Grumblings of an old man or the frustrations of a young

When I first started this blog, some twenty months ago, I was advised to be careful. It can sometimes be dangerous voicing opinions in public and the repercussions of doing so, can follow an unpredictable route. However, after watching the BBC documentary last week with regards alleged doping within the Nike Salazar camp, the topic of this month’s blog became obvious. The term ‘drug cheat’ has sadly become commonplace in the world of athletics. Rarely, can you watch an event containing world class opposition, where at least one of the competitors has not fallen foul of drug testing laws. What the past number of months have proved is that no country is immune. Jamaica, America, Kenya, Russia. Even my very own Ireland has been implicated. As long as there are winners and losers, there will always be cheaters. There will always be those looking for a shortcut to glory. Somewhere along the line, they have forgotten what they are really running for and the real race in which they are competing.

Amongst many of my fellow athletes, suspicion is rife. Rumours and hearsay are commonplace. Where is the point that you stop believing an athlete is pushing themselves to their limits and start questioning how they have managed to adjust those very limitations? One of my favourite films is ‘Without Limits’, the story documenting the life, and untimely death, of the American running legend and Nike’s first athlete, Steve Prefontaine. Nowadays, the title appears somewhat ironic. The fact is that, with the advancement of medical technology, we are indeed capable of breaking our natural ‘limits’. There is no doubt I could train harder, recover quicker and run faster if I took the right combination of drugs, just as anyone could. What then stops an athlete from cheating? The risk of recrimination if they get caught? A higher moral code? Or maybe just simply, that they want to see how far they and they alone can push themselves.

To me, running is quite simple. An athletics race is a competition to see who is the fastest at covering a set course. It is governed by strict rules. You cannot jump in a car and drive to the finish line. You cannot jump on a bike and cycle to the finish line. And you cannot take certain drugs in order to produce a physiologically enhanced body. There is no difference in injecting yourself full of performance enhancing medications, than jumping in a car at the start line and speeding away to the finish. At least if you had a car everyone could see you giving all the clean athletes the middle finger while you do it. In addition, recent research is pointing towards the fact that the benefits of these medications can last in the body for years. Ok, you might not be jumping in a Ferrari at the start line like you once were, but even a simple Ford Focus would still create an unfair advantage. Where then is the deterrent that life bans might possibly bring? In my experience, there was a consensus that two year bans were a joke. Four year bans, while obviously better, are still a joke. Is missing one Olympic cycle worth the risk for the possible years and years of benefits that you might be able to claim afterwards? And that is provided that you get caught in the first place. Lance Armstrong proved that not failing a drug’s test does not necessarily mean you are a clean athlete, a fact seemingly verified by the documentary last week. I imagine there are ways to ‘microdose’ or consume newly manufactured drugs that no test yet exists for. Such is the problem facing the anti-doping agency today. I dare not investigate deeper into this dark world of athletics, as I would likely become more cynical and saddened that this sport that I love is being corrupted in such a way.

Athletes should be heralded as role models for the young. The sport teaches the virtues of discipline, dedication, perseverance and hard work, amongst many others. Cheating undoes all of that. Letting convicted drug cheats compete as if nothing has happened, undoes all of that. If cheats could prove that they are back to their ‘normal’ default physiological setting then perhaps, at a stretch, they might have a valid case to be heard. However, with the evidence pointing towards the fact that this is not what occurs, letting these cheats still compete means that the race is not a level playing field. It makes a mockery of the sport. I wish it could be made compulsory that every convicted cheat would have to have ‘DRUG CHEAT’ printed next to their name every time it appeared on television or in the paper. Every time the commentator said their name, they would be legally required to precede their name with the words ‘drug cheat’. These cheating athletes are in a different race, a race with only one competitor – themselves. And sad though it is, for as long as they live, they will forever more always be in a race with only themselves. The level playing field has gone. They can no longer claim to have beaten another competitor. They can no longer claim to have run quicker times. Because in truth, they are no longer themselves.

