Wicklow EcoTrail 80K
Sometimes, despite all your best preparations, things go wrong.
They just do… for no discernible reason.
You can do everything you were supposed to do and still see your perfectly prepared plans fall to pieces.
Luckily, in ultra marathons, you have enough time for things to go according to plan and then fall apart; leaving you to glue the pieces back together into something vaguely resembling the initial plan, held together by whatever resolve you have left, and pray it holds together until you cross the finish line.
Standing at the start line of the Wicklow Eco Trail 80K, I had a plan… Until I didn’t.
Saturday 28th September, 5:45am
I arose early and sleepily rolled through my race morning rituals, a highly precise sequence of habits perfected over the years.
Leaving the hotel for the 7:30am start, I’d decided to use the 2 kilometres from where I was staying to the start line as a warm up run (yes, I did a warm up for an 80 kilometre race.)
Running through Bray’s early stirrings, I reflected on the morning’s condition and the course of action for the day ahead. The conditions were perfect… Bright, clear skies with a cool breeze sweeping in from the sea.
The plan was to split the race into four 20km segments, essentially managing effort on the climbs and protecting my legs as much as possible on the early downhills. After all, this was an ultramarathon, not a sprint (marathon pace may as well be a sprint compared to the pace I start these races with.)
My pre races nerves where ultimately defeated by my excitement to return to point-to-point ultra running, on trails no less. My last two ultra attempts have both at the Belfast 24 hour race, where runners run for the namesake duration on a one mile long loop in Victoria Park. Needless to say, I was looking forward to running with ever changing scenery again.
The start line was situated on Bray promenade, just beside the main bandstand. Amidst the aroma of Deep Heat blended with the fresh sea air, runners took their place behind the line with the mountains starting us down, welcoming this year’s contenders.
At 7:30 on the dot, the horn sounded and we were off, charging along the seafront to the base of Bray head and our first ascent (which incidentally was one of, if not, the steepest incline we would face.) This first half hour was very reminiscent of the initial climb from Donard car park except steeper, our initial charge into battle now reduced to a very orderly queue up the hill side.
My plan for the first 20 kilometres of the race was to walk any incline that I couldn’t see the top of, so as to try and eliminate any possibility of an over-zealous start. As it turns out, this wouldn’t leave much of it to run. I’d studied the elevation map until I could see it with my eyes closed. This and some insightful notes from a friend who’d ran the race before had left me confident in my approach. Shuffling along and enjoying the views over Bray and the route ahead, my initial serenity was soon disturbed. Round about 8km, my stomach began to whisper signs of discontent, and by 10k we were in full conversation…
At this point, I’d like to give an insight into my race prep, specifically its duration.
Final race prep starts a week before.
Those last 7 days before you toe the start line are, in my humble opinion, as important as any other facet of training. The key here is firstly to ensure you’re adequately hydrated and fuelled up, adding a few extra carbs with each meal to ensure you’ve stored as much energy as you can… Not to mention as much sleep and as little stress as possible. It’s also a week to be consistent and true to what you know works…
No new foods, no new eating habits, no new opportunities for your body to react in an unexpected way before it faces a significant challenge in every way it can.
In the days leading up to the race, I did everything I was supposed to do. Everything I knew worked. So I was quite surprised to be in the level of discomfort that I was now experiencing, principally because I didn’t know why.
There was nothing else for it but to move forward though.
Reaching the first aid station, I topped up my water, grabbed a cautious handful of sweets and set off into the second segment of my race plan, all the while trouble shooting how best to manage my unforeseen hinderance.
A quick aside on the aid stations on the course. These won’t have much to offer you besides a top up of water and maybe some sweets and crisps - I don’t say this as a criticism, but just to point out that those used to arriving at aid stations and being greeted with a full buffet of treats and drinks may find these a little sparse. So treat these as a top up station for water and little else, pack your vest with enough fuel to see you through as if there are no aid stations at all (which you should do anyway…)
Descending Great Sugarloaf, we were soon greeted by the picturesque Powerscourt Waterfall signalling our imminent contention with a few sizeable, steep climbs straight up, rather than around, the hills of Ballinastoe Woods. Emerging from the trees and looking down at the waterfall that not long before towered over us, we traversed the boardwalk of the Wicklow Way (two railway sleepers wide) for a daunting descent on a surface not unlike the business side of a cheese grater. The views at this point were breathtaking, not just because the wind had picked up.
We descended down into a temptingly runnable section around Vartry Reservoir during which we would cross the halfway threshold. This section felt exactly like the trails of Gosford Forest where my countless training runs had taken place. It would’ve been easy to have given in to the impatience that can grow from spending a morning hiking inclines rather than running them, but I was careful to hold back from taking this part as fast as I could, partly because I knew we had to return back over most of way we came, and partly because the knots in my stomach continued to twist and turn, meaning I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.
