Pyrenees adventure has a silver lining for Paula

It’s 3.45 on Thursday morning, I don’t need an alarm, I’m already awake. It’s been a busy week so I hadn’t time to think about what’s ahead. Now that I’ve everything prepared – for work, home, family – and I’m packed for going, an air of excitement exists. My mam pulls up wanting to bring me to the bus; this is important because my dad was always the one for the early morning drives and drop offs. It’s September 12, eight degrees outside, not a puff of air, not a sign of rain, a dark grey sky but a brightness behind the clouds trying to push through; a beautiful calmness exists. I’m a bit like that myself, calm yet excited, even at 4am.

My bags are packed, the kettle’s on the boil, my phone is charged and I am ready for off. Today I begin the long journey to the World Mountain Running Championships in a place called Can Franc. I reckon I’d be in New Zealand quicker; first up is the car trip to Tuam, bus from Tuam to Dublin Airport, a flight to Toulouse and what should be a three-hour road trip to our destination, is now five hours, due to a road diversion after a river burst its banks.

I’m one to keep busy even when travelling and being only one of two travelling from the west of Ireland, I plan to catch up on the things I don’t get to do as often – reading, writing, listening to music – because these relax me and make me happy. I need something to bring me down before I head for the up again on Friday.

Dublin Airport becomes a small place when the Irish athletes rock up in the emerald green. Some faces you recognise and some you don’t, but everyone with the gear on is a friend, a teammate, and out with the same goal – to represent their country with pride.

Driving through the French and Spanish Pyrenees makes the long road trip to Can Franc fly by. Finally arriving at out destination at 8.15pm, food and sleep are the priority with a 6km uphill mountain race in the morning.

The morning arrives fresh and cool. I have no idea what’s ahead only that it is 6km of complete climbing, there’s snow at the top and it’s about survival. It is freezing cold but the sun starts to appear, I stand in its vision to get some heat, gradually reducing the layers, preparing for running, jogging to warm up until finally I am down to the Ireland vest and shorts. The whistle goes, we begin a steady climb, I let some off, I ease in, a sharp left and we’re on the mountain.

So far it’s runnable and I watch my own steps, no one else’s. It’s a very narrow trail and so it’s hard to overtake. I am feeling good and begin to manoeuvre my way in and out to pass when I can, which feels very good, especially as I hear others breathing hard. When I reach the rocks I hike fast, powering the arms to give the legs a breather. A lovely soft but firm surface, I run on the toes and begin to trot between a Great Britain and a Spaniard. I run while I can and gain a lead.

Some of the Irish are suffering early from going out hard and with the sun appearing, the pressure can be felt. We are already up so high that altitude begins to effect some. I take in some fuel, gain a boost and push on. I hear cheers from the Irish, such a wonderful boost, and mile two beeps but I don’t look at my watch – today is about survival, about reaching the summit safely. I still feel good, I leap over branches, I step over rocks, I run on the trails and get into a rhythm, jogging, trekking, powering up, with each few steps bringing new sights and breathtaking views, but I don’t look over. You need to watch each and every footstep up here; we are in the middle of the Spanish Pyrenees, running up the highest mountain I have ever been on, and if I begin to think about that my head could go, so I don’t. Instead I focus each time on just passing the one in front.

I can hear a bell but I know it’s not the last mile, I know we have a bit to go. We are surrounded by cattle so I wonder is it like years ago in Ireland when the cow wore a bell around their neck. I begin to hear the screams, the Irish crew screaming, I smile from ear to ear, the bell is louder than the church bell at home. I wave so high, I scream so loud, because I am feeling stronger with each mile and I know I will do this today. I thank them and move closer to the Austrian ahead.

The air is getting cooler so I refuel. We move onto a grass patch and I run free, like on the green fields back home, but this is firmer. We turn a corner and there it is up ahead, the final 600 metres of the steepest, most enduring, jaw dropping climb. But I have been warned and so am ready, I have some energy left. I begin to pull myself up the grass, my hands grabbing the wet frozen snow, my feet heeling into the wet slippery muck, left, right, up, no down. I don’t look up, I just keep going, I pass another, I hear the roars, I know it’s not far but this short distance will take a while. I just keep talking, every step is completely draining, the air is cold, the breathing getting heavier, the legs tiring. ‘Keep going,’ I say, ‘I’m nearly there.’ 

Finally, we turn a bend, a road, I take off, a strong breeze but I don’t care, I can now run. I run so fast (I’m probably not but after what I’ve left behind this feels unreal) and I see the top, I see the tent, I hear the roars, I pump the arms faster, I cross the line. The officials pull me in to check me over and to mark my number and position, I think we’ve done well.

The Irish are over and are overjoyed. I’m literally frozen in motion, I cannot take it all in. I’m up higher now than I have ever been before. I have just run six kilometres up a mountain twice as high as Carrantoohil. I see the Irish and we run to embrace, to hug, to celebrate completing something like never before, something unimaginable. In a world where you want to reach new heights, this has ticked a box. I run straight for water and see people shaking with the cold; it’s time to get food in and clothes on. We’re on top of the highest mountain and now we’ve to get down. Panic sets in, we’re escorted to a ski lift, a sofa like chair across a zip line. I’m totally freaked, I close my eyes and breath, this makes the mountain race seem easy. I’m freaking out but holding it together. I lift my legs and the wind chill is unbearable. I open one eye, I look to the left, I see the mountain we climbed. I look up and now down and realise I am nearer now to my dad than I ever will be again and so I speak to him. My mind calms and my eyes focus on two birds flying alongside, I think of him and me. I embrace the moment. I can see flat lands, I can see the bus, I know I will make it. The word comes through that we’ve won a world team silver mountain running championship medal for Ireland. We cry with happiness but also for all we have endured because everyone has a story, everyone has it tough at times but it’s overcoming the obstacles on one’s paths that makes us stronger, that makes us face the fear. There has to be a path, a way, a higher place because sometimes we need to be brought up before we can come back down.

Today we have achieved something wonderful not only for our country but for ourselves because at certain times we are afraid of what’s out there but sometimes if we face it, it might not be that bad after all.