At the Terenure five-mile road race on Sunday, unusually for such a short event, the organisers provided pacemakers. It has long been standard for marathons and half-marathons to have such guide-runners, typically with balloons attached, advertising their target times.
Sometimes the pacers come with speech balloons too. Or at least they dispense verbal encouragement, to go with the timing. Either way, they’re very popular, always attracting large groups of followers, the way fishing trawlers attract seagulls.
I’m not sure why, but they also tend to come in pairs. Maybe it’s the same reasoning as with airline pilots – in which case, if one them has fish for dinner the night before, the other has to have steak. That way, barring disaster, somebody will be able to get the passengers of the four-hour-marathon balloon, or whatever, safely home.
Anyway, this was the first time I’d seen them in a mere five-mile event. And here, the pacers were distributed at five-minute intervals, starting with the 30-minute mark, which caused me something of a dilemma.
It’s a long time since I was anywhere near 30 minutes for the distance. In fact, the last time I broke that, I was under the influence of a performance-enhancing substance called youth, my supplier of which left town in a hurry soon afterwards.
But I still have pride. Even now, I like to consider myself able to patronise the 35-minute people (God love them), at least on a good day. In fact, I’ve spent the past year targeting the elusive sub-33:50 barrier, which would be a 21st-century personal best.
So amid the great throng at the start in Terenure on Sunday, I positioned myself well ahead of the 35-minute balloons, feeling smug. Then the race started and, after the initial adrenaline rush, the smugness quickly lifted.
Soon, instead of PBs, I was thinking of excuses for why today would not be the breakthrough. By about the mile-and-a-half stage, 34 minutes seemed like a good compromise. By two miles, 34:30 was beginning to look respectable.
But somewhere after that, I became aware of an ominous sound behind me. It was the patter of a large cluster of rubber soles, keeping time with each other. “Surely not?” I thought. And then the truth hit me in the face, literally.
Yes, all of a sudden, I was staring at the back of one of the 35-minute balloons. It was attached to the pacemaker who had just passed me, but it was being propelled in my direction by the same headwind we were all now battling.
So not only was I being buffeted by the wind, I was also now being buffeted by a balloon, which was slapping me around the head, as if to punish my earlier delusions. I knew it wasn’t personal. It just seemed that way. “Call yourself a 34-minute runner?” the balloon taunted. “Take that! And that!”
I hate being trapped in a metaphor. But with the crowding around the 35-minute-pace mark, it was hard to extract myself from the balloon’s sarcasm. In the end, I only escaped its punching range by the cunning means of dropping further back in the field.
Then, having explained to myself, as runners must frequently do, that today’s record attempt had been downgraded to a high-intensity training session, with a view to achieving progress at some future date, I followed the pacemakers home at a discreet distance.
I could claim to have suffered a bit during the race, and I would normally. Not in this case, however, because the event was in aid of a charity called Debra Ireland, which helps people with a very painful skin disorder called epidermolysis bullosa. Thus, the post-race speeches included an insight into the genuine heroism of those dealing with that debilitating condition, which put the rest of us to shame.
Happily, Sportsworld AC, the organising club, was able to present Debra with €10,000 from the proceeds. And the charity can expect another big fillip next month from the Women’s Mini-Marathon, when several hundred competitors will be running for Debra, and for the added inducement of a possible dinner date with the actor Robert Sheehan.
I’m assured by several of my female acquaintances that Sheehan is “extremely fit”. This doesn’t necessarily mean he’s good at running, I gather. But maybe, as well as being a spot prize, he should also be used as pacemaker. However fast he went, he’d be sure of a chasing group.
@FrankmcnallyIT
fmcnally@irishtimes.com