So what can be done? Realistically, what can be done? Cheating is sadly always going to occur, no matter what the sport. A failed drugs test is no proof of innocence. The drug manufacturers and involved doctors are always not just one step ahead of the testers, but most likely two, three or four steps. Last Monday night, I received a knock on my door, it was the drug testers. It is a usual occurrence. I believe I have been tested sixty one times in total, surprisingly high given my first major championship was only two years ago and I am not an athlete even good enough for funding. It would be interesting to see how many times those funded athletes have been tested, they must have no blood left in them by now. At least Ireland is seemingly trying to catch cheaters. I was describing to a friend how it is up to each individual country to decide which of their athletes to test and when. After a moment of confusion she replied, ‘But isn’t it in the country’s interests not to find the cheaters?’. And right there is one of the main problems. A centralised anti-doping testing agency would go a long way in catching more cheats. Sadly however, I don’t see it happening anytime soon. I could keep on grumbling about drug cheats, but quite honestly, I don’t think they even deserve the time that I have taken to write this. So until next time, be true to yourself. Push yourself as hard as you can, and when you think you have reached your limit, think of a drug cheat, and use that anger to push you just that little bit further.

Got my kicks for free

Anger. Disappointment. Frustration. Relief. It is hard to accurately describe my feelings after racing late last Saturday night. Having flown to America to compete over twenty five laps of the infamous Cobb track at Stanford, I had committed a lot of time and money for this one race. The plan was to break twenty eight minutes for the first time and in doing so, achieve the 2016 Olympic qualifying time, in addition to a Northern Irish record. Sadly, the plan did not come to fruition and after several days of pre-race preparation in America, I faced the prospect of a long journey home and some tough questions to be asked.

The month of April was as perfect as I could have hoped, in terms of training. I got down to my ideal racing weight, was smashing each session and becoming stronger in the gym. There was not a thing I would have changed about the previous four weeks. I had committed myself fully to the training, with few distractions. I had sacrificed many evenings out with friends in preparation and anticipation of what I might possibly achieve in Stanford. As I boarded the plane to America, I was full of optimism. If I had a near perfect race, breaking twenty eight minutes was possible, only a solid race and running sub 28.15 was likely. A Northern Irish record of 28.32 was, in my mind, a certainty. Going by the training I had done, I was confident that I could run sub twenty nine minutes in a time trial on my own, if I so desired.

I arrived in Stanford five days before the race. With the eight hour time difference, the first two days were dedicated to recovery, composed of five mile runs, no quicker than eight minute mile pace. I would finish each run at the world class gym facilities on the Stanford campus. Every piece of gym equipment imaginable was present, often in numerous quantities. Never have I seen a gym so large or as well equipped. Each wall was dotted with action photos of previous alumni….Tiger Woods, John McEnroe, Ryan Hall. They had all passed through this gym. Having time to relax between the runs, I explored the campus grounds. Beside the track were the tennis courts, which would be well capable of hosting a tennis open championships. One hundred metres away was the 50m swimming pool, complete with diving pool and practice pool. A short walk round the corner and the Stanford Cardinal’s football stadium stands block out the sunlight. Add in the perfectly maintained hockey pitches, soccer pitches and baseball diamonds, among others, and it is easy to see why Stanford is world renowned amongst the sporting elite. Dotted beside each sporting facility were three tall boulders, each inscribed with the names of previous Stanford Olympians in the chosen sport. It was an impressive list. I wonder how many my old alma mater, Queen's University Belfast, can boast.

As in 2014, the race was to take place at ten o’clock on Saturday evening. With fifty seven entrants in the 10,000m, the race was to be divided into an A and B race. Last year, Stanford was my first ever track 10,000m and so it was a struggle to be placed in the A race. This year, I was confident that I had improved sufficiently to be competitive in the A race, if only I was given the chance. Forty eight hours before the race, they announced the heats. The organisers clearly did not feel as confident in my ability as I was. I was seeded in the B race. It felt like a kick in the stomach. I had spent a large amount of money and time to travel half way across the world, only to be told that I would not be racing in the race that I wanted. It was clear in my mind, if I was to have any chance of breaking twenty eight minutes, I needed to be in the A race. Emails were sent and after a chat with the organiser, I had to resign myself to the fact that things would not be changed. I was to compete in the B race.

From dreaming of possibilities one moment, to hard hitting reality the next. As much as I wanted to stay positive, I told myself that the trip was a waste of time. Without the fast pace of the A race to pull me along, I knew that my goal was not achievable or realistic. I had lost the race two days before I even got anywhere near the startline. After a long chat with the coach, we tried to put an optimistic spin on things. There was still much to race for. Firstly, it would be a good race to win, and a Northern Irish record was still up for grabs. I tried to turn my mindset around. Honestly though, I was annoyed, or rather perhaps more frustrated, that I would not get a chance to prove how fit I was on a world stage, in front of the watching athletic elite.

