Did you sleep?  No.

Did you hallucinate?  No-ish.

Did you puke?  Yes.  

Did it hurt?  Yes.  

Did you finish?  Yes!

The metaphorical gun went off at 6:01 on a misty Friday morning and 34 brave souls left the car park in central Killarney and headed out on an adventure.  The Kerry Way Ultra is a 190k, anti-clockwise loop of the Iveragh peninsula in south west Ireland. And it is tough.

I was the last runner out of the start and that was fine by me.  I wanted to start slow, too often this year I had started races or runs at someone else’s pace and suffered for it.  The first few k’s are flat and easy as the course leaves the town and heads out past the hotel strip and into the grounds of Muckross House and the National Park.  I used this time to warm up and sort myself out.  No matter how well prepared you are for these events and how used you are to your gear there is always something amiss that you only notice when you start running.  

The Kerry Way is a National Waymarked Way and is navigated by following “the little yellow man” who appears on posts and walls and signs all along the route, but he is a fickle fecker and you need to keep your eyes open for him.  Sometimes, but rarely, he is not there at all.  The worst place for signage is in the Muckross grounds which is both at the start, when you are anxious, and the end when you are wrecked.

Even at this early stage with barley 5k done I was on my own as I had let everyone else go.  I had passed three lads at this stage who were taking it even easier then myself.  I was still on my own as I climbed the Torc steps beside the impressive waterfall, the first bit of height gain in the race.  Above, on the Old Kenmare Road, I started to meet other runners as we headed south.  It was full light now and the midges were out in force in the still damp air, the passage of the rest of the field had woken them up and they were waiting for me.   

Here the route is gently undulating on stony road with sections of boardwalked bog and rocky gully.  Eventually you drop down through oak forest to join a minor tarmaced road.  I know I said the route was a loop but it is actually a Q, with a 16 kilometre tick, which is travelled twice, out and back.  One down.

Turn right and the loop begins.  Another lovely section follows as you head towards Lord Brandon’s Cottage and the first check point.  The rules of this event state that competitors can have vehicularcrew support at 8 specified locations with a 9th, bag drop facility, at Lord Brandon’s.  As I came into the checkpoint some others were leaving and some where undergoing repairs.  I grabbed my drop bag and refilled my water, thanked Ritchie the marshal here, who was getting eaten alive and headed out, munching as I went.

The BlackValley is one of the most beautiful places in the world.  A deep dark valley as the name suggests.  Huge mountains on either side with lakes, streams and few buildings.  The mountains on your right are Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, the largest massif in the country, including the reek itself, Carrauntoohil, Ireland’s highest mountain.  There is nothing civilized about these hills.  There are paths and routes but there are huge areas of ground where no one goes.  The low mist and cloud which hid the summits and the flanks only seemed to add to the impression of bulk.  Fortunately we were spectators to this majesty as we traversed the valley floor on a mixture of bohereen and track.

At this point I had caught up to three other runners, Melanie, Bobby and Jim and I tagged along with them enjoying the conversation and company as we climbed up out of the BlackValley under the impressive side of Broaghnabinnia.  Shadows started to appear on the trail in front of us as the sun started to finally burn off the low cloud.  We descended into the BridiaValley had a brief tarmac respite and then started climbing again up the Lack Road.  It was hot now and this is a steep pull.  I felt my heart rate rising and my breathing become laboured so I backed off a bit, I didn’t want to go too deep at this stage, a long way to go yet.

At the col I met the Valerie O’Sulivan the official photographer and all round super-woman.  We had some chat, she wished me luck and I started down the rocky trail towards Lough Acoose and then on to a longish stretch of road down in to Glencar and the first crew stop at the Climbers Inn.

My brother, Ciaran, was crewing for me and he was waiting with supplies and drinks.  The next section starts with a lovely trip along the CaraghRiver and a not so lovely section of harvested forestry.  The Likeen steps are another nice interlude followed by a section of road.  Here I fell in with Pat and Charlie.  These boys are experienced long distance road runners whereas I am a converted hill walker and the difference in strengths was obvious.  Any section that was runable the lads pulled ahead, if we had to walk, I caught up.  Over the Windy Gap on another old mountain road I pulled ahead but the lads passed me again on the descent down into Glenbeigh and the second crew stop.  

