Spontaneity inspires All-Ireland victory

I leave the vibrant red sun behind, the bright blue skies, the warm brown sand, the beautiful breeze, the volcanic mountains, the sounds of the ocean, the feel of the heat in my bones – and return to the freshness of the west. The feel of rain drops on my shoulders, the east wind, below freezing, the harsh frost, the green fields, the mucky mountains – and all this even before the arrival of Storm Éowyn.

We landed home from our New Year getaway on a snow covered runaway. Flights delayed for hours, a treacherous car park, a lonely drive from the airport, a few hours’ sleep and then all back to school. But one adapts quickly, the body gradually but automatically adjusting to a familiar routine. We all love routine but the next thing it’s all over the place; Mother Nature has covered the country in snow, dropped the temperatures to –5 and we are completely in her hands, in the unknown.

That’s the worst thing, no planning, no organising, as one doesn’t know from hour to hour or from village to village. Another night passes, another trip to the pitch, another crawling trip to work and then, school closes. It’s too dangerous, to drive, walk or run. We’re confined, we can’t do what we normally do, tiredness sets in and we must adjust.

This morning I run laps on a frozen grass surface in darkness, a wake-up reality from the warmth, heat and beauty of a now distance place. One could feel very sorry for oneself but your senses are suddenly captured by the beauty of Ireland covered in snow. A whiteness rebounding off the ice, the bright orange sunrise over Knockma, a hard, firm, surface where your toes can feel the cold yet it’s refreshing. Five days ago I ran in shorts and t-shirt, in roasting heat, in bright light from early morn, with a stunning red sunrise over the ocean. Now I’m in hat, scarf and gloves. Such spontaneity prepares us for life, I do believe.

Sometimes in sport we go to the same trainings, on the same evenings, in the same venues, we run the same roads, the same routes, we set the same plans year after year – and then out of nowhere a phone-call comes. It’s this spontaneity and being able to adapt to the challenge ahead that I sometimes love.

I’ve returned from the sun with lots of new plans for 2025, lots of hopes, dream and ambitions. The week passes by, the snow melts, the temperatures rise and training begins. With a week of holidaying and a week of confinement, the legs get a shock when one begins to run fast again. I look forward to some normality, to running some familiar routes, to getting back to some focus for upcoming events and begin to plan, when a great friend gets in touch about an All-Ireland indoor relay competition at the National Stadium on Saturday. Five days to prepare but the more he talks, the more I get excited, something new, something you haven’t time to think about, something we have totally not prepared for yet is exciting. It’s totally taken the mind away from the weather, the January blues and readjusting from holidays.

With a week of hard frost promised, one cannot chance a track, road or speed and so it’s back to the grass. I need to run laps of 400 metres, fast, to get the legs used to running quickly and getting some speed up, but with only a few days, rest is also needed. There’s the stress of school closures but one’s mind is focused on the excitement of running with the team, in new terrain, in new territory, and against new competition.

The week gradually passes, the legs have some speed and now it’s time to rest. I am not good at resting so occupy myself with housework and school work. The weekend finally arrives and the planning around children’s activities begins, all going in different directions, and then there’s a yellow fog warning for the whole country. Plus, with a later race start in Dublin, we will be driving home in the dark.

There’s an air of anxiousness about the weather but we meet in Athlone, we’re all intact and the journey to Abbotstown begins. For some of us, having not ran a sprint or a relay race in a while this will be a test, a challenge, but fun. Ceased up from the journey, we all quickly walk to the stadium.

Soccer pitches, GAA pitches, cross country grounds, an arena, a state-of-the-art 200m track, we are in awe of the National Sports Campus. We enter the building, there’s lots of young people warming up, we gather the number, I’m the last runner and so straight away put it on, it’s one less thing to remember.

I need to warm up for miles outdoors but say nothing and get on with the task, slowly jogging back and over along the track, some exercises, some stretches. But I need to run and eventually clock up a mile. I watch the hurdles with deep interest; to see the youngsters fly over them with confidence, the height, the bounce, it’s a wonderful sight. We practice the baton, the handover, all technique, but after one rehearsal it all comes back, I don’t over-think things, just get the job done. The lovely thing is we are all relaxed, it’s early January, it’s early season and it’s early days, we are calm and ready for the job at hand. Everyone is rusty, everyone is starting the journey again, and we have nothing to lose.

We’re called up, told where to go, I’m running with some half my age, but I concentrate on what I need to do for my team. 400 metres – a lap of the pitch – seems short, but when you have to run two laps indoors, flat out, in false heat, it’s a different story. There is also a slant on the indoor tracks that I dislike. You are running at an angle but quickly forget once you’ve taken off.

The logistics are settled, the rules are explained, the athletes take their spots, and it has begun. Like bullets they are gone, the arena is quiet, one could hear and feel a pin drop; it’s exciting to watch but an anxiousness exists to get going, to do the job right, to see each teammate make it around, safely. They pass once, twice, number two lines up, the baton is passed smoothly. I remain in my place. It amazes me how sometimes in life minutes go so fast but in certain situations minutes seem like hours. I am roasted, I am dancing on my toes, I am glued to my teammates, wishing all the best for them, they pass once, twice, number three lines up, the baton is delivered and he is off. My mind remains focused, I go over the motions in my head, he comes around the bend, I anxiously wait as he has another lap to go, I can hear his breathing, he is going well. We’re told to move out, I move into the position I want to be in the correct lane, within the rules. I move my left arm back and stare at my teammate sprinting down the last stretch. I grab the baton, switch from left to right, and pump those arms. I squeeze that baton so tight because these are the things that can mess things up. I get into a stride, I am pushing but not yet at max, I need to leave something in the tank for that last lap and the 100 metres down the home straight. Coming around the first bend, this feels good, the slant on the track, I stay near the inside and up the pace. I just race, no watch, no heartrate, shoulders back, head up, fast arms, the last bend, and head for home. I see my teammates, stretched but shouting, sweating but smiling. I cross the line but race a few more steps just to be sure. The steward calls me back, we’ve won bronze.

Smiles, pictures and cheers all around. The job is complete, we have just won national team senior bronze and are overjoyed – but our partying will have to be in the car journey home to the west; it’s getting dark, we must rush, grab the bags and get ahead of the fog. We analyse, we reminisce, we celebrate, we laugh, we plan. What a great start to a new year.

I’m not sure what roads, paths, boreens, mountains, hills or thrills are up next but I am up for anything. It’s that spontaneity which I love.