I know high-powered and jetsetting types make transatlantic (or transpacific) flights all the time, and their bodies hardly register the jet lag. I used to be that girl; but sadly marriage and routine have robbed me of that glamorous talent. Clearly I was overestimating myself when I’d planned on running all three days of my visit to the land of Eire for my dear friend EM’s wedding.
My Thursday morning arrival allowed the time for a post-prandial run, but the fact that I got no real sleep on the flight over caught up with me and I fell asleep in the tub (yes, I was taking a bath). After the water cooled off and I woke up from the chill, I raised the white flag and crawled right into bed (mmm soft sheets), where I slept until it was time to get ready for dinner.
Friday I was well-rested, well-fed (breakfast of “porridge” and fruit salad), yet not quite hydrated. The wedding ceremony began at 2 PM, so at a quarter to 12 I headed up the country road from the resort, the BrookLodge Hotel, for a regionally correct 10 kilometer run. It was a warm day, in the mid-40’s, and I ran in just tights and a tee-shirt. The sun shone, there was no breeze, and the damp air felt good on my throat and lungs. I’d tucked my camera in my tights’ back pocket. There’s nothing like a run through new territory, especially abroad.
Much of the run was flanked by those typical high hedges and stands of trees you see in all the movies and photos of the Irish countryside, so I couldn’t spot much of the hills behind them. But after about 3k it opened up a bit, and I was treated to exactly the vistas one would expect from Ireland in the winter. Here, look…..
I ran an out and back, with the Out being primarily uphill. I encountered only a few delivery trucks, chugging up the hill. Oh, and one tractor, driven by an old farmer in corduroy pants, a tweedy jacket, and a flannel cap, I kid you not–he must have just been discharged from the Costume Department for my benefit. There was also a mossed over graveyard replete with Celtic crosses on the headstones, bare-branched trees reaching towards the sky to share their ancient secrets.
Then, further along, I ran past a meadow filled with fluffy sheep, their black faces and wooly bodies dotted across the panorama like some sort of timed-release from the menagerie, just to be hospitable to me.
There were the pointy directional signs (Dublin thataway; Limerick over yonder) at the Y’s in the road. There were the stone walls partitioning off Leary’s land from Flannigan’s. The clouds rushed across the sky, as if someone was rolling them past on a pulley. Really now: the only things I failed to spot were the leprechaun napping at the base of a rainbow and Mrs Heneghan inviting me in for a spot of tea.
I returned to the hotel after a near-10k (6.18 miles) in 58:23, awake and relaxed, ready to celebrate my friend’s marriage. (I remember I ran the morning of my wedding, too, seven years ago.)
Oh, and I’d every intention of running 5k Saturday morning–until I woke dissipated from the 10+ hours of partying we’d done at E & L’s reception the night before. Talk about an endurance event (details follow in separate post)!!