Reaching the Peak - 54 Minutes Of Flow

My legs feel relaxed as I drop out of the woods into the car park and on to the main street; the rhythm destroying transition from steep roots to flat asphalt not affecting me like in the previous three years. Hitting the seafront I involuntarily punch the air as drivers beep their approval and the gathered crowd clap and cheer.  Needlessly I hurdle a sign on the pavement before cruising through the finish line and releasing a guttural roar, pure emotion cascading out.  I'm not in control of my actions, the essential link between brain and body is somehow removed, a severing that took place sometime prior to the race and remained missing throughout.  I've smashed a course record that seemed previously untouchable and it felt painless, almost effortless.  I feel that I may have discovered the most elusive of sporting qualities, the concept of flow, and it feels incredible!

I have a love/love relationship with Slieve Donard, Northern Ireland's highest peak.  Rising 853 metres directly out of the striking coastline of Newcastle, County Down it has provided me with some of my most satisfying athletic achievements.  Last year I completed a 3hr 25min Donard Hat-Trick as an extreme training exercise in preparation for the World Running Champs in mountainous Colorado.  This year I completed a different kind of Donard hat-trick, winning Ireland's oldest and most prestigious mountain race for the third consecutive year.  It's the peak that initially inspired my interest in fell running when I read about the exploits of superhuman athletes who could somehow reach its distant summit and return in under an hour.  Now I can count myself amongst that elite group, a triumph of hard work and self belief over age and inexperience.

My first attempt at the Slieve Donard race was back in 2012, two years after Stevie Cunningham tore up the record books with a blistering 54:33 winning time.  I ran pretty well for a newcomer, finishing 7th in 1:00:46 but it was a result that brought more frustration than satisfaction.  Position mattered little to me as I never considered that I'd be a contender for honours but I badly wanted to break the hour.  The worst aspect of this was the knowledge that I'd be compelled to return the following year and go through the sheer agony of dragging myself over the steep and treacherous ground once again. So twelve months on I returned fitter, wiser and with better technique, aiming purely to knock 47 seconds off my time, thus allowing me to retire from competition happy in the knowledge that I could do 'the hour'.  That year saw a mini blizzard decimate the lead group high on the slopes and I found myself alone out front. The shock of winning took literally weeks to sink in.  My name was on the trophy with a 57:01 and some kind folk were even suggesting that I could've troubled the course record if conditions had been slightly less ridiculous for a mid-May day.

With that optimistic inspiration in mind I returned the following year with the sole goal of beating Cunningham's mark.  A weaker field left the result in little doubt.  I'd continued to improve rapidly in the sport and my closest rivals were away with the International squad so it was mainly the fast time that I sought.  I buried myself on the climb, summitting in 38:42 but my legs were hollowed out and I limped down, collapsing over the line incredibly in an identical 57:01.  I never considered it possible that I'd win the Slieve Donard race and be left disappointed but in truth I felt none of the buzz of my previous totally unexpected victory.  My ambitions had shifted and I'd fallen way short of the 55 minute times that characterised the wins of the top previous champions.

Apparently pushing the pace from the start!

And so to 2015 and an anticipated epic head to head with the most exciting prospect that Irish mountain running has seen in a long time.  My friend and occasional training partner Seamus Lynch has propelled himself to the top of the elite pile this year.  He's served his apprenticeship over previous seasons and pushed me to new levels in 2014 in my desperate attempts to keep ahead of him.  After a Winter that demonstrated both his improving speed and widening versatility, victorious in Cross Country races as well as 10k's, he's crushed everyone in the hills so far this season, winning everything that he's entered.  The knowledge that he's never beaten me on an open mountain race kept me confident but although the official pundits had us as joint favourites I knew that the majority fancied Lynch for the win.  My preparation generally went excellently and even a flare up of a stomach ulcer three weeks before the race allowed some enforced recovery time which ended up as a positive.  Nine days before Donard I achieved a long held ambition of taking the title on the brutal 'Binnian to the Top' race on a route that climbs a tortuous 2,000ft in just two miles.  It holds both special importance for me as venue for my first ever fell race and also special frustration after three consecutive second places! Following that success every session went as planned and I maintained firm self control to drop a few extra pounds to keep my weight to an absolute healthy minimum. With every quality session my self belief grew.  It's hard to explain but my psychological strength grows very gradually, day by day, with every strong training performance and every day of minimising unnecessary calorific intake. When asked by others I maintained my line that a sub-55 minute time was my only ambition but with a week to go I began to re-frame my objectives.  I could feel something special brewing.  As ever I visualised every inch of the race, playing out possible permutations in my mind.  What to do if I find myself behind, how to react if I'm alone out front, when to attack, what lines to take.  It sounds like overkill but these races are won as much in the mind as the legs.  A single thought kept returning to my mind and that was the commentary of race chief Joe McCann as I ran the home straight to win and then his shocked proclamation that I'd beaten the record.  This theme dominated my thoughts, a self-fulfilling prophecy?

