Base Camp Blues

After download we were having a good laugh, chatting to the Foley-Fishers on the SI and the other race organisers. Eventually we slowly walked away chatting about where to pitch the tent. Looking along by the wind sheltered hedge, all the very sheltered ground was taken. We got to the end of the field and say wee Mark, seeing that the ground wasn't too bad we lamped the tent up - it was smaller than I remembered!

Once the tent was up, we quickly got changed and threw in the sleeping bags to let them puff up. After a few mins we noticed the water seeping up through the ground sheet - in went the survival bag. More padding and something to keep us dry. Dry clothes on, rucksacks into the rain cover and into the tent. All the warm clothes on and crawled into the sleeping bags. It was so warm and comfortable. Its amazing what a day in the mountains can make you think is 5* luxury. A small dry pair of socks... prefect. Slowly we come to our senses as the blood begins to flow to the extremities and we just begin to laugh. The tent was tight, very tight. This added to the hilarity. I had the warmer sleeping bag. We crashed for a while after we stopped laughing at the state of each other.

Time dragged on and it meant one thing and one thing only - food! I blagged two plastic bags from Gordon (guys a legend) to keep my socks dry. Grabbed the "food", water and all the rest of the bits and bobs and curled up beside a rock. From my sheltered view I had a great view of the camp site - everyone looked tired and wet. The mist came in again. I brewed up a cuppa scauld and then got cracking on the main course - rice. Plain, bland rice. It was beautiful - or thats what I kept telling myself. Seamus, when he finally got out of the sleeping bag, didn't agree that it was a 5* meal.

Greg showed up and brewed up beside me - got chatting about the day. He was leading the mixed class overall. Plenty of MM experience in those legs. Twas a bit late to be getting advice but it was all taken on board anyways. Once the grub was cooked and eaten, Shea vanished (back to the tent) and I just sat there - curled up on my bag in the shelter of the rock. I just looked out on the camp site slowly expanding. It seemed crazy. My legs were in bits, I was mentally extremely tired but couldn't sleep. I was in a very very low moral place. I was at rock bottom.

Eventually when I got up to do a walksy around the camp and see who was alive. Got chatting to Ciara and with the Medic in charge. Then it was back to the tent, climbing in I took off the plastic bags and put my foot in a puddle. My only dry pair of socks - now wet and cold. Another serious moral blow. Climbed in, and Seamus the cheeky fecker was in MY warm sleeping bag. I attempted to get him out of it, but he wasn't moving. His one would have to do. More laughing and jokes continued for a few hours, taking in a strong coffee. Chilling out.

Panic arrived when the tent was shook violently - it could only have been one set of people - Paddy and McCloy. Both were in very cheerful moods and we got the low down; they had burgers and chips and were spending the night in there own beds. Jealousy of the highest order. After a while I went to go for a walk again. My leg was in bits. I was struggling to more it. It was becoming worried. By this stage darkness had fallen on the camp. Chatting to Barbra at the SI as we watched lights come down off the mountain. Night sticks went up on the controls to help struggling teams. A few elite teams come in. They didn't look too healthy.

After a while I went back to the tent only to find Seamus brewing up some smash. 250g of the stuff makes 1.5kg - we ate the lot of it. Beating the food into us. This was washed down with a litre of Oxtail soup. Not exactly amazing but it did the job. Crawling into the tent, we got Greg to shake our tent in the morning. Just in case we forgot to wake up.

Crawling into the sleeping bags, warm, uncomfortable and a tight squeeze. We could both lie down, if one of us were on our sides. It wasn't so bad. I crashed out. Out like a light.

I woke up with a start, I couldn't feel my arm. The thought was awh balls. I tried to use my useless arm to push myself up - no dice, I decided to use my legs to turn over. They wouldn't move either. It was pretty funny. Eventually I got myself sitting up, gave Shea a shove and rolled over... This continued throughout the night. To roll over, you had to sit up into the only part of the tent with space. It would have looked very funny from outside.

We both woke with a start as some b*llocks was shaking the tent - before we could curse the person we decided to thank Greg. I gave my toes a wiggle - everything was still alive, good good. I tried to move my legs, pretty stiff but nothing that a 20km run in the mountains wouldn't fix. As I sat up I felt a very sharp pain in my groin. This wasn't the good pain of a 20km tempo run, this was bad pain. Really bad pain. I kept my thoughts to myself. Shea bailed out to fix us breakfast. I got out after him and stood up. The second I put weight on it I knew I was in the shit. I decided to go for a walk to see how bad it really was. It wasn't a walk. It was a hobble.

