ARDFERT 50K Ultra 2021

 

Summer Has Come In

A 50K Saturday in Ardfert

By David Kissane

On Saturday morning, 22nd of May, nine runners from St Brendan’s AC embraced the day with a 50K run. It was not a 50K divided among them. It was 50K each! The nine runners covered 450 kilometres in total. Not your normal Saturday pre-brekky jog or parkrun, but a phenomenal undertaking. The search for meaning that is itself the meaning. Only the brave know the motivation behind a run like this.

“Summer has come in

Loudly sing, cuckoo

The seed grows and the meadow blooms

And the wood springs anew

Sing cuckoo”

The Old English poem “Sumer Is Icumen In” (translated above) can be cited as one motivating factor. One of the first ever poems written down in the English language captures the emotion of the heart, mind and soul at the onset of summer. Manuscripted sometime around 1250, the poem/song is written in almost (to us now) unrecognisable English. But what is recognisable is the spirit of summer that is spreading over hill, vale and seaside right now, as it has done for the millions of years that life has inhabited the earth. Imagine the first tetrapod to emerge from the sea around Valentia some 480 million years ago, feeling the sun on its back for the first time without the cover of water and learning to breathe the maturing air! Well, that emotion was all over the roads of Ardfert yesterday. The essential inward journey of life expressed through a batch of townlands on a variety of roads on a summer morning.

The 50K event was formulated by Artur Nowak, St Brendan’s AC coach and experienced ultra athlete. The distance of 50K was chosen as reachable if challenging. And inspiring at a time when activities had been restricted by Covid. Then the concept was married to the needs of Scoil Náisiunta Árd Fhearta where a sportshall is being planned and a final push was needed to complete the fundraising. Principal Betty Stack and her enthusiastic crew of teachers, pupils and parents have done amazing work to bring that ship to port. Interesting voyage, exciting destination. And an ultra to help.

And of course there was the training. Times and distances and recoveries were carefully monitored over the past few months. As always happens in the dark regions of the middle-point of a project, physical injuries and psychological doubts popped up – as they do in life – just to challenge the spirit of the participants. Is this for me? Is that sore ankle going to become a monster? Why am I doing this? Am I crazy? Nothing is consequence-free. A microcosm of life during the pandemic. A microcosm of life without a pandemic. Drop-downs, let-downs, fall-downs usually followed by out-reaching, far-reaching and in-reaching that enriches and energises the small things that are the secret of existence.

So Moira Horgan, Denis Foley, Linda O’Sullivan, Kirstie Nowak, Artur Nowak, Andreas Weiss, Margaret Carlin, Peter Jackson and newest club member, William Brick rose to the occasion and faced the prose and poetry of the ultra. Along with the busy lives they already lead, they created a parallel universe and blended it with the necessary. A high density decision. They ran the runs, manoeuvred the miles, smiled the smiles, talked the talks, hilled the hills, contoured the contours, deconventioned the conventions, learned the lessons and sustained the sanity. Dreamed dreams and harboured visions.

The course is a 10K circuit so five laps to be done. Simple as running! Social distancing was a natural feature of the event and up first at 7am were Moira and Kirstie. Birds singing their summer breakfast songs, new-born robins asking for the menu, starlings competing for noise like the Eurovision Song Contest and crows clearing their guttural throats as the two St Brendan’s AC runners got on their marks at Ardfert NS and headed down through a sleeping Ardfert Village. Lovely morning but with a strong hint of scairbhín in the crisp air. Fountain on the left, Glandore Gate on the right and then the Cathedral sleeping quietly as it has done for nine centuries or more. Ardfert Pitch and Putt Course (probably one of the top course in Ireland) on the right the GAA sportsfield where the old aristocracy played cricket on Saturdays and holidays on the sandy grass in another era. At the rear of the sportsfield the Cistercian Abbey ruins keep their secrets beside the flattened residence of the Crosbies. On the left, across from the sportsfield, a farmyard where cattle were slaughtered for the population of Ardfert. On then past here was a Past the graveyard. That graveyard was formerly the orchard and kitchen garden of the ruling Crosby family, complete with glass houses, plum trees, pear trees and a riot of berries. Teams of workers kept everything in order and the buzzing of the bees were in their ears as they went to sleep on summer nights. Now generations of Ardfert people sleep peacefully there. On then to the Round Road.

Then on the left is the former Ardfert Golf club, now reverted to farmland. There’s the location of the first tee in the corner. If you were Brendan Sinnott or PJ Riordan your drives from this tee would go straight down the centre and say an early hallo to the pin. If you were a novice like me the ball would curl right, rising nervously across the road into John Driscoll’s farm, never to be seen again. New ball, add two shots, day done.

