Beating the beast of the Burren

A good, strong, hard week of training; I have a reel in my head of running loops up and around Knockma. Approaching the end of the school year brings an extra level of busyness for me; routine is out of sync and, to get the training done, it’s about staying local, running up and around wherever one can. An early Friday morning mountain run before work, with the heatwave on the way, means the mountain risers are out earlier and there’s an extra level of energy about the place. I feel an excitement; the long summer school holidays are looming, exams are almost complete, another successful work year is nearly behind me, one final hurdle remains, and then my exploring begins. The early summer mornings, when one can meet a few, run through unknown landscapes, learn about a local area, swim in the lakes and be back to sort the day’s activities, are pure bliss.

At the foot of Knockma, the phone beeps: a free entry to the Clare Burren Marathon Challenge tomorrow morning. Man, I’m only after running up and down a mountain. It starts at 9am, but it would suit home life. The weather is promised good, the weekend is jam-packed, but sure, I might. Running the Burren requires blending the brutal physical demands of the terrain with the ethereal, ancient beauty of the landscape, and that’s what is capturing me today. It is a race defined by dramatic contrasts, switching between tarmac, rugged limestone crags and grass-covered green roads. As the day goes on, the tiredness sets in, the busyness heightens, the need for escapism increases — I’ll go.

Matches, washing, driving — the bag is packed for the morning, sorted. As the academic year barrels toward its chaotic finish line, the days become a blur of going in different directions. 6am, tea, breakfast in the car, Ballyvaughan calls. A glorious morning: the crows lie on the black wire, the air is humid, the wind is warm. As I near the Clare village, the limestone is clearly calling; the sea is blue, the stone is white, and the sun is bright orange over Galway Bay. The tiny village is transformed today into a different kind of sea; a swarm of singlets worn by people from north, south, east and west. Parking in a field, walking to the pier, numbers on, music blaring, and we’re on the line. The strong, powerful sea creates an energy through the crowd. After a dangerous climb last year in poor visibility, today we are told it is about completing, not competing. It’s about leaving no trace, the farmers opening their land for us to explore.

Marathon, half marathon, 10km, 5km — all off together. I go out hard. I said I wouldn’t, but I couldn’t hold back. Two miles in, I quickly cop on; the legs are talking to me, the stomach is answering, and I am unusually suffering. We turn for the trails; the terrain slows us down and I’m recovering. I make a decision: today is about survival, about ending a tough week of training, and about enjoying the challenge of the Burren. We begin the climbs, and the body registers the familiarity of climbing. The higher we go, the better I feel; the legs loosen, the stomach keeps talking, but I don’t answer. A sign reads “tough and difficult terrain ahead” — nothing compared to what I’ve been on. I hobble over and around; with each obstacle I gain strength. I leave my friends and move on. The purples, yellows and whites catch my eye. I glance to the left: the village is a tiny dot below, with a breathtaking view of the Aran Islands ahead, where I have run many times.

I jump the wall into the grass and the first descent begins: an uneven, clayey surface, rocky from cattle hoofs. I watch my footing but move on. I begin to up the pace, but it quickly changes as the surface changes again. That’s the thing about the Burren — it’s a vast, ever-changing landscape… rocky, grassy, clayey, uneven. Now for the rocks and a steep downhill; 100 per cent concentration is needed here. No time for thinking of the stomach, no time for thinking of the time, just tiptoe down and get there safely. Again, the pace increases and I pass a few who are not so familiar with this territory. Feeling the force of the wind, up high in County Clare, pushing hard against your upper body, trying to hold you back — but when doing something that makes you feel good, the body gets into sync with the surroundings. A left sign for the full marathon; I’m awfully tempted. No stop, keep right — the half is the challenge for today.

We’ve a bit to go yet; today I’ve not looked at the watch, I’ve thought about nothing except the present. The farmer hands out the water, my head gets soaked and I’m in the zone. The zig-zag climb awaits. I lean in, my posture bent from the stomach. The jarring switch from springy, mud-slick green trails to punishing, hard-packed limestone rock and hot asphalt uses muscles already tired from the week’s training. The variety, however, occupies the mind. I don’t look up, just focus; the body gets into a good flow, and this doesn’t feel too bad. Passing a few walkers, we encourage each other. I know that on reaching the top it levels out — that’s the reward. I’ll get there.

I begin to think of Padraig O’Hora’s unbelievable achievement in reaching the top of Everest; all he has done for mental health awareness, the difficult times so many endure, the strength it takes to get through. The right leg first, then my left, then up and over, onto the top, the body upright, another rock overcome, the uneven pavement behind. The road awaits, a mile of downhill, beep... 11 miles. A sharp right, leaping out onto the rock-hard road, the feet go into shock; the soft terrain behind, it takes a few hundred metres to get the legs moving on the flat, hard surface. Two miles of this: water, people, positives. The mind is jumping to and from thoughts of hardship, but smiling helps. I can hear the crowd, I can see the pier, so just keep moving. The body is roasted, the mind is tired from concentrating, but I’m nearly there. The village is a sea of people, screaming for us; they shout, “C’mon Mayo.” I am lifted. I count to ten, cross the line, and lie on the grass. The challenge is complete, I have overcome the beast – and I am ready for a summer of adventure. My friends arrive in, exhausted but relieved, and we head for the water. There is a beautiful, exhausting finish to today, and to work next week. As I loosen my laces, there is a loosening of schedules. Walking back to the car around the bottom of the Burren hills, captured by the vast blue expanse of Galway Bay, a challenge completed on tired legs gives one confidence for the bigger challenges ahead. The beast of the Burren is a taster of what’s to come, and I sure am up for a summer of fun.