I went over to the start tent and asked Barbra what was the story with drop outs, I mentioned my leg and she said to warm up and see how things felt - but don't be stupid. I hobbled a few laps of the field and eventually got into a brisk walk. It'd be grand. I began to feel better and went back for breakfast. Porridge, made with water and a few raisins - thanks be ta god there was raisins. We wouldn't have been able to stomach it otherwise.

Food gone. Tent packed. Off to the jacks. Clear the SI. A good luck from the organisers and we were out the gate. As we hopped the fence the whistle went. We grabbed the control description and it was game on. Some teams legged it off, deciding to mark in on the move. We decided however to make sure of the grids, the last thing you want is a 20min mistake due to stupidity. Shea began to plot them.... pen runs out. A brief second of panic. Whip out my pen and its go go go. Grids down. We don't have to get 3 of the cluster and we were gone. We gave chase up the hill. Greg took off at the exact same time as us. he reached the road in front of us, when we hit the road, I put my head down and began to push. Seamus was just jogging away from me. I couldn't lift my right leg. My groin was in bits, but we were still making up a little ground. Up the track further and we weren't going too badly. Catching and dropping teams, however the lead pack were still 3-4mins in front. We reached the river and began to go through the terrain. The second I got into it, I knew I wasn't going to make 20km in it, but I refused to give up with out a fight. I took off after Seamus and began plugging away.

Up and up we climbed. I was down to a walk. I was max'd out, it was as fast as I could go. I was shuffling. I couldn't break into a run. I tried again and again but it wasn't happening. I could feel my groin getting sorer and sorer. I reached a flat section and tried to run. Wasn't happening. Shea was 30m in front, I said I'd run as far as where he is now. It wasn't happening. A pair walked past me, I couldn't keep up. They walked past as if I was standing still.

I got off the flattish section and got stuck into the next climb. I got 5 paces before I had to stop. I screamed out a few obscenities and tried again. My leg just wasn't playing ball. Seamus stopped and waited for me. I eventually made it up to him and looked him in the eye. I knew I was fucked. He knew I was fucked but neither of us wanted to admit it. I turned around, looking away from him and put my head in my hands. I knew I had no dry clothes left and if I did more damage I would be seriously fucked. I knew my pace would be at snails pace if even. I didn't want a lecture from Mountain rescue in the back of a chopper. I thought of McCloy the previous day curled up in the tent in the double sleeping bag.

I turned back around and apologies to Seamus. I had to bail. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but I knew it was the correct decision, but that didn't make it any easier. Turning around and starting the hobble back down the hill was the final stray that broke me mentally. Greg and co walked past me. I couldn't look him in the eye. He knew I was messed up. I should have been a DNS but I couldn't have bared not to try.

We made straight for the trail. Seamus gave me the map and ran on to make sure there was still transport there when I finally made it down. I hobbled back along the track. The mist rolled in as I plodded back along the track. Any time my toe hit a rock or whatever I got a short sharp pain in my groin.

When you have a 3km walk back after dropping out, you really have a LONG time to think about everything. Throwing away our 30min lead was completely my fault. I was stupid enough to only ware a pair of shorts. I didn't bring enough kit to get by in bad conditions. I gave the Mournes the two fingers and it hit back. 30mins is 1min/km faster than everyone else the previous day. That's a serious amount of extra pace. A lot of very harsh lessons were learned.

We arrived back at base camp. Didn't even have dry clothes to change into to. We waited for the Bus of Shame. Climbed on and took it back to Silent Valley. Hung around for a bit, our parents arrived and we shocked that we had dropped out. The were expecting to be cheering us in to a big win - not picking up one injured and two bitter runners.

We hung around for the prize giving. I stood there and watched it all. And it hurt. It really hurt.

I don't like to lose.

The Mournes before last weekend were just for fun, it didn't matter how we did. We were expecting to be 30mins down, not 30mins up.

Next year, the Mournes has a much higher priority.

Once wounded, twice as dangerous.

I don't like to lose - especially when it is completely my fault. I despise people who let other people down. I have 360 days to make up for my mistake. And I will make up for it next year.

Bitter, dejected, pissed off, injured. Motivated.

