Sometimes sport can lift us out of the gloom

After a week – or two – of difficult circumstances for lots of people, I reflect on the things that sometimes help, like people, kindness, simplicities, going back to the basics and realising there are always people in worse situations.

With the red alert warning came school closures and flasks filled, batch cooking and baking, all to get the most out of the power while it lasted. Gas, candles and power banks are in demand but still we are lost. The bins are brought in, the trampolines are taken down, bikes, go karts, caravans and anything else that can move is housed. The wind begins to howl, the darkness sets in and the best place to be is under the covers.

The morning arrives and it’s still howling. I gradually peep out; the car looks in one piece, the shed is intact and only a few things are tumbled. The power goes, the water goes, the heat goes, no internet, phones or television – meaning no TG4 for the Mayo match against Dublin – and so it’s back to basics. Find the old wireless radio, find batteries, find a signal. Brilliant the match is on.

When you have nothing else, the younger generation quickly forget about the modern technology that now doesn’t work and attentively listen to the wireless, sitting in beside the radio to make it sound louder. They praise the passion and enthusiasm of experiencing sport from a different media source, jumping up and down with the excitement of the commentary, the screaming for Mayo scoring a goal. Sometimes when you only have one sense to appreciate the moment, it heightens the excitement; not a sound to be heard only the sport. The intensity from the radio to be felt in the room, it makes one smile. We all like communication, we all like company and we all like sport. Listening to our county team makes one feel like they are there, it passes a while, and we concentrate to hear every word to help experience the occasion.

The evening passes and the weather is checked for the next morning. It’s promised harsh frost very early and then more wind, with another two yellow warnings coming into place. Athletics training is cancelled, a soccer match postponed and a cup game to go ahead. That leaves a gap between 9 and 11am and the short time spell will be maximised. The sheltered grass field the only place to run safely on, I’ll run laps and laps. It will warm me up, it will be safe, and it will get some adrenaline pumping.

The morning arrives and sure enough, it’s bitter cold with a real feel of -5 but there’s a freshness about too. The frost clears, the wind hasn’t risen yet and I’m off. As I travel my short trip to the field, I see our countryside ripped apart, trees uprooted, electricity poles knocked, wires lying on roads, muck, dirt, grit and bits everywhere. No lights only the skies, no sounds only the winds, no news only our own.

I arrive at the pitch, the massive goal posts completed flattened like a right-angle piece of iron buckled on the grass, half a brick wall knocked over into a field, the cattle still shivering afraid. I begin to jog, slowly, I try to imagine how powerful the extreme weather force was, knocking over a concrete block wall, tearing down iron, steel structures, the dumping of debris making the grass very heavy and now it’s frozen rock solid. For once the earphones are in, I need the company and there is coverage down here. I listen to the stories from all around our country – no word of Trump, the Dail or Blue Monday today.

Sunday morning is normally a long run but today it seems short; when you are confined you make the most of what you have and today I make the most of running safely in fresh air, listening to nature’s sounds, noticing life’s simplicities, because right now that’s all we have. I don’t count laps or look at the watch, I know exactly how many it takes to do a mile.

It’s bitter cold, an east breeze, but I warm up quickly as I begin to clock up the time. When in confinement you notice everything, like the trees missing from across the road, the people out for a walk, the few cars passing. There’s no place to go, there’s nothing on and there’s nothing working. In the distance I see Knock Ma, Croagh Patrick and the hills far away. I wonder what state they are in?

The adrenaline begins to kick in and I begin to think happy thoughts, like to be so thankful for everyone being safe, for the animals to be still alive, to have the health to get out and about. I remember fondly the times of power cuts in our younger days, a common occurrence but we were always prepared, sitting at home in candlelight, reading, the gas lanterns, the range and open fire, a kettle always on the hob and a black and white TV with an aerial that my dad bought. If you went near it, the fuzzing would start, but when one had nothing else that black and white TV was as good as the radio was the Mayo match we enjoyed last night.

We have food, water from the well and heat from blankets so we’ll be okay. Five miles done, I’m halfway there, I am realising layers, I am realising stress, I am gaining energy and momentum to face the day. I think of what we will have for the day, water can be boiled, eggs can be scrambled and bacon fried. There’s homemade tart and buns and the batteries will last for the Crossmolina game.

I think of upcoming competitions and how hard it is here in the west to sometimes train yet I do think training in tough conditions is better preparation than training indoors, and with upcoming cross country races what better way to prepare. The morning gets better, I now have company, the lads from the local football team have the same idea. They gradually emerge from the car, a crutch on them from the bitter cold, not prepared with shorts on.

The wind is beginning to strengthen and I up the ante. I run quick around to finish the last lap and have the chat. A social run begins to start, a bit like a local park run, and we chat and discuss all the goings on, the damage, the future few days ahead. They are perished but we laugh and suddenly, almost without realising, we have four laps done so they now are warmed up and ready for their training session. I depart company and head for home, turning out the road and thinking of how nice a hot shower would be, how rewarding a hot cuppa and hot breakfast might be.

All along the way there’s still no light, no noise, no action. There’s an unusual silence as I enter the house, the youth on the couch, with blankets and books, hardly having time to lift their heads, engrossed in their stories. No shower, only the ice-cold bath filled from yesterday, a refreshing feeling for the tired weather-beaten legs. I can only stick five minutes. The tea is made from a lukewarm flask. Cold milk and cereal but it’s refreshing.

I begin to do household chores to keep warm and the morning passes quickly. The match is nearly on. All take up their positions round the wireless again, popcorn and treats, like the cinema, without the screen. The commentary throughout is electric. With the All-Ireland final nearing a close, it’s heartbreaking, we think, for Crossmolina Deel Rovers, the disappointment so vividly felt by all in the room, as we have all lost finals – but this is extra hard. But then, out of nowhere the screaming begins. We can’t believe it. A penalty awarded, the hero stands up to take it. I feel like I am there. A goal would win the match and boom, he buries it. We are well warmed up now, shouting then silent, to hear every word, to hear the happiness but heartfelt emotion for all involved. In seconds the outcome has changed from heartbreak to joy. The match is won. Midwest Radio has brought life to many houses in darkness today, it has taught the youth the value of maximising and surviving on what one has, not what one wants, and it has brought happiness and entertainment to pause the worry and despair of life without the basics.

Sometimes when the uncontrollable takes over, when circumstances are outside your control, one must find something that is controllable, that will work, that will do. Sport and going back to basics fulfilled us on a weekend when we had nothing else. The batteries for the wireless will be stocked up on. The local radio station has a new following of listeners.