“You are doing the Streets of Galway, aren’t you?” I’d been asked this question many a time over the summer. “No, but sure I might try to get a ticket if one comes my way”, was my reply to mates both inside and outside the TriClub. When the tickets had gone on sale back in the Spring, I was still not entirely shin-splint-free (my physical bane of the past year and a half) and was in the throes of finishing up a PhD (my mental bane of the past four years). So I had let it pass. But now it was a week away from the race. The PhD was done, the summer buzz was in full swing, and the shins, well, they were…eh…ok-ish. Lots of friends were texting in how they were coming back from abroad or the big smoke for the race, and I was beginning to feel the pang of regret for not signing up.
“Anyone need a streets entry”? The message was pinging in an array of Galway group chats the week before the race. My saviour came in the form of Kate Collins Smyth (thank you, Kate!), who was able to unload one of her extra tickets to me a few days before the race. I was in. The buzz was mounting.
“Surely you could do it sub-thirty, no?” This seed was laid in my mind by James Brennan after the first round of the GTC aquathon on the Wednesday evening before the Streets. I hadn’t attempted a flat-out run all year because of the splints, but I had managed a decent run that evening and the legs were feeling good, perhaps due to the amount of cycling rather than running I’d been doing that year. James’ prompt recalled a promise I had made to myself last year after the Streets: a sub-thirty time at thirty years of age. I had never managed such a time before, but since I had just turned thirty, the goal was resurrected. James was aiming for that time, and so I said I’d try to do it with him.
“Christ, my legs are tight”, I kept saying to myself during the days between the aquathon and the Streets. It turns out that running fast does take a toll on the body… who would have thought? But that Friday evening before the race, I begrudgingly forced myself to stretch in the gym rather than head for a bike ride. I didn’t feel like it made much of a difference, as the following morning my hamstrings and calves still felt as stiff as a board. Maybe sub-thirty at thirty was a bit of a stretch after all.
I remember the past few iterations of the Streets being lovely, clear, and dry evenings. As I finally made my way to the starting area about forty-five minutes before the race to do a warm-up and some drills, the grey sky began to emit some piercing rain. I found myself huddled under a tree in Fr. Griffen Park with some other fellow triathletes. Maybe it was a sign I shouldn’t have done it this year. But soon the rain began to abate, and I got a short warm-up and some strides in, and before you know it James and I were in amongst the throngs of the starting crowd as Catherine Connely began the countdown.
“Hoooot”. And we were off. The scramble began as James and I weaved and wound our way around fellow runners until we managed to get into a pack that was going at our pace. The crowds once more did not fail to make an impression. I always forget the difference that a crowd can make on a race day, I thought, as the echoes of the people of Galway cheered us all on.
We probably went a bit too fast in the first kilometre, but we managed to rein ourselves in and get into a steady pace as we passed by Eyre Square and then headed down Eglinton Street towards the Cathedral. I was feeling ok, aerobically at least. I’d recently done a cycling holiday in France for a week where we had done about two km of elevation each day (call that a holiday if you will), and so the aerobic engine was well oiled. My legs were working, even if they were a bit tight.
Shortly after the 2 km mark, the injury gods decided to spare me but unfortunately not James. He had to slow down and take it more steadily, but he told me to keep motoring on. Though I was worried my driver was gone, there was a group around us who were still going at a sub-thirty pace, so I clung to them as we made the left turn at the hospital to funnel down Newcastle Road.
I decided not to take any of the water being offered near the 3 km mark. I thought it might resurrect some of the pasta I had gobbled down a few hours before. But then I saw loads of other people taking it, drinking it, and splashing themselves with it. I had FOMO. Had I made the wrong decision?
“Over the hill now”, I said to a young lad beside me as we hit the 4km mark, who smiled as we began to mount a short hill. He had become my new pacer, and we stuck with each other until the end of the race.
The next water offering was near Pearse Stadium. I grabbed some this time, took a couple of gulps, and dosed the rest on my head just like all the proper athletes. But as I feared, a few minutes later I was beginning to feel the remnants of pasta threatening to gurgle in my throat. Note to self: don’t be a sheep and stick with your gut when it literally tells you not to take some water.
It is truly a wonderful feeling when you finally turn onto the prom near Leisureland and the prevailing wind is at your back. You can’t quite see the finish line at Nemo’s Pier just yet, but you can sense it as the wind pushes you along the last 2 km. I had eight minutes to do the last 2 km to make sub-thirty, so I tried to keep a calm head and not implode.
The last kilometre around the Claddagh was tough as always. Fewer people were cheering us on, but my new pacer kept me honest. As the last 200 m came into view and a swelling crowd began to re-emerge, I emptied the tank and sprinted over the gravel finishing stretch before nearly collapsing. I had done it! Sub-thirty at thirty.
There is always a great atmosphere after the race as you spot and chat with different faces that you know from various Galway circles. A couple of waters were drunk, a couple of photos were taken, and then I had to run off to attend a friend’s engagement party. As I began to jog back home, my left IT band gave a bit of an internal twang that made me slow down. Though my legs would continue to protest over the next few days, the pain was all worth it at that moment.