The Valley of Indecent Exposure - D1

Its always difficult to sort out one's thoughts when things are going perfectly and then it all falls apart at the seems. But, sure, shit happens.

Bernie dropped Seamus and myself off in Silent Valley with about 30mins to spare. We were both bopping. Got changed and the kit sorted. As one of the last starters we were having a good laugh with the orginasers. Feeling very relaxed but excited about the up coming race. We were ready to lay waste.

Over by the start, we were laughing and joking and generally been good CNOC members. Having a laugh, been chilled out and staying calm. Clear, check, take a leak, collect the control descriptions and we were off. We calmly plotted the controls and were off up the hill. I was tempted to break into a run going up the first steep slope but I had a sharp pain in my back. This paniced me slightly, last time it happened was Prince Williams seat. We got the first control, merely following the wall. On the descent the pain vanished and I breathed a sigh of relief. That was one niggle I didn't want coming back to haunt me.

I was glad we were travelling light. We got a good laugh from everyone in there rain jackets, hats and gloves at the start. We were dressed in shorts and a good set of running tops. Down the hill to control 2, Seamus knew the ground due to his nasty rock climbing/ bouldering habit. For once I wasn't complaining. We weived and meandered along sheep trails, climbing all the time. Then we hit the 2nd climb up to the control. Climbed further to the next crag up and contoured across. We hit two crags but no control. Shea seemed a bit flustered. Bouncing off each other we calmed down and dropped the few contours down to the 2nd control. A small bit of time lost but nothing serious.

Heading off to control 3, Shea spotted a around route more so than following the crowd up and over the top. This was to become a tactic for the day - go around and keep the pace high rather than suffer up needless climbs. Running across the shallow heather, it seemed like the perfect day in the Mournes. Confidence was high and the buzz was mighty. Just the simple feeling of getting to run in such spectacular surroundings. In awe of the sheer steepness compared to Wicklows flatter rounder summits. We continued to contour and we hit a track. Blitzed along the track until we came to a wall and straight up to the control.

The 4th control was a very long leg. Shea picked another sweet route, going over the saddles, down around the lake and up a sheer wall of contours. Giving me a glance, it seemed perfect. Running towards the saddle, we were on a well beaten MMM track, this lead to fast but slippery running. I lost time dropping down to the lake, partly my shoes slipping, partly other runners taking up the track. I caught Seamus at the dam and off we went across. As we entered the rocky gammy section I laughed out loud saying I hate my life. It couldn't have been further from the truth. We began to jump through heather, ferns and rocks. The going was slow so we descended to the shore and began a km of rock hopping. Shea was bouncing along, I was slower on the granite boulders, the fear of smashing myself and a quick flash back to the ridge... As the rain began to fall, I upped the anty, I didn't want to get stuck on wet rock!

When we got off the rock and into the terrain I began to question Seamus route choice. The going was very slow. More rock and ferns, and more climbing. I asked Shea was he confident about the route and he seemed insulted by the question. Asking to see the map, I realised that I actually did not see a perfect track going to the control. Once I realised my error, I got a good mental boost, realising that the route was actually a sweet route choice and not a death march. Up through the ferns, across a river and we climbed higher again. Looking behind us, we had a tail. They looked pretty small at the base of the hill. Cresting the hill was a good buzz. The view was pretty amazing. Once again we put the head down and got the control.

The next route looked nasty. We were headed in Meelmore direction. The same O map that we usually do a spot of O training on when ever the junior squad is up north. We reckoned heading up through the pass and then over the big dirty spur. We got to the pass, and saw the spur. Looking at the map again, Shea saw that our track lead straight to below the control. Needless to say, it was just a matter of motoring on. We took off down the trail, and literally just kept running. After a fair few minutes of descending, we crossed the river and landed on a sheep track, and then onto another trail, shea snotted himself, and over onto the Meelmore map. Across another river and then we began to recognise features. We hit another track section and then it was straight up to the control. It was another near perfect route choice by Shea. He was on fire.

We had debated the next leg for a while, originally, we had thought about going back the way we came, but that took us forever to come down so climbing that way wouldn't be pretty. It was decided to hit the Mourne/ Ulster Way. We followed it along (Shea went splat on the wet grass, shea went splat again, colm found it funny, colm went splat, colm no longer found it as funny) and hit another lake. At the lake we stopped and leaned the beans and took out the hats as the temperature dropped all of a sudden.

