Race Report: Dublin marathon report – Running is Horrible

By Alan Duggan.

To write my marathon report I thought it only fair to explain where I’ve come from in running terms.

The secret running history of Alan Duggan

When I ask people when they took up running and they say “oh just in the last few years” I never really believe them, it always turns out that they represented Longford or Cavan, or whatever hole the lying b**tard has come from, at U-15 cross country or went to Mosney or some such. So I always suspect that people don’t believe me when I say that I never really ran before 2007. The following is the full history of my running.

At national school everyone was brought to the school sports day and the community games day, these two days a year represented my only sprint experience and spanned about six years. The distance seemed about a mile but looking back was probably 20-30 yards. Having started school a couple of weeks after my fourth birthday I was understandably small for my class being at least six months younger than anyone else in my class and a whooping 16 months younger than others, these kids were pretty much past puberty in first class, what hope did I have?

Well as it turns out, absolutely none, the four schools from “the Parrish” met and I consistently finished last for six years. However the community games day was split based on age, surely this was where I would make my name; sure I was the class ahead of these children.

Second last was to become my calling card for these races and that was purely down to the fact that there was a special needs child in the race……………..in your face chump!

Secondary school saw an end to race days for me and it wasn’t until a growth spurt in fifth year that I showed any sporting prowess and made myself a regular on the football, soccer and basketball team to the point where I played an average of six matches a week. So when cross country day came along and the school team was short a member I was drafted in, “sure he’s fit from all the sport he’s playing”.

I’m not particularly proud of what happened next, I’d call it a low point in my athletics career, which is saying something. The course was three laps of Bellek in Ballina with a particularly nasty hill towards the end of the lap. So lap one I’m busting myself of stay mid group, how can these people run this fast? Lap two I’m last and the gap is increasing, so I have a little break for myself just at the turn at the top of the hill, and when the leaders came round on lap three, well I just joined in, a respectable fourth place finish. But like Lance, my cheating past was to catch up with me eventually; unlike Lance it was pretty much immediate, to this day I blame the bitter little boy who finished fifth. My teacher literally bet the head off me for that one.

So running and I took a break from each other, two laps at the start of football training was the height of it and even that was torture. I did agree to a jog one fine morning on the Aran Islands after a night on the beer in 2005, I think I may have puked, but my first run for training purposes was in 2007 in advance of Gaelforce, I did 3k and had to stop five times but it was a start. 

Fast forward to 2012, some 20 or so triathlons later and a full six months training with Piranha I decided during the summer that a couple of 12 mile runs and one 15 mile was a fairly sound basis for doing the marathon, ticking the box and allowing the marathon and I to get back to ignoring each other.

So following another 15 mile and a 20 mile run, plus Piranha training Tuesday & Thursday, I came to line up at the start line of the marathon; pretty much knowing full well that I hadn’t done enough mileage but safe in the knowledge that pure stubbornness would get me to the end line and hopefully in under four hours. Having ran my first ever 10k the previous weekend, I know, not what you’re meant to be at the weekend before a marathon, I knew I was in okay shape and Elena told me based on that time I should be 3.45, 3.47 at most! But at least it gave me confidence that I’d go sub-four.

The most common piece of advice I received pre-marathon was to go out slow, pace yourself, don’t burn out too early, literally all but one person told me that, the exception said if I wanted to go sub-four I needed to give myself a good chance so go out hard and build up a cushion and then just get home from 20 miles. So I took his advice.

The first mile flew by, the city was lined with people and I couldn’t believe it when I got the one mile marker, “really a mile already”, it seemed ridiculously short. The first 5k were a doddle, sub 25 minutes, this was handy, the phoenix park was lovely, except when we came out at the Chapelizod gate, “hold on why are we turning right instead of left and back into town”, probably should have looked at the course map. 

Anyway Chapelizod was a highlight, throngs of people, one lad shouted “come on Knockmore” in reference/reverence to my GAA shorts, then Bernard (you may remember him from such race reports as Ellen’s and telling her that the Statue of Liberty could be seen from Blacksod, he also strangely enough showed up in the Piranha team photo for Caroline Kearney) spotted me well before I saw him, himself and Martina shouting me on gave me a great boost, I overtook half the army soon after and saw Piranha’s Aisling and Caroline roaring round by James. Crumlin road and the halfway line and I started to slow but was still well ahead of the 3.45 pace setters, so I concentrated on keeping my pace up, having split the race up into 10k blocks in my head I aimed to keep 5.20/k for the third 10k, mile 18 saw me hit that, could it be that I’d stay ahead of the 3.45 pacers??

Well, no was the simple answer to that, my pace dropped like a stone, ah yes this is where the lack of adequate training was coming back to haunt me, mile 20 came and the 3.45’s stormed past me and were a dot in the distance by the time the UCD flyover came, which isn’t as bad as everyone makes out, well no worse than the rest really. At this stage it was all about just getting to the end line, at Bewleys I thought great, I’m nearly there, but then realised it was still 5k and half an hour of this pain! Up by the canal and it was like the mountains on the Tour de France, the streets were covered with people, closing the gap for the runners to shout encourage “mile 25 – you’re nearly there” – do you have any idea how far a mile is! 

In advance of the race I had wondered at what point I would kick for home, at the 10k the week previous I had kicked on with 2k left and passed a good few people, so in my head I had decided, last mile I’ll pick it up!

Good lord, could anything have been further from the truth, people streamed by me, in their hundreds! Coming round by Trinity though I knew the end line had to be right there, my Garmin said so (again having looked at the map would have helped). The burning flames of hell would be too good for the man who added 200 yards onto the end of that race; I will curse him for all eternity. Coming up the home strait my friend Jonathan was videoing me, apparently he was roaring at me, I was on top of him before I heard him and gave him a pathetic thumbs up (unfortunately this video was lost forever in Coppers that night along with Jonathan’s iPhone 5). I missed Edel completely standing beside him but then joy of joys it was over and I could stop. I leaned up against railing half holding myself up, half stretching. I didn’t know how I’d make it to my bike walking never mind throwing my leg over it and cycling home but as I waited for my brother-in-law to cross the line I managed some more stretching and watching people come in I couldn’t believe the range of emotions of people crossing the line. Some collapsed as though their legs had just enough to get them that far and not a step more; some vomited from the sheer effort; some seemed like they could turn around and do it again but most hugged the person beside them.

They say that after the marathon you swear you’ll never do one again but then the pain subsides and you’re left with the feeling of accomplishment; with that in mind I’ll paraphrase my county man John Healy

“You are walking down the quays when a passing cloud clears the sun and the yellow evening light Septembers the rusted brick and you can feel in your bones the dignity of an old city which saw so much and absorbed so much in its history: we had finished it and could accomplish anything now.”