Irish pride in Romania

We’ve celebrated, recovered and taken it all in. A chance to see some of Transylvania, no running too far out of the village; pictures of brown bears even on the bins, warnings for wild dogs but we do get to see Dracula’s Castle.

Time passes quickly out here. Not much time for chilling, which I could do with. Another difficult race lies ahead tomorrow morning; it’s now time to prepare the gear, rest up the legs and get the right thoughts in place. We're told there's rain promised resulting in a slippy surface. For now, I park it all, read and relax.

The brightness gradually emerging in through a fallen space in the curtains. I’m already awake, still adjusting to the time change, I don’t think we’ve caught up on sleep. Jump out, shower, tea, food, the Irish gear on and it’s gone time. The rain teaming down outside, a sudden change from 30 degrees on Friday; it's hard to adjust so quickly.

The lads up first; I watch closely their start, hoping to get some last-minute ideas. Screaming for them with excitement, with passion, with a nervous interest. I’m only one of two Irish ladies racing today. The happiness of having a friend to hang with, for the build-up, the warmup and the start. That half hour before a major competition can be a lonely place, but when racing for your country, the mind can play tricks; to have a comrade is like, finding a hand to hold in the dark.

The town is a hive of activity, our race starting out of the main square; I head off in the rain for a stroll, to see a little of what lies ahead; yes, even the road is slippy today, cobble stones don't help and the challenge seems a long way away. I stay positive, after surviving Friday's tough endurance, vertical race I know I have the ability to run up there, it’s safely that’s number one today. We stand in for shelter, I meet the opposition, some having never ran in rain. Calling us up, warnings that the course is slippy, do not veer outside the electric fences, caution all round is needed. I have the usual talk to myself in events like this; safety is number one.

A fast start, a slight down the road. I go out hard, an unusual wet surface that slows us a little, a loop back around through the village, screams from the crowd pump us on, its fast but good. The beast up ahead; a sharp left, in through a forest, a tight entrance, a sprint to get their first.

The climbing begins; not straight up yet, a gradual elevating track, where one can run a controllable pace, not bothering about anyone else, just focusing on continuing this feel-good pace for now. A little bit of levelling and then the obstacles begin; a sandy surface, loose stoney clay, tree trunks to jump over and a sloping middle; if one veers in the ankles could turn, every step is closely watched.

A very sharp downhill, I’m gone too fast and I grab a tree to slow down. We’re now in the middle of the mountain, the trunks becoming nearer; moving fast, leaping high over and boom, I miss one trunk and slip, land on the hip and knee, bounce back up, running on, I can feel wet, blood from the knee, a quick glance down, it's only a scrap and I’m sound. I got a fright though and maybe it was needed as my body was moving faster than what my head could concentrate on.

I make back up some ground, pass the girl ahead, she checks in with me, I reassure her I’m fine. More climbing, but it’s not hurting, probably because I've slowed down a little with fear. I’m absolutely covered in sand, dirt, sweat, and soaked. The surface proves hard to keep a grip at times; I glide a little but stay afoot, that's it I'm fed up of this surface and so move up and out to grass. It's firm and runnable.

Out into the open, to the most beautiful countryside, I don't look left or right, just watch every move. The trunks are in the past, we're out to pasture and I'm off. Two miles off gradual downhill running, with gradual inclines, on a familiar surface like Cong woods at home. Getting into a lovely, comfortable running style where the legs can run free, the body can straighten up, and the mind is not worrying about slipping.

I’m making up time but I've lost three places from the earlier slips. Forget about it, there is another big challenge ahead- steps- I'm not sure how many. I can see the concrete; I can see the climb. I hold the arm rail and pull myself up. Leaping two steps at once, they go on and on, I'm guessing two hundred. I have a rhythm, my feet are not slipping, and I have the endurance to keep going.

Any chance I get I pass; some are emptied by now. I keep focused, knowing after this I'm heading for the road home. The French girl, I friendly overtake, a battle now on with the Spanish girl I lost in the woods. Finally, the top, under a bridge Transylvania now showing at its best; what better way than to see a city than from its highest point.

As I begin to descend my legs find an effortless, spinning rhythm, completely unburdened by the miles behind them. My arms cut wide for balance, catching the cool mountain breeze like wings, while my entire body fills with a soaring, electric happiness. Stripped of all tactical stress, there is nothing left but the sheer euphoria of the chase—a wild, pulsing buzz as the road opens up and pulls me home.

This is what I love; a fast mile on open road, the wet splashing up, the battle on with the Europeans, me a lonely Irish cailín today, but there is something powerful in the green, white and gold. The crowd shout come on Ireland, I run faster, the end line in sight, I sprint for home. Lying on the damp, cold cobblestones, an overwhelming sense of joy. My presence on the Romanian street, staring up at the Transylvanian sky, a wave of pure pride washes over me. I did it. I ran my heart out for Ireland, overcoming every strange and brutal obstacle the mountain threw my way, finishing with everything I had left. Most of all, we are safe, healthy, and already buzzing for the next adventure.

The crowd are over, I leap up with excitement, a few hours to celebrate before the magic fades into reality: a quick spin to the airport, a flight across Europe, and its straight back to school.

I have run in many countries, in many unique events, but Romania completely rewrote the script. Everyone warns you about the ghosts of Transylvania, the dark forests, and the ancient myths, but the only thing haunting these mountains today was the fierce pace of the European pack.

Instead of fear, I found an overwhelming sense of magic. To be a lonely Irish cailín overcoming every brutal obstacle, turning the fear of the unknown into pure racing fuel, and finishing strong is an experience I’ll never forget.