Little did we know that we had just entered "The Valley of Indecent Exposure".

As we began to climb, the wind picked up and it began to rain. It got very cold in shorts and light tops. I put the head down and pushed on hard hoping to warm myself up. I had a bite to eat and told myself to HTFU. It wasn't that cold. I began to shake and I got annoyed with myself. I was beginning to lose feeling in my face. My legs got colder and colder. I pushed on, following Seamus. Climbing further and further. On reaching the wall, a voice shouted out in a northern twang "alright colm". Twas the one and only Paddy! He was all smiles. The banter started. Asking how he was running etc etc.... McCloy was in a tent on the far side of the wall with hypothermia...! It was a bit of a WTF moment. Both Paddy and McCloy had an extremely high amount of mountain experience between them. We screamed a few words at McCloy in the tent, in the double sleeping bag. The final thing I heard was the marshal telling Paddy in a don't ask any questions manner to put on all his clothes, he wasn't going anywhere.

We set off around the mountain to descend down to the next control at the river. As I was running. McCloy kept playing on my mind. Also that I only had 1 dry thermal that wasn't coming out until I reached the campsite. I also wanted to keep my rain gear dry until the campsite (brain was clearly getting fucked over by the cold is well).

We crossed the Mourne Wall again and I knew I was getting close to been in the shit. My legs were cramping badly with the cold and I was beginning to shiver badly. After a few minutes of pondering what to do. I told Shea I was stopping to get on my warm gear, he agreed and we bailed into a ditch. I pulled off my top and my chest was lashed red by the wind and rain. I through on my thermal and rain gear. Getting to the campsite became my only priority.

I looked down at my legs. The water partials catching on the hairs. They were completely tense. Every muscle had contracted to decrease an area to lose heat from. The thought went though mu mind, my god my legs are ripped, there isn't a gram of fat on me - i was very pleased with myself, until I realised that having a few kg's of body fat would probably have been a very good thing to have at that moment in time. I jogged down to the control as Shea did up his rain gear and followed me on. At this stage I was extremely cold. I was cursing not having an extra fleece or something along the lines of that. Shuffling along the track I think I told Seamus I was fecked. I can't really remember. All I do remember was that I was cold and my legs were cramping very badly. I was down to a shuffle. Seamus took charge and got me motivated. I just put the head down and kept plugging away. The only thing I wanted was a warm dry camp site. We began to fantise about a warm tent and hot food... what could possibly be nicer than plain rice!! Leaving the custard at home was a bullcrap idea.

We wandered and ran across the flat top of Spelga. Finally hitting the control after what felt like an age. The the descent off of Spelga. This was steep. Like the North Prism on Lug, but slipperier. We walked and slid down. Making good time, and onto the road. The fence/ditch jump onto the road and wall jump after the road were interesting. This is the first time I can remember my groin beginning to get at me. We pushed on up the Mourne Way. Slowly put surely hitting the last control before the cluster.

The cluster decision was easy. Head down and climb. Up and up and up and up. We climbed constantly for 3omins before we were put out of our misery. Down all the ground we had just gained and over to Hen Mountain for the 3rd last control. I had vivid memory's of this mountain from 07 with Niall. I knew the ground was runnable so I forced myself to run. Around the big lump of beautiful climbable rock... (dam it).. and we got the control fairly handy. It was a big push down the hill and up the track to the 2nd last. I ran past Seamus and gave him a small push on the back. If I stopped I wouldn't start again. He dropped down and got the control. Out to the track and it was a horrible yet beautiful run down to the last control. We got worried as we couldn't see the forest beside the control, but I caught sight of the flag from a far distance off. Over the fence and a nice run in along a flat field. Punched the finish control and I was dam glad Day 1 was over. My legs were in bits and my groin was worryingly sore. The pushing hard in the cold probably wasn't the best. Downloaded and we were all good. 27mins clear of 2nd. A good start to the competition. Sunday would be a tough one but we could afford to lose a bit of time. Part one, job done.

Warning Notice

This is an automatic published blog report.

* * * * * *

On the weekend of 18th and 19th of September 2010. Colm is committing an attempted murder of his cousin Seamus O'Boyle. This is believed to be Colm's second attempt on his cousins life. The previous time was in 2006 at the Wicklow Rogaine. Smaller attempts have taken place in recent years under the blanket of the Stone Cross to Lug Relay. This latest attempt on Seamus's life is been committed under the blanket of the Mourne Mountain Marathon.

