What a beautiful start to what turned out to be a fabulous day… hit the road at 7 bells after downing creamy porridge laden with banana and a good shot of Baileys (Zero-Zero Baileys of course ).  Standard protein powders are overrated; the true champion of morning endurance is a generous splash of Baileys in your porridge, a tried and tested pre-workout strategy that transforms what could be a bleak, rainy morning in north Roscommon into a triumphant (but perhaps slightly blurry) victory no matter what the day throws your way.

Lough Key is a 90 minute spin from Galway and the more civilised later start of 10.30am lends to an easy morning.  Registration saw some friendly faces and was seamless in the main Forest Park building, lending to great  facilities (plenty of high quality loo roll if you were there early enough!).  Lough Key Triathlon is the only race where you can swim through majestic (ish) lake waters, bike ancient Irish woodlands, and run toward a 19th-century castle while questioning every single life choice that brought you there.  The stunning location masterfully misleads competitors with its breathtaking scenery – because it is much harder to complain about your burning legs and lungs when you are surrounded by those castles, fairy bridges and historic tower houses.

As athletes converged on the lake, the clouds looked ready to open the floodgates, but the severed head of Prague’s finest was already working its silent magic, the skies held back, Transition stayed dry, and the only drowning happening was athletes lunging into slightly algae bloom lake water – it sure beats jelly fish! TI Officials advised the swim might be cancelled with some minor spots of green algae and the run extended adding calf crushing kilometres.  Thanks to some elite-level sweet-talking from the Lough Key Swim Director, the algae parted like the Red Sea, allowing us all into the drink.

The swim start was a large cluster of hopefuls angling for a straight run at the Castle, nice temperature and the carpeted entry/exit felt like a Hollywood premiere.  Two lefts around two big yellow buoys the Roscommon Minions of the marine world—bright, stubby, and completely oblivious to the chaos about to ensue and swirl around them.  It made sighting easy and the wide start line made even the mass start manageable for swimmers of all abilities.

A few GTC’ers exited the swim in unison which made for a friendly face and a bit of trauma-bonding  banter whilst trying to figure the next bit out… Helmet on and a short run to mount line, partly on grass which made running in the high heels a little easier.

The Veteran GTC’er beside me had described the bike as lumpy, and I hadn’t really done all that much recce (bar that child of Prague and the Porridge), so wasn’t really too sure of what was to unwind.  23km of ups and downs, some tight corners and a packed field.  Roads were open, but quiet to traffic leaving the bike like an impromptu, high-stakes Team Pursuit game of cycling tag riding close enough to catch a draft but far enough apart to make it legal!

The bike route took us around the lake on a well paved country road routing back out onto the main road.  The last 3k was back through the park and needed your full white knuckle attention as surface wasn’t as good and a few well forewarned tight turns brought us back for our Sunday saunter through the Park.

After some friendly jostling for position in Transition and a doling out of long overdue seasonal penalty seconds by the nicest TI Official in Ireland (he was sound – as JOC got the push penalty), we blazed off on the run.  The start takes the proverbial, up-hill to the Moylurg Tower, but the volunteers blasting out Rocky theme tunes at the top did help numb the pain and trick the legs into thinking once you’re at the top sure isn’t the rest all down-hill.  The run around the park through the trees and over the fairy bridges is calm and cool, with some soft mossy/grass spots under foot too giving the knees and those troublesome calves some much needed relief.  There were a few patches of fresh gravel – no doubt laid by a rogue Roscommon County Council crew who forgot that sand exists—but all in all, it was a lovely route, rounding the edge of the park with a perfectly placed water station at the halfway mark to prevent those dehydration-induced hallucinations.

The finish chute and commentator were world-class—honestly, any pro race would be proud of it. The crowd support was immense, fuelled by energetic volunteers, family, friends, and the odd, deeply confused tourist who had just come to the park for a quiet walk and was now screaming at sweaty strangers.

Post race nutrition was unreal –  plenty of water, fruit and chocolate protein milk, not to forget Paddy Paella straight off the plane from Albufeira – a welcome well stacked plate of hot rice and chicken to nourish both body and soul.