I had the splits all planned out. I still had to believe that if we went through halfway in under 14.10 pace, there might still be a chance of picking it up in the second half. I knew if I was to do that, I would have to run the majority of the second half on my own, without any assistance. As we came round to the end of the first lap, the clock read 70 seconds high. Damnit, the pacemaker was already two seconds down on the expected 68 second pace. I tried not to panic, maybe he will pick it up over the next few laps. The second lap was another 70 and then a 69. As I sat right behind him in second, I was staring at the clock every 200m. We were miles off my splits. I would not break 28 minutes tonight. My head went down. What am I doing here? The question repeated itself over and over in my mind. As we passed halfway in 14.16, I wanted nothing more than just to finish the race. I could not have cared less about what time I was running nor who was passing me by. I still don’t know what my official time crossing the line was. I believe it was around the 29.15 mark but honestly, it could have been 30.15 and I would still feel the same. I crossed the finish line caught up in a sense of regret and disappointment. I knew that I had not performed to my physical best, hampered by my negative mental attitude, a thought that annoyed me even further.  As I took off my spikes, I faced the prospect of a long journey home alone.

And that is where I am now. Very rarely in running do I through in the towel. Never before have I had a race where I was so fed up with running and so glad to just simply complete the required number of laps. You always read in books about how running is a certain percentage physical and an another portion mental, but never have I noticed it so acutely. I know I was not in the right frame of mind for racing, once I found out that I was not to be in the A race. The question now is, where do I go from here? And there really is only one option. To race again, and soon. I know I am fit, fitter than I have ever been in my life. I now just have to find a race in which I can prove it to everyone else. One positive to take from Stanford, is that I have returned home injury free, something that could not be said last year. At least with my body still in one piece, I will have the chance to race again on another day.

The take home message for me this month is simple. No matter what the distance, you are never going to run your best when your mind is not prepared. I was ready to race something special in Stanford but things were not to be. It would be easy to find an excuse. To say, perhaps it was jetlag, or perhaps it was because the race was so late at night or even that I was not fit enough. In reality, I know that the most likely reason is simply that I was not ready mentally. It is easy to overthink running, to start questioning training, to slip off the rails. But then I remember, one bad race does not define an athlete. And if I go smash a qualifying time in my next race, Stanford will long be forgotten. For now, however, the pain and embarrassment is still raw. I am keen to bounce back and prove my fitness. Next year, I don’t want to be able to give them the option of putting me in the B race. And in order to do that, the only way is to keep training and keep racing. For that is the only place where real answers can be found.

All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray

Where have the past twelve months gone? It feels like only yesterday that I was writing last year’s April blog. Having just completed the World half marathon championships, I was in a manic rush to get out the door to catch a plane to America. Heading to Mount Laguna in sunny California, I was filled with dreams of medalling at the Glasgow Commonwealth Games and European Championships. Unfortunately, my dodgey hip saw to it that neither medal materialised, nor in fact did much running occur at all. Another missed opportunity to perform something special in my country’s vest. Such is the sport of running. I am coming to realise that setbacks are inevitable and rarely does a training plan go as smoothly as desired.

The past month has been an unusual one for me. Having arrived home from a good, albeit below par, experience at the European indoor championships, I was ready for a break. With the Reading half marathon a fortnight after Prague however, it was time to continue pushing forward with training. The luxury of a week or two of easy training was one that I could not afford. I went into Reading fit but mentally tired. It had been a long nine weeks of indoor training. The shock of thirteen miles of heavy pounding, along concrete roads, was one my legs were not accustomed to. Finding myself stranded in no man’s land by the five mile mark, it became more of a mental endurance challenge than a physical race. I staggered across the finish line just outside sixty four minutes, two minutes shy of my personal best time. Slightly disappointing but not a bad starting point in which to begin the longer distance training block.

And so began a manic week. The day after Reading I returned home to Holywood. I had already committed to work a number of shifts in Belfast’s Royal Hospital emergency department. After my second long shift in work, I contested the local Queen’s 5k race, Northern Ireland’s 5k road championships. The many hours on my feet took their toll as I crossed the line first in 14.45, much slower than what I was expecting. The following morning, I awoke with the cold, probably more due to exhaustion than any actual infection. But back to work I returned once more. Two days later, and it was the Omagh half marathon this time. By now, I was coughing green phlegm and wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed. However, having committed myself to the race organisers, I was reluctant to pull out at the last moment. I managed to make it to mile seven before I succumbed. One minute I was cruising at leisurely pace, the next I was wiped out. The last six miles of a marathon were never this bad. It was a complete blow out. Looking at my watch, I had dropped to 5.20 and then 5.30 minute miles. With all the power gone from my legs, I was fortunate that the last mile was downhill. I crossed the line in a distant second place, in a pace slower than some of my Sunday runs. I could have taken my pick from the take home messages: Don’t do two half marathons and a 5k within the space of seven days. Don’t run with a cold. Don’t try to work and race at the same time. All very obvious statements you might think. Sometimes however, you have to experience it for yourself in order to learn from it. I had no option the following week but to rest. I took four days off, most of which I spent in bed surrounded by snotty tissues.

