Well, what would John Treacy do?

Coming through the other side of Christmas and into the new year with pretty good leg's (b.m.s) I went to Little Island last Sunday just east of Cork city to test myself at the Cork bhaa four miler, doesn't sound much but four mile's is plenty long enough to find out what kind of form your in after a three month break from racing. After forgetting the garmin I had to enquire as to what sort of pace we were doing at the half way point, this was enough to crack my shoulder companion (which wasn't my intention ..... honest) and after informing me we were running at 5.50 mile pace I was pleasantly surprised at how comfortable I was going, this time last year I struggled to maintain 6.10 pace for the same distance. A quick cup of tea, a few bun's and off home, happy to be taking my new found knowledge into the first big road race of the year, The John Treacy Dungarvan 10 mile on the following Sunday.

A far from ideal run up to the weekend had me happy enough not to expect too much on Sunday for a number of reason's, the main one being I have never ran well here and have alway's used it as a race to clear out the cobweb's and try to move up a gear from here on in toward's the rest of the season. At 10 mile's it's a bit of a stretch, although I'v eight 12/13 mile training runs in the leg's since the middle of November I still feel like I should have more at that distance to finish strongly.

Warming up with John (not Treacy) I was happy to find I still had last week's leg's on, cruising in the bright winter sunshine I had reason to believe that I might be on another good day, a vote of confidence from my shoulder buddy confirmed it, and like my last 10 miler in Mallow last March I decided to go out the road 6min. miling.

An unfortunately timed funeral procession delayed us just enough to be positioned perfectly under an impressive black thundercloud that dumped it's content's on the 1600 singlet clad runner's, nullifying any benefit that was gained from a warm up 15 min. earlier. Still, much happier here than as part of the funeral procession.

By the time we were going through the first mile marker it was a deluge, the heavy rain had formed deep pool's on both side's of the road connected by fast flowing stream's of ice cold water. Memories of what it's like to race a bike in these condition's was some consolation and going into mile two I was really enjoying it,  heavy hail being driven by 45 mph gust's from the left must have had some wondering what they were doing out here at all, but today my good leg's were having a major positive effect on my mindset.  For those with thought's of jacking it in, and we've all been there, today must have been difficult. I mean, what would John Treacy do? what would John Treacy think if a bit of sub zero hailstone was the deciding factor in any one runner calling it a day? I shudder to think. I know what he'd do. He'd nail it, he'd dish it out like there's no tomorrow, and he'd love every minute of it. He'd revel in it , his heart would sink with a break in the cloud's, the tougher the better, that's what he'd like. So, if you were to jack it in today, just don't let him see ya.

The elite's going through the first mile squinting through the downpour  (pic. courtesy Cork running blogspot)

So I'm there, cruising through mile three, mile four, through mile five at 29.45 in familiar company with sometime training partner's Mike and John from St. Catherine's and I'm totally in control with the most exposed part of the course almost behind us, around the hairpin and it's bye bye to the headwind. What would John Treacy do? he'd nail it right now, he'd do it to test his rival's, soften them up. I'm not J.T though, I'll sit tight, 10 mile's is 10 mile's and I'v still to pull off an hour at 10mph. I have to contain myself, I'm not home yet.

Mile 6 and I get a sting thro' the outside of both thigh's and it's not going away, as the meter's pass it's starting to take over all of my thought's and I'm having to reset the default setting's as the alarm bell's start to ring, this is not good. How can you go from being so comfortable to almost deranged in the space of four/five minutes. On another day I could possibly deal with it better but now I think I'm paying the price for the laid back attitude I brought to the race this morning. If I was more 'up for it' I'd have been ready for the influx of lactate and would have been ready to deal with it accordingly, I was so comfortable early on I had forgotten about the inevitable. What would JT do, he'd run through it of course, he'd look around him, feel the pain and soak it up, soak it up just that 1% more than his rival's until he'd cracked them.




I cracked with two and a half to go, mentally first as alway's. It's the head that decide's what too much pain is on any given day. the leg's concur. Massive dissapointment for a few second's, pull yourself together, go again, to my surprise I manage to get going again which lead's me to thinking I shouldn't have cracked in the first place. "FFS what was that about, there they go up onto the main road". Torrent's of personal verbal abuse ensue and the last two mile's are ran in desperation and hope, maybe the pacer is running with a lot to spare. Downhill with a tailwind for the last mile, maybe I'll make it up? I didn't look at the watch, just ran. 60.10 when the clock came into view, 60.43 crossing the line. A lot faster than what I'd thought coming down in the van, but the manner at how it came about?  Somewhere between bemused and amused it's a good start to the year and the sense of relief on crossing the line after an effort like that is worth a million dollar's.