After this there is the huge site of Ardfert Quarry, giver of employment for many years since it was concepted by Pat Carroll. The graceful Rices’ house came next on the left, a house where the mother of club chairman John Clifford worked for George Rice once. It was on this road that John himself learned to drive a car at the ripe old age of seven when his visiting cousin allowed him behind the wheel of a Morris 1100. Risky but successful venture! The whole road was enclosed with overhanging trees in days gone by but is now open to the sky. Then to the right turn at Russell’s T junction with the neat white cottage and the garden ornaments and up the narrow road. Here summer is raging for the runners with green life bursting out all around. Briars, ash, sycamore, wild garlic and fields with cows up to their knees in a sea of grass. There’s the house on the right of the late Madge Davis’s on that leafy bóithrín and you would hear Madge reciting poetry emanating from this house up to a few years ago. There used to be a shop there which Madge Davis bought from a Corkman called Sheehy and sold groceries and Peggy’s Legs and tóisíns and penny bars. Young people flocked to the shop in the autumns of old times with violet-coloured fingers and buckets of blackberries gathered from the hedgerows of Sackville, Tubrid, Kilgulbin, . Madge would store the blackberries in a big tub to be sent away to make dye. She helped to bring colour to the lives of the people! Later she made a recording of her poems. Remember Madge as you pass by.

On the left lived the Hewson family, landlords in the area. Now Stephen O’Sullivan and Mags have a veritable little supermarket of goodies and drinks on a table outside their house at the end of the road. And a sturdy-looking Teddy with a St Brendan’s AC sky blue top, sitting comfortably on a chair and smiling the smile of one who knows. A Teddy smile.

Then the Forge Cross on the Tubrid Cross-Abbeydorney road where blacksmiths Paddy and Jack Clifford beat red iron into horseshoes and put the hissing shoes on horses before the ploughing. There was also a creamery there run by the Dairy Disposal Board where farmers brought the milk and had a chat and brought home the new milk for the calves. A daily social event long lost. If those folk in the past could see runners doing a 50K ultra run they would surely have a wry comment or two! Different times.

The runners head up the local Heartbreak Hill in Tubrid. Under the old railway bridge and your legs think that your head has abandoned them as the rise becomes a climb all the way up to Wethers’ Well, Tobar na Molt (from which the townland of Tubrid gets its name). The well where St Brendan, patron of the parish and of Kerry, was reputedly baptised by Erc of Slane. He was supposed to be called Mobhí but rain that fell during the procedure inspired a change to “Braon Fionn” or “Fair Drop”. Hence the translation to Brendan. There’s been a fair few “fair drops” taken in Ardfert since then! The runners take their own fair drops now to freshen up after the hill as they turn right down the relief of Tubrid Hill towards Tubrid Cross and on to Ardfert and lap two. Moira and Kirstie chat all the way and can’t believe that 10K has been covered already as the morning reveals itself with a splash of sunshine and fluffy clouds over the Brandon and the Atlantic to the west.

Gradually the remaining runners head off in small groups, some at a pace that is very nippy considering that there are 31 miles to go! Guest runners join in to help the prime nine and more come to help with a 10K or two. Interesting joining a runner who is already on the journey. For a while you are in it but not of it but the blended footsteps and the chat help to merge you with the occasion. A chat with Paul Montgomery, chaplain in Causeway Comprehensive School means that a few miles are covered without noticing for Denis. Paul’s praise of students and how they all adapted quickly to the Covid procedures and the lessons learned is a positive and encouraging statement of the power of youth. Hope for the future. It’s amazing how words help to move the feet and soothe the maladies of the miles. Joe Bunyan’s philosophy of life and running and managing a young family passes away another handful of miles for Denis whose knee starts to remind him at around 30K that it too has feelings. Family, clubmates and friends helped Denis to complete the task. Ursula Barrett joined in in the vital last laps to work her undeniable mental magic and when Denis’s injury wouldn’t allow him to climb Tubrid Hill in the ultimate lap, plan B was formulated with a flatter alternative and home to the finish. Artur’s planning and pre-advice was always on his mind.

“Plaisir dAmour” (The Joy of Love) is a beautiful song written in 1784 by Jean-Paul-Égide Martini. He put to music a poem which Jean Pierre Claris de Florian had written earlier in the century in his novel “Célestine”. Elvis Presley sang his English version “Can’t Help Falling in Love” in 1961. The theme is dark enough, saying that the joy of love lasts but a moment, while the pain of love lasts a lifetime! With apologies to all involved, I came up with the following adaptation:

La douleur de courir (The pain of running)

N'est qu'un instant (Is but a moment long)

Mais la joie de courir (But the joy of running)

Durent toute une vie (Lasts a whole life long)

Relevant to the positivity with which the runners faced the five eternal laps yesterday.

