The hefty roads of West Cork

As I hit 300 miles in my run around Ireland, I find myself longing for some wooded trails

An abandoned cottage in Cork

Yesterday I arrived in Skibbereen, a small town in West Cork famous for its Olympic rowers. Having won gold again just a few days ago, I was expecting the town to be festooned in colours and cheer. Maybe I’d missed the party, but in the pub they were watching the Celtic match, while the only sign that the Games was on was an Olympic flag tucked under the arm of a statue, and a poster put up by the Bank of Ireland. It was an otherwise typically drab, grey, August bank holiday weekend.

The last week has been an endless stretch of mostly quiet country roads, pockmarked with abandoned old cottages and uninspiring new builds, sat down in big driveways and surrounded by immaculate lawns.

On any long endurance run, staying in the moment is key. But also, not so easy to do. I can spend hours ticking off the fractions of a mile, checking and rechecking my watch until it becomes a slow torture as the end seems like it will never come. I noticed that if I find myself in a section of woodland, I stop doing this. A first I thought it was the soft ground, the gentler environment. But I realised that it’s because you can’t see what’s coming, but rather instead you find yourself focussed on the trail, especially on a downhill. A twisting, uneven trail forces you to zone in on the moment. Otherwise you might fall.

A long, straight road, by contrast, is an actual physical manifestation of what lies ahead. You turn a corner and see the road stretching out a mile in front of you, and your heart sinks, because you’re immediately lifted out of the moment, and shown, here, this is where you’ll be running for the next 10 minutes.