50mtrs to go, the sufferfest is almost at an end and the winter cobwebs are a thing of the past
(pic. courtesy Dave Colman - DC Images) 

What would JT do? he'd give himself a good talking to, that's what he'd do.

Kealan        
       

To hell and back in 12 minutes

Apart from the dizzy spells and shortness of breath brought on by going from zero to 13 miles an hour in 30 second's the first mile is pretty easy. Adrenaline ease's the pain and your waiting for the moment where you find your rhythm. The journey to hell starts when we hit the one mile marker at the bottom of a 3/4 mile climb.

The last 5K of the summer season wasn't loaded with heavyweight's which made it a more open affair than normal. Frank Hayes and Brian Hegarty representing two of Cork's heavyweight club's, East Cork and Leevale put daylight between themselves and the next man from the off. This left seven or eight of us scratching our head's to see who was going to take up the running behind.

Next up was Conor Tierney, I decided to go with him. That's when the trip to hell started, joined by an inform Johnny O Sullivan, we were now a trio half way up the climb following the two leaders. Trying to ignore the accumulating lactic acid is a skill in itself and something you become accustomed to over time. Fitness levels dictate how much of it you can deal with and a strong mind can put up with a lot too. I'm up for it tonight, it's kind of a home race. Neighbouring St. Nick's AC are running it and the start is a 10 minute drive from my place.

Pleasantly surprised and growing in confidence going over the top with these two, Johnny moved it up a gear to open a gap and leave us where he found us. Now I'm the weaker of the two, struggling to keep form and my breathing has gone wildly out of control. Hearing footsteps from behind is soul destroying, the thought of someone else joining the party is frightening. Then they disappear. Hey, we must be moving, whoever it was is after cracking. The intensity is insane, the noise in my head is deafening and it's just noise, no music, no word's, just a loud machine in a noisy dark factory. I couldn't be further away from the controlled effort of last Sunday's half marathon. At the end of mile two I'm pretty much out of it trying to hang onto my East Cork companion, he know's it too.

It's a novelty to see the leader of the race with a little over a mile to go, ok it's a long straight but still it's a plus to know I'm in the same parish as him. Still hanging onto Tierney inside the last mile and the head finally goes. I don't know what caused it this time, I knew the threat from behind had dissipated? I knew I wouldn't beat Tierney in a sprint for the line? am I getting soft letting him off? happy with fifth? Can't put my finger on it but the head went. When the head goes the leg's go. The head alway's goes first. You decide to give up, then you release yourself from the torture of the last 10 minute's, still suffering all the way to the line but at a different level, you still have to get to the line, your still being chased from behind, there's a good time at stake.

Pulling strange face's on the finishing straight, bystander's wondering "why do they do it at all?", crossing the line, it's finally over. The pressure release is huge, jelly leg's force me to take the nearest seat on the road against the side door of a ford focus. Quote of the night from an old friend "Sure these thing's are nothing to you".

Next stop, Charleville half, lacking on the mileage but happy with the form.

The hunger

There's no such thing as an easy race. The Conna 5K was alway's going to be a shock to the system after a lazy June and July. 1st August was the first wet night of the summer, damp road's were a novelty and running in the rain is something I enjoy. The only positive I could bring to the start line is that I'd be fresh. A surprisingly comfortable 1st mile at 5.40 gave me a false sense of security approaching the start of mile two which, incidentally was all skyward with a steep kick to get over the top. I managed to keep in contact with my group as we crested the top but had nothing in the tank for the run home, the head went and then the leg's. Had it been a few year's ago, I'd have held the wheel on the descent and got my breath back for a sprint finish but tonight I didn't have the benefit of two wheel's and my cycling gene's. On the plus side, I didn't have to put up with a blinding spray of surface water from the wheel of the rider in front. No harm done, A good kicking was well needed, and the hunger was back. Training hard through a rare fine summer would have sucked the appetite from me and approaching the autumn I could be struggling to keep interested. Now the belly is starting to rumble again.

A couple of easy day's later and I attempt my first set of 400's since May (eight 400 meter effort's run faster than you might normally run with a break in between each). A dismal affair timewise to what I had left off at but the intention was to run hard, that I managed to do while still cursing the layoff.

