Respect for the Distance

Connemara At Dawn

Most runners will have come across the advice that in long races, particularly marathons, you must "respect the distance". Those attempting their first or second marathons will most likely encounter this maxim more than once in the weeks leading up to the big event. My understanding of what this actually means is that if you don't behave yourself in the early stages of a long race that the miles will come back to bite you on the bum sooner rather than later. For better or worse I had filed this advice away under the heading of 'lessons learnt' until this year and the first running of the Connemara Ultra Marathon. This was to be my first race over any distance in excess of the full marathon and in some ways I had to learn basic lessons all over again.

In the normal course of events, when I'm planning to run a race, I will have some experience of the task in hand. Having raced over most distances up to and including the marathon, I know how my body is likely to react to the particular challenges each distance will throw at me. In short, 5K's are bloody painful and I turn red and marathons are bloody painful and I get sick at the finish line. The experience with all other races distances falls somewhere in between these two particular poles. The problem I had with an ultra marathon was that I really didn't know what might be in store. I could guess of course that it may involve some pain but the rest was up for grabs. Having said all of that however, I did have some clues. In preparation for this event I had jogged the course last summer. This meant that I was fairly confident that if I took it very easy, and had reasonably good luck, I could complete the miles. It didn't mean however that I knew what was would happen if I tried to run the course as quickly as I could. This is what I was planning to do.

Connemara Ultra 2004

The race route is simple; once around the mountains and back to where you started from. It all sounds so straightforward. The mountains in question are the Maamturks in Connemara and the starting point is the little village of Maam Cross. One loop around this route is just over 38 miles. With the addition of a slight overlap the race distance becomes 39.3 miles or, if you prefer, three half-marathons end-to-end. To complete the numerology thirty-nine runners gathered at the starting line for this first running of the race.

As we assembled on the road for the race start with all those miles ahead I was excited. So much anticipation, training, speculation and worry were going to be resolved over the next few hours. I was going to burst if I didn't get to run soon. I had trained well and felt strong. Sometimes it makes me even more anxious when I've no excuses on that front. My targets were to complete the course at an even pace and to be sure at the end of the day that I couldn't have tried any harder. When race director Ray O'Connor sent us on our way a smile of relief spread over my face and I tried to relax into a smooth jog. The first mile of the race brought us back into Maam Cross. After only a matter of two or three hundred yards the small group of runners had strung out along the road. I had supposed that some runners might stick together in small groups for a few miles but in retrospect that was unrealistic. The leaders disappeared ahead, others dropped behind me and we all settled into our pace. I passed the first mile marker in seven minutes and change in ninth place.

Once past the first mile marker in the village there was nothing to do but settle down to some gentle running. I tried to distract myself by looking around at the hills. The setting for the race is nothing short of stunning and it’s not difficult to let you eyes wander along the hillside and down to the lakes as you pad along the road. I knew that this race was going to become very hard work at some point and all of my mind games were designed to postpone that point until as late as possible in the race. I could see runners ease ahead of me on the road as we moved slowly west along the road towards Clifden. Despite all that I knew my instinct was to give chase. It was surprisingly difficult to run sensibly and keep to a rhythm. I wasn't the only one having this problem. Repeatedly I gained on one runner, who would seem to suddenly bolt away when he heard me approach.

Mile five passed in 37:00. I was averaging 7:24 per mile and I felt quite happy. It was slightly disconcerting to see that some of the eight runners ahead of me seemed to be disappearing steadily into the distance. For most of the early miles though it was a very quiet relaxed run punctuated only by the enthusiastic aid station volunteers every three miles. After six or seven miles I pulled alongside a young man from Germany and we chatted for a while. Straight away we fell into talking about finishing times and pace. It seemed like everyone was searching for reference points and reassurance. After a mile or so I pulled slowly ahead and moved down the road just slightly ahead of my German friend. I passed the ten-mile marker in 1:14:10, which meant that the second five miles had taken me 36:26.

The ultramarathon was being held in conjunction with a standard 26.2-mile marathon, which had attracted a field of around four hundred runners. The ultramarathoners had started an hour and a half in advance of the larger race. After 13.1 miles the two courses merged and we would all share the same race route. The leaders of the ultramarathon had actually passed through the start of the standard marathon before that race began. I'm told that runners lined the side of the road as they passed through and loudly cheered them on their way. It must have been quite an experience for those speedsters who had managed to run the early miles quickly enough. For my part, I passed the marathon start with 1:36:07 on the clock and thus missed the party by about six minutes. I was hoping that I would start to catch some of the marathon walkers and runners after a few miles and have some company on the long road back towards Maam Cross.