Watching 40km come and go on my watch, I began what is always, for me at least, the most difficult part of any race, the third quarter. And it doesn’t matter whether its 5K or 85… that third quarter is where my races become challenges.
We were now beginning to re-trace our steps back the way we came, with some slight diversions. The prospect of facing all those inclines for a second time was rather daunting, I must confess, but equally, I took confidence from knowing the extent of most of the journey back, the lack of unknown made it feel a little more beatable.
My stomach issues had continued to plague me though, and were starting to weigh on me mentally. By this stage, the execution of the plan had been good, but the time I’d estimated was now long gone. In fact, as I approached the 50km mark, some tired mental mathematics left me with the realisation that I was going to be skirting closer to the 12 hour 30 minute cut off that I would have liked.
I knew I had some work to do, and despite being the physically hardest section of the race, the third quarter was my best running and the section I’m most proud of.
I wish I had more details to share of this section of the race but it’s honestly a blur to me still. It’s as though I shut off all of the mental functions that I didn’t need to move forward, including my memory. My recollection resumes as I’m shuffling back along the cheese grater boardwalk, (uphill this time) before the quad busting descent down to 60km. I knew at this point that I’d done and had enough to see the finish line before the cut off…
I knew I’d climbed the hardest of the hills, I knew I’d summited the highest point of the race and I knew I had enough fuel to get me there.
The final 20km was simply about getting it done.
As we descended Little Sugarloaf for the second time, my stomach had mercifully settled, but I was starting to feel lightheaded. In an attempt to quell the issues I’d had, the audibles I’d called with my fuelling were leaving my sugar levels on the lower side of the manufacturer’s recommendation, an experience I first discovered at the finish line of my first 100K, and one, thankfully, I knew how to remedy, and my saving grace was perfectly timed. As I came back across a footbridge over the motorway that we’d crossed on the way out, I took a slight detour into the filling station right beside and bought a can of coke and a bottle of blue Powerade.
By the time I made it to the exit of the store I had already drained the can, and after a few sips of Powerade, I slid the bottle into the front of my vest in the place of a long empty water flask.
And just like that, within minutes. I was back in action.
The light-headed ness lifted, the fog cleared and I was now firing on whatever ‘all cylinders’ now looked like.
Two of the toughest climbs of this final quarter had been descended earlier in the day, before an unfamiliar climb just inside the last 10K almost robbed me of whatever life my legs had left. By now, I had to walk some of the steeper downhills because I didn’t trust my battered legs to stop me if I found myself in need of the brakes.
For some time by this stage, I’d found myself completely alone, I couldn’t see any sign of the runner in front of me, nor could I see those who were chasing me.
As lovely a bunch as ultra runners are, I must confess to secretly loving those hours of silent struggle, when it’s just you and the pain and the next step. You’re reduced to single purpose entity moving through space and time, the whole point of your existence is to simply move forward.
Closing in on the final 5k, Bray seafront came back into view. A welcome sight for the weary indeed. I have seldom been as ready to finish a race as I was in those moments. Lamenting the ruins of the race I’d hoped to have, my weary mind and legs kept catching on the tree roots and stones of the path, constantly jarring what little running rhythm I had left.
I made the mistake of assuming that because I was inside 5k and I could now see the finish line, that I had no more climbing to do.
I was wrong.
At 78km, the course has one last hill to throw at us before releasing us back onto the descent down to the promenade.
Fuelled mostly by frustration and the want of a pint, I ran along the seafront at a pace I’m pretty sure matched that of my early morning passing before basking in the hazy glow of the finish line lights.
I crossed the finish line in a time of 12 hours, 4 minutes and whatever seconds. The race had almost beat me, but the day was won.
I was presented with my finisher’s tankard which I swiftly filed with the delicious alcohol free beer offered by Wicklow Wolf brewery and reflected on how refreshing it was to not have another medal to throw in a box never to be looked at again.
I had such high hopes for my performance in this race, which in many ways I was disappointed by, but equally, I’m pleased but the fact that I managed to make the most of a bad day, keep the wheels on the wagon and get it done regardless.
And so, the lesson I’d leave you with if you’ve read this far (and if you have, you need better reading material) is that things will go wrong… Particularly in ultras but in any race distance really.
Things will go wrong, and it doesn’t matter why.
It doesn’t matter that you had stomach issues when you prepared for this race exactly how you prepared for all the others that went fine.
It doesn’t matter that you lost time at the start of the race because you got held up being too far back in the crowd.
It doesn’t matter that you got a stone in your shoe and you had to stop to take it off and empty it which cost you time and you were on pace for a PB and blah blah blah….
It doesn’t matter why things go the way the do. They just do… and all you can do is control what you can control and move forward anyway.
A final word of thanks to the folks at Eco Trail Wicklow for what was a fantastic event in every way, its a race I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend.
I’m off now to spend 6 weeks preparing for my redemption run…