An anxious looking start line on the Clonmel road for Galtee Runner's GR8K road race (pic. Carole Bradley)

August 10th had us heading for the Galtee Runner's promotion on the old Clonmel road in Mitchelstown. An unusual race distance and a first for me, it work's out around 4.98 mile's in total. It does lend itself to a very catchy race name (Mitchelstown GR8K) though. My race was marked by a slight improvement in my ability to tolerate pain but still felt a bit sluggish. This wasn't helped by the incline up the main street and out through Brigown and an over reliance on the thought that I might be going well again. A sufferfest for the rest of the race running shoulder to shoulder with my clubmate Brian. Another good hard run in the bag, happy 'enough' with my time but looking for more. A good sign that the hunger was on the way back.

Not so anxious 10 minute later -  Survival mode and a shoulder to shoulder battle with Brian ensues for the next 20 (pic. Carole Bradley)

A couple of easy day's later and I attempt something new in the shape of 2*2 mile tempo run's on the grass at 6.40 (per mile) pace. Hurt more than I thought it would and went home happy. Two day's later 8*400's with a 2 mile warm up and 1 mile cool down. Still heavy legged but starting to free out a bit and starting to run a bit more relaxed. The vessel's of gunk are eventually starting to free out.

August 22nd, the The last big five mile race of the summer. Ballycotton is a running mecca and the numbers and quality on the start line are testament to that. Toeing the line with a current European ladies cross country team gold medalist and all the big runner's from the hot bed that is east Cork leave's you trying to decide whether your out of your depth or whether your up for it, I'm somewhere between the two. Up for it alright, but get in line and join the queue. If ya don't get psyched in Ballycotton you'll struggle to do it anywhere else. Everyone there is pumped. Anxious to improve on my last outing the only race plan I had in mind (as usual maybe) was to run the first mile under the red and the next four getting deeper and deeper in it. The plan worked, finding myself in a group of five or six like minded individual's at the one mile marker we each proceeded to dish out what we had and to see who could take it for the rest of the race. A dogfight all the way to the line.
 

No quarter given with 800 mteres to go at the Ballycotton 5 (pic. Alan Bannon)

These were three great race's, well organised and well stewarded all wrapped up in a great atmosphere, I might have said it before but it is almost impossible to subdue the after race buzz. Throw in a few cup's of tea and fruit cake and you've a party on your hand's. Well, sort of. While the three race's are ran by three different club's the brain's behind them are the same. John Walshe and the crew from Ballycotton Running Promotions are generous with their time, experience and knowledge of how to run a race properly and I'v yet to see them fail.

One day off and I hooked up with the long distance men on Saturday morning in the 8 O Clock group out of town. The next few months require a different mentality. The five k's and five miler's make way for the longer distance's with a lot of people aiming for the Dublin city marathon on the October weekend. I'v entered the Dingle half marathon on Sept. 7th and the Charleville half marathon on Sept. 22nd. I havn't been covering many mile's all year and it showed this morning on my longest run to date. 15 mile's with three experienced marathoner's and ultra marathoner's. Different game. Still suffering the effect's of Thursday night's effort's I'm out of my league with these boy's, it'll take a few more long one's to get comfortable with them. But it's ok, the hunger's back.

  

The 100 mile man from Kiezliny

Spit out a few household name’s in long distance athletic’s. There won’t be an ultra runner among  them, but if your on the search for inspirational sportspeople you could be in the right place.

Far from the madding crowd’s of high profile hero’s, there dwell’s a low profile community of long distance runner’s to which the marathon distance is run of the mill stuff. Ultra running is a sport that has grown considerably in recent year’s but it’s popularity doesn’t register when compared with the marathon, for 99.9% of runner’s that’s where the buck stops. Anything longer than a marathon is put neatly away in the ‘Ultra’ box, an obvious progression for the few who want to keep going after the 26.2 mile’s. The motivation’s vary and the material rewards are few. Running for the hell of it and because it is primarily what we were designed to do.

 Mick Rice, Thomas Budendorfer, Ruthann Sheehan? These are some of the star’s on the Irish scene. Veteran’s of a multitude of long distance competition’s, all living the normal life when they’re not wearing running shoe’s. Close on their heal’s is Fermoy based Pole Maciej Sawicki.