It was at the top of the Windy Gap that we got our first look at the sea, and it was stunning.

After Glenbeigh comes one of the most beautiful sections of trail anywhere.  Another old abandoned road climbs gradually up the flank of Drung Hill and directly below you is a precipitous drop in to the Atlantic Ocean.  The sun was shining and the sea was flat calm and unbelievably clear.  The bottom could be seen from 500 ft above.  It was a day in a million.  Here again we met Valerie who must have teleported here.  I was still with Pat and Charlie and stayed with them pretty much until the next stop at Gortmore.  I stopped for a while here and re-charged and re-fuelled.  I didn’t have much appetite but I had packed so many different food options I was able to find something I could get down, mostly fruit and rice.  Soon it was time to go again.  I was 81k in and 12 hours on the go.  I was happy with my progress and was ahead of my projected pace.  I had no major issues with feet or muscles, and I was eating and drinking enough.  So far the Kerry Way had been benign, but now the fun starts.

From Gortmore to Waterville is a distance of approximately 24k over mostly open mountain.  So far the way had traversed a mixture of underfoot conditions ranging from tarmac road to rocky broken trail, some of it quite tricky in places but this next section put all that in the ha’penny place.  You climb up out of Gortmore and join a broad undulating ridge.  There is no one major ascent or descent, just a seemingly never ending series of short, sharp, steep ascents and descents on a sometimes indistinct track.  These are hills that, in and of themselves, don’t have much allure for the average hill walker.  They are vastly overshadowed by what the rest of Kerry has to offer, so the majority of traffic they get is walkers doing the Way and these numbers are not sufficient to open up the trail.  Grass, half buried rocks and holes make up the ground, interspersed with hollows of wet gooey bog.  I had managed to spend 12 hours, so far, in the hills of South West Ireland and I still had relatively dry feet but that honeymoon ended now too.  Another aspect of this section is that, if you are going to get lost on the Kerry Way Ultra, it is probably going to happen around here.  The Yellow Man is out in force but sometimes he just gets missed and the ground has that, drag you off capacity, which can happen on shallow hills.  Over the two years of this events existence this is where most people get lost.  This could also have to do with the fact that at this stage, for mid-packers and slower, it’s getting dark or is now full dark here.  

Eventually the first ridge comes to an end and you join a road for about 3k before climbing again to a second slightly more benign ridge.  As I came down to the road I could see a runner ahead of me, the first I’d seen since leaving Gortmore.  I caught up to Bertie, for Bertie it was, as we reached the road and we both took out our head torches as the last of the light faded.  Bertie had had some issues earlier and was taking his time trying to get his mojo back.  We walked the uphill bit of the road to the left turn where we saw a head torch coming back up the road from the wrong direction, someone had missed the turn.  I asked Bertie did he feel like running this bit and he said no so I moved on.  The second of the two ridges is not as bad as the first but it is still a trial in the dark.  Relatively flat on top but still with difficult underfoot conditions and lots of stiles.  I haven’t mentioned stiles so far in this report but they are a major feature of the Way as it crosses a lot of farm land, and just about now they started to become a pain.   

It was a fabulous night though, bright and still, with a nearly full moon and not a breath of wind.  Although I was tired and sore I was really enjoying myself.  The halfway mark had been passed in the not so distant past and I was still moving and feeling good.  My feet were a bit trashed though and I was looking forward to Waterville, a break and a change of footwear.

Waterville, nestled between Lough Currane and BallinskelligsBay, is a nice seaside town with a large promenade which boasts two statues.  One of Mick O’Dwyer, a legendary local Gaelic footballer and manager, and the other of Charlie Chaplin, which is a little odd, till you discover he was a regular visitor to the area.