The goody bag and medal was A1 – whether you crossed the finish line like a triumphant warrior or a muddy, winded extra from a medieval battle scene, you were guaranteed a Traitor like Swim Hoody and a  wooden medal carrying all the rustic prestige of a prize won at a confused lumberjack convention.  Some free shower tokens and some free entries to the local Sauna lakeside, a brilliant psychological trick to convince our broken bodies that this was a luxurious wellness weekend and not self-inflicted torture, successfully gaslighting us into signing up again for next year.!  Would make a lovely club race next year with tri a try and Sprint distances, their 20^th year, so the goody bag will be a Bumper!!

Thanks to all at Lough Key, all the Organisers, Sponsors, Volunteers.. oh and that TI Official –  a cracking day out.. now back to my porridge .

Lots has changed in the meantime more kids, less speed, more struggle but Kenmare and The Lost Sheep stays the same.

When you enter the Lost Sheep a wonderful weekend in Kenmare is guaranteed. As a weekend family race break, it’s our favourite in Ireland.

Arrival on Friday night for registration starts to build the race experience and kicks off the nerves.

Its a dark set-up on Saturday morning which I love, it seems perfectly in tune with the struggle ahead and of course it was raining because it always seems to rain in the morning in Kenmare!

As sun peaks out of from under the bed clothes, it banished the rain and the clouds, the light brings life, chats and a giddy energy to transition. The humm and buzz ever-increasing as the moments pass by. Something fun is about to happen…

As more and more athletes secrete themselves in their wetsuits and transition starts to empty “the silence” falls across Kenmare Pier only punctated by the clickers as the count into the water begins, you know the fun isnt far away now!

The race and course hasn’t changed at all and it’s a beauty in every sense. Kenmare Bay in full late summer morning light is a stunning sight. The swim is a simple traditional triathlon triangle swim. Its a mass start but not a chaotic one due to the wide start line and differing views on the best line to swim.

The bike is a beaut from the first climb at Lauragh that warms you up for what is coming, onto the Healy Pass, continuing to the sugarloaf on the road to Glengariff and onto what seems to be the never-ending Caha Pass(its actually only 8 km’s haha), once your over it then its an amazing downhill rush/push back into to Kenmare. I hit 69.8 kph at one stage on the way back to Kenmare – I was in a bit of rush! It’s a challenging bike ride but you always seem to be making progress the 80ish kms fly by. There is commandarie on the course and lots of chatting especially on the Healy Pass and Caha Pass which does make it easier.

The bike was best desribed to me years ago going up the Healy Pass by someone as “ya know if this was a stage in the Tour de France it would have a cat 3 climb and 2 cat 1 climbs but sure its grand because it so beautiful and interesting and loads of fun”.

And then you start the run perfectly summed up by Martin Divilly years ago with the following phase “it’s a pig of a run” and yes it is a difficult run everbody suffers from now until the finish. Weather you’re doing 4 hrs 30mins or 7 hours its the same for everyone but that’s essence of the Lost Sheep Challenge, keeping it going and the reward at the end of run is, it’s over, you’ve done it and you don’t have to it again until next year or in my case eight years later. It really suprised me how many people I recognised from years past and are still doing it.

My own race well it was a really good aquabike but a struggle of a Trithalon. Very happy with my swim, my bike was better than expected but the run was a struggle for large portions of it but that’s just something to work on. Really happy with it the overall. Will I be back? Yes I have unfinished business with the run AGAIN! Will it be next year? Maybe. I definitely wont leave it eight years again thats too much fun to miss out on.

Kenmare on Saturday afternoon and evening eases the aches and pains brings a fresh energy to the legs(where was it on it run). Great vibes(as the young ones might say), great fun, lots of cool places to eat and drink – especially drink – and just to wonder around, thankfully it’s small so you you don’t have to do too much walking.