Race day was simply perfect.  An early morning jog felt good with the pain of recent Plantar Fasciitis in my heel flaring less than expected.  My kids were really placid, minimising race day stress and as I drove to Newcastle I felt an excitement devoid of the usual nauseating nervousness.  I managed to secure the last parking place right next to the start area and was signed on and registered with ninety minutes to spare.  And that's when strange feelings started occurring.  With time to kill I went to visit my wife Anna at work for a chat and as I did I became aware of a total calm, all nerves dissipating and anticipation disappearing.  The best way to describe it is that time was no longer relevant. Instead of the usual longing for the event to be over so I could release the pent up tension, I felt that I wasn't even sure that the race hadn't happened already.  Reading that back sounds ridiculous but it was genuinely how it felt.  Most people have heard of being 'in the zone', a state of intense focus on a singular goal but this went beyond that to a state where the goal was no longer tangible.  I felt almost absent, out of body as we lined up and the whistle sounded.

Leading out towards the open mountain

I went easy down the road, legs moving without cerebral input and breathing barely registering.  It's only seeing the photos afterwards that I've realised that I opened up a lead on this section, shaping the fast end of the race into the kind of arrow you see when the pace is high.  The lower forested sections of the course are steep and heavily rooted but my feet found their way instinctively and I pressed on, still feeling remarkably comfortable and waiting to be passed allowing someone else to dictate the pace.  Crossing the river on to the open mountain I continued to move smoothly up to the famous 'black stairs' a rocky outcrop that runners pick their way through with varying degrees of caution or abandon.  It was at this ridiculously steep section that I noticed a gap opening back to Seamus, only a small one but on ground that wild in gradient even a few feet is enough to constitute a breakaway. Under normal circumstances I might've been tempted to accelerate and try to open a potentially race winning gap but my tactical mind was firmly overcome by the overwhelming calmness.  As I pushed on up the open moorland I maintained the rhythm, lacking both the usual muscular pain and also missing the common leader's sense of feeling hunted by the 200 hungry runners behind.  I never look behind me when I race, it serves no function but the temptation is often overwhelming.  On Saturday it seemed irrelevant, if Seamus was back on my shoulder I wasn't concerned and when I moved out right to gain better, more runnable ground I expected Seamy to appear on my left taking his usual aggressive direct lines.

The masses hit the Black Stairs

I topped out in exactly 37 minutes.  My previous fastest ascent was 36:45 on my return from the Worlds last year when I was benefitting from some time spent running at high altitude.  However, that time didn't include the two road minutes of the race route so by that reckoning I'd just done the climb in 35 minutes!  Between the Northerly summit cairn and the actual summit cairn is fairly flat and it's essential to sprint this section on the way up to maximise any gaps on chasers.  A friend on the summit has assured me that I looked in a fair degree of pain as I fought the vicious headwind and turned to descend but inside my head the calm remained.  A heavily folded ankle simply sprang back into place and I dropped my head and sprinted as I passed Seamus still finishing his upward journey. I could see that I had a gap but I know that Lynch is an incredible descender, just the right combination of nerve and technique and I knew that he'd be dropping like a man possessed, whittling away my lead.  As I passed numerous ascending runners I was aware of a strange sense of enjoyment that I've never experienced on that technical, ankle straining plummet before.  I was also aware of at least four people saying 'go on Seamus' to me, unsurprised to see a flash of red Newcastle AC running kit but not aware that it was hanging off my back and not his.

