Idyllic spot to recover from marathon toil

The hubby’s phone rings, the island is calling, work needs to be done. It’s perfect timing, with all on midterm break and this also the week after the Dublin Marathon, off we all go. Dips in the ocean, jogs in the sea air, nourishing home cooked food. The weather is mild, there’s no breeze and temperatures are up. There is something beautiful about leaving the mainland behind and heading to somewhere exposed like Inishmore, and to the remote and quiet. It’s near but in some ways very far away, away from the going, the traffic, the noise, the madness. One makes do with what one has out here, the mind automatically shuts off and everything gets noticed.

The ‘holiday’ begins the minute we leave the driveway to begin the journey to Rossaveel. The twisting, turning winding roads of Joyce Country automatically slows the car, animals rule the road, phone coverage gradually dies and breathtaking scenery dictates the conversation. The geography learnt in school gets recognised in the varying landscapes, the youth informing the grownups how glaciers formed what’s before us, history being relived driving through the barren famine route. Even the changing weather driving through the mountains throws up science questions and the as Gaeilge roadsigns get translated. The drive is an opportunity for everyone, unconsciously, to become mindful; senses captured by the sights, sounds and feelings as we travel through Connemara.

The barriers are still up from yesterday's Fair Day in Maam Cross. One of Ireland’s oldest horse fairs and a traditional gathering outside Peacocks on the Tuesday after October Bank Holiday weekend, thousands of people converge at the Maam crossroads to purchase Connemara ponies but also to take a step back in time, to revisit our past traditions, to see Shetland ponies, donkeys, hens, ducks, clothing, local produce and some of the crafts and trades from a time gone by.

Arriving at Rossaveel, the carpark is almost full, there’s a crowd for the boat and the as Gaeilge is in full flow. We sit up on deck, outside, at the top of the boat, which for me is the way to travel to an island, the sound of the boat treading through the water, the mountains in clear view, islands scattered all around us. There’s no sickness, no wind, no mist, just a clearness and beauty up ahead. The calmness of the water, the peacefulness of the mountains, the purr of the boat sailing through the ocean, relaxing, refreshing sounds, preparing us all for a lovely break.

Our transport awaits the other side. No horse and cart this time, nor bike, as today we are on limited time with only an overnight manageable so we travel by Jeep. We make the most of a precious few hours on Inishmore. Supporting the local shops first, which is very important, we’re then home to the house on the hill; the water has a way of working up a hunger. I gladly jump into the kitchen, surrounded by views of the sea, the limestone, the monuments. Time means nothing out here, there is no panic, no rush, everything can wait.

It's a mile walk to the beach, where the trawlers fish for produce, the sand is compact, and the water is calm. I dip the tired marathon legs in the clear Atlantic, gradually immersing them further and further into the ocean, the coolness shocking the body at first, the lactate acid gradually being frozen. I move through the motions, the children searching for seashells, my husband across the shore examining the first building. I sit, immersed in the freezing cold ocean with a smile, as I get to spend time with my nearest and dearest. In this extremely busy world, where weekends are as busy as weekdays, an hour or two together is treasured and invaluable, just to catch up, to hear the stories, to laugh, to ensure everyone is okay.

I think of the past weekend, the marathon completed, again, but this time it was a very different journey, one of reflection, one of hope, completed in memory of a loved one. You could think it was a lonely endeavour but it was the opposite. I had someone with me in my soul, that made me stronger. I had strangers supporting me. I had extended family rooting for me all along the way.

Children have a wonderful way of understanding and coping when you’re not present, when they know something means so much to you. But you still care so much so even though I was in Dublin and they were partaking in county finals and cup games, we were together, because a bond exists with loved ones even when you are elsewhere. You are with them in spirit and soul. I only stick a few more minutes, enough to have refreshed the sore muscles. The children have a bag of seashells gathered, my other half has a site explored and planned. Now it’s time for Halloween tricks and treats.

The odd bus passes, the horse and carts carry a few, the cyclists climb up the tough hills to Dún Aonghasa, some walk alongside the bike for a little break. Everyone salutes, everyone smiles, everyone has a word. Life is simple but beautiful, the silence interrupted by the laughter of the children, by the Failte Romhat from the locals, by neighing donkeys. Every noise gets heard, every sighting gets noticed, because in a world that’s peaceful, in a world that’s simple, one appreciates everything.

The work gets examined, the plans are put in place and I invite the islander over for tea. That’s the thing I love about Ireland, we still have a hearty welcome, we enjoy people’s company, we love the food, chats and craic wherever we may be. For the young to sit with the elders, for the conversations to flow, for all to enjoy each other’s company, is a pleasurable experience, particularly in a world where social media sometimes dominates over real conversations and friendships.

The morning arrives, it’s dark and I listen to the silence. I await to hear noise but there’s nothing, no cars, no people, the animals are still asleep. I can’t remember a time in my life of complete and utter silence. I step outside the back door, I am not afraid, I begin to trot, slowly down the stoney, uneven, boreen, running in the middle of the lane, the soft wet grass helping my sore toes and feet. It’s pitch black but the island is illuminated by the lights from the pier, the beam of brightness off the boats on the sea and the red bright glimmer from the airport runway. I’m guided by a sprinkling of yellow lights speckled along the seashore, igniting the island. The darkness now shadowed, the sky begins to brighten, the odd car emerges, an islander passes on a high nelly, the local shopkeeper walking to work. The island gradually becomes alive, awoken by daylight… there is no alarm set out here.

As I begin to trot down the first hill, the quads feel the pressure of moving downwards. Uphill is easier, the lactate acid gradually loosening out. This is a slow slog today. I proudly wear the purple and blue Dublin Marathon 24 hat; a gentleman cycles alongside and is eager to know about how it went. We begin to chat, I forget about the quads. He’s a local who runs and swims every day, who moved from America and now paints and draws on Inishmore. We part company, I reach the village, the Aran rugs are hanging out, a load heading off on the island tour bus, the signs up for local traditional music tonight, the coffee shop about to open, I smile and inform I’ll be back in an hour. I turn the loop and head back the way, I can see the lights on in the house at the top of the hill. All must be up. I’m keen to get back, the legs are gradually loosening out, I’m moving a little faster, the island is now bright, I am completely refreshed and ready for another day of exploration, chatting, laughing, meeting local people and meandering through my family’s thoughts, feelings and conversations, before heading back to a familiar land of love where a bond exists even when separated by the busyness of life.

Running on Inishmore for me is a truly invigorating experience. The unique terrains, from sandy beaches to rugged trails, add variety to my routine. The combination of fresh air, beautiful scenery and the sound of waves makes for an enjoyable and refreshing recovery run where one forgets the soreness, the stiffness, and smile at recent achievements and begin to look forward to new plans. My next run will be a slow trot around the busy roads of Shrule.