Massive shout-out to Cork Tri Club for continuing to run and refine the Lost Sheep and also Francis and Monster Timing – real time Athlete tracking is huge addition to those of us who have family and friends at a race – it allows them to interact with you for loves and hugs at strategic parts of the course without them having to spend hours waiting around.

The scene was set in the fine town of Athlone, the heart of Ireland and, depending on who you ask, the unofficial capital of the Midlands. While the swim itself starts on the far side of Lough Ree in Roscommon, all roads eventually lead back to Athlone Castle and, more importantly, Sean’s Bar.

On Saturday morning, Galway Triathlon Club’s finest (or at least three of them) headed to Athlone to take part in the Jim O’Connor Memorial Castle to Castle Swim.

The event, now in its fourth year, sees swimmers cover 13.5km from Rindoon Castle in Co. Roscommon to Athlone Castle in Co. Westmeath, raising funds for Pieta. This year an incredible €82,000 was raised for the charity.

The day started exactly as you’d order it for a long-distance swim. A mild late-summer morning, no wind to speak of, and pleasant temperatures. Competitors gathered at Bay Sports in Hodson Bay for registration and the race briefing ahead of an early start. The solo swimmers had their own briefing elsewhere while the relay teams compared boats, swimming plans and levels of nervousness.

Our relay team consisted of Colin O’Donnell, Andy Ainley and myself, proudly representing Galway Triathlon Club as Team R9. Given our team number, it felt only right to embrace the nickname. Whether people thought of the original Ronaldo or simply three lads trying to recreate former glory is another matter.

A late addition to our crew was captain Kevin Clabby, who arrived with Luna Sea, a beautiful vintage Fletcher speedboat that was celebrating its 40th birthday.

At 9am we departed Hodson Bay and headed for the start line at Rindoon Castle with all three swimmers on board. The journey itself was worth the trip. It was brilliant to see dozens of support boats, RIBs and speedboats making their way across the lake towards the various start positions. The atmosphere was building long before anyone got into the water.

As relay team nine, our scheduled start time was 10:09. However, when relay team six failed to make the start line on time, we were unexpectedly promoted and sent off a minute early.

Now, Team R6 deserves a special mention. Featuring fellow GTC member Aoife Lowry, they arrived with what can only be described as a budget-conscious maritime operation. Their vessel was literally rolled out of the back of a car and inflated that morning using a foot pump. Despite this, the team was full of laughter and completely unfazed. While the rest of us admired shiny speedboats and polished RIBs, they seemed determined to prove that enthusiasm could compensate for horsepower. How that boat passed the safety inspection remains one of the great mysteries of the Shannon, but fair play to them, they never stopped smiling.

I got the nod to start for Team R9. Our strategy was simple: 30-minute rotations throughout the swim. We had a whistle on board, with one blast at 10 minutes, two blasts at 20 minutes and a final whistle signalling it was time for the next swimmer to jump in.

The plan worked well. We quickly closed down the first relay team ahead of us. Andy got in next and continued the momentum by making ground on two more boats. Colin then took over and finished the job, powering past both teams and moving us further up the field.

The first half of the swim flew by. Each of us covered roughly 1.8km during our 30-minute stint, and before long we found ourselves weaving through a bit of boat traffic while trying to navigate around teams ahead. Thankfully, we came out the right side of it.

By the time I got back in for my second stint, we were beginning to encounter the solo swimmers. Many of them were swimming in skins. Watching them power along while the three of us bounced around in wetsuits led to a discussion on board that perhaps “Floaty Boys” wasn’t the most accurate description of our team. In hindsight, “Soft Boys” may have been more appropriate.

Along the way we passed fellow GTC member Sarah McNamara, accompanied by Gabe in the kayak. Sarah was taking on the full distance solo for the second year running and doing it in skins. Fair play to her, that’s a level of toughness the rest of us were happy to admire from the comfort of our wetsuits.

The course itself was very swimmer-friendly. Large yellow inflatable buoys every 500 metres made sighting straightforward, which meant there was less time staring at the horizon wondering if you were still travelling in the right direction and more time simply getting into a rhythm.

