I just couldn’t let it lie. After coming so close to completing the Wicklow Round in July of last year, it seemed ludicrous not to go out and try it again.

This time though, I had to get it right.

Lara and I at the Wicklow Round start on Friday. Photo courtesy of Mark Muller.

So what went wrong last time? Well first off, I left it too late in the year. By July, the vegetation had already soaked in the sun and rain from the early summer months, placing ferociously high ferns and heather right in my way. This time, I was going to attempt in May or June, when the vegetation was still waking up from its winter sleep. And so I decided that, from 9 May on, I would be mentally and physically prepared for action, as soon as the weather yielded a single dry day.

The next thing I had to change was my start time. Starting and finishing the Round in the middle of the night simply didn’t work for me. First off, I was starting the run on little or no sleep. I then headed into a second night towards the end when my reserves were already low. Navigating at night requires high levels of energy and concentration, something I simply did not have at the close of last year’s run. This time I opted for a midday start, beginning the run on a full night’s sleep and being fully prepared for an entire night out on the hills.

Last year too I was definitely race-crazy. I raced the Mourne British Championship First Round, the Three Peaks WMRA Long Distance Championships, the Great Lakeland Three Day (GL3Day), Carrauntoohil and Lugnaquillia (for the Irish Championship) and the 24 hour Rogaine in the space of April, May and June. I would have probably raced more if I didn’t have a four week injury blip in the middle. Possible Round attempts were constantly delayed because another different race had to be run. This year, I was giving up my season for the Round. No defending of Championships or titles. No my training, my energy, my one off races were purely geared towards completing the Round.

Three days after my Round attempt last year, I found myself debriefing events to Joe Lalor, one of the Round’s own founder. I related to him how impressed and humbled I was by those IMRA members who had especially turned out to support me on my way. However, I told him how I personally found it at times overwhelming, how I felt that I had to put on a brave face to all these gallant supporters whilst inside I was suffering and crying. “Was it possible”, I enquired, “to do the Round quietly, without all the hype and curiosity?” We agreed that the Round will always be different for different people: how some will want the world to know and will indeed thrive on their support and presence. Others will simply shudder at such publicity and will only want their nearest and dearest there. Through the IMRA committee, a Wicklow Round sub-committee was eventually formed to debate this and other issues. It was thus agreed that an email notification to the sub-committee would suffice, and they in turn would publicise it on the IMRA forum. It was this quieter, low-key option that I chose this time around.

The next thing I changed was my attire. In 2008, I wore three quarter length leggings. The Round itself crosses great tracts of bog and heather, grass and gorse, which tear through your legs particularly on descents. Coming off Lugulla last year, blood was streaming down my calves, leaving only pure pain to course through my veins. I didn’t want to go through that again. This time I opted for full length tights, ones with a zip at the ankle to allow them to be hoisted up on warmer climbs but pulled down for protection purposes on devilish descents.

Finally, I decided this time around, I was going to go slow. I mean real slow. In 2007, I went out quite fast, my heart rate shot up, and I slowly died from Wicklow Gap on. So over winter, I went out once more up all of those hills and retimed my splits at a much lower heart rate. I made these splits a further 10% slower, and set these as my target times. These splits I was to adhere to religiously throughout the Round. As Simon Fairmaner once said to me, “You can never go too slow at the start”. He would know – he’s completed the UK’s Bob Graham Round.

I learned the hard way in 2008. Now all I had to do in 2009 was put all these lessons learnt into practice.

Running towards War Hill on Saturday morning. Photo courtesy of Andrew McCarthy.

The worst thing about the Round is waiting for the right weather. Its only when you have to really watch the weather that you realise how absolutely dreadful the conditions in Ireland can be. From the end of April through all of May, the weather was never ever dry and clear. Instead it was a litany of rain and wind and fog and gales. Weekend after weekend passed where I psyched myself up to go out, and then deflated myself when I realised it was not to be. And with each day waited, the ferns grew higher and the bogs got wetter. However, the wait also meant that the days were getting longer and before I knew it, there was an extra hour’s daylight on offer as we moved ever closer towards June.

However, it wasn’t just a race against the foliage and impending shorter days. I had another reason to be in a hurry to get out and do the Round. At work I had already been informed that my contract would not be renewed. By the end of May I would therefore by jobless, in an Irish economy where jobs are increasingly hard to come by. Fortunately, I had an opportunity to move to Vietnam: I had already negotiated a move in mid-July at the latest. That meant that if I had not done the Round by then, then it was never going to be.