My pre-race visualisation had always included a mantra that stated if I was leading as I crossed the river then the race would be mine.  I'm so familiar with the bottom section and it seems to favour my slightly skinnier and shorter body as we weave through trees and jump through slippery rocks and roots at full speed.  The auto pilot continued to guide me off the final steep section, leaping the ditch and hitting the car park where this blog began.

Coming back from the mountain alone

The finish straight was met with an overwhelming euphoria.  Yes I pumped my fist in the air, yes I pointed at the crowds, yes I hurdled that sign and yes I screamed out loud as I crossed the line.  But no, none of those actions were planned or even conscious.  The disconnect remained, mind and body working harmoniously but independently.

I've been told I looked fresh at the finish.  I certainly felt fresh.  Adrenaline, endorphins, pure delight, who knows what was in control of my mental faculties, but physically I felt good for another lap.  I bounced from handshake to hug and was vaguely conscious of Joe McCann announcing the new record.  On the one hand it was a huge shock as all the way up I'd been telling myself I'd better start putting some effort in if I wanted a decent time.  On the other hand it was no shock at all, I'd already heard him announce it tens of times before in my head the week before the race.

Reading this back I'm aware that it could be seen as disrespectful, claiming that the biggest performance of my life was actually pretty effortless whilst others were burying themselves behind.  I haven't written this blog to boast.  I'm actually trying to find some kind of explanation for myself, if only so I can replicate that performance again someday.  Another bizarre happening in the run up to the race is that I couldn't get an image of Pete Bland out of my head from the photos in Richard Askwith's brilliant 'Feet In The Clouds' homage to all things fell running.  Bland is leaping in the air in total ecstacy after finally winning the Ambleside race in 1968.  He was quoted as saying 'it was like being in a dream - I had no pain'.  All I know is that I now understand what he meant.

Pete Bland after Ambleside 1968 (wearing kit borrowed off Barney Rubble?)

And so to the facts and figures.  I finished in 53:45, slicing 48 seconds off the previous 'modern day' record that involves the four minutes plus of road running to and from the mountain proper.  The previous record for 'just' the mountain was 50:30 held by Ian Holmes, a man sometimes described as 'the greatest fell runner of all time'.  My mountain time was definitely faster than that and I'd confidently, if totally speculatively go so far as to say that I may be the only person in history to run the mountain in less than 50 minutes.  Other genuine greats have also been surpassed including Irish athletic legend, World Championship medallist and all time Snowdon ascent record holder Robbie Bryson who's fastest win was 52:28 in 1999 and nine time Donard winner Deon McNeilly who's 1998 personal best stands at 55:08, neither including the road.

Let me state this in clear, unquestionable terms.  I'm not suggesting for one minute that my abilities are on par with those legends of the sport.  I've undoubtedly now made my mark but those men won all the big races in many record times that have stood for decades and may well stand for all time. What I have done is helped prove that there is a new generation of Mournes based runners who will hopefully be viewed in the same league as those few (and there are others I've not mentioned).  I've also moved my psychological goalposts and now believe that I can compete in the biggest races.  I dearly hope that I'll get one last run out for the NI squad at the Snowdon International race and I'll attack it without fear.  Likewise, with an entry for Ben Nevis and the World Masters taking place in North Wales I may well be looking for a blaze of glory end to my running career!

I've stated my desire to stop competing on numerous occasions.  The pressure I put on myself to achieve can be debilitating and effects my health, my mental state and those around me who have to put up with my moods and singular focus. Unfortunately I can't compete purely for enjoyment, and the quest for results sometimes hinders my appreciation of the pure joys of being able to get amongst the peaks at will, moving at speed and appreciating the connection between man and nature.  It's a sad affliction but one that I have to accept.  I just wonder whether having had a brief glimpse of that unique mental and physical state which I've best heard described as 'flow' will leave me happy to stop, content in the knowledge that I once reached that level or will it leave me forever chasing the unique set of circumstances that generated it in the first place.

Only time will tell but in the meantime I'm just enjoying these memories...