As the kilometres ticked by, the routine became swim, eat, drink, recover and repeat. We each covered roughly another 1.8km during our second 30-minute rotation and before long the finish started to feel achievable.

For the final stretch we switched to 15-minute rotations before all three swimmers entered the water together for the last 300 metres.

Without doubt, the final 1.5km was the highlight of the day. After hours crossing open water on Lough Ree, the course narrowed as we entered the River Shannon and made our way towards Athlone. Swimming under four bridges with spectators lining the railings above created an atmosphere unlike anything else in open-water swimming. Every bridge seemed packed with family, friends and supporters shouting encouragement as swimmers made their way towards the castle.

There was one final tactical masterstroke in the closing stages. As we approached Athlone, Andy apparently decided that overtaking a female solo swimmer in togs was absolutely essential to our relay ambitions. Whether it was a competitive instinct, a sudden surge of energy from seeing the finish line, or simply a refusal to be outsprinted after spending half the day on the water remains unclear. Either way, he got the job done.

Crossing the finish line at Athlone Castle in 4 hours & 5 mins was a brilliant feeling. We collected our medals from Joanne O’Connor, grabbed our goodie bags and immediately turned our attention towards hot food and warm drinks. The finish area was buzzing with swimmers, supporters, volunteers and family members. With music playing and stories being exchanged, it was a fantastic atmosphere and a fitting end to the day.

A huge thanks must also go to our captain Kevin Clabby. Not only did he keep us on course and safely navigate the various boats spread across Lough Ree, but he also somehow managed to spend an entire day listening to three triathletes offering completely unnecessary advice from the water.

And because no trip to Athlone is complete without it, the celebrations continued afterwards in Sean’s Bar. As Ireland’s oldest pub and, naturally, Ireland’s best pub, it seemed only right to toast a great day’s swimming there.

The Castle to Castle Swim is one of the most enjoyable endurance events I’ve taken part in. It’s extremely well organised, supports a fantastic cause and seems to gain more attention every year. If you’re looking for a challenge that’s tough enough to be memorable but enjoyable enough to have you planning your return before you’ve even left Athlone, I’d highly recommend it.

Useful Tips for Future Participants

• Bring plenty of snacks. Sandwiches, Haribo and anything else that’s easy to eat between swims.
• A Dryrobe is worth its weight in gold.
• Find a captain who knows Lough Ree and the Shannon well.
• Bring more layers than you think you’ll need for sitting on the boat.
• Don’t forget the sun cream.
• Have your rotation plan agreed before the start.
• Most importantly, enjoy the day. The atmosphere is every bit as memorable as the swim itself.

One final update on Aoife Lowry’s Team R6 (the aquaholics!): if you’re wondering, they did indeed make it to Athlone Castle – in an impressive 4 hours & 12 mins!  More remarkably, their inflatable boat also survived the journey, was safely deflated afterwards and somehow fitted back into the boot of the car for the trip home.

Organized by the Turkish Olympic Committee, the rules are strict: no neoprene, no watch, risk disqualification if you leave on a necklace, cut your nails short or they will hand you clippers to do so. Time cut off is precisely two hours to allow shipping to reopen.

The water is the meeting of two seas, with two opposing currents. The cooler water from the Black Sea will bring you towards the finish; the warmer one from the Sea of Marmara will pull you backwards stronger than you can swim. Most of the swim takes place in the middle forward current, but to succeed, you must enter the backwards current, judging timing and trajectory to ensure you have the energy to cut across to shore.

Numerous swimmers either overshoot the finish and have to swim hard across the current to try to reach the end pontoon before being swept too far back; or turn towards the finish too early and be unable to fight the current to the finish line, needing a boat pickup. Both of which happened this year again.

My Bosphorus adventure started on a Swimtrek trip to Montenegro, where I met Hurriyet, an Istanbul native who swims it with her sister every year. She said, ‘you could totally do it!’ So, a seed was planted. I came home and discovered that our own Fiona Walsh had completed it a couple of years ago. Fiona gave me amazing advice and tips when I was nervously training during the year. As non-Turks must register through an organisation, I used Swimtrek again.

