Cork Marathon 2016 | Hotter than Hell
Introduction
I ran in the 10th Anniversary Cork City Marathon 2016. I finished the Full Marathon in a time of 3:39:08 and placed 239th. It was hotter than hell that day hitting a high of 24.4 degrees Celsius that day. This was and remains the only marathon I had to walk a little in the final mile. It was either walk or collapse. Collapsing and failure were not options available to me.
It was 15 degrees at 8:45am on Patricks Street (Start Line). I kept up with the 3:15 pacers until we were at the half way to heaven sign scrawled on the ground in chalk on the Marina. At which point this race became hell for me and I spent the second half trying desperately to survive.
I had just met my now wife Julie in March and I can safely say this was not the show of strength I was hoping for. After the marathon I made my way back to City Hall to collect my gear. I started to feel faint which I thankfully warded off with two bottles of lucozade sport. That however did not save my blushes. As Julie and I waited for the park and ride bus outside Connolly Hall my abdominal muscles spasmed and I ended on the floor trying to coax them out of the lock tight position they were now content with. I’m sure this was the most attractive thing ever hence why we’re married now. I am of course joking what happened in the next six months and beyond turned this result completely on its head. I ran the Dublin Marathon 2016 and this time I finished walked out to Julie in Merrion Square like I had just come back from a casual Sunday walk. Julie got swept into the vibrant marathon vortex and now she could see that anyone who ran a marathon acquired this unshakeable belief that they were capable of doing really hard things. The Dublin Marathon itself was now the fourth largest in Europe. The drive to be better was becoming infectious. I was openly telling anyone who cared that Ireland had a highly sought after marathon experience something Cork could in time top. One year, one marathon race series and one marathon later we were in Sandymount having our post race dinner when a woman with her daughter asked if her daughter could see Julie’s medal. This woman very kindly explained that her daughter had recently shown an interest in the marathon, it’s history and even began asking if she could take part. We were delighted to talk to her.
The Race
I’ve already recounted the first half of the race so I’ll get right to misery. The second half got slowly tougher before all at once forcing me to walk a mile. The Carrigrohane straight was a battlefield. I remember people every few hundred meters laying on the ground completely spent. I seen at least four ambulances loading exhausted runners into the back and taking them off in the direction of the nearest hospital. I stalled completely succumbing to the wall by UCCs North Campus. I had just hit Glycogen exhaustion hard, I was dehydrated and verging on heat exhaustion. In short I knew I was fucked. Somehow I got to a trot again helped in no small part by Ian Keeler my St.Finbarrs National Hurling and Football club team mate. All he said was ‘keep at it’. Instantly the brimstone style of motivation I’d lived with for my entire GAA youth and adult life so far came flooding into my mind ‘Defend from 1 to 15!!!’, ‘Attack together until you work a score!!!’, ‘You don’t stop until the final whistle’ and ‘In the last ten minutes throw the kitchen sink at the opposition no matter what the score’. I got going again.
The finish turning right by what was the Black Tie shop on top of Patrick Street was where the crowd got crazy close to the participants. For some reason a few people needed to swap sides of the road a gap of 2-3 meters. The barriers seemed to be either nonexistent or ignored. Worse the crowd seemed to cross right in front of a soon to be finisher. I yelled at them if you hit off me you’re coming down with me. Not exactly my best moment but at that point 26 miles into a brutal marathon a stiff breeze would have ended my race and landed me in hospital. With 200 yards left I yelled and the crowd stepped back a few steps and I limped through my right calf went into spasm right on cue. If my sanity wasn’t already in question because I was running a marathon then it definitely was as I hobbled down Patrick Street openly giving a pep talk to my right calf. I crossed the line finish line in agony.
My sister is handing me a much needed bottle of Lucozade Sport. Later that day my sister told me I was talking back incoherently to my family during this interaction. I was close to 17 miles in at this point and clearly struggling.
Conclusion
Despite my love of the Cork Marathon I have never managed step up and perform to my best over the Marathon distance at this event. My debut Marathon was a totally disaster. A combination of terrible training and harsh weather in 2010 earned me a 4:53 finish for my wall of mediocrity and a life long respect for the Marathon distance. You might think surely finishing the marathon deserves some positive affirmation. Indeed it does but I didn’t have to look in the mirror to tell myself I could do better than that performance. That Marathon finish hung over me for four years. All it displayed was my resilience. It showed none of my Sport and Exercise expertise. I’d have to rectify that.
If I’m honest the Marathon distance terrifies me still 16 years and nine marathons later. Topically the United States Secretary of War Pete Hegseth is rathexr fond of the phrase “Fuck around and find out” when referring to his enemies. I learned that lesson once the hard way during my first marathon. In 2016 I had put the training miles in and lived the lifestyle of a runner but the conditions on the day almost wiped me out. I haven’t let that go ten years later. I’ll get back too it in Cork sooner rather later I hope.