Dublin City Marathon
Dublin, Ireland

Monday, October 29, 2001

There was really nothing out of the ordinary with the night before or the morning of the race.  The usual tossing and turning, trying to sleep and, eventually, passing into some form of slumber.  Waking before the alarm, realizing  attempts at more sleep would be fruitless, getting up and starting the day.  Emptying the baggie with the pre-measured breakfast powders (Renate had suggested I not “carry on” my various powders less I get stopped at airport security for some imagined offense) into the battery operated blender, purchased specifically for moments like this, adding some carbo gel and water and then blending and drinking.  Breakfast of champions.

It was a short cab ride to the start area, then kind of hurry up and wait.  Only ninety minutes until the start of the Dublin City Marathon.  A little bit of walking around, the smell of fresh hops or barley (the Guinness brewery being about a mile to the west), a little bit of a warm up, a couple of visits to the Port-A-Loo.  Come on.  Let’s get this thing under way and over with.  There’s fresh Guinness to consume in large quantities.  Lots of unnecessary babbling by some race official.

Then, with very little warning,the starting horn.  I was able to get in position right behind the elite runners so it only took four seconds to reach the actual starting line.  And it didn’t take long to get into a smooth running pattern.  That was one pre-race worry that turned out not to be one.

The next pre-race worry also was for naught.  (Kind of amazing how that happens.)  About a mile and a half into the race there’s a mile section that goes around a large city block.  Four 90 degree corners.  Looking at the map beforehand, I thought these would be potential congestion spots.  But, no problem.  Until turning the fourth and final corner.  Now we’re heading back the way we came.  It’s about 2.5 miles into our 26.2 mile Monday morning run.

“May the road rise up to meet you, and may the wind be always at your back” is the old Irish saying.  Typical blarney muttered by some beer and whiskey soaked leprechaun, no doubt.  The first part said to get ready for the hills.  But, it was the second part that most assuredly wasn’t going to happen on this day.  Turning that fourth corner was like entering a wind tunnel.  With the power turned up to “tornado”.  Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a wee bit.

At least it wasn’t raining.  Actually, it was a pretty good day weather-wise.  Overcast.  And on the cool side.  But the wind would turn out to be troublesome.  Overall, considering the whole course, I would say it was as bad or worse than the wind at the New York City Marathon last year.  (At least it wasn’t as cold.)

For the most part, while running, I tried to stay in the middle or towards the back of groups of five to ten guys so that I wasn’t using up my energy fighting the wind.  Being aware of mile splits and concentrating on staying relaxed.  Usually, when I was getting bored with the pace, there would be another impatient runner take off and I would just catch a ride to the next group.  A few times I had to go on my own.  I tried to limit these occasions and, as much as possible, do it when there wasn’t as much wind.  After the halfway point the groups were non-existent.  Just one or two runners going against the wind.  There was one guy I hooked up with about mile 15 who described the wind as “a bit of a nuisance.”   Talk about your understatements.  I wonder what was in his sports drink.  Heck, even the down hill sections were tough.

Speaking of hills, the course was mostly flat, but there were enough deceptively hilly sections.  The first being four miles in, at St. Vincent’s Hospital.  Nothing was real steep, nor all that long.  But running into a headwind while “the road rose up to meet us” increased the hill factor.  At least they well scattered throughout the course.  I could have done without the “false flat” for miles 24 and 25, however.  (A “false flat” is a section that, to the eye, appears to be fairly level, but actually has some upward grade.)

I won’t bore you with too much play-by-play (for mile splits and other numerical trivia, go here), just a few highlights.  In no particular order.

I saw my number one fan around 3.5 miles in.  (You should have heard her whining the next day about being tired and sore because she had to walk quickly from the start to get there before I did.)  I heard her, but didn’t see her, after about 12.5 miles and then, again, at the finish line.  I like to hear her cheers and I appreciate her efforts.  And, oh yeah, I love her.

The Irish fans, although not out in overwhelming numbers, were very enthusiastic.  In Germany and Switzerland they yell “hopp…hopp…hopp” which means, loosely translated, “faster…faster…you fool, you fool”.  In Ireland, it was “well done, lads”.  They don’t seem to have a great concept of distance, though.  After crossing the halfway point the “well done, lads” cheer was followed by “you’re almost done”.  Just a wee bit o’ blarney, don’t ya know.