The Swimtrek team organised a boat trip up river to point out the route and navigational landmarks – the middle of the first bridge, the low dipping power lines, the massive Turkish flag on a hill, and most importantly, the tiny Galatasaray islet, after which you turn into the counter current to reach the finish line. As we listened to our guide, I watched smiling faces around me turn to trepidation.

On the morning of the swim, we set off up the river to the start line in two large boats. I boarded mine with around a thousand or so others at 7:30 for a two and a half hour wait for the race start. I met up with Hurriyet and her sister. With over 20 swims between them, newbies were hanging on their every word. Then finally, jellies were consumed and it was time to fling ourselves off the pontoon and into the water in an each-swimmer-for-themselves scramble. No time to feel scared jumping off, just swim fast out of the way of the next thundering body.

It was a glorious swim for the first three quarters, soft and salty water. I kept in the cool current, sighting frequently to stay in the middle. Then the wind unexpectedly changed direction, rolling big waves into our faces, slowing us down and making it impossible to sight the position of the islet or the finisher flags.

I focused on the only visible landmark, a bridge strut beyond the finish, realising too late I’d spent too long before the turn. I’d overshot and had to make a hard diagonal against the current to try to get to the pontoon ladders.
Never has practice swimming back to the Blackrock tower come in so handy! It was tough work, but I threw my arms into it.

Finally, I was there! Heaving myself up the ladder and trotting over the magical scanning carpet, to finish in a respectable hour and a half. Goodies were thrust into our hands, including the national drink, salty yoghurt! Elated faces were everywhere. I changed quickly into my new souvenir t-shirt to meet Niall, who was waiting in the spectator’s area.

I’m not a long-distance swimmer, or a speedy swimmer, but members of our club inspired me with their great swimming achievements. When I first joined the Tri club, Aideen Allen and Miriam Wall coached me out to the 100m buoy. With the help of numerous Tri club lessons and friends, plus Aisling Lynch and Caroline Doorly’s coaching, I realised I loved being in the water.

Swimming has opened up adventures to me, and I highly recommend the Bosphorus to anyone who fancies a different type of challenge.

Conor Keville

2. Birthplace, and other places you have lived

Galway!

3. When did you join GTC and why?

I joined in December 2020 for the 2021 season to improve my open water swimming skills mostly.

When I lived in Dublin, the local beach was an hour away, so it was great to be able to get in more often!

4. Occupation

Digital marketing manager.

5. Previous sports

An uneventful stint in the U-13 Father Griffin Éire Óg Gaelic football team. I wasn’t very good.

6. Swim, bike, or run. Which do you prefer and why?

Run!

Because I’ve never regretted going for one. Part meditation, part socialising, part fitness.

7. Favourite event, or favourite place to train

Ironman Cork 140.6 in 2022.

I had signed up in 2019 for 2020 as my first full, but it was pushed back two years. The extra training time was needed in hindsight!

I’m not sure if it was the pre-race jitters or the fact it was the first big tri event in Ireland post-COVID, but there was something in the air.

The sea was flat calm, the wall of energy going up Windmill Hill was electric, and the 4-lap run with all the locals out cheering with their signs and hosepipes was epic.

I still have the coloured lap bands around my rear-view mirror in the car. I always get goosebumps thinking about the finishing chute. It will never be topped.

Finishing before the heavens opened was a bonus.

8. Sporting claim to fame

Learning to swim in my 20s!

9. Three music tracks that power your training sessions

• Oasis, Supersonic
• Oasis, Live Forever
• Darude, Sandstorm

When I ran the Connemarathon Ultra in 2023, I just listened to an Oasis mix until my headphones ran out. Brilliant day out.

Sandstorm is like a caffeinated energy gel in soundwave form. Great for a kick!

10. Your all-time sporting hero, and why?

Mark Cavendish, “The Manx Missile”.

He crashed out of the Tour de France in 2023, then returned the next year to win his 35th stage at the age of 39.

