So finally a race. A real one, with real people. The last road race I took part in was almost a year ago in the Fermoy 4 mile so there would likely be some cobwebs to blow, some chains to oil, some knives to sharpen, some…never mind, I took it too far. I was excited for this but I’d by lying if I said there weren’t nerves because there were. All day. I felt going in that I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been based on training and time trials over the past few months. None of this really matters though when it comes to producing results in races. You can do all of the best training and run out of your skin in time trials but it’s all about putting the package together on race day and executing. I went into this with an eye for 30:30. It’s a bit of a dream time when I think about it but with the shoe tech and my progression in the last few years, it’s now a time I know I am capable of running. The PB was 31:00 from late 2019 so either way I felt I was well able to run below 31 today.
Race day preparation was a little far from ideal. Dundrum in Tipperary is about an hour and 20 minute drive from Cork so with an 8pm kick off I thought setting off at 5:30pm would cover me well. That was a naive calculation from someone who clearly doesn’t commute in Cork every day. A little bit of a rookie error to be honest. I picked up my club mate at 5:30pm in the city and it wasn’t long before we were crawling along a filthy red line of rush-hour paralysis, a grim visual provided courtesy of Google maps. Utterly chaotic. I could see the arrival time creeping, creeping up past 7:30pm, my blood pressure also rising in sync. Eventually we wormed out way out of the city and were on track to arrive for 7:30pm, not great but not a disaster I thought. I was trying my best to stay calm but the anxiety was building in my stomach. It’s hard to fight it.
There was a great buzz arriving into the little sleepy village in the evening sun. It was quite the sight seeing all of the runners weaving around the roads warming up, spotting familiar faces and then marshals directing cars into muddy car parks with some loud terrible music playing on a crackling speaker. This is road racing. We parked up, got the race numbers, I did a wee, threw the race gear straight on and then we managed to head off for a mile warmup before being called to the line. It was all a bit rushed and I wasn’t at all settled standing on that line. I should have been feeling confident and ready to tear some lumps but I wasn’t. The course would be two laps of 5k, flat and fast. The evening was quite warm with some windy gusts but in general, reasonable conditions for a fast time. On the start line were a lot of familiar faces and I could already tell this race had good depth with heavyweights Sergiu and Mick Clohisey standing nearby, looking intimidating.
Mile 1 – 4:53
And just like that, bang! we’re away. I looked around in wonder. I’m in a race. I wonder what they’re thinking? I’d probably better focus now and stop looking at people. It was exciting and thrilling to be among a pack, thundering down the country roads of Dundrum, hungry for blood, scalps and PB’s. I quickly fell in with the lead group without thinking too much about it, my only plan was to just relax into the first mile by feel. The group was seven wide which quickly started pulling away as I couldn’t hear many footsteps following behind. I was actually feeling quite good as we headed up a windy stretch, a slight drag but effort manageable. 4:53 popped up, not too bad I thought. Keep this up now and you’ll be grand.
Mile 2 – 4:56
At the start of this mile, the groups started to split with a group of four putting in a gap back to three of us. One of my training partners was in the top group and I feel I’m in and around his fitness but knowing that 10k is a long way, I was happy where I was knowing I had just started well with the first mile and pretty confident of being able to catch them in the later stages. I was still moving quite well here, breathing fine and settling right into the pace.
Mile 3 – 5:04
It was around now out of nowhere it suddenly started to feel difficult. My stomach oddly felt really acidic, like it was burning, and effort was too laboured this early in the race. We were heading back towards the start line, still in a group of three which was now starting to look like two of us as one started dropping off. We had been all leading at various point in the pack but I remember going to the front here hoping to put a gap in which didn’t really last long. I felt a nagging in my side and coming to the end of the mile I was just keen to get to 5k to try reset and kick on for the 2nd half. That was wishful thinking.
Mile 4 – 5:09
Passing 5k and hearing 15:23 shouted out by my coach should have been encouraging, but it wasn’t. I really felt like another 5k at the same effort was a big ask and my side was starting to really hurt, the same right hand side I only ever get stitches in. I was almost resigned at this point that this race wasn’t going to go my way but I was determined to try get it done all the same and prove my stupid brain wrong. I had a glance down to the pace, which I didn’t need to do, I knew I was slowing. It wasn’t the legs that were screaming, but the pain in the side which was getting worse and worse. My heart rate started dropping on this mile, I just couldn’t push the pace and the breathing was atrocious. It was now firmly two of us in the pack and I felt like I was doing all of the work on the drag with green guy sitting right in my slipstream. I’m not sure I’m the best candidate for a wind break. I had an intentional glance back at one point to almost say “any chance of a hand?” but nothing. Maybe I should have said “any chance of a hand?”. The drags felt they had been multiplied by 100 on the second lap and I’m not exaggerating. It’s so interesting how effort is perceived when things get tough and conversely how easy a course feels when you run well.