This race is a two day, unsupported race in the wilderness that is the Mourne Mountains. Seamus is believed to have seen through the plot and has convinced Colm that the B class is a more achievable goal. Needless to say, it was decided to press on. This, however, will only result in "Death been quick and efficient, no survivors".

In a separate murder attempt, McCloy and Higgins are believed to be in a serious domestic dispute - which also has resulted in a Mourne Mountain Marathon stand off. It is believed that the only way forward to try resolve this dispute is through the fearly named ELITE class. The most intensive therapy for couples who's relationship is under strain.

We wish both parties successful deaths so that the issues can finally be buried.

Results, photos and more are viewable here over the weekend.

* * * * * *

This is an automatic published blog report.

7, 15, 52

Niall, 7mins clear on Leg One... Relay over - Game, Set, Match, CNOC

The clouds part. A silhouette appears on the crest of Tonelegee. I scream out loud. Seamus is minutes from the hand over at the Wicklow Gap. My week of hell is over. Its game on.

People begin to laugh at me in the car park. No one believes Seamus has come over the top. I scan the mountain side. Seeing nothing, I get slightly concerned that I might be hallucinating again. Sleep deprivation messes with ones head.

I saw the black blob bouncing again. I scream out in triumph again. Ripping off my CNOC squad jacket and warm up bottoms. I run out onto the Wicklow Gap road. Eyes fixed on Seamus bounding down the hill. I have to fight the urge to scream abuse at him. I know that in the wind he won't hear my blood curling abuse.

Controlled aggression

I pace up and down the road, watching Seamus push himself to his limit. All I focus on is Seamus. I hear muffled cat calls from behind me. They don't concern me. My system is flushing my body with adrenaline. My mind is gone into over drive. Shea nears the road and I start to jog off. He hits the tarmac and sprints off after me. We tag hands, clock on. I start to accelerate. He follows, screaming instructions. Watch the compass, watch your compass. He looks complete wrecked. I try take his words of wisdom on board. A cheer from the car park as Seamus drops off. Its all up to me now.

I switch on and drive up the hydro road to Turlock Hill. Keeping my strides short and fast, my HR at a controllable level. Trying to squash the waves and waves of adrenaline trying to take over my brain. As I cut the first corner of the road I have managed to calm myself down. Its just my own personal open mountain TT to see how well training has gone. I scramble up the sheep track and out onto the road. Up 30m and off the road again, up the massive earth bank and into my first taste of Wicklow heather in 2 months. I am welcomed back to hell. The small branches brush and fight against my legs, every stride is a fight. I got a little panicky. I wasn't strong enough for the record this year. No worries, we'll just enjoy it. I take a cheeky glance behind me, no sight nor sound of any runner descending Tonelagee. We have the win. Its just a matter of surviving and enjoying the view.

The Hand Over

Seamus - Job Done

I climb through the heather, down to a fast walk. Looking up, I see the short grass that signals the upper road. Making a bee line for it, I hit the sheep track and pop out onto solid tarmac. I instantly get the legs turning over short and quick. Keeping an eye on my HR as I climb up the road. I try to settle my nerves and cram the adrenaline back into its box. I'll need it later. Its was going to be a long day. Give or take 2hours on the mountain, with severe cramp at the end.

Looking up again, I see the cliffs. I'm thankful I'm running this leg, I would be concerned if we had put Seamus on this leg, I'm not sure if he could have resisted a quick climb. I can see the track leading to the communications hut. Cutting the corner through the short heather, my self confidence comes back. It feels so cool to be just floating across the ground. Out onto the track and following it along, skipping across the puddles, trying to keep my socks dry. Around the bends and I catch a glimpse of the small aerial that stands tall on the hut. Running over, touching the building and off we go on the first route choice leg of the course.

(I covered the first section in 15:25min compared to my previous best of 16:35, which was a blood thirsty sprint been chased by Tucker...)