There are so many negatives in running that sometimes it is easy to forget the positives. I always try to be thankful for what I achieve in athletics, as I know how much others would give to simply win a race. There is no doubt about it, my schedule for that week was idiotic and not very professional. It was no wonder that I fell ill. That said, I came away from it as British half marathon champion and Northern Irish 5k road champion, and all this just two weeks after the European indoors. It is only when I take a step back and remind myself of how far I have come, of what achievements I have already made, can I really refocus my mind.

The niggles that I had collected throughout the racing week began to settle and my body returned to its normal state. Two weeks of solid training has occurred since then and my strength and speed is quickly returning. With the thought of returning to Stanford at the forefront of my mind, I am eager to get back into hard training to be in the best shape possible. Time is ticking on, and with only three weeks until race day, I want to give myself the best opportunity to run well. Last year, it was my first 10k track race ever, and I just missed out on the Northern Irish record by less than half a second. This year Stanford will be my third 10k track race and I am determined to run quicker and perform better than last year. I am fitter and through the help of my strength and conditioning coach Rich Blagrove, I am stronger than I ever have been.

I am nowhere near ready to race a marathon just yet. My training has been geared towards the shorter distances and different goals. I have, however, not taken my eye off the end goal for this year. Patience is a difficult virtue in athletics, with many people wanting instant success and doing too much too soon. Before Christmas, a friend of mine sent me a countdown timer to the start of the Berlin marathon. I still have the tab saved on my phone and will do until race day (only 169 days now, if you must know). When training has been going tough or I am feeling exhausted, I occasionally open up the tab. It serves as a simple reminder of what my real goal is. That all this build up, all this track work, while necessary, is just a bit of fun. A warm up for the main event. July, August and September is when the real work begins, when I will try and make the step up from solid national athlete to world class marathon runner. Until then, it is just a question of keeping fit, grinding out the training and getting the base work done. That said, I still wouldn’t say no to a personal best and Northern Irish record at Stanford.

Well, I woke up in the morning. There's frogs inside my socks.

Sitting here in the sunlight at my base in Teddington, the European Indoor Championships already seem like a distant memory. Just another race and important stepping stone on my journey to Rio. A month can sometimes be a long time in athletics. With three races in the past four weeks, combined with many miles of travelling, the finish line in Prague bought as much mental relief as it did physical. Typically, with the longer distances, training is all geared towards peaking on one specific race day a month. Not so with indoors. Just as one race finishes, thoughts are already turning towards the next. Training becomes as much about recovery and tapering than actually gaining additional physiological benefit. Having never raced so many races in quick succession, it was a largely enjoyable experience, but one in which I am in no hurry to repeat.


I finished off last month’s blog having missed a chance of breaking a sub four minute mile. The UK 3000m trials for the European Championships were the following week and so I had no time to commiserate. After a perfect month of training in January, I was optimistic that I was in with a chance of winning. However, it was not meant to be as I finished in a disappointing eighth, over ten seconds behind the winner. How could things go so wrong? I knew I was in great shape but this was two races, in quick succession, where I was far off the target that I believed I was capable of hitting. Sometimes, it is easy to overanalyse a performance but with the Irish trials seven days later, once again, I had no time to be disappointed or question what went wrong. I had run sub eight minutes at the start of January and was undoubtedly a whole lot fitter. I had no option but to trust in the hard work that I had done.


With the first place in the Irish trials guaranteed to go to Prague, it was a race that I was determined to win. Thankfully, as others were chasing a qualifying time, I was able to sit in and let them take the pacing duties. As the laps went by, I was still feeling relaxed and with two laps to go I opened up the legs to record a comfortable victory and confirm my seat to Prague. Following the Irish trials, I had already booked to work three long days in Belfast’s A+E department. I needed the money and having committed to work the shifts, there was no backing out. As a result, I returned back to Teddington later that week, exhausted and looking forward to some much needed rest. However, with my flight to Prague booked for five days later, this was not a time to relax. Training and sessions were still tough, as I aimed to get myself in best possible shape to race at the Championships.