It’s not easy to mistake the man on his training run’s around the area, accompanied by his trusty labrador cross ‘Pepe’, A rescued dog who overcame his fear of human’s developed from his time with a previous owner, give’s a good indication of the favourable environment where he now reside’s. His master, a natural joker and a natural gent,  it’s easy to see how he has picked up a few more runner’s to join him on his long weekend run’s, normally covering between 25 and 30 mile’s.

Still smiling approaching the finish line in last year's Connemara 100

Over the last five year’s the trip to Clifden in the second week of August has become a tradition for Maciej, his wife and whoever else is willing to crew. This year is no different. Attracted to the area by it’s beauty as much as the race, he first ran the Connemarathon 39 mile ultra from Maam cross five year’s ago and decided to line up for the 100 mile at Clifden after being notified by email three months beforehand by race organiser Ray O Connor.  After confirming that the email was not for next year’s race, he signed up. Three month’s later he completed his first 100, got in the car and drove the four hour trip home. The start of a love affair with the race and west Connemara.

The Connemara 100 mile road race is Ireland’s longest ultra marathon and generally has a start list of no more than 25 hardened soul’s. A four time veteran of the race, A subtle confidence give’s the notion that he is hoping to break the 17hr mark this year. “I came close last year with 17.07, this year I don’t have the same mileage put in, but I’m fresher”.  Cautiously approaching the race, he has learnt a few lesson’s over the last few year’s, “Too many mile’s last year meant I suffered after the event and had to lay off for a few month’s, possibly due to overtraining on the lead up”. “This year my longest run was 30 mile’s in training, I’v just finished my last hard block of training last week, which left me tired but now I’m starting to feel good about it.”

  

http://kealansbikeshed.blogspot.ie/

@keelo51

Take the long way home

I'v been laid up for the last few week's, not totally compulsory mind. Sore leg's after Ballyandereen followed by unprecendented good weather has seen my good form disappear for a while. With not a whole lot to write about and getting slightly embarassed about harping on about what I'm at, and still needing to satisfy my urge to push button's, here's something about a few local sporting heroes.

Over the last few year's big distance's have become standard fare around here. 'Ultra' as a word has become mainstream in the club and the one's who choose to take part are no longer seen as freak's. It's become normalised. On hearing it first I thought it was a wind-up, marathon's were the last word in distance running. Now, the joke is they use them for speedwork. Last year the club was represented in the connemarathon (39 miles), Dingle Ultra (50 miles) and the Connemara 100 (100 miles).
           
This week, Fermoy's claw's dug a little deeper into the ultra running scene, with Grange AC's Brendan O Mahoney finishing fourth in the waterfront marathon in Courtmacsherry and first timer Karen Kenny finishing 3rd lady over a 36 mile course on infamously heavy West Cork road's. Story goes, Karen is training for the Dublin city marathon in October and decided to line up to see how she'd get on!

Just last week Owen O Keefe, who made a name for himself a few year's back as being the youngest Irishman to swim the English channel became the fastest man to swim the 41 mile's around the Isle of Jersey in the Channel Islands in a time of 9hrs and 35min. Two week's earlier he was part of a four person relay to swim both way's across the channel, again in record time.

For the last 15 year's a group of cyclist's from Fermoy Cycling Club head for the Alp's and the Dolomite's to cover a few hundred miles over a few day's on some of the most mountainous road's in Europe, while doing the same on less mountainous road's for the rest of the year.

More recently, the triathlon club have had member's lining up in different Ironman competition's in various location's around Europe.

What is it with Fermoy folk and long distance sport?
My own experience on big distance's is more 'toe in the water' than 'addicted'. I can understand the highly desirable meditative state you can get into once you've found your 'rhythm', I can understand the less desirable state when struck with a sugar low (A marathoner's 'wall', a cyclist's 'knock'), a half empty 7up bottle on the side of the road can give welcome relief with 10 miles to go and the thought of a sugary cup of tea if you make it back to base is no more than a hallucinatory dream.

These sport's are great leveller's. Everyone's an island, each one's reaction to the onset of fatigue is different, someone who may not be as fast over a shorter distance become's over a short few hour's a 'giant' of the road who can go all day, while other mortal's fizzle out like a bath ball and limp back to town with their tail's between their leg's.

As a cyclist these distance's were normal and going out for less than a three hour ride was sometime's seen as a bit of a waste of time. After morphing into an old runner, the marathon seemed like a normal enough route to take. Chalk and cheese, a 4hr marathon equate's to a nine hour bike ride, to these leg's anyway, the metamorphosis is ongoing.