Along the seafront the crew cars were parked, I sat down beside Ciaran’s and started to work on my feet while he filled water and changed batteries and stuff.  I was now past halfway, the worst section was behind me, and I was still ahead of my projected time for a good finish time.  My body still felt strong, my legs were fine, I had no urge to sleep, I was rocking.  The only fly in the ointment was my feet which had taken a pounding in the last 4 hours.  Fresh socks, change of footwear, loads of Vaseline and hope for the best.

Very soon out of Waterville you find yourself on another great section as you climb steadily, on a grassy track, towards a distinct ridge.  The views to your right, over the bay and out to the SkelligIslands, are spectacular.  The Skelligs were populated by monks in the middle ages and their stone huts are still to be seen, and will soon be seen by a worldwide audience as the retreat of a certain Jedi Knight.

Up ahead of me as I climbed I could see the headtorch of another runner.  He seemed to be looking back a lot until I realized he was backing down the stiles; there are a few of them on this section.  Eventually I caught up with him and we fell in together.  This was Pat and he was in great form.  We chatted about our adventures so far and how we were feeling as we crested the ridge and took in the views over DerrynaneBay and the beautiful area around Caherdaniel. Mountains, sea and moon, heaven.

Neither of us had much running in us at this stage so we were content to power hike the convoluted trail from here into the hamlet of Caherdaniel.

That last section is a fairly short one and I didn’t need much from the car so it was a quick stop.  Pat needed repairs on his feet so I headed off on my own again towards Sneem.

My spirits were still quite high climbing up out of Caherdaniel.  I stopped briefly to chat to a marshal who was unexpectedly bivviing out on the side of the trail in the middle of nowhere.  At the top of the first climb my stomach gave a couple of heaves and what little I had taken on at the last stop came back up again.  Itrudged on, stoppingoccasionally to dry heave but it wasn’t knocking too much out of me. 

I had recceed this section in August and knew that after the initial climb there were a couple more on open hill and then a long flat runable section all the way to Sneem.

Another marshal in the middle of nowhere turned out to be John Lenihan, former World Mountain Running Champion and all round legend.  He was full of praise for our efforts so far and it was great to get encouragement from him.

Eventually the wet mountain sections end and the long flat bit starts.  In planning I was hoping to have something in the tank at this point because it is eminently runable, but that wasn’t the case.  I was now in virgin distance territory.  128k was my previous best and I was now approaching 140.  I was tired but not out on my feet just yet but running was beyond me so I just kept walking.  I’d try to run a bit, but it felt slower and decidedly more painful than walking, so walk I did.

Sneem was still asleep when I arrived but morning was coming fast.  Another pit stop here and a battle to get food in to me.  I did have the best cup of coffee ever with loads of sugar and milk; I normally take it without either.  It was now after 6am and starting to get light.  I was now behind my hoped for time and slowing.  I didn’t feel great here but I did feel that I was going to finish.  I had maybe 60k or so to go and 16 hours to finish before the 40 hour time limit.  As I sat on the wall in Sneem square a car pulled up and a local man started to talk to us about the race and our progress.  We were all carrying GPS trackers from Open Tracking.  On their website it was possible to track the runners on the course and a lot of people were aware of our positions.  Both locals and people looking in from afar.  This little event on the edge of Europe had a worldwide live audience.

Sneem to Templenoe is a pleasure on a good day.  A good mix of track and trail, a bit of open hill and a long section through woods on fire road and track.  Today wasn’t a good day.  I was suffering.  I felt the blisters go on the balls of my feet, one after the other and the split was right in the crease of the big toe.  Pain ramped up a notch.

I adopted a mantra at this point.  “This thingtoo, will be endured”.   I was drawing on what I had been through to this point to counteract the negativity that was demanding an audience.  I could see the rest of the Way in my minds eye as I had done all of the remaining bits before and when my mind projected a difficult bit to come I repeated my mantra.