Even though I had thirteen mile under my belt at this stage it felt like I was in the very early stages of the race. I was keeping a good running tempo and with the sole exception of a few minor aches and pains I was as fresh as when I had started out. Just before the marathon start I had passed three other ultra runners, which moved me up to fifth position. The last time I had been able to see the fourth placed runner wasn't too far ahead. I didn't intend to chase him but I did wonder if he'd come back to me at any stage. Of course I never discounted the possibility of being passed myself but I tried to think positively. As the road wound away from Lough Inagh and towards the high 'teens' of the ultra, there were a few noticeable changes. In the first instance I started to tire. The enthusiasm of the start and the energy I had drawn from the novelty of the race was beginning to wane. My left hamstring was also starting to tighten and that worried me slightly. As miles ticked by I started to work my way up to and through the marathon tail enders.

It's hard to describe how your spirit can be lifted by encouragement from other runners during a really log race. Each Ultra runner wore a paper panel on their back to identify themselves as entrants in the ultramarathon. This allowed ultrarunners to clearly identify those against whom they were competing. An unexpected benefit of these identifiers was that special encouragement was offered from the marathoners as you drew alongside. It sounds like a cliché when I say that I got a lift from each kind word that passed between myself and other runners along the road but it was true. Sometimes running can be a lonely even a selfish sport but on this day and in this race there was plenty of generosity around. Even with this encouragement though I was beginning to feel a little rough. On the long winding section of road from Killary to Leenaun I noticed that running downhill was distinctly uncomfortable. I couldn't freewheel and any attempt to put the brakes on made my quads protest. Strangely one of my slowest splits of the race to that point came on the long downhill stretch to Killary Harbour.

Once I was running by the shore of Ireland's only Fjord I knew that three more miles would bring me to the marathon mark in the village of Leenaun. It was something to focus on and I was happy to be running on level ground again. I was passing marathon runners every few minutes in little knots of two and three and we bounced good wishes off of each other as we ran along. Although I was in no real physical trouble my spirits were starting to sink. Looking back I have no idea why this stretch would have been tough but those last couple of miles into Leenaun were the hardest I had run so far even if the difficulty was mostly in my head. About a half a mile short of Leenaun I passed another Ultrarunner. He had been deep in conversation as I eased by and he may not have even noticed my passing. The marathon mark in Leenaun was an important point in the race. It was one of those points where the time on the clock took on some semblance of meaning. My marathon split was 3:11 and change, not earth-shatteringly fast but not slow either. A split like this for a recognised race distance gives you an anchor. I felt heartened that although I was tired and sore in places I was far from finished and 'only' had a half marathon left.

Straight out of Leenaun the road climbs steadily away from the coast and towards the mountains for about a mile. In the days before the race I had anticipated this as a long slow mile but the reality was different. My tender quads that had shuddered at that long downhill a few miles back seemed to warm to uphill running and I chugged quite happily up the hill without any discomfort. Along this stretch in an attempt to occupy my mind I was trying to work out how long it would take me to complete the race if I maintained my pace. I had absolutely no success. The numbers moved and shifted in my mind and I just couldn't pin them down long enough to perform even routine math’s. It was only when I passed the 31 mile marker that I realised how pronounced the effect had become. Try as I might I just couldn't deduct 31 from 39 to work out how many miles I had left to run. I knew though that the number was shrinking and that I had to keep pressing. My pace had remained constant since the start and each mile split remained in a range between 7:00 and 7:30. As tiredness sank in however it was becoming increasingly more difficult to run smoothly. Even short declines were painful and both hamstrings were tight. My fuzzy headedness had also extended to having difficulty working out my race position. I wasn't sure if I was third or fourth. A few miles passed almost dreamily in this woozy headed state where I tiptoed down small hills hoping nobody would ask me how many miles were left.

