A race that nothing could have prepared us for

I rose early, as always, on Sunday, September 15 last to prepare for another race, except this was like no other race. We plan for races, we prepare, sometimes we know the route, sometimes we have an idea of what’s ahead, but today nothing could have prepared me for the event to come, a 17 kilometre world championship mountain race in Canfranc. Throughout the weekend we could see the mountain, we slept beside it, we sheltered in the village alongside it, we raced on the mountain beside it, we had a creek in our neck trying to look up at it because of its height…but now we had to run it.

It’s four degrees outside, a fresh cool air exists, and on top of the mountain it will be zero degrees but the sun will shine, so I head for the start with my Ireland vest and shorts. Unsure how the legs are after the uphill race on Friday, I begin to stroll, I feel good. It's cold but I will quickly warm up. I meet my Irish team, we’re all in good shape but anything can go wrong up here.

It's an eight kilometre mountain climb to the peak, over 3000 feet of elevation, a rocky terrain, but I’m told it’s runnable. Then a nine kilometre downhill. I’m told to be careful and watch my footing; that it’s rocky and dangerous in spots. I think I could run uphill all day but am anxious about the downhill. One wrong step, one wrong move at that height could be scary. On the start line I have a talk to myself and say whatever happens today, I’m cautiously and slowly descending down from this monster; if I’ve to slow down that will be okay, if I’ve to step and not run over rocks that is what will be done, if I’ve to slide down a steep bit it will give my legs a break. Safety is number one.

There is an atmosphere out here that is electric. We’ve already won team silver on Friday so we have a confidence about us. We get into the rhythm of the music; it takes the mind off the cold. The countdown is on and I am up for the challenge.

The first 800 metres is downhill on road and I run so fast that I get a good lead. The toughness of the mountains highlights the easiness of speed on road and I make the most of it. A left turn onto a scree surface, a steep climb on uneven, rocky terrain, I take it handy because it’s early days. I get into a rhythm of gradually running uphill, gaining momentum and placing as the feet tip toe up.

We are surrounded by trees and so can’t see what’s up high, only the path ahead. I like this because you run in the moment. I really do feel good; I begin to pass one, then another, then aim to get nearer to the next competitor. This continues throughout the zig zagging path moving up around the giant. We move out of the trees and can see the valley; we are miles up into the mountain. I know I have a good position and I feel on fire. The miles beep by, time means nothing, and my breathing is good.

We reach the summit and I’m first up on my team – but now for the scary downhill part. The top is full of rocky stones, I step slowly over and then begin to jog, slowly, cautiously, moving down through the rocks. I go over on my ankle, I get a fright, I keep running and it passes. I need to do this for my teammates so while I slow down, I have a lead and feel like I don’t have pressure yet.

The terrain changes to a more familiar forest-like surface where the clay feels like carpet, the grass is firm, and the path looks like Knockma back home. I know how to run this part, I can push on where it’s safe, it gives me confidence. A very steep downhill, I dig my heels in and step it down. We enter a narrow trail, I keep as far over to the right as possible and do not even attempt to look left, as what I’m running alongside is hundreds of feet of a drop. I clench my fists, I stare at every step, I see a steward and ask how far is left. Three kilometres to go, I will do this.

Finally, a good firm surface where I can run fast so I push on, the legs are fresh from the easing back. Some have passed me on the dangerous parts but I know I'll make up time once I hit the final part on road. Today I have seen people fall, I have heard people scream, I have seen people walk. The altitude can do things to people that I am lucky enough to never have experienced. The cooler temperatures up at the summit causing hands and extremities to freeze up, the dizziness of being up so high can affect concentration, the lack of food, water, oxygen can make people feel very unwell. Up here you must listen to the body, you must do exactly what it says because in a split moment things can happen. My ankle is fine and I’m very thankful; maybe I needed that scare for me to realise that no matter what, I must reach level ground safely.

Even though we are still so high up I can hear the cheering at the bottom of the mountain. I zig zag my way back down, running fast on the trail parts and slowing on the rock parts. The corners are handled with care and I let the arms move freely. With a mile and a half to go I can see the blaring sunshine, I can see the path nearing an end, I am beyond excited because I have a need to run fast, I have an adrenaline of energy from 16k of the most enduring, challenging but amazing adventure and I am going to finish this off with a burst of speed.

We hit the road and I pass the two that flew out past me on the most scariest part of the mountain along the wall. It puts a shiver down my spine even to think about it. The heat is blaring but the road feels bouncy, I see the finish line, I run like hell but it’s not the finish yet – we have to run around the town to finish the world run.

Everything is always made difficult in a championship and a steward shouts “slow down, steps ahead” and boom, 20 narrow steps. I’m going so fast I can’t slow down. I jump two steps, four steps. I see blood, I’m scared again. I tip toe down some more, a break until the next 10. I’m nearly there, the crowd roars, the green is everywhere, the Irish flags fly high, the lactate acid is now burning. I see the finish line again, this time from the right side, for the final time. A home stretch lined with people screaming for Ireland and I scream back. I am beyond overjoyed as I count the final few steps. Our supporters land over, I lie on the grass, I look up to the sky, I see the giant we’re after surviving and that’s what today was about – survival.

I see two birds fly high and I cry with happiness because I am safe and have ran my heart out. I begin to walk, I see my teammates arrive in, we scream, shout and embrace. We have no idea where we have come but we have crossed the line. I visit the medical centre just to be sure, they poke, move, twist and turn my ankle, they tell me it’s fine. Relieved, I head for the tent for music and an array of food, refreshments, treats of which we deserve.

The temperature is now 19 degrees and toasting sunshine. The results are checked, we’ve done it again – world team silver. We celebrate because this was a race for which nothing could have prepared us; it was endurance and skill at its best. We hobble together to the river, immersing our legs into freezing cold water, we laugh, reminisce and enjoy every minute because we deserve it. On this Sunday in September we are world champions again, we have spent a week of doing the right thing, having already won a world medal but not being able to celebrate. But we have a double celebration tonight. We will be treated, we will be spoilt, we will party in true Irish style. I already have my song picked out.

Oh the Green and Red of Mayo.