Other than the Commonwealth Games last summer, this would be my first time racing on the track at a major championships. The night before I found out that I was drawn in heat one of two. Looking through my competitor’s personal bests, I was ranked on paper, tenth out of the twelve athletes. I was still confident in my ability of qualifying for the final as my personal best was weak and I still had not raced a ‘fast’ 3000m yet. In the call room I was nervous but calm. I knew what to expect and had my race plan clearly set out. They bought us out onto the track five minutes before the gun went off and the noise in the stadium was incredible. With the audience raised above the track you could not see faces but the atmosphere was electric. By now the adrenaline was definitely pumping. This is the moment most athletes simultaneously love and hate. The feeling of uncertainty at what might happen in the coming minutes. Triumph or despair. Success or failure.


As the gun fired I positioned myself inside the top four as per my plan. The first kilometre went by in 2.38, as I sat relaxed in third. I remember thinking that ten more laps at this pace would be easy. However, as the second kilometre went by, the race had bunched up. Elbows were bumping and I found it hard to concentrate on my running. My stride was constantly being cut up and looking back at the video afterwards, it is clear that I lost a lot of energy in that second kilometre. I had been surging needlessly, without making any impact or significant move of any sort. With five laps to go, the pace began to pick up. Having gone through the second kilometre in 5.20, I knew that I would need at least a 2.30 last kilometre to qualify. If it had been a clean paced race, I think I might have had a chance but with everything going on in the middle of the race, I was spent. As others wound up the pace, I had missed the jump. I struggled round the last 400m, finishing in a distant tenth. It was a one second personal best. I have always said that a personal best is nothing to be disappointed with but looking at all the training I have done, it could have and should have been so much more. My goal was to qualify for the final and I missed the opportunity. That said, if you had told me in January that I would run sub eight minutes twice and compete at the European Championships, I would have gladly taken that. While the race did not exactly go to plan, the event was a fantastic experience and one which I am keen to repeat. Hopefully next time I will be able to rectify this year’s mistakes.


And now my focus is back on what I really want. Enough of this playing around with the speed boys, fun though it is. The marathon is where my strength is, there is no doubt about that. With Berlin six months away, it is still too early to start marathon preparation. Instead, the plan is to improve my 5k and 10k times over the course of the next three months. In running, it is important that you have clear goals and how to best achieve them. If I want to run the time that I think I’m capable of in Berlin, the European Indoors was a must. To be a world class marathon runner, I believe that it is important to be at a European standard over 3000m, which I am not that far off. My focus now is to simply enjoy training for a week or two. To remind myself what racing on roads feels like, I have the Reading half marathon next weekend, followed by the Omagh half marathon a week later. After the lung busting, dryness of indoors, I am looking forward to racing outdoors, in clean air, where you can breathe deep and just keep on running straight. I cannot wait. Back on the roads again.

The illustrious four

Even outside of running circles the sub four minute mile is widely revered. Those who have no idea about what might be a ‘good’ time in running know that if you can cover a mile in less than four minutes, then you must be a proper runner. Ever since I began running for the first time, almost eleven years ago now, a sub four minute mile has been a dream of mine. No matter how many hundreds of people have already achieved it (approximately 1400 people at last count), the four minute barrier still possesses a certain aura, a sense of magic. Therefore, imagine my excitement when, three weeks ago, I found out that I would have my chance to race over the mile distance.

For some reason, I have always believed that I can run three minutes something for the mile. There has never been any doubt in my mind that I could. As time ticked onwards however, I started to question if ever I would. When I first started training as a somewhat cocky seventeen year old, I remember telling my Abbey club teammates that a sub-four minute mile was not difficult. ‘Sure it’s only four laps of sixty seconds. Easy.’ The older members laughed at my naivety and looking back now, so do I. However, while it may not be easy, I have always and still do believe that, for me, it is definitely possible. Every year a list detailing every four minute miler in history is released. Every year one of my same old Abbey teammates emails it to me. ‘Where is your name?’ they ask jokingly. The response has always been the same: ‘Next year mate, next year’. Maybe with the indoor mile race coming up, this year would finally by ‘The year’.