I knew the end was near when I turned towards the last hill. The Hell of the West as it's called stretches up the Maam Valley towards Maam Cross for the guts of two miles. Once I got to the top of this monster hill I'd have about two more miles left to go. This hill leaves nothing to the imagination. It's all stretched out there for you to see on the bare mountainside. The road snakes ever upwards and you can spot tiny bobbing shapes along it's length into the distance. My only fear at this stage was cramp or a crash. I was very tired but not completely knackered and my hamstrings were humming a tune but didn't seem like they'd give up on me in the immediate future. Having grabbed a bottle of water at the last aid station and sucked down as much as my stomach would handle. I leaned into the hill. As with the hill out of Leenaun this incline was less trouble than I had expected, at first. I satisfied myself that I would have to slow down to run the hill safely and settled into a 'chugging' pattern. The 37th mile marker, which I passed about two thirds of the way up revealed two things, an 8:24 split and the fact that my left hamstring was on the verge of packing up for the day.

Twice before in marathons (Dublin and Longford 2002) I have been badly hampered with hamstring cramps. In Dublin that year I collapsed with cramp past the twenty-six mile marker and spent two very uncomfortable minutes on the ground before eventually staggering over the last 0.2 of a mile. In an attempt to stave off disaster I altered my stride pattern, leading with my 'crampy' left leg and trying to lengthen my stride. This was a bit of a gamble as I had to 'up' the pace a little to stretch the hamstring properly. It worked, and when I crested the hill that jumpy twitchy feeling in the core of my left thigh dissolved. I was now on the glory stretch. Baring some real disaster I now knew I'd get to the finish line and I decided to see if I could push it out for the last two miles. My last two mile-splits were just over seven minutes and it was a tired and happy runner that crossed the finish line in 4:48:50 for the course.

I was very happy with how I ran this race. I don't think I could have run it any faster on the day given the training I had been able to do. I finished in fourth place in the race but was genuinely unconcerned about finishing positions. After a rubdown from the excellent physios I went back to the finish line to cheer some of the other racers home. One of the distinguishing characteristics of this race if the fantastic support that runners give each other all along the country roads leading towards Maam Cross. I wanted to return some of the good vibes that had been sent my way earlier in the day and I spent an hour or so cheering some tired and happy athletes across the line. The ‘broad smiles per head of population’ ratio was very high that afternoon around and about the finishing line. If I'm fit enough, that is, if I'm upright and have recovered my mathematical faculties, I'll be back to run this race again next year. I believe it has a bright future if for no other reason than the fact that there's nothing quite like it anywhere on the Irish running calendar.

Close To Home

As I stood by the finish line and started to come back down to Earth after the whole experience I watched a Japanese ultrarunner, Tetsu Hikima, pass over the finish line. His face was contorted in effort and bathed in pain and sweat. Once past the magical point which marked the completion of the course he staggered to a shaky halt. Having regained as much of his composure as was available at that time he turned back towards the course and with joined hands slowly bowed in the direction of the race. I can only conclude that this was an indication of his respect for the course he had just completed. I could immediately identify with this sentiment and the image of this gentleman making such an appropriate gesture will remain with me when many other details of this race have faded.

Mile Split Total Five Mile Splits

0.1 0:00:44 0:00:44

1 0:07:24 0:08:08

2 0:07:24 0:15:32

3 0:07:24 0:22:56 0:37:00

4 0:07:24 0:30:20

5 0:07:24 0:37:44

6 0:07:24 0:45:08

7 0:07:24 0:52:32

8 0:07:15 0:59:47 0:36:26

9 0:07:15 1:07:02

10 0:07:08 1:14:10

11 0:07:22 1:21:32

12 0:07:18 1:28:50

13 0:07:17 1:36:07 0:36:23

14 0:07:12 1:43:19

15 0:07:14 1:50:33

16 0:07:12 1:57:45

17 0:07:13 2:04:58

18 0:07:26 2:12:24 0:36:31

19 0:07:09 2:19:33

20 0:07:31 2:27:04

21 0:07:15 2:34:19

22 0:06:58 2:41:17

23 0:07:20 2:48:37 0:36:14

24 0:07:27 2:56:04

25 0:07:14 3:03:18

26 0:07:17 3:10:35

27 0:07:36 3:18:11

28 0:07:36 3:25:47 0:36:41

29 0:07:06 3:32:53

30 0:07:06 3:39:59

31 0:07:22 3:47:21

32 0:07:38 3:54:59

33 0:07:21 4:02:20 0:37:35

34 0:07:21 3:02:39

35 0:07:53 4:17:34

36 0:07:27 4:25:01

37 0:08:24 4:33:25

38 0:07:04 4:40:29

39 0:07:06 4:47:35

39.3 0:01:15 4:48:50

1st Half Marathon = 1:36:07 Full Marathon = 3:11:19

2nd Half Marathon = 1:35:12

3rd Half Marathon = 1:37:31