Coffee and sausage rolls at Templenoe and off again.  This section nearly broke me.  Firstly it’s a head wreaker because Templenoe to Kenmare is 4k on the main road but the way does two loops up away from the road, one on mostly back roads and one over Gortamullen Hill adding up to 13k or so.  You know where Kenmare is, you can see the distinctive bridge on the far side of the town from the hill you are on but the trail is going in the opposite direction.  Maddening.  But the challenge of the Kerry Way Ultra is to do the Kerry Way and that’s the way of it.

Secondly my feet were screaming and the descents now were almost impossible and very slow.  The final one off Gortamullen was torture and I have to admit I cried.

Kenmare is the 100 mile mark and that’s enough.  100 miles in 31 hours would have to do.  I was shot, spent, done.

It’s funny the things that motivate you.  I met Ciaran as I approached the car park in Kenmare and he led me into the checkpoint.  I got a great welcome from marshals and crew.  I sat down and washed my feet.  I had a Magnum ice cream.  I borrowed a set of poles which I normally eschew but needs must.  Another runner, John had been forced to drop here with a blown knee.  

John had completed the Way in 2012 as part of a test event for the first race proper the following year so he had nothing to prove.  One kneecap was missing in a mass of swelling.  I had sore feet.  I was going on. I had loads of time.

Fed, watered and washed I left Kenmare for the final leg.  Ciaran walked with me for a bit and gave me words of wisdom.  Back in the car park Brian and Julie had come in while I was there.  They had been forced to drop out sometime the previous night but they were full of encouragement and genuinely happy for me that I had got this far.

It’s a long, long climb out of Kenmare but it felt good.  Climbing still wasn’t a problem.  The sun came out here too and it warmed my back as I headed north for the first time, truly homeward bound.  I climbed the 6k and 300m out of Kenmare in a little over an hour.  Horribly slow but nothing compared to the descents where every step was torture.

This too was endured and I made it to Derrycunnihy and the tick of the Q.  16k to go.  Another climb up through the oaks.  The midgies seemed to have buggered off thankfully.  Trudging on I passed across the boardwalked bog again and descended the rocky Easknamucky Glen, passed Cores Cascade and made it to the rocky Old Kenmare Road.   I became aware of a presence behind me and Bertie hoved into view.  I hadn’t seen him since Waterville but he was flying now.  Up to this point, since leaving the car park 36 plus hours ago, in last place, I had not been passed by any runner.  I had moved steadily through the small field at my own pace and I was very happy with that.  I think I had paced myself well.  But Bertie was about to end my streak.  

Gentleman that he is, he stayed with me for a long time as I struggled towards Torc Waterfall.  We were also joined by Aidan, a local who had been in last year’s race.  He met us on the trail and stayed with us until the bottom of the Torc steps.  The chat really took my mind off my feet.  

Back again into the grounds of Muckross House and the sign less Bermuda Triangle.  Bertie was still hanging back out of politeness and I told him to feck off and go get his own time.  Even on the flat I was slower than a slow thing.

If I have one criticism of the organisation of this event it’s the lack of direction at this stage.  Muckross House is a tourist trap and there are myriad trails and ways that criss cross each other and very few yellow men.  I rang my partner, Jen, at this stage to vent my frustration at this unnecessary obstacle at this late stage.  A printer, a laminator and a few cable ties would solve this.  But it’s a minor thing.

Somehow I found my way out of the maze and on to the main road in to Killarney and the finish.  As I struggled at a snails pace along the path, mingling with common or garden tourists I was getting some funny looks as I shuffled, grunting, towards the end.

On the last bend I was passed again but the end was nigh and I made it over the line in 38 hours 17 minutes or so.  14th out of 15 finishers, out of 34 starters.

Happy.

Thanks to Eileen and Simon, the organisers.  Thanks to all the marshals and backroom crew who lost sleep for us.  A million thanks to Ciaran for crewing.  A special thanks to Jen for putting up with me.

Congratulations to Steffan D’Espallier, the winner for the last two years, this year in a stunning 23hours 47minutes, and to Bidiget Brady, still the only women to complete this event, twice now.

And congratulations to all other competitors.  Starting this race is a victory.