Before the race last week I had only competed in two mile races before. One was close to ten years ago, known as the Mizuno Mile. I remember texting my brother from the finish line, ‘I just ran 3.54 for the mile!’. I conveniently left out the fact that nearly a kilometre of the race was down the steep hill at Stormont in Belfast. The other race was my one and only outdoor track mile race. I have no recollection of ever running it but judging from the poor result (4.28) I am glad it was so forgettable. These days I sometimes do several mile reps quicker in the middle of sessions.

And so it was that I found myself standing on the startline at a small meet in North London last week. After a great start to my indoor season, running a 3000m European indoor qualifying time, I was eager to do just as well in my second race. Training had been going as best as I could have hoped. Everything was geared towards the Tuesday afternoon sessions. I would travel the ninety minutes up in the car to the indoor track with John, my training partner. It would always be quiet going up, knowing the pain that lay in the immediate hours ahead. The return journey was usually a very different story, filled with euphoria in the knowledge that there was a full week until we had to make ourselves hurt as much again. Andy Hobdell, our coach, would come down to watch and advise. The week before the race we had three sets of 2km with 400m jog recovery. Finishing the last rep with a 2.30 kilometre and 55 second last 400m I was hitting speeds that I have never even come close to before. Not bad for a marathon runner! The rest of the week blended into what was essentially a long six day recovery period, interspersed with a six mile tempo run on the Thursday and short hills on the Saturday. Given the training that I had been doing there was no doubt in my mind that I was ready to run a mile in under four minutes.

And the gun went off. The pacemaker went off hard. It felt quick so I hung a few metres back behind the pacemaker in second. The laps passed, sixty seconds followed by a second sixty seconds. I hit 800m in two minutes dead. I was one or two seconds off target pace but still on for a sub four clocking. Now was not the time to panic. I knew the training I had done and the strength and speed that I had. However, as the laps went by I started to slow. The pacemaker had dropped out and I was on my own. From 2.30 at the kilometre mark, I drifted to 3.02, and then to 3.34. I crossed the line in a disappointing 4.06, taking small consolation only in the fact that I had won the race. There are many reasons why I believe I did not break four minutes. Was it the long drive up to the race, or had I not warmed up effectively. Had the strength and conditioning I had done two days previously taken the speed out of my legs. Or had I put myself under so much stress to break four minutes that when it came to the crucial point in the race my mind told myself it was not possible.

Running is a funny sport sometimes. Breaking the four minute barrier has been one of my dreams for so long that I hope I get another chance to go for it this season. Preferably in a competitive race, with other athletes pushing me to do my best. Hopefully by the time the list of milers is published this year, there will be at least one more addition, me. Following the mile race I was disappointed. But as always in athletics, there is another race around the corner to refocus my mind. For me, it is the UK trials this weekend in Sheffield. The startlist has been announced and contains some of the best runners the UK currently has to offer. I am not a sub four minute miler yet but I am fit, injury free and hopefully, have a European Indoor Championships to get ready for at the start of March. While I did not achieve my goal in the race last week, I have no doubt that there will be more opportunities in the months that lie ahead. So until then, it is simply a matter of staying healthy, training hard and continuing to dream.

For anyone who is interested below is a link to a video of the mile race:

http://www.tacdistancerunners.com/lee-valley-open-meeting-wednesday-4th-february.html

Not much has changed, But they lived underwater

Usually in the past six months, as I sit down to write this blog, I find it difficult to pick a subject on which to write. After months of injury with little running, my blog seemed to document only MRI scans, injections and countless physio appointments. This month, however, things are a little bit different. Rarely, have I had a four week period in which so much has happened in my athletic life. The European Cross country feels like a distant memory and even the Christmas holidays feel like a long time ago. You know you are training hard when you forget what sessions you had only a week ago. Each run blends into a forgotten void and all you concentrate on is the next ‘big’ session coming around the next corner.

In hindsight, I was never ready to challenge at the Euro Cross. Bulgaria was my fifth Euro Cross and at each of the previous four, I had performed poorly. I had always gone out hard and soon after, had inevitably begun to suffer and drift backwards. With this at the forefront of my mind on the startline, I decided that I was not going to make the same mistake again. However, there is going off easy, and there is going off easy! After 200m I was one of the few athletes at the back of the field, already giving everyone else a significant advantage. I quickly got into my running and with each lap I was passing runners and making up ground. With about three kilometres to go however, the gaps started becoming wider. It was taking much longer to close down those in front and tiredness began to kick in. Finishing in 23^rd position, I was not happy but it would do. This was my best result yet at a Euro Cross and considering two months previously, I had been told that I may never be able to run competitively again, just being in Bulgaria was a bonus.