Mile 5 – 5:06
To be fair to him, green guy pulled ahead on the start of this mile but it didn’t last for long as he just went back behind me a while later. I figured he was struggling as much as I was. I actually put in a spurt here trying to salvage a decent time out of this but this didn’t last either, I just couldn’t relax. The pain in the side was getting debilitating to the point of me starting to considering knocking it on the head. I fought away those weak thoughts and knew I could probably hold my position to the end. I was quite determined to keep 5th as I had been sitting here for most of the race. At least I still had confidence in my fitness and ability. Unfortunately I was still going backwards and could do nothing about it. I was starting to get annoyed by my own heavy, rapid breathing at this stage. If I was running alongside me, I’d have told me to shut up.
Mile 6 – 5:15
I was passed by green guy at the start of this mile and this was by far the hardest stretch. I was gritting my teeth just to get through the pain in my side. He started putting a real gap into me and I don’t really fault his tactics, he got a good ride off me and then pounced on the final mile. It’s racing. Thoughts of pulling out still flooded my mind as I ached to stop. I had a reasonably valid reason to quit but I know many roll their eyes at the excuse of pulling out because of a stitch. I knew in my bones I could survive to the line so I just focussed on that even though at this stage I was just minimising damage. Any thoughts of a good time were long gone. The writing was on the wall at halfway and it said something like “Conor, unfortunately it’s not your time today, but enjoy the side pain. Best regards, the Universe”. I couldn’t hear anyone behind me but fully expected a flood of people to pass at any point. It turns out I didn’t get as slow as I thought. I felt like I was 5:45 miling. I got closer and closer, going through the motions until finally the last corner came. With 400m to go I had no kick. Well to be honest, I probably did but it was more of a lack of desire to kick for the sake of what felt like a couple of meaningless seconds. I wasn’t catching the guy in front of me and I wasn’t being caught so just go and wobble on home Conor. The man on the megaphone told me to pump my arms and get under 31:30 but I didn’t want to. The deal was just finish, nobody mentioned finish line sprints. I got over the line 6th in 31:31 and slumped like a rag-doll over a wall before drowning myself in bottled spring water. The amount of sweat was unnatural, I can’t remember the last time my singlet was completely ringing wet which was an achievement in itself.
I sat on an electricity box and looks at some blades of grass, kind of numb and trying to process the race before snapping out of it and returning back to running society. No time for moping and self pity. You’re at a race, you’re able and privileged to race and you came 6th. Cop on. There was a great atmosphere at the finish with my coach, club mates and other running friends all buzzing with adrenaline. Some overjoyed, some despaired, and others just staring blankly back at me. It really was a great occasion to be a part of and felt like we’d all just been released from racing prison. Our crime? Breathing viruses on old people. It was now getting late in the Premier county so off we trundled for a little cool down before packing into the car. It was a long but peaceful drive back where we ate Star Bars, drank banana Yazoo and listened to the Euro sports match. Apparently football is moving back to England.
So that’s it, the first race report back and while not the best of nights personally, that’s a good 10k time in the context of things and a nice incentive to go and try do myself justice in the next few races. Running 31 for a 10k is never a bad day out for a competitive club runner so I really don’t want to be overly negative about it, there were too many positives in the evening. It’s probably a case of getting a few races under the belt before I can start running the times and racing like I know I can. I’m more than happy with the year so far, really enjoying training and the hunger to keep improving is as….hungry as ever. I’ve no regrets going up and toeing the line, it was worth it alone to feel the buzz of a race again, to get one under the belt and it’s hugely positive seeing the calendar start to fill up with more races, unlike last year. I don’t regret going out in 4:53 either as I know on my day I can sustain around 4:55 pace for a 10k. Dunning-Kruger may argue otherwise. The side is actually still hurting me today even just walking around. It really got a hammering. I could be wrong but I don’t think it was food related but possibly a symptom of stress and nerves and feels more muscular than anything. That’s not something I could have done much about during the race but I can definitely take away some learnings around getting to future races punctually with enough time to get in a decent warmup and then some space to relax and gather myself. It’s not worth spending too much time ruminating on, I did what I did, I ran what I ran and now we move on to the next one.
Disappointed? Yes. Dejected? No. Optimistic? Very much so.