What a day!

Many, many miles had been run in training. All of the preparation, planning and plotting had been aimed towards this race. The whole weekend is an experience to savour. It builds on the journey eastwards and works its way through the ‘expo’ and the meal the night before, and then builds to its conclusion on Merrion Square around noon on Bank Holiday Monday. The energy and expectation that fills the air on marathon Monday morning lifts the city streets to a steady hum of excitement. You can taste the expectation. You can sense the anticipation.

And then we start running. We’re actually running – doing it – starting into the race that we’d planned for so long. This is when it actually happens. We try to look around. We try to grasp at a wisp of memory as it streams past our ears and behind to the following stampede. Watches are watched, Garmins are monitored for crucial details of a work in progress. People ask, “What mile are we on?” I missed that mile marker. Was there a mile marker? And slowly it settles – and we run - and we work – and we do the maths – and we hope. The finish line draws closer and our individual histories start to take form – to emerge from the ether. The figures that we will have to feel comfortable with for the winter will soon be known.

There are no winners and no losers – no bugles and no drums. We challenge ourselves to the marathon and each and every one of us finds success on the starting line.

Afterwards there is time for reflection. The seeds of the next adventure have been sown. Even as we try to find a suitable home for that hard-won finisher’s medal, our dreams drift and perhaps find a new focus.

They ask - “Would you do it again?” and we don’t really know how to answer. We’ve changed a little since we stood on the starting line in the morning and the considerations have to be rebalanced. We’ll have the chance though. Next time we won’t make the same mistakes. We’ll make different ones.