Poor relay change over... dropped a few precious second

Setting off to Convalla, I decided on the slightly, ever so slightly right of straight line. Descending through the heather, it felt as if I was just hovering across the ground. I wasn't pushing the pace but my HR was sitting exactly where I wanted it. Down to the river, I had to back track slightly to get a nice crossing point. Leaping across, keeping my socks dry. So far so good. The second climb of 4 started. Head down, leg stride short and rapid, watch the HR. I was in complete control. It was a run in the mountains. Up through the heather. Looking up and picking out the nicer ground. It felt great. I summited the first spur and caught a glimps of the Lugduff Ridge and Conavalla behind that. Behind that again was a barrier of mist and low lying cloud. Sitting a top Lug. After summitting Lug 3 times the previous year, each time I was baked in what some people call "perfect" weather. The swirling mass of mist was my perfect weather. Dropping down off the first spur, I just floated down. I didn't drive the pace, just cruised down. Feet flying, brain casually picking my foot holds. I couldn't put a foot wrong. As I descended I looked up and looked for a good line up through the peat hags. Imaginary lines pop up all over the terrain, looking for the optium route. I see a line that looks squeeky clean. I can't believe my luck. Down off the spur and into the climb up Lugduff Ridge. At this point I begin to swing myself back in a straight line to the cairn on Conavalla. I have to jump a peat hag or two, but that was the extent of it. The ground I picked was solid. My luck was holding out. I crested the ridge and scanned the ground. Conavalla seemed dam flat this year. How the hell did it look flat! I wasn't complaining as I picked my lines again and went for it. Jumping a few serious peat hags, dropping and climbing. My mind is flashed back to 2008, I was running scared. My legs were cramping, all the god dam peat hags. This year, I was avoiding them to the max. I got across the section of peat hags and saw the gravelly section that I ran down in the CoA. Gravel = soild fast running ground. I began to make a straight bee line for it. Squelch. Up to my ankles in soft wet marshy peat. The ground looked so flat and dry. I was gutted. I got so far with dry socks! Worry one was out of the way. I hit the gravel and was up onto the flat summit, hanging a lefty to the small cairn. On hitting it, I hit lap and looked down. 19:25. I was pretty happy, as far as I remembered, the previous years I had run it in 20ish mins. I was on target for sub 2hours. Something that I had completely forgotten about.

(I covered the 3.09km in 19:25 with my previous fastest split been 23:21.)

I was approaching the 2nd last climb of the day. Conavalla to Tabletrack and Camenbologue. In CoA I ran this in 20mins. As I had completely foored it in CoA, anything close to 20 I would have been happy with. Heading off of Conavalla I keep a cool head, my legs want to floor the descent, I keep myself cool. No point doing anything stupid. Dropping down, I can see the valley, I pick my spot and head for it. I think I went slighty too far to the right, but I corrected it as quickly as I could. On reaching the far side of the valley, I began to tough pull up. The ground here is always grotty. Deep heather, and I still couldn't find a sheep track in the area. Keeping the HR steady I climb up. I can see the track up ahead, out onto it and I've nailed it again! Just below the corner. Perfect, I put the head down and get up the track, I can see a hiker further up the road from me. I have a pulling target. Get to the junction before they do. The rutted track is like a motorway, hitting the pole, swinging around it and off again. Up through the peat hags again, running through the maze before popping out onto the flat short grassed summit. Head down, legs turning over. Hit the cairn, hit lap, dumfounded expression has to appear on my face. 18:27 on the watch. In CoA, I was over 1:30min slower. I was ripping the mountain apart. I shelved the thought and began the descent from Camenabologue.

(From Conavalla to Table, I covered 2.27km in 14:07. From Table to Camenabologue was 760m in 4:20. My previous bests were 15:42 from Conavalla to Table - so I took over 1:3o off and I even knocked off a further 20sec between Table and Camenabologue.)

