My first 10km was a Gaol Break which landed me in the doctors
IFOUND myself back at jail recently for the first time in about seven years, which isn’t bad going. The jail in question being Wicklow Gaol and the occasion was the Wicklow Gaol Break run.
Having somehow become synonymous with a healthy lifestyle ever since I did a 12 week get-fit programme with Weight Health Lifestyle in County Wexford last year, in truth, I’ve been enjoying more of the good life in recent months, while turning two blind eyes to my weight.
People had great fun at my expense when I was doing that 12 week programme. I remember National Fish and Chips day last May when one guy laughed his head off at me saying: ‘Haha, you can’t get fish and chips today ‘coz of your fitness yoke!’
Someone else, OK my work colleagues, kept tempting me with buttercream buns. Oh yes the knives were out for Mr Slim Pickings.
I dabbled in Park Runs, returned to indoor soccer, even managed to increase my running to 8km, but I never thought I’d do a 10km run. Like the criminal MacBeth whose ‘Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself And falls on th’ other’, I took the plunge a few days before the race and then disaster struck with all the ferocity and freezing chill of March winds.
Basically I got sick the night before the run.
I tried a hot toddy and went to bed hopeful of a quick recovery from a sore throat. A few hours later, in the midst of the changing of the hour to summertime, the cold of winter roused me from my slumber, as if in one last show of power.
It was the first of several such awakenings that night as I debated running the race on a beautiful Sunday or staying in bed. Curled in the foetal position, hacking my lungs out, I finally resolved to take loads of drugs of the over-the-counter variety and head for Wicklow. On the way I sipped liquorice and peppermint tea and munched on an energy bomb bar.
Wicklow looked resplendent in the early morning sunshine with hundreds of runners and walkers gathered in the gaol forecourt, most of whom seemed to be lining up in neat queues for the jacks. It was great to see so many people out in the sun in the fullness of health raising money for various causes.
As I heard one of the half marathon runners who was getting ready to start describe how tough the route was, the reality of my undertaking hit home. But I was feeling good and has myself psyched up.
We managed to get a good starting position and set off from the quay. About 1 km in I found my legs give a little and it was all uphill from there, literally.
Then the sweating began, so I had to take off my race t-shirt and run with it in one hand. All the while a bum bag I had to carry an energy drink sachet was rollicking against my, you know whats. I turned it around, but suffice to say little comfort was had.
I did my usual trick of chewing on half a packet of gum to keep myself hydrated. If it weren’t for the people cheering me and the other runners on I don’t know if I would have survived the first 5km.
At the half way mark I downed the energy sachet and some water and got a second lease of life and managed the final 5 km much better.
Crossing the finising line I felt it was all worthwhile, until I returned to my sick bed for two days, free from the gaol run, if not the time!