This was the first marathon where I didn’t “hit the wall”.  Although I did not “negative split” the race (1:23:13 for the first half, 1:25:13 for the second half) and the last 6.2 miles were about ten seconds per mile slower than the first 20 miles, I was physically and mentally comfortable the whole race.  My concentration level was high, especially for the first half when I was going from group to group.  The fact that I didn’t really have anybody breaking wind for me for the last 12 miles or so probably wore me out and contributed to the slow final 10k.

Speaking of breaking wind…  One of the group leaders must have consumed a ton of Sustained Energy before the race (Downingtown Dragons inside joke).  I didn’t stay down wind of that guy very long.

(The picture to the right is around the 12.5 mile mark.  In the background is St. Stephen’s Green.  The guy directly in front of me is actually the “wind breaker”.)

The water stations handed out 250ml (about 8.5 oz) plastic bottles of water.  Mostly with the tops off.  Drinking out of the bottles while running wasn’t a problem.  In fact, I probably got more water in than I usually do with cups.  Another pre-race concern for naught.  The race literature mentioned only five water stops along the course, so I took a second bottle at the first stop and just screwed the top back on.  Now I’m running along with my gel flask in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.  There were three additional stations where the Irish version of Gatorade was available.  (No, not Guinness.  Something called Lucozade Sport that I never did try.)  They also had water here.  So, a total of eight aid stations, about every three miles.  And, to beat any wiseass to the punch, I didn’t fall down at any of them.

I couldn’t tell you anything about the city of Dublin as a result of running 26.2 miles through the streets.  Kind of like last year’s visit to New York City where, allegedly, we ran through the Bronx and Manhattan among other locales.  Not to mention the bridges we crossed.  If someone mentioned Dublin sites that were passed, my answer would be the same as for New York.  “If you say so.”

The pictures below are some of the things Renate saw while I was running.  The left picture is in St. Stephen’s Green.  There’s no actual statue of St. Stephen there.  The middle picture, I’m sure, was taken for my benefit.  It’s Molly Malone.  I don’t know why she was metally preserved.  The picture on the right is St. Somebody’s Church.

I saw a couple of the elite ladies who appeared to have some “help” with drafting and pacing from some elite men.  I went past one about 21 miles in who was tucked behind two guys who had “elite” numbers.  I think she finished fifth female overall.  I came up on another near mile 24.  She was just leaving her escort to words of, I believe, encouragement in some foreign language.  Her finish was pretty strong and I could never quite catch her.  She ended up as fourth female, about five seconds in front of me.

So, I’ve reached the end of the Dublin City Marathon, with a time of 2:48:26, a PR by more than 15 minutes.  (I had taped a piece of paper to my gel flask with five mile split times targeting a 2:44:54.  A little aggressive, perhaps.  Maybe next marathon.  With no wind.)  And I’m feeling surprisingly good.  Time for a Guinness.  Or six.  My number one fan helps me change into my sweats and then we go in search of.

The first place we walk into says they’re closing.  It’s 12:30.  In the afternoon!  And there’s a boisterous crowd of partiers that had probably been there since yesterday some time.  No problem.  Dublin has plenty of pubs.  The one right around the corner is our next choice.  It’s closed.  I flash back to Todd’s tale of woe after the Boston Marathon.  Onward to the next place.  Success.  Renate grabs a table at the back while I procure a couple of pints from the barkeep.

Man, that’s good stuff.  I’m about halfway through when the guy at the next table strikes up a conversation.  I could understand about every third word of his drunken, Irish brogue.  Two words I did pick up were “gay bar”.  Ok, Todd, your Boston adventure was entertaining when you talked about it.  I don’t need to follow it to the letter on the other side of the Atlantic.  Never a dull moment, I guess.  None the less, we take our time finishing our pints before heading somewhere else for the next one.  And some lunch.

Then back to the hotel for a nap.  Which was kind of so-so.  Then a shower.  Which was great.  Long and hot.  Renate is still half asleep so I tell her I’ll meet her in the hotel bar.  I’m just finishing my second pint when she walks in.  Another?  Don’t mind if I do.

About a five minute walk to Rumm’s Grub and Gargle for some food and drink.  Now, I’m up to six pints.  One of Renate’s co-workers, a British lady, had mentioned her “Eight by Eight” club.  Eight pints by 8 PM on any given day.  I’m not going to make the 8 PM cutoff.  But I can do the eight pints part.  If she can do “Eight and a Marathon” then she can join my damn club.  The final two pints are consumed in the hotel bar.  Then it’s time for this sub 2:50 marathoner to call it a day.