The Round was my last bit of unfinished business before my imminent migration. I was also seeing it as my final farewell to each one of those lovely Wicklow Mountains. We’d had some good and bad times together throughout my three years here. Really gone through some real thick and thin. Like the fun filled moments I’ve had running off the plains of Lugnaquillia on sun shiny days, in stark contrast to the time I went up there in freezing fog, my gloves covered in ice as I tried to navigate off that double cliff-edged mountain. I’ve had good times too heading up Tonelagee, descending to the right of the romantic heart-shaped lake, wondering if this time round I’ll find my way down. I must admit though that Oakwood and I never got on – we were to have a definite mutual, though amicable agreement, to never see each other again.

I was prepared as well as I could both mentally and physically. I knew my route backwards, having travelled over each section at least five times during the last 18 months. My gear was perfect, well tried and tested. My food and water were measured and packed to precision. My support team were prepped with the exact details of where and when. However, even with all this meticulous preparation, I still knew that the Round could throw something, anything at me. Preparing for these unexpected eventualities was in itself an ordeal.

By Monday 25 May, the weather was starting to look good for the end of the week. I spoke with my support team, Andrew, Mark and Lara, as to their imminent availability. A start day of Friday 29 May suited everyone, with Mark and Lara free on Friday and Andrew free all day Saturday.

My Support Team helped tell me how gross my feet were at the end. Thanks Andrew and Lara, and Mark for taking the photo!

I’ve always been slightly bemused by the talk of ‘first this’ and ‘first that’ when it came to the Round. However, I must admit that I was quietly relieved when I heard that the group of Paul Nolan, Paul Mahon, and Jason Reid were preparing to head out for a Round attempt on Thursday 28 May, a day before my own intended date. If anyone was to be first around, these were the people who it should be. Paul Nolan has a remarkable track history in mountain running, having repeatedly represented his country at international level. He has been amazingly supportive of my own running ambitions, having also told me of a number of excellent route choices for the Round. To Paul Mahon, I will always be highly indebted, he who introduced me to the world of mountain running back in 2006 and provided never ending encouragement when I adventure raced in 2007. And as one of Ireland’s top adventure racers, Paul was a dead cert to motivate and pull his team around the first sub-24 hour Round. And though I don’t know Jason Reid that well, I do know he is an extremely talented runner from New Zealand and just a genuinely nice, honest guy. No better trio to be crowned with the first victors of the Wicklow Round.

I rang Paul Mahon on Monday to wish them every success on Thursday. It was then he told me there’d been a change of plan. I was first up to bat instead. “Ladies first”, Paul said in his ever gentlemanly style, and wished me every success in turn.

I took the Thursday off work to prepare all my gear, food, and water. I took the day off too to simply relax and destress from any work related issues. I could not leave anything to chance.

I arrived early at the start at the foot of Kippure hill. To the south, the sky was blue with mountain after mountain clearly in sight. Down in Dublin, it had been warm and sunny. Now up on the exposed Wicklow Hills, the wind blew away much of the warmth, leaving a cool day perfect for mountain running.

I had planned a start at 12.40 pm, so had a few moments to chat with Mark and Lara before I began. Again, I thanked them profusely for supporting me on my Round having agreed to wait around Wicklow for 12 full hours just to give me food and drink. “Oh don’t worry”, said Lara. “We’re all mad, each in our own little ways. But we are happy to support you in your madness!” And with that note, I started.

In comparison to my Wicklow Round attempt in July 2008, this attempt was decidedly uneventful. Apart from initially tying on my shoes too tight, eating too much cold pizza and feeling slightly sick on Mullaghcleevan, and losing a faint path going towards Table Mountain, everything went like clockwork. The protocol was this: I’d walk up a hill and eat. Getting to the top of the hill, I’d look at my watch, write the time down in my notebook and check where I was with my splits. At the top I’d reset my altimeter. A quick check of the map, and then I’d run down the hill to the next. Then I’d walk up the hill and eat. Getting to the top of the hill, I’d look at my watch…

Arriving to the first transition close to Ballinagee Bridge after 4 hours on the run, I was already 6 minutes ahead of my splits. I was worried. Andrew had said that if I arrived even a minute before time at a transition, he just wouldn’t be there, so there was absolutely no point in arriving too soon. It was a cunning trick to make me stay slow especially at the start. It worked.

Andrew and Lara were also checking my bags to make sure I was eating enough. Somehow I managed to pack always one too many food items and so consistently arrived in with a last bit of uneaten food. They were not impressed. I tried harder, but then they started thinking I was hiding food out on the mountains or feeding it to the deer. I couldn’t win!

Starting in the middle of the day allowed the Round this time to be broken into three distinct sections. This first section was Kippure to Drumgoff, the milestone being to get off Lugnaquillia before night fall. As I hit the summit of Lugnaquillia, Wicklow’s highest peak, I turned around to see the most idyllic sunset silhouetting the lakes and hills. I then remembered why I mountain run: to see as many glorious scenes as possible as these.

