Guest Post: A faded memory ...by Pat Walsh

 * A faded memory *

Like so many others who have been running for too long, I have a cupboard full of old race tshirts. In a dream world they are neatly folded and arranged in chronological order to reflect my running escapades down through the years. In reality they are all jumbled up in a pile and it’s pot luck what comes out on any given day. If it is turned inside out and smells ok then it is probably clean and can be worn.

A few days ago a t-shirt came out of the bundle, Ballycotton 10 March 11th  2001. 25 years ago, the Year of the Foot and Mouth crisis. The disease hit Ireland in early March and the Government moved to cancel all public events to prevent the spread of the disease. It affected Cattle only but could be spread by humans and seen as a threat to our National Economy. It was a kind of practise run at Covid restrictions for 20 years later. 

As March is the month of the Ballycotton 10, the formal end of Winter, the beginning of a New Year of running, we held our breath and waited for an announcement. Remember, no social media, no smartphones, no idea what is happening. This wasn’t any race, it was the Ballycotton 10, the best race in Ireland. 

‘A classic race at a classic distance.’

Our Sunday in March was part of the calendar, a pilgrimage. The village, the views of the sea and the lighthouse, the crowds. This wasn’t a fun run. Race face on, give it a lash and bust a lung trying to get a good time. Passing the Grotto with 400 metres to go on a slight uphill, you prayed to any Deity of your choosing to help you home. Afterwards, the craic was fantastic around the village where we mingled and regaled one another with feats of glory or the hard luck story. Of course a few pints to rehydrate and the year was set up, it was mapped out from here. Plans were made and the more we had the bigger the plans got.

We were still entering the race by filling out a form and posting it in. Information wasn’t as readily available as it is today. Even the great Running in Cork blog hadn’t started and we can’t run without that now. I think the race might have progressed at that stage to the form appearing online and you could print it off to post. My own favourite was a trip to John Buckley Sports Shop in Cork, the Home of Running, to get a form from the stack they had available just inside the door. Always a bit of encouragement and slagging from the staff that worked there. 

Slight change of subject but did filling out a form with a pen, signing it and posting it encourage a greater level of commitment to actually doing the race. We see so many no-shows nowadays and I wonder, does clicking online, some night after a drink when it seemed like a good idea, bring the same level of determination to see it through.

Back to 2001 and the word came through, race postponed until later in the Year. Deep depression, what will we do? The country is in tatters. Westlife are at Number One with Uptown Girl (omg) and Bertie Ahern is Taoiseach. No match, no racing, no concert, no inspiration, no fun. We can’t go anywhere without sterilizing our Welly Boots. What excuse have we got to go for a few pints?

“All here again in the Ballycotton 10, lined up and ready for to go” Dick O’Brien.

Race was finally held on June 24th with 763 finishers. The new date probably didn’t suit many people as it was holiday time and training was maybe targeted for something else shorter. I do remember it was a scorching hot Sunday with the tar melting on the road. I went out to plan but realised at Mile 5, when I was a minute down on target and suffering, that maybe it wasn’t my day.  The plan was wrong, I should have allowed for conditions. 

Now I knew why there was no 10 mile races in Ireland during the Summer. I slowed and relaxed on the way home. At Mile 7, I stopped to help a runner in distress until first aid arrived. Nothing too serious but enough for me to evaluate that a handy jog was the best option. I came home nearly 10 minutes down on my plan and smiled and waved my way up the village for the last mile. Even Mossy the DJ wasn't too hard on me compared to some of the good natured abuse I used to get from him. It finished well and I got my mug and t-shirt.

A treasure with 2 different race dates and a relic of a simpler time. Is it a faded garment that should have been dumped years ago or a trigger to a bundle of memories somewhere deep in the recesses of my strange mind?

‘And those were the days of roses, of poetry and prose
And Martha all I had was you and all you had was me
There was no tomorrows, we packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.’ Tom Waits

#pwr