I returned home, fit and healthy having had a good experience at racing against some of the best in Europe. With Christmas coming up, I based myself back in Belfast for two weeks. Having missed out on being carded (Irish funding), and with rent still needing to be paid, I returned to work in the Royal Hospital, Belfast. The buzz and team atmosphere of working in an A+E department is one that I have missed while pursuing my running career. However, fitting in training around work is something that I have definitely not missed. Running took a backseat for a few weeks, while I concentrated on my medical work. That said, I was still getting it done, be it on a treadmill or in the dark and wet, at some hour when any normal person should be in bed. I decided to break up the monotony of training on my own by doing the Greencastle 5 mile road race on Boxing Day.

The Greencastle race holds fond memories for me. Back when I was young and running with Abbey AC, this race became a tradition for most members over the Christmas period. On a typical Boxing Day, there would normally be a convoy of four or so packed cars going down from Belfast for the race. Unfortunately, after Bobby (founder and coach of Abbey AC) passed away, the tradition stopped too. Even the drive down bought back memories, passing by places that I had not been past since when Bobby was around.

Like most people, I imagine, I had eaten way too much the previous couple of days. The race was to give me company and save me from doing a tempo run on my own. There was no stress or pre race nerves that morning. On the warm up, I passed by Martin Fagan, a well known Irish athlete with a sub 61min half marathon to his name. So much for an easy run, I knew I would have to work hard for the win. In a blizzard of horizontally blowing snow, the gun went off and as expected Fagan led it out. Without knowing what kind of shape he was in, I sat in. The first mile flew by in 4.27, quickly followed by another 4.28. I doubted I’d be able to sustain this pace. Thankfully, as we came into the third mile I could tell Fagan was hurting too and the pace slowed. Greencastle’s fourth mile is infamous among running circles in Northern Ireland. I imagine it is similar to what running a mile up the side of Everest might feel like, and even that does not do it full justice. Fagan cracked halfway up the mountain and from there it was a case of me against the clock. I sprinted across the line in 24.08, with my face frozen into a caricature of pain. I had knocked six seconds off Gareth Turnbull’s previous record. After so much disrupted training, the race was a great confidence boost, a reminder that I was still getting fitter.

And so, after having spent New Years in a cottage with friends, in the middle of nowhere, with nowhere to run, I returned to London, ready to knuckle down to hard training. The plan for the Spring was to at least make the European Indoor 3k final. My coach wanted me to race in Sheffield at the start of January, the first BMC indoor meet of the year. I was dubious about the benefits or smartness behind racing so soon. I had done no speedwork and the last time I had stepped onto an indoor track was when I had had a disappointing race in the UK trials last March. ‘Just see how you get on’ was his answer. 

I travelled up from London the morning of the race by train on my own. It was an eight hour round journey up north, all to do an eight or nine minute race. I felt terrible. My legs were heavy, my stomach felt bloated and my eyes were tired. I phoned my coach half an hour before the race. Why am I doing this again? I knew I wasn’t ready. ‘I don’t expect you to break eight minutes today’ was his answer. ‘Don’t be disappointed if you don’t even break 8.15. This is just a marker of where you’re at. We still have a lot of work to do. All you have to do is sit in and follow the leader’. And so I sat in. The first kilometre went by in 2.42, as I sat in fourth. The pacemaker dropped out as the laps ticked by. We went through two kilometres in 5.26 (2.42, 2.44), six seconds off eight minute pace. The pain and dry throat that indoor stadia usually induce had still not kicked in. For once I felt good, I felt strong, I felt comfortable. I had moved up into second place with 800m to go. I was concentrating now and feeling awake. Eight minutes might be on after all. There was no clock trackside so I was listening intently to the commentator, trying to work out the maths in my head. We hit 400m to go at 6.59. Eight minutes was most definitely on. Up until this point I had only ran one 63 second lap in a session and no quicker all season. I crossed the finish line in first place but more importantly, I had no idea if I had broken the eight minute barrier. It was a nervous wait. I had already far exceeded my expectations. I finished in a 2.33 last kilometre to run 7.59 and dip under the Irish European Indoors qualifying standard of eight minutes. 