Arriving in Drumgoff just before 10.30pm, I was bang on schedule… and understandably relived. Now I was entering the second phase, my dark zone, a journey from Drumgoff to Mullacor, Derrybawn, Glendalough, Camaderry, Wicklow Gap, Tonelagee and Glenmacnass in the middle of the night. This section was chosen for night time treatment as these high mountains have heavily travelled walkers’ tracks on top. I had practised being out in the mountains at night and spent much time telling myself that the darkness is safe. My plan worked – I was calm and collected throughout the 5 hours, and even enjoyed the quarter moon and stars, the mild and silent darkness, and even the fleeting eyes and squeals of the rabbits, sheep, and deer.

Light broke as I wandered up Scarr. I had been feeling fine all through the night, but now my body was starting to take the toll. The newly gathered water in my rucksack felt oh so much heavier, my feet were hurting, and my descending legs were just about gone. However I was now on my third and last section, the ‘sprint’ from Glenmacnass to the finish in the morning light. The end was in sight.

Days before my attempt, I watched on TV how Sir Ranulph Fiennes had climbed Mount Everest at the ripe old age of 65. This was his third attempt at this feat. His trick this time was simple – a mantra of “Plod forever, Plod forever” made him keep on going up and up until he eventually got to the top. I adopted a similar chant and attitude. “Keep going. It doesn’t matter if you finish before or after 24 hours. Just finish the Round. Just keep going”.

Up Knocknacloghoge, I gazed over Lough Dan at the sun rising so perfectly pretty in pink undertones. Back at the hill, I taunted the ferns that had tripped me up last year that were just about to unfurl. The taunting distracted me from the job in hand, and as I ran towards Lugalla, I started bizarrely wondering where I was. Is this the right mountain? Where is the path? Have I run up the wrong hill? Tiredness can play the most amazing tricks on your mind.  I stopped, realigned my map with the compass, saw it was indeed the right mountain, took out a gel and sucked on it, then told myself to wise up or shut up.

Thumbs up at 8am on Saturday coming off Djouce. Thanks Andrew for the photo!

I crossed the road close to Sheepshank Bridge on my way up Djouce. Andrew was there to meet me and to give me due sustenance. He fancied a walk up the hill too, so I invited him along. I led the way and he followed as he chattered on with all the latest gossip. It was just like old times, just like the days when we trained together for the Wicklow Round and like the times when we won our two Rogaines. It had always been the plan that we would do the Wicklow Round together. However, Andrew had taken this year off training, but was more than willing to help me prepare for my own attempt this year. It cannot be understated how I could never, ever have even contemplated doing the Round if I had not had Andrew’s wise words, encouragement, advice, and friendship always there. Though I have not always been the most obedient athlete or faithful friend, I will always be grateful for having run and raced with Andrew, and for having climbed at least one of the hills on the Wicklow Round together with him.

On from Djouce I ran, up War Hill and on to Tonduff North. This time around, I had decided to head west from Tonduff and to run the road towards Prince William’s Seat. Big mistake. 4kms of downhill tarmac after the mountain’s soft and forgiving boggy paths was too much for my legs and feet. I crawled into the forest at Oldboney’s and plunged my feet into the first marsh I could see.

With the finish so close, it was a case of just keeping going, not stopping, getting to Prince William’s and Knocknagun and onwards home to the finish. Andrew met me as I proudly made my way back towards the tarmac after having summarily bagged all the summits. Then I noticed he was just casually strolling beside me, whilst I was definitely running. “You’re not going very fast, are you?” he remarked. By now, I must admit I was feeling a bit like an M70. But, as you know, those M70s are belligerent old geezers who are well up for a sprint finish at the end. And with the clock ticking, I could hardly resist a bit of a speed-up to try to do a sub 23 hour time. And with a final kick, I got to the line with 90 seconds to spare.

Very happy to be finished the Wicklow Round. Lara even gave me a bouquet of Bluebells to celebrate!

 

At the time, I was tired yet relieved. Two days on, I’m feeling pretty damned proud, and heck, ecstatically happy. In particular, I’m proud of me for getting back out there after that difficult first attempt. I’m proud I learnt from my mistakes. I’m proud that I’m someone who doesn’t says “I can’t do that” but instead goes “Sure why not? I’ll give that a try”. And I’m proud that I’m a girl, when so often girls themselves think that these things simply can’t be done by the female race. This weekend, I’ve proved this belief wrong, and indeed hope that many more girls get to experience the highs and learn from the lows that only the Wicklow Round can provide.

So what next? Well, I’m moving to Vietnam in a month’s time. There, I hope to write a book about Irish mountain running and in particular the Wicklow Round. It’ll be the Irish version of Richard Askwith’s “Feet in the Clouds”, only I think “Feet in the Bog” may be a more appropriate name given the state of our hills. My experiences of mountain running and racing in Ireland have been so profound, filled with such much fun and so many characters, that I feel there is definitely a story there that needs to be told.