Report by Trevor Loyd

Photos from the Wings for  Life Facebook Page: Click Here

‘Are you doing The Hellfire on Saturday?’
No. We’re doing the Wings for Life World run’ on Sunday.
Oh, How long is the run?
‘Well, it’s a different distance for everyone.’
Eh? How so?
Well everyone starts at the same time. Then ½ hour after the start a ‘catcher’ car starts and travels along the course at a pre-determined rate. When the ‘catcher’ car reaches you it records your time and distance and your race is over.
Right. Why do they call it a ‘World’ run?
Because the same race in the identical format is held at the exact same time in 33 countries worldwide with over 133,000 runners taking part. Not only can you become a national champion but also a world champion!!

Judith and Trevor Lloyd, clearly taken after the race

The Irish race started in Scotsman’s Bay in Dun Laoghaire at mid-day and the approx 2000 participants headed out towards Sandycove, Dalkey, Killiney, Shankill, Bray, Greystones and for the elite runners on towards Brittas.  While the first part of the course was extremely scenic (Bullock and Dalkey harbours) it was one of the hilliest courses I have ever run. The Hellfire or back of the waterworks have nothing on it.

By the time we reached The Vico Rd under the blazing mid day sun the legs were beginning to go. On to Shankill and Shangannagh cemetery.  (Perhaps I could just go in there and die!). At last Bray came in sight and another hill! Past Katie Taylor’s gym and onto the front. As it was the hottest day of the year so far the crowds were out. Kids and grannies all eating ice-cream cones but none of them too interested in the poor souls struggling to run in the heat.

At this stage I was totally knackered. I nearly didn’t get over the speed bump in the road! Ah a Dart station! Back to Dun Laoghaire? A couple of weeks in France is definitely not the best training. At the end of the sea front the course swung right and what appeared? Another 1 mile long Hellfire type hill up to the Greystones road! At this stage some participants were beginning to walk. Then a cry went up. ‘It’s the catcher car’. We all put on a burst to get another few yards. Alas it was only one of the official race cars. Slow down and on past the 15km mark. Will the car never come? Eventually it did and my race was over – thankfully! It was another 2 Km before the car caught my beloved who not only came first in her category nationally but first in her category worldwide. Younger woman and all that!

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This is a race with a difference and on a very difficult course but all in a good cause. €6.6 million was raised worldwide towards spinal injury research. Just out of interest the winning Irish man ran approx 73 km before the car caught him. (The  majority of the Irish elites ran about 40Km). For those of you who are tempted next year’s race is on May 7^th  2017!

Report by Gavin Finlay

The Rocket Mile (USTAF NC State Mile Championship)

1 May 2016, Rocky Mount, NC

The post-marathon slope can be exceedingly slippy. After several weeks rest, the efforts to return to the daily run and routine become increasingly difficult –  the scourge of apathy and lethargy setting in. I feared this would befall me once the mileage plummeted over the last month. I have been here before of course. The running pendulum swinging wildly from focused motivation to aimless indifference. Not to mention the body’s aches and groans questioning why I lace up.

But I am back. The mind is back. The body is too…well…almost. A recent 1st place finish in a local 5k charity race injected a much-needed dose of mojo and not a little bit of joy back into my running.

Joy is not a word I’d ascribe to the mile race. A vicious and furious 1600m (and change), as different to the marathon as JFK is to Donald Trump. Measured aerobic contemplation versus high-octane, “hold on to your pants” showtime tempo. I know which one I’m wired and built for.

And so to the Rocket Mile in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, around 80 minutes east from where I live here in Durham.  A comp entry from Bull City Track Club (BCTC hereon in), a $225 “purse” eased any indecision I had (I’m not working here so entry fees and mileage costs are real financial concerns right now!).  A state medal up for grabs and the chance to compete against post-collegiate greyhounds young enough to be my sons (well, in certain counties of the Deep South anyway). I ain’t no miler but let’s go marathon man.

Keeping with tradition, I hit the road, dragging the young kids with me – ah, the life of the husband of a Duke University Medical Centre doctor! We arrived with only 30 mins to spare for a rushed bib pick-up, handover of kids to a parent comrade, and an attempted “vigorous” warmup. Like Durham, Rocky Mount is a former tobacco town: registration was in the “Imperial Centre” (after Imperial Tobacco) and the local river is even named ‘Tar River’. Granted it was Sunday, but the town was “tumbleweed” eery and uncontroversially characterless. Forlorn, you could say. There were the requisite Baptist churches, devoid of any redeeming architectural virtue; boxy regional banks and disused warehouses. I even saw a cement hulk of a Freemason’s Hall on my warmup.

Sufficiently loose, I toed the line feeling more nervous than I usually do at distance races. A mixture of comfort zone separation and the intense fear of lactic acid attack. It may well be shorter than a 10k or a marathon of course, but conscious time takes on a different dimension when you race all-out at your threshold for 4-5 minutes. And for me, on this day, I didn’t really know how the body would handle it.

 The lead group accelerated out and to my surprise I edged into the lead. A quick glance back and I saw Blake “10k is too long” Williams who I’ve trained with a bit here in Durham. He’s just returned from “running track” on scholarship at the University of Texas. Quality, serious 1500m runner. He’s the easy winner, no doubt, with a mile PR of 4:06 I think. Nowhere near that today though. Ok, plan is to keep him within 100m or so.  He shifted gears after the first quarter mile and the rest of us were left in his Nike-shaped wake. Predictable.

I managed to sustain a decent clip, clocking a 2:22 half-mile, and feeling surprisingly good. I have run a 4:34 mile before but I knew for certain that I’d be far off that today. We swung left then left again and headed for home with a final left turn to go. Almost a perfect rectangle. I was overtaken in the third quarter by the eventual second place finisher but stood fast and tried to sustain. Recent training hadn’t gifted me with any sort of kick to challenge him.  As we neared the finish line the severe pain I had anticipated never came. Had I been too conservative? Could I have been more aggressive? Should I have embraced inevitable pain like a seasoned miler? Screw it. Another day, perhaps.

In the end, I finished third in 4:46 and 2nd USTAF runner. That’ll be nice in the archives.

This was a well organised event, full of support and good cheer. I quite liked racing the blue ribbon distance too. And the lovely part: relatively no post-race fatigue like you experience after a 10k, for example.

Rocket Mile? Not quite. More like a Paper Airplane Mile if we’re honest.  But I enjoyed the flight.