That was three days ago, and I have still not come to terms with how quick I ran. So my message for January 2015 is quite simple. No matter how unfit you think you are, no matter how much you have told yourself that you’re not ready or that you’re not good enough, there is only one way to find out. If you do not try, you will never know. If you don’t force yourself out of your comfort zone, you will never know. I could so very easily have said to Andy, my coach, no let’s skip this race and get some training done instead. If I had, I would not be sitting here now, with my confidence high, looking forward to faster, better races. Perhaps more importantly, I would not have the European Indoor qualifying time. So don’t be afraid of putting yourself on the startline, or of taking up that challenge that scares you, because once, just that once, you might not only surprise others, but also yourself!

Underground, overground, wombling free

How did it get to be that time of year again? It seems like it was only yesterday that I was eagerly anticipating the European cross country in Belgrade. Now, twelve months on, and the stabbing cold and deep snow of a ski resort in Bulgaria awaits. Last year, I finished a distant 26^th, well behind the leaders and below the standard at which I had hoped to compete. This year though, the dreaming of a medal has returned.

Less than ten weeks ago I was unable to jog never mind compete.  I was being destroyed in sessions and I was being dropped consistently in every rep. But at the end of every session, as I was doubled over, coughing up my lungs, there was my coach. ‘Good job. It’ll come. Be patient.’ I’m glad at least one of us had faith. It is said that coaching a fit athlete is not difficult. It is only whenever you encounter hurdles, be that injury or a poor performance that the coaching really begins. Sometimes, it takes that voice in your ear just to remind you that there is no need to panic. I’ve been fit before and, if I train right, I’ll get fit again. And so, as jogs turned into runs, and runs into sessions, it was only inevitable that at some stage I would again need to throw my hat into the ring and race.

Before the Irish cross country trials, I was strangely calm. The pre-race nerves that normally kick in were nowhere to be found. I had convinced myself that I was still recovering from injury. Getting to the startline itself was a big enough result. I had placed no expectation on myself and neither had my coach. His instructions were to sit in for as long as I could. I always find it somewhat cheeky sitting on other runners. To me, winning a race, having kicked past someone who has been at the front for 9.9k, makes the victory feel hollow.  It is a style of racing that I have never really enjoyed, although, as everyone knows, it normally produces the best results. And so I sat. There were the usual early attacks by other runners but the gap never grew large enough to get worried. And coming into the final lap, when it was down to Mick Clohissey and Mark Hanrahan and myself, I still felt confident. I had already far exceeded my expectations and, with the top three guaranteed selection for the European Cross, I had bought myself a further three weeks in which to get fitter. Having raced Mark and Mick several times before, I knew that I was not strong enough to be able to pull away from them both. So I sat and sat, and then sat a bit more. And thankfully, coming into the final turn, I managed to get a few metres and hold on for an unexpected win. After several months of various scans, injections and physio appointments, broken only by sparse days of training, it was nice to finally race again. It was even more enjoyable to win.

The day after the trials I flew back to London, ready for some more hard training, in the build up to this Sunday’s race. And for once, things have gone well. There has been no injury pain and no days missed. With everyone I know having appeared to have simultaneously contracted a cold, I have been overdosing on vitamin C and continuously wearing a scarf. Thankfully, my paranoia must have worked so far, as I have not even had a snuffle. I am so much stronger than what I was three weeks ago. My last hard session was two days ago in Bushy Park. On a horrible, dark, wet and windy evening, for once I had no company, no one to share the workload with. The plan was for two miles in ten minutes. A generous ninety second break followed by four one mile reps. The plan had been to hit 4.55, 4.42, 4.55, 4.38. I stood at the end of the two miles in ten minutes, soaked to the skin and freezing. Breaking a five minute mile seemed unlikely never mind under 4.40. The first mile felt like I was going all out. It took all my energy to hit 4.55. This was definitely a night for mental training, in addition to the physical benefits. Fifteen minutes later, I stood exhausted but happy. The last three miles were 4.39, 4.37, 4.35. Not superfast times by any means but it was the confidence boost I needed. I am fit, no doubt about it, I am definitely fit. I am starting to believe that I am fit enough to win this Sunday, now it is all about having the correct race. The European Cross Country is a notoriously hard race from gun to tape and the snow creates a new challenge. But after missing Zurich and not being able to run for weeks on end, there is no place I would rather be come Sunday. Whatever happens, I know I fly back to London next week ready for Christmas, which for others might mean partying. For me and my training group, Christmas, however, means a different thing. It means it is time to start training hard and running fast. The indoors are just around the corner.

The senior men’s race is at 11.58 Northern Irish time this Sunday and (as far as I know) is live on RTE and BBC red button for anyone interested.