Exploring with the Liverpool Irish

January came to a close with St Brigid’s Day brightening our way to spring. Okay, so maybe we’re not quite there on the meteorological clock but on my clock it’s spring; I’m all for bidding goodbye to winter and embracing the next season and did so recently through the many parks of Liverpool, guided by the local Liverpool-Irish group. What a pleasure.

These hardcore daily trotters love an early start and I can see why; run while the city sleeps, tiptoeing through the many streets, zebra crossings, no stopping, no traffic, led by streetlights. A safety exists in a city that sleeps. As we skip our way through cobbled streets, uneven paths and side roads, we chat about counties of where people are from and how one ends up in Liverpool. About young people who were sometimes alone but eager for work. About how things have changed back home. About how when a generation comes to end, when the land is sold and when there is nothing to go back for, there’s only memories.

I begin to feel sad but then the conversation turns to the next generation, a new life created, living an Irish way of life, carrying out and celebrating Irish traditions sometimes more than we do back home. Like making St Brigid’s Day crosses, like the weekly céilí, learning the accordion, playing GAA.

Sometimes we take things for granted back home, like when I talk about never running on concrete but on grass in the middle of the road, or on the trails from Cong to Clonbur, on the mountains around us, and about running free from technology, about knowing everyone's house if a stop was needed, about meeting the early rising farmers on their daily errands. But now I begin to think they feel sorry for us because in some ways we haven't moved on; I’m still running the same boreens, the mountains stay the same, the trails still flood every year, but that's the way we like it. That's the brilliant thing about running with people of similar interests, the miles pass by, the conversations flow freely and a lot gets planned in two hours.

I now tell them I wouldn't swap country life for the city if you paid me! My hips are already stiffening from running on concrete. The more we chat about the Irish countryside the more trips that are being planned. Sensing the passion for home, miles will easily pass this morning. Moving from darkness into light, from the city to the parks, from concrete to muck, that's where our next adventure begins.

Sometimes it’s good not to have a plan, to go with the flow, to not know what's ahead, to just step outside at the agreed time and let the morning unfold. That's sure what's happening here, a lovely six miles to Croxteth Park on the edge of Liverpool, a historical park covering 500 acres of woodland, fields and ponds. What a lovely escape from urban life.

A big crowd gather for this Parkrun. It’s misting rain – worse than back home – and it’s dark, cool, miserable, but we’re well warmed up. A friendly atmosphere, in a place where everyone knows each other, I meet and greet people from Tyrone, Galway, Roscommon and of course Mayo.

Standing around we get cold quickly. There’s nothing worse than running, sweating, then stopping for a while, cooling, then freezing, then trying to warm up again. It takes me the first mile to get going again and there is a surface out here I cannot explain; the grass is light, it’s easily swept away with rain, the muck is slippery, like an ice-skating ring, and with runners on it’s just about staying on the feet. I have run in all kinds of dirt, muck and gutter but this is lethal. Finally the hands warm up, we move out of the forest and onto trails, and now I begin to move, passing the few, the hips loosening up after the miles on concrete, the tips of the fingers warming after a biting cold breeze. A downhill now, happy days, we’re almost there, a fast finish, a smile for all.

I spot some green and black tops coming, the group arriving in, meeting some more Liverpool-Irish, my running club for this weekend, which is a great buzz. It’s about the experience, the company, the memories, the joy, and the memories this weekend – the time is irrelevant. But time nonetheless is quickly passing by now so it’s time to get moving again.

We slowly amble back to the now busier streets and are joined for the first mile by two young eager GAA ladies, their passion for the game felt the more we chat and share stories of wonderful matches, wonderful wins, tough defeats.

As I near my cobblestoned alley street, passing the local shop, who now knows us to see, friendships have been rekindled and formed through an Irish connection, through a common hobby, through a fond welcome, a kindness and closeness that cannot be displaced by distance.

You might move away but our inner traits, our history, our upbringing moves with us. We talk about plans ahead, ultra marathons for some, half marathons in Ireland for others.

They plan to show me the other half of Liverpool tomorrow and I can't wait. For now though, it's a well-earned Irish breakfast in Liverpool, with my family, watching the highlights of the GAA. Shopping comes next and of course a Liverpool match in the afternoon.