A Gaelforce West Race Report from an Average racer

Mona Purcell - Author

I noticed on our blogs all our race reports whilst brilliant and informative were all from elites. So I felt I had to ammend the situation and write my own race report.

I am a middle of the road competitior with an unfortunate competitive streak. This means on race day no matter how many times I brief myself just to relax and enjoy the day I go at it like there is a demon at my heels and fall over the finish line not in the best of conditions!

As a single working mother of a 3 year old, I am never going to get to this imaginary fitness level I strive for. I juggle quite a few things in life and training is just another ball in the air. However it is always there and no matter what the weather or what is going on in my life I will always try and get a minimum of 3 hours in a week.

Clearly this is not enough to be anywhere near competitive but its enough that when I pick a race I can up the training for a couple of months coming up to it and hopefully finish somewhere in the middle of the pack.

I completed Gaelforce West in 2009. Unfortunately it was a reccie to take over organising the race and so that was the last time I could do it as it has now become the busiest working day of the year for me as I now watch all you guys fall over the finish line. I still do adventure races but I can only enter our competitors’ races but that is always fun for lots of reasons!

Gaelforce West Race Report from an average racer

I was up early after a very fitful night of sleep. Drinking half a bottle of merlot before bed probably wasn’t in the runners nutrition guidebook.

Living in Westport at the time I could not believe the buzz around the town at 6.30am, it opened my sleepy eyes very quickly and suddenly I was bounding on to the bus. The bus was filled with men all sitting with a space beside them. I was like a kid in a candy shop! Of course in my panic I picked the only married guy on the bus but he was great fun and the hour journey passed in what seemed like minutes.

The day was beautiful and Glassluin beach, always stunning was putting on a star performance. The sun was still only rising in the sky and the horizontal light gave an added ethereal beauty to the morning and indeed the competitors.

After a quick toilet stop it was time to line up with the other 250 competitors on my wave. The atmosphere was electric. My adrenalin was pumping and I could see everyone around me felt the same way.

The starter went and we were off!

I am always a slow starter and I try not to get alarmed as it seems as if the whole race passes me by. I am 41 and my body does not take kindly to go from standstill to sprint no matter how many stretches I do. So I tried to ignore everyone around me, keep the head down and pace myself. In 2009 the race still went over Salruck pass. With a very steep ascent thankfully it gave my a chance to overtake a lot of the fast starters which was a great boost.

I suppose around 1,000 competitors had already descended the other side and so it was like a massive 500m mudslide. I took it very slow and watched with increasing alarm as men and woman kept loosing their footing around me and flew down on their backsides. Amazingly, only pride seemed to be injured and I gratefully joined the famine trail on the other side in one piece.

Muscles finally warmed up I started to increase the pace and made use of my 15 years of running around Connemara bogs and made light of the uneven muddy, rocky surface. I was actually starting to enjoy myself, I even managed to enjoy the stunning scenery, relishing in the precarious position of the famine trail, perched 300 ft straight up from the sea.

Then we came around the last corner and I could see the Killary Adventure water site where I knew we were starting our Kayak phase. Easy, I was not tired and could see the end of the 14km run ahead.

Then something happened, I kept running on the road but it did not seem to get any closer, it was like a conveyer belt but going backwards. You would think that being from the area I would know exactly how far away it was but no I had completely misjudged it and my legs started to turn to led, the wind was pushing me backwards and I felt like it would never end. I found the biggest man I could see and unbeknownst to him I tucked in behind him and used him as a wind buffer.

I nearly crawled the last kilometre. Blisters had come up on both feet, I was exhausted and I was only close to finishing the very first section of a long day.

I got a great cheer when I arrived at the watersite (handy when you work with all the marshals) and I collapsed on the ground, completely delighted there was a timeout. Runners off, Compeed plaster on (no, myself nor Gaelforce are sponsored by Compeed but I have to say they are a modern medical masterpiece) and I craftily looked around for someone who had the look of a kayaker so I could then pop up and say I needed a partner, yes I am dreadfully competitive.

My judgement paid off and me, and Thomas from Carlow flew across the Killary in no time, and with the time out and the smooth kayaking I felt completely ready to go again.

I knew it was only about 3km to the bikes, again 1km over terrible boggy ground, which I loved and then around 2km on a road.

As with all adventure races I do, the fun is about whom you meet on the route. When you are just about to give up and it all seems too daunting it’s amazing what energy and support you will get from fellow competitors. On the way up from the harbour I met David who was doing the entire race with a headcam and camera so he could raise money for the heart foundation. He was also incredibly easy on the eye and I could have followed him anywhere!

I reached my bike in moderately good form and this is where I had strategically planned to re-hydrate. A lot of competitors had started the race with water in their camel backs but I was pretty sure I could manage the first run with no water and I knew I could drink at the water site. It paid off, I did not have the extra weight on my back and I was able to have a long drink at the bike transition, fill my camel back (a lot easier to take the extra weight cycling) and I also had 2 cartons of Ribeena strapped to my cross bar)

I am not a fan of gels or energy drinks. However it is ESSENTIAL in all races that you have worked out your energy intake for the duration. I am a little odd (in more ways then one) and I actually take a supply of “real food”. Homemade brown bread with loads of nuts and seed through it with butter and honey works well for me. More traditional “real food” would be bananas and fig rolls.