For Moira, the training sessions prepared her mentally and physically for the huge distance to be encountered on the day. The music at Joe Bunyan’s and Mary’s house gave a lift to the spirit while the children at Stephanie Lyne’s home had encouraging messages chalked on the road. Tour de France and Ballycotton 10 style. Moira finished with a smile and then soaked her legs in the always-resuscitating water of Ballyheigue to recover from her first ultra marathon.

For Kirstie, there was a smile every time she encountered the signage and the water stations and John O’Sullivan popping out of the blue as a drive-by supporter in his jeep. James and little Emma boosted her confidence many times in the long pilgrimage of the 50K before the finish line at Ardfert NS brought solace in the afternoon to tired limbs. Great satisfaction in an adventure successfully fulfilled.

Other runners suffered the “slings and arrows of the outrageous fortune” of ultra running. Andreas, a proven warrior at cycling, swimming, tri-events and ultras felt the pressure and the pain at around 40K and grimaced in pain. Maggie got a severe pain in her side at around 35K and the 10K loop had lost its novelty at that stage. But her toughness got going and she warriored through it. After a brief walk and personal psyching up with the help of Radio Kerry music on the final lap, she chased the free-flowing Artur all the way to the line. Her recovery was a night shift at her workplace and today she was ready for training again. Cool and forthcoming. Amazing.

Peter Jackson flew like an eagle from start to finish, moving fluidly and effortlessly. His cadence at 45K was virtually the same as at 10K and he sailed down Station Road to his destination with confidence and poise. His ability knows no bounds.

Newest club member William ran the whole 50K with a relentless consistency of pace and purpose. Focussed and factual, it was an even rhythm from source to sea. And like most of the participants, he was running solo for much of the distance. Fully committed. The after-experience was a reward which was rare and wonderful.

Linda enjoyed the first three laps 30K), despite going in to the ultra with an injury with the help of Marie Louise Aylward but it was “downhill” (her words) after that. However, the support bestowed in abundance by the community, especially when she was passing her own house on the five occasions and helped along by brother Stephen, Tommy Commane and Bryan Walshe, meant joy at the finish line. The staff of Ardfert NS were also invaluable in their support and they sacrificed their free day to help make the event a success.

There were other runners who decided to run the full 50K or who joined in for a lap or two to support. Some of the times recorded were astounding, considering that the Tubrid Hill was a pace-breaker and sometimes a heart-breaker. Patricia seemed to glide along at a comfortable cruise on both hill and flat and no complaints were heard. She became part of the identity of the afternoon. So did Chris Grayson and Fozzy Forristal who timed 3-56 for the tough course and were smiling as they finished. They spontaneously answered the call to adventure and ran free with the sun and the summer breeze in their faces. There was no TCD (Time Constraint Disorder) there. Life being lived.

One of the features of the run was the signage that club PRO Cathy Flynn erected before the event. An individual message for all nine participants was artistically created by the inventive Cathy: “Keep on smiling, Linda”; “No hills on this route, William!” (not quite true but almost!); “The beer and steak are waiting, Andreas”; “Go Maggie, keep running and stop talking”; “Bar of Snickers at the finish, Denis”; “You got this, Moira, 50K your way”; “Looking strong, Peter, 100K next” and “Artur and Kirstie, ye are amazing, Prosecco is chilling”.

The evening before the run, as one of the signs had to be placed in a particularly bushy spot on a lonely road as briars in all their glory and had to be cleared away. A slasher had to be produced by the attendant from the back of the van to Cathy’s surprise. “Is this the kind of incident that people will be reading about in the papers tomorrow!” she asked the slasher-wielder!

The real stories of the day are written in the consciousness of the participants and supporters. Maybe in the subconscious too. For anyone who has run a marathon, the experience is not forgotten. A marathon is 42.2K. For yesterday’s participants who ran a marathon and then went on for another 8K, the experience is all the more memorable. The fact that is was local was a contributory factor. Some participants got to know gates and trees and dogs and cats and cows and garden flowers on a personal level. One participant says he heard a dog bark three different ways in different laps. Even the same swallows were encountered as they swooped down to check the goings-on. Prayers were said and curses cursed on the Tubrid Hill of Calvary. Jokes and banter and bananas and water. Lots of water.

But what a great Sunday dawned today as the memories merged and the bodies rested and the summer of 2021 became an even better place. There is a meaning encoded in all this running. It defines runners and those around them. It is a celebration of life and a way to a meaning. Runners trot across distances of pain to reach the other side. Running rewards intelligent persistence and integrity and leads to creative visualisation and an upness that is rich and rare. It has a “find-out-who-you-are-ness” about it. It compels you to have a sustained conversation with you. It provides a person’s “need for spiritual territory” as Con Houlihan once described it. It’s just another walk in the mind’s forest.

Well done to all who walked in the mind’s forest yesterday on the roads around Ardfert.