Cycling is hard. Elite cycling at that age, as a sprinter, oof. Legend!

11. Your GTC hero, and why?

Anyone who volunteers!

They can make the difference between a new PB or a DNF. A kind word on the course, a drink of water, or help with training can tip the scales.

12. A film or song that sums up your approach to life

8 Mile, by Eminem.

Just kidding.

Screenshot

The bike was definitely one of the highlights. The route from Westport towards Louisburgh took you along the coast, with amazing views throughout. It was one of those courses where the scenery made you forget about the effort for a while!

The run was definitely the toughest part of the day. The course took you up a hill and back down again, twice, which made for a challenging finish after the swim and bike. It was tough on the legs, but a great feeling to push through and make it to the finish.

It was also fantastic to see such a great turnout from Galway Triathlon Club. Having so many club members racing made for a brilliant atmosphere and plenty of support throughout the day.

Overall, Westport Triathlon was a fantastic experience, with a beautiful course, spectacular views and a challenging run. I’d definitely recommend it to anyone thinking about taking part next year, just make sure you’re ready for those hills!

By Tricia Strelioff

The Long Road to Kalmar

The story of IRONMAN Sweden 2026 didn’t begin in Kalmar. It began four years earlier, riding the post-race high of IRONMAN Austria. That’s when Rory Brennan and I mapped out the next chapter of our IRONMAN journey, a chapter that would culminate in our 10th full-distance finish before Rory stepped back from the sport.

After conquering Lanzarote in May 2025, we set our sights on Sweden. Kalmar is tiny, expensive, and swamped with 3,000 athletes on race week, so accommodation is gold dust. I found a perfect little cottage and booked it 15 months in advance, much to the Airbnb host’s disbelief.

But the build was anything but smooth.

Injury, Doubt, and the Elliptical of Doom

A soleus injury during a Lanzarote training camp derailed my season. The T100 Athy entry was handed away. Running stopped. The focus shifted to simply making the start line for 70.3 Westfriesland.

Modified run and elliptical sessions became my life. Rehab replaced mileage. Galway roasted in a heatwave while I sweated through intervals on the dreaded elliptical. Somehow, I made it to Westfriesland and had a near run PB.

But the leg flared again. Another two-week break. More rehab. More elliptical. More mental gymnastics. By August 1st, I could run 8 km continuously. Not ideal, but enough.

Arrival in Sweden

On August 12th, we began a 15-hour travel day: taxi, Citylink, SAS, train, then our hobbit-sized cottage. Small, quirky, perfect. Close to everything.

Rice diet engaged. Race nerves simmering. Apple TV plugged in. European Athletics, swimming and Netflix. The holy trinity of taper entertainment.

Race Morning

Sleep was minimal. Up before the 4:15 a.m. alarm. Transition. Back to the cottage. Wetsuits on. March to bag drop.

The sun rose. The wind rose faster. The anthem played. Paul Kaye delivered one of those emotional speeches that tightens the chest.

Time to go.

Swim: 3.8 km

A Baltic Sea Brawl

Kalmar’s harbour is usually closed to swimmers, but not today. I seeded myself in the 1:10 corral, hoping to catch faster feet. This rolling start was unlike anything I’d seen: no lanes, no pauses, just a continuous mass of athletes sprinting off a pontoon, 10-plus wide. Chaos.

The first kilometre was pure combat: kicks, swings and boxing matches at every buoy. My timing chip came loose, but stopping meant getting trampled. So I kept shwimming.

The final stretch through the harbour was electric. Crowds lined the bridges. The pinch points funnelled us like a circus act. At the exit pontoon, I threw my arms up and yelled, “Pull!” A volunteer hauled me upright like a rag doll.

Chip still attached. Barely.

T1: Efficiency Over Elegance

Low race number meant a quick arrival to my blue bag. Wetsuit off. Helmet and socks on. Snacks shoved down the front of my suit, where there was plenty of extra space . Bike waiting in the nearest row to exit.

