal combustion engine. For about the first 200m no one really wants to be in the lead until the eventually race leader (and winner) bravely breaks forth. It feels very strange (and nice) to be starting this race in daylight.
We wind along the lane out of Co. Carlow. Chats with Conor and Rob through the first forest sections. I'm very conscious to hold back on the first few descents which I know from experience, are steep enough to do early damage to a pair of quads.
This year the competition up the pointy end is fierce so i have already resigned myself to just run my own race, by feel, and not worry about places or times........yet......
Coming into the Dying cow it's the usual madness of runners and teams scrambling about while bewildered, well oiled locals watch and drink their pints and smoke their cigarettes. On my approach I make a plan to get in, fill my one empty bottle, grab my bag and run out with bag in hand to sort into my pack on the exit route. Works a charm and I'm on my way to cp2 with a full pack and no time wasted.
I really get into it along the Bothrín towards crossbridge. Enjoying the narrow grassy run between banks of nettles.
The art of quiet shouting is under appreciated. I give it my best go to call back a lad who was ahead of me who's run off course into a farmyard. I think I strike the right balance between getting his attention and not waking the slumbering close by household. He turns and I see his lamp bobbing back towards the course. Down to crossbridge the boardwalk steps are exactly the wrong spacing to get any sort of momentum down. Crossing the bridge and up past the various jalopies that line the lane on the other side. Whoever lives here is definitely a fan of Mad Max. I pass a couple of runners on the lane of a thousand gates. I survey the angle of hang of them all on approach. Opting to go up and over about 50% of them. The ones that look like they will require the old lift and swing I climb. Save the old back muscles. During a toilet break I admire a rare clear sky overhead. The stars look amazing over the grasslands of Ballycumber. Onwards along the lane towards Moyne I find another stray runner coming out of a local farmyard and point him in the right direction. We make our way up the small laneway and on towards Sheilstown woods.
It's walking for everything remotely uphill at this stage. But that's ok, long way to go yet. Back and forth with Sam here. We're not far off Mucklagh now and I'm looking forward to it. Mick Hanney always steers a good ship and I always appreciate Mucklagh Cp for its calm, helpful atmosphere. As Sam and Rory come in behind me i take it as my cue to leave. Up along the much discussed detour I do my best to not gag as I eat my food from my drop bag. Salty hash brown
and filled ravioli. The ravioli has actually turned out not bad. Goats cheese and honey with loads of salty parmesan. It is nice but still takes composure to get in. I can see three torches behind me and keep moving. Running me own race? Yeah right. It's always there in some form. The kernel of competition.
Navigating the detour and past sleeping campers at Mucklagh hut the mist comes in thick. I take off my head torch and hold it at my waist to see better through the murk. In breaks in the mist I can see head torches both up ahead and behind a long way off. Ships in the night all on the same course. In our own worlds. But locked to the same track. I find lost farmyard runner number 2 coming towards me on the track again, unsure of direction. I point him on the right track again. The little discussed detour after Sliabhmaan leads us to the least helpful boardwalk in trail maintenance history. I avoid them like the plague and opt to scratch through the trees beside. Every time I'm forced onto the timber (because in places theres just no other option) I feel the gooey algae covered surface simply shrug off my attempts at underfoot traction. It's a disaster.
Once down the section I can see the close by yet, still far away lights of the lodge. It's known for it's surprise culinary delights during this race. Burgers one year. Running in I'm offered a rasher sambo. Nice one Paul! It's massive and I only manage half of it. Pocketing the remaining half. It will stay there for the entire race. But it serves as my emergency salty backup food and I'm glad to know its there.
Sam passes me on the slow walk up towards Mullacor. Im simply focused on getting to Glendalough now. I know Avril there (who also steers a grand Cp ship) has got pot noodles on the go. I get passed by a couple of runners here but don't care. Im focused. On the the future noodles.
As promised I'm handed a warm cup of race fuel and get out as quick as I can munching as I walk. Focused. On finishing the noodles. Getting them in. I succeed and I'm delighted. I know that that's probably enough in me to get me to the final phase of my race nutrition plan.....the sugar phase.
Up on Paddock hill I catch sight of the Sugarloaf's unmistakable shape and I'm filled with encouragement. It's wrapped in a jacket of mist but still, I know its shape so well. It's home. I now break up what's left to do in the race. After oldbridge there's one big climb up past pier gates and over white hill, then Crone, then two more hills and I'm done. I have two gels in my pockets, a fistful of jellies and two more gels in the drop bag at Crone. Deadly. That will see me through. Im a little low on water. The heat has me drinking a lot but I'm counting on the spring on the side of djouce mountain to fill a bottle. But here we are, the Sugar Phase. Delighted.
I fill my bottle from the spring on djouce and enjoy the run towards the woods thinking of all the race memories of this section. It fills my sails and I start to move very well. A home stretch boost. On the way past the dargle I have a series of double takes as rocks ahead of me start moving. Light hallucinations. Down into Crone. Gavin and Ailbhe help me with my bottles. "Water please" I say. They offer coke also. "Ok, one bottle water, one bottle coke". SUGAR PHASE. Let's keep this balloon inflated. I get out and along the glencree river. Slowly I make ground catching another runner ahead. It takes me until the rock garden at Prince William's seat to get up to him. Im very glad of the focus that that task gives me. Doing some race maths in my head I reckon now if I keep her lit I can possibly get to the end in under 15 hours. Which would shave 20 mins off my course record. That's the new focus. I informed the runner who I just spent 30 mins stalking. It now becomes his focus too and he blasts off down bonaraltry lane. Re doing the maths I realise that maybe I can't make it, then that I can, then that I can't and then that I can but its going to be close. A handful of jellies go in. With remaining non sufficient water and coke It takes me ten minutes to swallow the sugary gack. But I do. It's in. SUGARPHASE. Still looking repeatedly at distance remaining and current time on my watch I do the maths over and over and over and keep pushing. The balance between pushing and not tripping my tired, low swinging feet is tough. I am delight to get off the gnarly stuff and see the sprawl of Dublin at the mountain bike launch pad. Nothing but downhill running now. With as much gusto as I can manage. It's very tough. Im doing my best to silence the screaming nerves from my battered legs. I'm well aware that the route through marley dodging Saturday morning strollers could steal my hopes of a sub 15 hours away. I've been pushing hard for the last two hours to get it so why stop now. Passing Peter O'Farrell out gravel bike spectating a get a further home turf lift. Onto the lane i know I'm so close and put in some great splits pounding down the hard tarmac. Whizzing past Steven and Henny at the back gate I'm pretty sure I've got it but keep the hammer down in case my watch has got it wrong. But it's worked out. I come out of the trees and see the stile marking the finish. Amazing. What a ride. Thanks to everyone who helped out and volunteered. It's always such a great event. Worth all the pain and hard hours training. Give it a go. You might well surprise yourself.
And remember, while home style minimalism looks great in magazines, Banister railings are extremely practical stair fittings in times of temporary mobility decline.