The Map with my Route

I begin the descent. My mind is in over drive. I was flying without pushing that hard. I knew my shoes were in bits from the summers racing and training in scandi so I had to take it careful. I flung myself at the slope. Waiting for that one moment where the tracking would give. After a few hundred meters I realised that in the mud, my shoes weren't amazing so I dropped back the pace to a get through it pace. I was sticking to the trail that I avoided on CoA. It wasn't amazing but gave faster running than the deep heather and peat hags. Down and down and down. The mist cleared briefly and I caught a glimpse of the Cannow Ridge leading up onto Lug. It looked steep and hideous. Across the last of the descent. It was now time for the final climb of the day. The big one. The daddy of them all. I put the head down and got into a rythem. Jumping from rock to rock. Solid ground to soild ground. Step after step. This was not the usual blood thirsty sprint. It was a calm, calculated climb. Get to the top with just enough energy to go flat out on the fireroad at the end. Guss and Ger were giving chase. I was the hare. I was swollowed up by the mist. Passed the first group of hikers, looking up, spotted another. Head down. One foot in front of the other. I had found my rythem and it felt great to be comfortably hurting running up Lug. My mind went numb to all thoughts. All of my energy was now been pumped into my legs. This was a maximum effort. I felt a little tweek in my leg. The onset of cramp. I shoved my thumb in it. It was going to shut the f up until I reached Fentons. I caught the next group of hikers. I was off the trail and onto the short grass of the Cannow Ridge. It all looked the same. I got a bit panicky so I whipped out the compass. Map still in my pocket, I took a random baring. Looking all cool to myself. I didn't meed a map. I can't get lost on Lug.... Then a little voice in my head came back at me "Colm, can you imagine the sheer grief you will get from Seamus, never mind anyone else, the grief from Seamus, if you f**k up now". Needless to say I whipped out the map, took a proper baring and began to thumb the map. The brain does messed up things when craving for oxygen. I am close to the top. I could feel it. But the ground kept climbing. Head down, I can't really over shoot Lug - be quiet a challenge! The mist is swirling. I think I catch a glimpse of the cairn to my right. I resist, trusting the compass and contours. An extra 100m and I see the cairn loom up out of the mist. Bingo. Game, Set, Match, CNOC. I am most pleased with myself. Hitting lap I look down. 28:36. I almost trip over my jaw that has landed on the ground. I take a baring and head off in the right direction off of the summit. I begin to play with my watch - see what total time I was 1hr20mins. My brain goes into over drive. "Its a 20min descent from Lug to the gate. The best descent time is 16ish mins. I usually run it in 20mins... ooh shit oooh shhhhiiitttt. Thats the f**king record been broken by seconds".

(I covered the 4.9km to Lug in 28:36, with a previous best of 34:35..)

I tried to calm the elation I was now on. I wasn't running, I was floating across the ground. Running across the flat summit I was constantly checking my bearing. I couldn't afford to throw away this perfect run. I reached the rocks and took it gingerally. I did not want to smash myself now of all times. Slowly picking my way down through the rocks. I hit the nice boggy heather. I take off. I'm bouncing with each step. Across bog and peat hags and beautiful short heather. Its perfect. I was whipped back to my sences as I couldn't see a thing. It was still a white out and I hadn't reached the path. I got a little nervous but my compass said I was right. We had kissed and made up in Norway so I wasn't going to not trust it today. After what seemed like an eternity I popped out of the mist and hit the track at the same time. The entire valley openned up in front of me. A crystal clear day. It looked amazing. I took the rest of the descent at a fun descending pace - not quiet toying with death as I usually do, I could still see the line of sanity. I was floating down. I neared Camarahill and I waited for the kick in the teeth, but it never came. I hit lap again, but I with held myeself from looking at the watch. I didn't want to be tempted and risk everything. Down off Camarahill, skipping at this stage. Hit the gate, 1:21min off the record. I was feegin bouncing. On hitting the road, I wanted to go sub 7 for the last 2km. I got the finger out and upped my cadience. I didn't care what my HR did now, all the work was done. Rocked over the last 2km in 6:46. Ran past the statue, hit stop, screamed the usual crap, on a serious high. Looked around, no one there. It was kinda funny. After I came to my sences I looked over and saw Philip over in the car. Time check done. Gave me a coffee which I gladly took as I rambled on about my run. A few mins later, the CNOC car pulls in.

Seamus, been Seamus, jumps out and begins telling Niall, "I told ya, didn't I tell ya, I knew he'd be here". Needless to say the sambo was delicious.

The CNOC Team - (Tri) Niall McAlinden, Seamus (the boss) O'Boyle and me

I got down from Lug to Fentons, the 7km in 26:03. My previous best was +28mins. A good day on the mountain by all accounts. A challenge at the record looks more likely year, after year.

The record will fall, eventually. Its only impossible until its done.

Stone Cross to Lug title back where it belongs, in CNOC hands

Map is located here

Count down to CISM

For the past two weeks I've been training and racing in the Trondheim area of Norway. The majority of my trainings have been short enough but have tried to keep the speed high while looking to stamp out the small errors.