My first known encounter with an ultra runner was three year's ago when I was wiring a new bathroom, sharing the space with a tiler. Maciecj, a prominent ultra runner and regular podium finisher at the Connemara 100. That day, he told me he "does a bit of running", squeezing him for more I found out what "a bit of running" meant. It wasn't a bad handle of the English language but running 30 mile's on a Sunday morning equate's to "a bit of running" in Maciecj speak.  Like all great athlete's he acknowledged his achievement's with a shrug of the shoulder. A distinctive sight on the road's around Fermoy, accompanied by his tough little black labrador cross, 'Pepe'. This was Fermoy's first ooltra (Polish pronounciatiation) runner. The meeting's became more frequent after that and the joker came out. An entertainer on the long run's, his infectious enthusiasm has been passed on, I suspect, to more than he think's.

In my curiosity for figuring out the man and the popularity of long distance sport's in the backwater by the Blackwater, we recently spent an evening on our feet shooting the breeze, Keep an eye on the next post for more on Poland's answer to Scott Jurek and the rest of Fermoy's mile munchers.              

                 

Mallow 10

Vibes from John and Brian over the weekend gave me the notion to chance going out with the 60 minute pacers. The first mile is spent trying to find my feet, mile two, I'm into my stride and cautiously allow the thought that I'm on a good day sit near the front of my head.

They're off - the 2013 Mallow 10 gets under way.

Not long after and I'm cruising through halfway in 29.45. I had'nt gone through the five mile mark this fast before in a 10 miler, not even near, and never so comfortable. These are the day's that make it worth it, running effortlessly at sub 6 min. pace is a new experience, mind removed from the body as I leave it to its own devices, this is where running comes into its own, becomes spiritual, all the shit falls into place and everything comes into focus. In control but fully aware that the hard part was to come and slightly lacking the confidence to carry it through for the full 10, I was making sure to enjoy the middle section of the race.

In great company, the 60 min. group was whittled down to 6 or 7 around the six mile mark, where we hit the first incline of the race. Not steep but this was the first point where I realised the party was over. The smell of rubber from the pacer's balloon was starting to get to me, that smell is always going to take me straight back to those last few miles on Monday. An old bike habit of trying to get the most shelter from wherever possible had me running 3 feet behind one of the 60 min. pacers as I started to suffer. Out through the 2nd water station, no way was I going to get one here, anything that might increase my chances of loosing contact with the bus driver had to be ignored and I was pretty well hydrated as it was.

Another incline at mile 8 has me digging pretty deep. Big questions rolling around in my head, 'how can I go through another 12 minutes of this?, Is there stuff in the fridge for the kids lunch in the morning?'. These are distractions and the main thing at this intensity is concentration and, believe it or not the ability to 'relax'. I had to 'relax' a number of times since the going got tough at 6.5. Under this pressure things start to go haywire, you start to lose form or 'gait', by settling down and 'relaxing' you can find it again, Later things get loud internally and trying to find the voice to tell you to relax gets more difficult the nearer you get to the line.

On the final incline at mile nine I'm pretty much on the edge. While there's a very physical battle going on at this stage to stay with whats left of the group, now down to four - two pacers, two time winner of the Ladies cork city marathon, Angela McCann and myself, the real battle is going on in the head. Still in it as we go over the top, I'm going to hang on, maybe? screaming at myself (in my head) I cracked, on a downhill section with 0.9 miles to go and I lose contact, This can't be happening? 0.8 miles to go after coming off the bridge and there's nothing in the legs. The head always go's before the legs.

Struggling to the line in a time of 60.11 for 10 miles, mildly ecstatic at the new found knowledge that I can run at that pace for 9.1 miles (until now I would'nt have considered myself to be related to a runner, in my head I'm still a cyclist) and disgusted that I did'nt get in under the hour (A club runners milestone) for the distance. Dare I say it, it was all a bit emotional.

Midweek I was thinking 61.30 at best, which would have been a big chunk off my previous best 10 mile time of 63.19 in the same race last year. Driving to Mallow on my own I got a bit angry and got myself a bit psyched. On the line I was up for it and taking nothing more than 60 minutes but I was'nt totally convinced. This shadow of doubt and the knowledge that I was lacking some base mileage were the two main reasons I did'nt go under the hour.

I'v time lapsed that hour in my head a few hundred times over and can't find that 11 seconds anywhere. That's the satisfaction right there.

