Early on - Serious Drafting!

“If that course isn’t flat, you can have your money back” said the race official just before Mick and I set off to drive the course, “it’s as flat as a pancake”. We began to doubt there is such a thing as a flat pancake as Mick navigated the uphill stretch just after the four-mile marker. As we descended quickly towards the five-mile marker we surmised that maybe he was having us on. Then we saw the climb at about 7.5miles and Mick suggested that maybe he was mixed up between pancakes and poppudoms!

The Dungarvan Ten Miler was new to both of us. We were advised that the course was the fastest of the four ten-milers that make up the Munster 10-Mile Series. As courses go it is indeed flat and fast – just not as flat as any pancake I’ve ever seen. A short loop to start with, leads you onto the main loop after about 2 miles. The roads are generally small and picturesque, with a few tight turns and only the two aforementioned hills to contend with. The last quarter of the race leads back into town from the Cork side along flat, well-surfaced roads – just what you need when the lack of cushioning in racing shoes starts to have an effect. There are some nice long flat sections in there, especially along the river at about 6miles where you can really find a rhythm. Nice course – but that was just driving it – now we had to run!

You may have noticed my report on the Mallow 10’ four weeks ago, and now the Dungarvan 10’ was the second in the Munster series. I was pleased with 62:05 in Mallow as that race was run off almost no training in November and December. However that excuse was gone as I now had five good training weeks under my belt going into this one. A fast course and perfect weather conditions – bright sunshine, mild breeze, cool air – meant that excuses were few and far between. I targeted a sub-60 finish and planned to run an even paced 6-minute per mile race.

Mick on the other hand was just coming off a long, injury-enforced break. His training consisted of about three-weeks slow running with a few testers thrown in. He said his target was 62 or 63 minutes but I knew he wouldn’t be happy unless he beat my Mallow time.

About 500 people lined up for the start and under blue skies the race starter asked if we were right. “Off you go so” and the pack surged forward.

Throw the plan out the window – I ran the first mile in 5:37. Pure stupidity, way too fast! My normal reaction would be to brake severely at that point and try to hit 6-min pace over the next mile, but I didn’t. I recognised one or two people around me and decided that I might be better sticking with the group, reasoning that the pace would probably slow.

It slowed a little but we still recorded 5:48 for the second mile. Now it was decision time – slow down to my planned pace or risk a blowout later on. I was feeling good and knew that I was not over working – let’s risk it. At this stage I unashamedly ran just behind two or three others and drafted for a few miles. I tried to stay with the group as we moved forward, slowly gaining race positions. The third and fourth splits were 5:58 and 5:48, and on we ran.

At this stage we negotiated a sharp turn of almost 180°, turning back on ourselves and up the first climb. I found that I got up it without blowing a gasket and for the first time I began to entertain thoughts that this was going very well. We descended the drop towards the five-mile marker and I was disappointed to record a 6:21 split. I didn’t feel that the hill had slowed us down that much, but I was in good shape having run the first half of the race in 29:31.

A word about the race marshals. They knew what they were at! Each time you came around a corner there were a number of yellow-coated marshals. Typically marshals group together for a chat, occasionally directing a wayward runner left or right – but not these guys. The Dungarvan marshals position themselves such that the first person directs you left or right around the bend. The natural thing for any runner to do is to take the shortest line, which often means you change to the wrong side of the road. The second and third marshals were positioned around the corner guiding everybody safely to the left hand side of the road. You could attempt to run through them or move safely to the left. I chose the left, and so did everybody else. Nice work!

After the halfway point we had a few flat miles. I attempted to move to the front of our group to do my share of the work (guilt had set in at last) but found that it was a bit of a dogfight with lads vying for the front position. I happily retreated just behind the front two or three and drafted some more. The sixth split was 5:31. I didn’t realise it at the time but it’s now obvious that the 5-mile marker was not correctly positioned; thus a 6:21 followed by a 5:31.

I was working hard to stay with our band of runners at this stage. We followed a river along a nice flat section, running into a mild breeze with the sun shining directly into our faces. Having driven the course, I was preparing myself for the climb ahead. I tried to relax as much as possible.

Mick 'Pretty Boy' Rice

A short rise took us up to a left turn and we were on the Cork-to-Dungarvan road. The climb was not steep but was probably 800m long and enough to sap vital energy out of tired legs. As we each fought our own battles our little group began to break up. One or two runners I had not previously noticed joined us and I dug in. My strategy here was to ascend as smoothly as possible knowing that the race would really start over the last two miles or so. One guy broke forward on the hill and we let him go (as if I had any choice!). Halfway up I clocked 6:06 at the 7-mile marker. By the time we crested the hill the peleton had reeled back in the brave front-runner.

I found myself near the front of the group and was very happy to run on the shoulder of two guys towards the 8-mile mark. A 5:56 split and now I was labouring. Although we were nowhere near the race leaders there was a very tangible competitive spirit here. People were moving to the front, claiming a few inches and fighting for position. I consciously decided to save as much energy as possible and allowed others to fight it out while staying with the group.

At one stage the natural path of the race route took the runners ahead of me up onto the footpath. I have a dislike for footpaths and opted to stay on the tarmacadam. This worked to my advantage when I took the shortest line across a roundabout, while the guys on the path ended up running around the perimeter. Suddenly I was leading the group and this is not a position I’m comfortable with. As soon as I’m at the front of a battle – and this had definitely become a real race – my head starts asking too many questions. Is this too fast? Too slow? Am I making it easy for the others? How far left? I pulled to the side and let a few people through. We reached nine miles with a 5:48 split. I’d like to say I was pleased but I was too knackered to take it in.

And so the last mile. Tiredness was now a bear-on-my-back and I simply tried to keep things going in the knowledge that soon the finishing kick would take over and pain is temporarily cast aside. A Waterford AC man by the name of Larry Kennedy moved in front of me and my job became ‘stick-with-Larry’. I put everything into staying with him and as we approached the finish line I shot ahead … only to discover I had misjudged the line. The disappointment of this realisation knocked me back and Larry got ahead. We had to negotiate a left turn, with Larry taking the inside line, and a downhill sprint to the finish. I just about had the legs on him and crossed the line in a heap. He graciously shook hands in the finishing tunnel and our race was over. The last mile was a 5:38 split giving me an overall 58:31 finishing time.

I was delighted with the time, but it was only when I got home that I realised it was a personal best by 16 seconds (Ballycotton 2004, 58:47).

The usual exhausted banter at the finish line, and Mick came racing in, clocking 60:54. I knew he’d beat my Mallow time!

We jogged a few football pitch laps as a cool down and were joined by Lucy Brennan. This was Lucy’s fourth win on the trot – Athenry, Tuam, Mallow and Dungarvan – she really is on a roll at the moment. Long may it continue. Reading the West Waterford AC race report I learned that she had obliterated the course record and won by a 4min 42 second margin! Well done Lucy.

I missed out on the after-race refreshments as I skipped the showers and headed straight into town for the second half of the rugby. I must have been the smelliest man in the pub, but that didn’t dampen my enjoyment as Ireland ran in winners and I celebrated with a pint. I hope it didn’t dampen my fellow supporters enjoyment too much.

Roll on Ballycotton. No pancakes there either!