This week brought with it, the World Champs, but more importantly for me, The WOC Tour, my last chance to get some high quality training in before the World Military Orienteering Champs starting next week down in Kongsberg (close to Oslo). Kongsberg last held a major Championships back in 1978 where Pat Healy finished 48th.

Day One of the WOC Tour was a short long distance. I was kindly shadowed by Marcus Pinker who sat behind me for the run and apparently was hurting - he dislikes dropping contours apparently.

I was pretty happy with the run excluding one or two slips in the circle. After dinner Marcus explained just how many seconds I was leaking by not been aggressive enough in the terrain. This gave me some important things to think about for the up coming races.

Map quality isn't the best but is located here.

Day Two of racing was held on the Middle Qualification map from the previous day. The plan was to go out really hard and see what would happen. Needless to say I spiked the first control ouvit! Then got in a panic leaving the control, pulled a 180, corrected the 180 and ended up in the wrong marsh. Stupid mistake, apart from that and been slow coming down the steep slopes at the end it wasn't all that bad. Highlight of the day was Dav H making the Middle Distance Final.

Day 3 came the sprint. The plan was simple, go out hard and pick up the pace. I believed I could get a top 10 in the race in the Elite class. My run from the WUOC had me bursting with confidence. It was just a matter of picking up the map and running until I dropped.

Report on my attackpoint here and the map is here. To summarise. I was tanking it around running aggressively, slip on 4, ran someone over heading on the long leg to 5. Monstered around to 12, lack of oxygen made me get confused and miss 13 dropped 20sec. 14 to 18 were a matter of game face on as I was hurled abuse from the fort. I was on the perfect line to 19.... then I didn't see the buildings and paniced, completely freeked out and thought I was going wrong. If I had gone 10m further I would have been sorted, but no dice. Massive blunder. Ran home in 14th 1:04 down.

Our rest day say the WOC Long Distance Final. Needless to say we all got very excited over Nick and Niamhs runs. Great day out cheering on the two Irish Champions.

Day 4 was my last competition day before CISM. It was a 4.8km middle distance race that was used as my last test before Kongsberg. I went out hard and orienteered aggressively. I was taking straightish lines and attacking the circle. I had one small error in the circle at 5 and a massive error on 8, dropping 2.30. However I am taking more positives than negatives from the race. Coming in the run in Niamh got to return the abuse hurling with a very choice comment of "What would john downs think, come on colm, push it". Needless to say I smiled and accelerated :) Map is here.

All thats left now is to collect my washing from Longs, give Dav abuse in the Middle Final, give the Irish teams abuse in the Relay before jumping on a train to Oslo to meet up with the CISM Panel.

With a summer of high quality orienteering behind me, I'm excited about the last big challenge of the International season. Bring on Kongsberg!!

Norsk Style

NORWAY ROCKS!!!!

After a 11 hour road trip, taking in a 15km Line O on some sweet Mora terrain we ended up in the hilly world of Trondheim Norway.

Since I landed in Trondheim, its been a world of pain. Started off session one with a Sprint.... didn't have a clue. I felt as if I was getting slow so I did a class 2,1,30 on the rolling hills around Mikes house.

Today, we headed to the most open, runnable heaven I have ever had the pleasure of running on. It was awesome!! The short course I ran is here.

Tonight will probably be another sweet terrain session but we'll see how things play out. Things are shaping up for an EPIC World Military Orienteering Championships down by Oslo!

All trainings done will be posted on Attackpoint. Any interesting races will knocked up here

Now... if only I can find me a mountain race over here . . . .

Oringen 2010

I basically got destroyed by technical swedish forest.

Etape 1 - A disaster, couldn't hit a barn down.

Map here

Etape 2 - Middle distance, a lesson in how to read control descriptions.

Map here

Etape 3 - It was horrible. So horrible and so demolalised so I bailed out at control 6. I can't remember if I drew in my route, but I was an hour to 6.

Map here

Etape 4 - My best day by far - I remembered how to orienteer, the terrain was runable and I ended up in a train. We were motoring along, really had fun this day... because I could run!

Map here

Etape 5 - The chasing start at 15sec intervals.... it was crazy. It was extremely wet. I ended up to my waist in mud/water/rivers/ditches many a time. Didn't really have fun at all.

Map here

Oringen was cool..... but it was long and very tough. It drained me mentally and physically.

I reckon if your going to race Oringen hard - racing a world championships the previous week, its the worlds greatest idea. Twas an experiences to say the least.