National Inter County Cross Country Race Report (Kilbeggan, 22 Nov.)
 
By Deirdre Hassett
 
Okay, I had fun. Kind of. And we are the proud owners of B division All Ireland silver medals (and for the smart among you, I like to quote el Jefe Mick: “Well, there may only have been two teams but they weren’t going to POST you down a set of medals, now, were they?”) We came, we finished, we picked up hardware. And I’ve certainly been MUCH colder and wetter and closer to hypothermic in other sporting events this year (c/f Valentia Triathlon and the Burren half marathon). But I need to clarify some points.
 
SOME MYTH BUSTING
 
1.       I RUN BECAUSE I’M GOOD AT IT.
Being good at something is very subjective. It’s all relative. Now, I’m no Sonia but I like to pride myself in hanging in at the upper end of the bell curve. In terms of the marathon, say, that’s making the top few per cent. So what happens if you gather up the top fifty or hundred runners in Ireland of both sexes and set them off like a pack of hunt dogs around a muddy field? That’s cross country. These girls are sliding off the sharp end of the bell curve so fast they’ve got friction burns on their tiny knicker-shorted asses. As I get lapped by Mary Cullen and Fionnuala Britton (a 2008 Olympian who doesn’t even finish in the top three), I am not even particularly bothered (actually I’m secretly pleased at how far I’ve got before they caught me). I’m a Mini Cooper and they are Ferraris. Nicer bodywork, much bigger engines. Mick advised us: ‘Don’t try to run for a top place’. Ha! I manage to finish within the allotted time window without the indignity of being escorted off the course for holding up the men’s race. As I said: good is relative.
 
2.       I RUN BECAUSE I LIKE IT.
I do like running, oh, yes, I do. I’m generally first in the queue to wax lyrical about the joys of runner’s high off a twenty mile run. But it’s cold and it’s damp today. It’s four weeks after the marathon. Most of my recovery work has been through the careful replenishing of antioxidants with red wine.   (Speed work: see bar, running towards.) The mud is ankle deep. For the first 200 metres, I’m thinking it’s not so bad. For the next 7.8km I employ the kind of tactics used by prisoners of war and other reluctant hostages, by dissociating myself as much as possible from the entire situation. I am not here. My lungs do not hurt. I am not sliding around ankle deep in mud. I am on a sunny beach... I start having bad thoughts. Nice, cool mud. Soft, comfortable mud. Must keep running. Too tired. Maybe I’ll just have a little nap, right here...
 
3.       IT’S A QUICK WAY OF GETTING FROM A TO B
This is strange. I’ve been running for a while now. All this cornering is starting to make me feel nauseous; and you know, I’m still not sure where I’m going. I have the strangest feeling I’ve been here before. That left hand turn looks really familiar, and I’m certain I’ve seen that hairy steward before. And look at all those footprints. It’s almost as if we’re running around in circles. Wait, who’s that passing me? Oh, it’s Mary Cullen. How odd, I would have thought she would have been ahead of me at this stage. Maybe that means I’m in with a chance of a medal if I’m right behind her?
 
4.       RUNNING HELPS ME STAY LOOKING GREAT....
It’s bloody freezing. I decide to wear my new Galway triathlon suit under my singlet. It doesn’t hold water! It’s an extra warm toasty all-in-one layer! And best of all, a triathlon suit is like Spanx for the athletically inclined but not so much shaped (look em’ up,boys). Added to this; I wear arm warmers (another triathlon trick); compression socks (I don’t care what Cathriona McKiernan thinks, if they’re good enough for Paula Radcliffe...), a Galway singlet, gloves and a headband. I’m covered in mud. Inevitably, in the one action shot I see of myself, my mouth is agape. I look like Jimmy Saville on a moors crossing. But nobody said this was gonna be pretty.
 
 5.       ....AND RUNNING’S ONE OF THE MOST EFFICIENT SPORTS TIME WISE FOR BURNING CALORIES
9am: enormous carb loading breakfast (lest I feel faint mid trot). Mid morning: snack top-up (see previous). 11am: embark on slow, complicated two hour bus journey to Kilbeggan averting floods. On-board entertainment is provided in the shape of one of the GCH supporters who regales us with jokes all the way there. “No, no, Tonto, I said posse....”
The women are straight off the bus for their race – about 35 to 40 minutes of sliding around for Team Galway. My Garmin estimates that’s about 500 calories (that’s about 1.5 Mars bars). I’m mentally adding an extra 500 for the mud. We start immediately working on the deficit post race with sandwiches, banana bread and coffee before heading out to support the senior men’s race.
 
The trip home is broken up by a stop in Athlone for an enormous celebratory feed involving lots of chips. Another two hour journey during which we are regaled with many more jokes. I avoid the punchlines. There is pear cider on the bus. It’s eerily reminicent of my life stage the last time I ran cross country (in 1989). We get back at 9pm. Ten hours later. That’s a burnoff rate of about 50 calories per hour. I’m in a calorie surplus of about 1000 if you include dinner (and I didn’t even have any pear cider). 
My trousers feel tight. 
Maybe I’ll take up bridge.