Cross country racing through the muck in Dublin

A beautiful hard day in the West, another weather warning for the East. We train on the grass; a hard, trail-like surface, a flying fast downhill. We’re going well only to realise that the surface we’ll be running on in Dublin is now a mud slide.

After weeks of rain and another week of weather warnings, the course must now be changed; to make the route somewhat safer and protect the ground. All races have now a kilometre less to run but it won’t matter because in conditions like this every step is a struggle, every move is a bonus and staying upright is the priority.

Asked to run with the younger county team, I gladly accept. It’s a kilometre further but what about. I don’t overthink things, there’s no point, just get on with it. It’s hard to get people to run on grass never mind muck, gutter and bad conditions; a different kind of running, a different kind of sport. It’s a form of endurance, of pushing, of physical strength but also of mental stamina. If the mind becomes weak, the body becomes weaker and it’s a long way home….

The week flies by. Midterm is here, happy days. Discos, dashing here, there and everywhere and Dublin on the horizon. Phone calls, WhatsApp’s and plans of buses, times, teams and races. Change the spikes to 12mm to have some hope of a grip; I’ll throw the football boots in, just in case!

With three teams now across the different races from Mayo, we’ve a bus; the lovely thing about travelling with your teammates is you get to relax, have a bit of fun, focus a little on what’s ahead. You know everyone is going, you know everyone is able and you know what to do.

As we nearer the city, floods of water on the roadsides but it’s dry, the wind has eased and the sun might just start us off. Gear is on, gear is packed, spikes in hand, off we go. Jogging in through the soggy grass, meeting parents from home, the local boys take gold, what an achievement.

With the kids races now over, we walk around the outskirts of the course, a tradition I suppose, but also to get a feel for what’s ahead; some with wellies on, muck up to the ankles, a sea of brown ahead, the mental challenge already begins.

Masters race up now. A huge crowd, we roar, support and encourage our friends; I find it hard hanging around. I want to be out there, but it’s another hour until our race, and the ground will be worse. OK, back to positive thoughts and screaming for our crew; one lap done, their looking strong, we begin to learn some tactics; the middle is a sea of puddles and muck, when some run through they wobble, they slow, some move out to the edge trying to grasp a little green, a bit of grass. Working for now but as the flock of feet plough through the soft sopping ground, the grass erodes away; in an hour there will be no avoiding it just run through it.

Coming around again, some gritting their teeth, some with elbows out to protect themselves, some bent over pushing on. We support our own but also our well-known competitors because anyone out here today deserves a cheer. It is admirable to watch so many athletes push their bodies so hard, moving through a continuous obstacle, getting worse from the plodding of spikes, rooting through the terrain, like a herd of cattle galloping through a ploughed-up field. With each footstep you pull your legs through, that endline becomes nearer, and it’s the sighting ahead that brings you home. The green and reds are in, safely and in one piece.

We quickly move back to base and focus on our own challenge ahead. A warmup out on the tar to save the legs. All positive talk, the layers gradually peeled off, the spikes double knotted and we’re on the line.

An extra lap to race today, I plan to go out easy, it’s too far to die early. A lightning-fast start, hold on, get into a rhythm, its grassy so far, then a hill of muck. It’s slippy, I move out, run on green where I can, a slight downhill, a little gained, the crowd is alive, they are amazing. I can just hear Paula all the way around, this brings me to the next stage of brown…. to the puddles….. through the muck, it’s deep, it’s wet, it’s cold, but I feel strong, I haven’t looked at anyone else, I haven’t looked out to the crowd, I haven’t looked at the watch.

I am in a selfish, me zone right now and it’s not a bad place to be, yet! That’s the thing about an event like this you can plan, overthink, analyse, but there is no predicting. On the road you know the surface, you know where the hills are, where the turns are but not our here. It’s you against the challenge.

I’m out of the heavy muck, into lighter clay, an uphill- one lap done. Back to grass, a little downhill, I build, overtake and keep the zone. Again, the screams, the familiar voices, the recognisable ones, not having heard since the worlds, but those familiar voices remind me of tough, tough events. Keep the arms moving, keep smiling, keep counting, it’s all working. Straight into the middle of the muck this time, no point going out around it, there is no green left; a splash of gutter, one girl slips right into it, we veer around, another pulls to one side, one spike gone, takes off the other and keeps going. I keep the elbows out to prevent being knocked.

The clubs, friends and supporters’ voices again; they are amazing, knowing what we are going through they say all the right things. Onto lap three and it starts; hammering rain, a strong wind with it, it’s kind of refreshing though; right now, I am so, so thankful for having grown up on a farm. There is a familiarity here, of times standing in the wellies, muck up to the calves, cattle needing to be moved to drier, greener pastures, you pull your legs up out of it, run after the cattle and keep going. With each step that familiarity helps me focus on lifting my legs higher, on shortening my steps to avoid falling, on lengthening my stride to move uphill, it’s working, I have made up ground.

The last time I enter this bog, I think of my Dad, of how he taught me a toughness, an endurance to just keep going when times are tough, my friends to the right screaming, I look up and smile, a hill to home. Pushing my arms, I go for it. Staying afoot, lean over and breathe, surrounded by teammates, everyone full of emotion, full of muck, full of care ensuring all are OK.

It’s absolutely hammering rain, but I hadn’t noticed. In the middle of a wide-open park in Dublin, no shelter, bags abandoned under trees, jackets hanging on branches, changing rooms beside the ditch. A scream from our teammate; we’ve won bronze, the cheers, the jumps, the heart beats fast again, an over whelming emotional excitement that magically eradicates exhaustion, hardship, tiredness. A quick run over to double check. Standing in the rain, medals presented, photos taken, hugs from all, cheers from everyone else, a roar from the crowd; we need to run for the bus. Spikes still on, medals swinging, bags around our necks. Our teammates have also won medals - happy days.

To win the team medal for Mayo in Dublin is bittersweet. Next time we’re training in the muck, not grass, and if the cattle need to be moved, I’m out there!