An awkward recovery

Back in Aberdeen my classmate Gavin McKay had this philosophy on pain. He said it's there to make sure you don't do things that prevent your body from healing. As a result he never took painkillers. This was quite hardcore seeing as he was British Universities' Champion in a form of Mogul Skiing, a sport with a high injury rate that tended to get higher the further up the ladder you go as participants take more risks. He even avoided taking them when he seriously dislocated his shoulder. Ouch!

I mention this because I am nowhere near as hardcore as Gavin. I have a sore leg, my lower right leg to be precise. It's been a solid 10 days since the race and my whole body had pretty much recovered by the fourth day. All except my lower right leg. The shin hurts like nobody's business, especially when I walk. I've taken the odd Nurofen here and there to alleviate it but in general it's still bloody awful.

John took longer to recover than I expected. He was still fairly wrecked when we went to see Leinster beat Connacht in a rather dull encounter at the RDS last week, in general though everything seems in full working order.

A Swedish kneeling chair is the main source of Gareth's recuperation post race. Not exactly my cup of tea.

The good hurt

Emmet and John change their allegiances

“Just one minute to go,” roared Tommy Tiernan. Well I could hardly go and let down a man that made a career out of telling dick jokes now, could I?

The gun went and we were off walking. At Merrion Square we ran into Rachel, Gareth’s girlfriend, who attempted to take some photos but the camera wouldn’t work. We met her again a few minutes later where Westland Row meets Pearse St as she tried again in vain to get a picture of our merry band.

The Phoenix Park must be the dullest four miles on any marathon course in the World. John and I got there at the four mile mark where Gareth came steaming up beside us, panting like a dog. He had fallen a little behind as he slowed to chat with a cousin he met. The park was so boring that the three of us did not fancy the next 18 miles at all. In order to alleviate his boredom John decided to start running at the eight mile mark.

It was here that disaster nearly struck...someone else. As we came barrelling out of the park with the main peleton I nearly knocked over some narky short lady, though her narkiness may have been directly caused by my nearly knocking her over. It was an accident I swear.

“Oh fuck,” I thought to myself. “I’m done.” We hadn’t even reach nine miles yet but the hill at Chapelizod had me beat. Then it was as though Jim Steinmann himself came down and carried me those last few steps because once I was over the hill I was grand again, recharged and ready for action.

On to Dolphin’s Barn with a barman acting as an impromptu steward. “Straight down on the right,” he yelled as he waved wildly. As we approached the 13 mile marker I jogged slightly ahead of Gareth, almost ceremonially, so he could run up and tag me before going ahead. He decided to risk his ankle and run the remainder. For me it was iPod time.

“YEAH!” I roared as I crossed the halfway marker which was a little further up the road. It was on these same streets last year that the wheels came off as both calves and my right quad decided to call it quits, not today, not this time.

15 miles in and something is wrong, my left leg is beginning to seize up fast. I thought of Dilios in 300 “It’s just a leg; the Gods saw fit to grace me with a spare.” Luckily all I actually needed was to stretch it quickly and I was grand. Ciaran was shocked to see me at the 18 mile mark, just 20 minutes behind John. It turned out that he’d taken a brief break and in the meantime Gareth overtook him.

Indeed Gareth was going so fast that Rachel had missed him when I ran into her in Milltown, and she would miss him again at Nutley and the finish. I have to say though she was an awesome help as she provided drinks and encouragement at many points throughout the race.

PowerGel or whatever it’s called tastes manky. Ma gave me some on Foster’s Avenue along with some Powerade and it tasted awful. Still I was making good time but had to stop briefly for some running repairs as a toenail was cutting into another toe. Ouch!

Back on the road and Jim Steinmann returned to get me through from 22 miles to the 24 mile mark. A cheesefest of the highest order began on my iPod with Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Holding out for a Hero’, followed by Meatloaf’s ‘I’d do anything for love’ and ‘I’d lie for you’ with a short break before the Meatloaf version of ‘It’s all coming back to me’. Somewhere in North Dublin Greg Bowler is smiling.

Nearly there and with one mile to go it’s time to unleash the heavy hitters, it’s Rocky time. ‘Eye of the Tiger’ by Survivor, followed by ‘Gonna Fly Now’ and ‘Rocky’s Reward’, this couldn’t get more butch. I’m hurting something bad but damn if that’s going to stop me.

As I reach the 26 mile mark I begin to jog and there I see Tommy Tiernan roaring me on, it seemed that he had hung around to cheer on a few punters so fair play to him. Around the final bend onto Merrion Square and I’m running as hard as my heavy legs will let me. I see the clock, you bet it’s a pleasant sight, and raise my arms aloft in triumph as I cross the line.

My official time was 7 hours 16 minutes, nearly half an hour faster than 2006 and far closer to John than last year. He crossed the line in 6 hours 29 minutes, but where on Earth was Gareth?

The man with injured ankle truly had outpaced us all. His time of 5 hours 45 minutes was so fast that Rachel, despite giving herself what all of us thought was more than ample time to get to the finish, couldn’t find him and still hadn’t by the time John finished. He did turn up eventually and was duly turfed out of Ireland the next day and sent back to France.

PS: There'll be photos up on this blog in a few days...stay tuned.

And then there were three

This is the best picture we could find of Gareth. Honest.

I promised a big announcement so here it is. Dr Gareth Murphy will join the STIG for CF Ireland team for 2007.

Gareth suffered an ankle injury similar to the one that put me out of action for three months, just a couple of months ago. Like me he tore ligaments around his ankle, causing a whole heap of pain. Gareth's chances of participating in the marathon looked slim at that stage and the problems would be compounded in September. Just a couple of mornings before the half marathon, which was meant to be his first effort at training after injuring himself, Gareth managed to stab himself in the foot by stepping on his big shiny belt buckle while getting out of bed.

His PhD may be in Cosmic Physics but he'll be earning a professorship in pain come the 29th of October. Under normal circumstances Gareth would slaughter both myself and John. He's barely over 10 stone and tends to keep in good shape. This time though he'll be heavily hindered as his ankle still hasn't fully recovered with the marathon being the first test of it since the injury.