Shoes clipped in. Feet slipped in like slippers. Tailwind to the bridge. Bliss, for about 30 seconds.

Bike: 180 km

The Bridge, the Gusts, and the Boob Snacks

Kalmar’s iconic 10 km bridge is only open to bikes on race day, and the crosswinds were feral. The moment I hit the exposed section, a gust grabbed my Zipp 404 front wheel. Knuckles white. Gusts rising. Descending in crosswinds? Even worse.

Then I spotted a familiar arse: Rory, smiling in his aero bars. “Big girl pants, Trish. Trust the bike.”

Öland Loop: 100 km

The first 50 km were a block headwind scented with fresh silage. Crowds everywhere: music, bacon, coffee, parties. Even tiny houses had two supporters offering smiles and “Heja! Heja! Heja!”

Drafting trains streamed past. The motor marshal kept them somewhat honest. Several ended up in the penalty tent. Aid stations every 25 to 30 km felt like rolling buffet bars. I had carb bottles and “boob snacks”, so I grabbed cold water for entertainment.

The next 20 km flew by. Low watts, high speed. Then another turn into side and headwind. Cyclists fighting gusts. My meteorological brain worried about the return bridge, with winds now much stronger.

Return Bridge

The winds had escalated into a brutal mix of Connemara-strength force and Lanzarote-style gusts, the kind that hit from every angle and make your grip a little tighter. Up ahead, a cyclist had been blown into a traffic cone but was already being helped, so I kept my focus forward. I needed every ounce of concentration.

The descent off the bridge was lethal in those conditions, but this was where Lanzarote confidence kicked in. Trust the bike. Take a deep breath. Flat roads ahead.

Final Loop: 60 km

Technical, twisty, rolling, sheltered. My favourite part. Soon we turned for home. Carb bottles empty. Boob snacks gone. Bento box cleared. 510 g of CHO consumed. 181.8 km completed.

Feet hit the ground like stones. Note to self: more brick runs.

Run: 42.2 km

Crowds, Cobblestones, and the Long Unknown

Heat rising. Suncream on. Mouthwash to clear the sweet taste. Runners on. Minimal run prep meant this was uncharted territory.

The town centre loop was electric. Cobblestones demanded concentration. Crowds roared. Then onto the bike path beside our cottage: familiar and blessed with tailwind.

This section was a sensory overload: discos, parties, flashing lights, kids with signs, endless high-fives. Energy everywhere. We turned at 8.5 km, after peaceful forest paths gave way to AC/DC and DJ sets.

Back into town: headwind and what felt like all uphill. Into the track stadium for loop band number one. Out again through a partying park before we hit the town again. Restaurant revellers cheered while necking cold drinks. The smell of garlic nearly made me wretch.

Lap 2

Longest run since Westfriesland was 14 km. Now passed. Muscular fatigue rising. Heart rate steady. Soleus silent. A miracle. Dang, trust the physio

Tailwind and heat. Salt tablets, gels, caffeine, isotonic drinks. Aid stations every 2.5 to 3 km. Bliss.

By lap two, I was walking through aid stations. Quads screaming. Muscular fatigue very real. A loud whisper to self: back to a shuffle.

Final Lap

Last loop band collected. Cobblestones now monstrous. Road camber increasing. Old roads and old legs. Poor combination.

Watch ticked 42 km. I could hear the finish, but nothing was in sight. Stride lifted. Red carpet spotted. Magic legs arrived.

42.8 km. Finish time: 11:01.

Paul Kaye greeted me with a Galway welcome. Sweaty hug. Tear.

What Sweden Taught Me

IRONMAN is hard, but not impossible. There is no single route to the start line. Adapt. Modify. Accept.

Surround yourself with a good tribe of people you trust, and people who support your vibe. Nail your nutrition. It can make or break your day.

Use mental tricks: snacks, cold water, caffeine, a supporter’s cheer. Believe in yourself. Have mantras. Suffering is a privilege.

And when you can, grab a bell, a horn, a crazy hat, and support others the way they support you

“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.