However there is endless discussions, articles, books etc on this subject. My own theory is to keep really well hydrated with water and liquid with calories (either energy drink or in my case Ribenna) and then if you are able to eat, something that you find very easy to digest. If you can stomach gels, then this is obviously the most practical solution, otherwise experiment during training sessions.

This of course all relates to how hard you want to push yourself. I have 2 friends who pottered around the course in 12 hours with a flask of tea and ham sandwiches and sat down to have little mini picnics! (Unfortunately for my friends there is a course cut of time on most races now)

So I did not let myself stop for longer than necessary at the bike transition, and headed off up the Delphi valley, next stop Croagh Patrick. Actually next stop near  the top of Drummin Hill, where the burn in my calves overtook my brains need to keep going. Thankfully I was not the only one to resort to pushing, the hill was soul destroying. We all muttered and grumbled to each other as we tried to keep the pace up whilst pushing our bikes to the top.

I caught up with my handsome photographer and tried not to pass him out but needs must and my competitive spirit takes no prisoners.

The cycle was the section I most dreaded. I blame my mother for making me cycle to school rain, hail or snow in a drafty gabardine, school skirt and knee socks. I have since had an unreasonable dislike for motion on two wheels; I will run or drive but nothing in between.

However cycling is of course a necessary evil for any adventure racer and so I duly did my training through gritted teeth and mind curdling boredom.

But as is often the way in life, the cycle section was my best part. I flew it. Passed out many competitors on my wave( we were all wearing coloured bracelets that year). Eventually though Ribeena was drunk, bananas eaten and Croagh Patrick still looked like a pointy hat on the horizon. I had just turned left off the N59 approx 8km to go and I just couldn’t be bothered. I was fed up and wanted to finish. Then just when all seemed lost, a man flew past me with big brown bunny ears flapping in the wind. That was it; I was like Alice and her white rabbit. Follow that rabbit.

He was flying down the hills but stalling going up, so for the next 8 km we continually passed each other out until the base of the mountain loomed out of the now misty drizzle.

And that was it. Everyone says they have a nadir on race day – The wall on marathons etc. Croagh Patrick was mine. I lived in Westport at the time and had done nearly all my training on Croagh Patrick. I was able to go up and down from the Mayo mountain rescue base in just over an hour. I was actually looking forward to it the most on race day as it had become like my backyard I was so comfortable with it.

But as I found a spot for my bike and looked up to the summit through the mist, my heart sank like lead and I just slowly shook my head in disbelief. I was wrecked, ruined, exhausted (a bit teary even). I COULD NOT climb that mountain. Really are you insane, I need to go home to bed and rest my aching limbs. Thanks I’m off now.

However I am not a quitter. I do not say this as a boast, there are plenty of times in life when one should just walk away but of course this was not one of them.

I had lost my white/brown rabbit man so it was just up to me. I swallowed the rising panic and just told myself to put one foot after the other and so I started my climb. One of the most unfortunate parts of the ascent is been passed by the runners coming off the hill with a look of happiness and relief, mingled with pity for you. (I am not that good at reading emotions; this is just what I felt myself passing the poor cratures on my way down)

The climb went on forever. I was still trying to beat the 6 hour mark so I tried to keep the pace on but it was one of the hardest physical things I have ever had to do. My entire body and mind was screaming at me to stop. I had just given birth 9 months previous to that day (yes in hindsight give yourself a year off ladies) and it did not come close to this torture.

I can say with hand on my heart I have never been so glad to see a church. I cannot say I am a religious person but at that moment the skies were singing.

The moment did not last long and I felt the earth move a little under my feet, time to sit down and force some food and drink into me.

I had made good time up so I kept pushing myself. I gave myself less than 5 minutes and took off again down the slopes. I had plenty of practice coming down off the reek so suddenly it all seemed possible again, I tried not too look to smug as I jogged down passed the sorrowful creatures slogging up the hill.

I had not done a reccie on the final Scelp route to Westport as that involved extra cycling, which was always to be avoided. I had it in my head after I reached the summit of CP it was all down hill to the finish line. Eh no. Back into first gear going up impossible hills on the Scelp, so muddy that the back wheel was losing traction and I was on a road to nowhere.

Now I got into a rotten mood, which in retrospect was very helpful. WHO told me it was all down hill to Wesport. WHO had not mentioned the Scelp was like cycling over a riverbed, WHY did no one tell me how scary it is to cycling downhill over rocks and grass. It again seemed to go on forever and I was like a crazy lady cursing and mumbling to myself.

However, the anger propelled me along and with heart in my mouth on final descent (a word of wisdom, get someone to show you how to cycle down hill at speed), before I knew it, my heart was soaring and with a final burst of energy, I was whizzing along the smooth flat surface of the quay road into town. Dodging traffic with grace I pulled up in Westport House, dumped my bike and sprinted over the finish line to a great applause. My 9 month old daughter Kate was at the finish line to give her Mum a big hug, lots of happy tears and best of all 5 hours 54mins. Score!