Yesterday I ran the John Treacy Dungarvan 10 mile race (26th January 2014). This was the fourth in the last five years that I'd run, and it has always been my favourite race of the year for several reasons. Firstly due to the race course, which fulfils my childhood expectation of a route that was "downhill all the way, please"; my response when asked by my parents which cycle route I'd like to complete on holidays. Somehow the circular race course in Dungarvan is downhill all the way. I'm not the only person to notice this, and I'm not simply being extremely optimistic.
Mile 1 starts on the waterfront, loops around some streets towards town and joins up with the same waterfront road again, and although there doesn't appear to be any incline, there is quite a steep downhill. Then the route follows the Youghal Road until it doubles back on itself in through part of the industrial estate. There's another miraculous downhill at around 3 or 4 miles, and until shortly after mile 5 the route continues through the countryside until it folds back on itself and you find yourself facing for home at halfway (always a pleasant psychological boost). At mile 6, just when the legs need a little lift, there's a long and steep downhill, again apparently with no consequences. At mile 8 there's an incline to rejoin the Youghal Road, which is neither long nor steep, and always has a good number of spectators, and then a gradual decline or level all the way to the finish. Perfect.
This race is extremely well organised. There are water stations at miles 3, 5 and 7, at which there are small bottles of water and not cups, to avoid throwing your beverage into your face. There are plenty of stewards, and they invest themselves in their positions and cheer the runners on, which yesterday was highly appreciated given the atrocious weather we were all out in. There is also a marshall at each mile marker calling out the time (with the exception of the 9 mile mark this year, although I knew what I was doing by then so the lack of time didn't affect me). There are pacers for 60, 65, 70, 75, 80, 85, 90, 95 and 100 minutes.
Registration fee (€20 if you enter before January), dry-fit t-shirt (unisex sizes only though), goody bags, post-run snacks: all great, especially the latter: the sports hall is replete with banqueting tables groaning under a mass of sandwiches and cakes and tea and coffee. If I hadn't been shivering in a pair of flip flops I'd probably still be there now stuffing my face.
But (more importantly for me), how did my run go? We had a very delayed start: I stood shaking with the cold in a lashing hailstorm amongst an increasingly grumbling crowd waiting for a funeral procession to pass (my fellow runners started darkly muttering that if we didn't start running soon there would be more funerals taking place). However, there was no mutiny, and we all started in relatively good spirits. I had an excellent run, despite the relentless ice shards slicing at our faces for the first two miles. I set out with no particular finishing time in mind, as it was a step-back week for me in my marathon programme; I'd also run an unexpected PB three nights previously in the Waterford Winter League, breaking 40 minutes for 5 miles and surprising myself. I didn't think Dungarvan would be anything special, and I was ok with that. But I started just behind the 85 pacers, expecting to lose them within the first couple of miles, and yet they were always just ahead of me. At the perfectly-placed downhill at mile 6 I decided I was going for another PB (my previous 10 mile record was 86 minutes in the 2011 Solas Run), and so I used the downhill to catch up with the pacers. As soon as I joined the group around them, I remembered how much I dislike running next to a pacer and the surrounding crowd - personal boundary reasons - and my body felt strong and comfortable at the pace I had increased to, so I overtook them and just kept going. I crossed the line in 82:38: a PB by four minutes.
Mile 1 starts on the waterfront, loops around some streets towards town and joins up with the same waterfront road again, and although there doesn't appear to be any incline, there is quite a steep downhill. Then the route follows the Youghal Road until it doubles back on itself in through part of the industrial estate. There's another miraculous downhill at around 3 or 4 miles, and until shortly after mile 5 the route continues through the countryside until it folds back on itself and you find yourself facing for home at halfway (always a pleasant psychological boost). At mile 6, just when the legs need a little lift, there's a long and steep downhill, again apparently with no consequences. At mile 8 there's an incline to rejoin the Youghal Road, which is neither long nor steep, and always has a good number of spectators, and then a gradual decline or level all the way to the finish. Perfect.
This race is extremely well organised. There are water stations at miles 3, 5 and 7, at which there are small bottles of water and not cups, to avoid throwing your beverage into your face. There are plenty of stewards, and they invest themselves in their positions and cheer the runners on, which yesterday was highly appreciated given the atrocious weather we were all out in. There is also a marshall at each mile marker calling out the time (with the exception of the 9 mile mark this year, although I knew what I was doing by then so the lack of time didn't affect me). There are pacers for 60, 65, 70, 75, 80, 85, 90, 95 and 100 minutes.
Registration fee (€20 if you enter before January), dry-fit t-shirt (unisex sizes only though), goody bags, post-run snacks: all great, especially the latter: the sports hall is replete with banqueting tables groaning under a mass of sandwiches and cakes and tea and coffee. If I hadn't been shivering in a pair of flip flops I'd probably still be there now stuffing my face.
But (more importantly for me), how did my run go? We had a very delayed start: I stood shaking with the cold in a lashing hailstorm amongst an increasingly grumbling crowd waiting for a funeral procession to pass (my fellow runners started darkly muttering that if we didn't start running soon there would be more funerals taking place). However, there was no mutiny, and we all started in relatively good spirits. I had an excellent run, despite the relentless ice shards slicing at our faces for the first two miles. I set out with no particular finishing time in mind, as it was a step-back week for me in my marathon programme; I'd also run an unexpected PB three nights previously in the Waterford Winter League, breaking 40 minutes for 5 miles and surprising myself. I didn't think Dungarvan would be anything special, and I was ok with that. But I started just behind the 85 pacers, expecting to lose them within the first couple of miles, and yet they were always just ahead of me. At the perfectly-placed downhill at mile 6 I decided I was going for another PB (my previous 10 mile record was 86 minutes in the 2011 Solas Run), and so I used the downhill to catch up with the pacers. As soon as I joined the group around them, I remembered how much I dislike running next to a pacer and the surrounding crowd - personal boundary reasons - and my body felt strong and comfortable at the pace I had increased to, so I overtook them and just kept going. I crossed the line in 82:38: a PB by four minutes.
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