I found this short film during the week that hits the nail on the head. We all have the heavy day's where we're stuck to the floor, it's the search for the good day keeps us at it.

    

            Pics courtesy of Paudie Bermingham - Mallow AC

Back in the saddle

The relief. To ease out the road, chatting to whoever's at my side. 120 of us, the relaxed mood shattered every so often by the over enthusiastic warning cry to watch the "HOLE", pothole to most other road users and it has to be said, very common around here. The danger presented by the pothole only half the danger presented by the panic on hearing the cry. The screech of brakes, switching lines, all part of the game, and this only a tour, a sportive.

These events have grown significantly over the last few year's for a number of reasons. Bike to work schemes, more leisure time available etc,etc. I've not ridden many of them but from what I can gather the format is pretty much conversational pace for the first third, flexing the muscles and testing the water in the middle and all out racing for the final leg home. No eyeballing, no prizes, no politics (well almost), tea, cakes and sandwiches provided by the promoting club adding to the feel good community buzz.

Pat Morrissey of  Fermoy Credit Union getting the 2012 Tour of the Knockmealdowns underway

Last weekend was my first sportive since the same event last year. It starts on my doorstep (literally) and promoted by my own club. Waking up to clear blue skies on Sunday I felt much more alive than I did the previous Sunday on the road to Cobh. The novelty and relief of a day not pounding the roads was something worth looking forward to. After pretty much a year away from all things cycling I was surprised by the increase in the number of  Fermoy jersey's, a lot of whom I did'nt know. Proof of the increased popularity of cycling and these type of events in particular.  Not so long ago the club was being held together by a hardcore group of 4 or 5 cyclists meeting on a Saturday and Sunday for their 100k's all through the winter in preparation for the baptism of fire in Tralee at the end of February. Riding in a bigger group these day's is far easier to face and more beneficial for everyone. Apparently there's over 50 members at the moment with a number of different groups leaving the town park at weekends, all of different abilities from racing to touring.

Another refreshing surprise was the absolute no mention of a disgraced Texan that won heap's of Tour's de France. Professional cycling is as far away from what we do in our spare time as the American is from regaining his popularity. People are tired of hearing it, what came out last week is what most of us had come to know for a long time, if there's big money the drugs are going to be there, the problem is not going to disappear now that he's gone. The next heir to the throne will have a similar CV, and the one after that and the one after that. It's a culture that's embedded in all top level sports, pro cycling get's a lot of bad press and deservedly so, understanding why it get's more bad press than any other sport is beyond me though. Take any top level tennis/soccer/swimming star and the question marks are there too. On the drugs front the Texan was marginally ahead of his rivals. That attention to detail that makes all the difference. Small things like rigging up the tour bus to facilitate large scale intravenous 'recovery' parties after 6 hours racing round the alps. The curtains were pulled for the boy's to rest, it must have been a hive of activity in there,  I wonder did they sleep at all for the three weeks?

Where he really stood out from the crowd was his domineering bullish attitudes to those around him. A serial bully, if you were'nt prepared to tow the line (take drugs) you were out. If you dared speak out you were torn to pieces. Must have been a right pisser to have to spend three weeks around France in the back of a bus with him.

No earpieces here, team tactics decided on the road!!

Phew! I didnt think that whole thing bothered me, not so, it seems. The Vee was looking well on Sunday. Greeted by clear view's across Tipperary and Waterford at the top, we were more concerned about the descent into Clogheen. Back in the day, well before hard shell helmet's were the norm I was descending the other side of the Vee when I broadsided a ram at 50kph. When I came round, two of the lad's were looking a bit concerned and the others were jumping on my old peugeot trying to straighten it out so as I could ride the last 20 miles home. The ram, I'm told just got up and carried on his way. The incident has left a mental scar and as I descended the last sheep strewn miles into Clogheen on Sunday my finger's were never far from the brakes.

The view from the top of the Vee looking down on Co. Tipperary, a nice reward after the effort to get there

I must have enjoyed it,  hard to keep the smile off my face, early predictions from a few bystanders were that I'd be back racing next year. Stuffed in a few fig roll's and we were off again. A stiff headwind on the way home was'nt a problem for the seasoned 'pro's', I was starting to feel the burn on the quads with an hour to go. No bike miles, and the road starting to take it's toll, the climb to Glocca Maura on the old Dublin road finished me off with the help of a few old road warriors.

Kealan