Sunday, April 20, 2008

Mancland ahoy

Busy week on all fronts. Started training again and felt sluggish as Hell until today, which tends to be how it goes. I think you're supposed to ease back into it after you take a two week break after a 6 hour race, but fuck that. First run in 15 days was a mile race at ALSAA. Had no real idea what time to expect, clearly PB's were not on the agenda, but I figured 5:40 would be decent and to be honest wouldn't have been shocked if I'd struggled to break 6:00.

In the event, I ran 5:35 for second so I was happy enough. I was 3 seconds behind the winner but in truth it was never much of a contest. He ran on my shoulder for the first lap but even then it was clear he was going easier, and he pulled away after that. I closed a bit on the last lap without ever really threatening to catch him. Newly crowned European Airlines champion Orla Loftus was a reasonably distant third behind me so largely it was more of a procession than a race. I've won this series overall last two years, but this year I missed the race the day I flew back from my third place in Central Park (in no condition to run), so that meant fourth place at best, which is what it was.

Rest of the week I felt sluggish, old, fat and useless. Norrie doesn't believe in easing back either: session of 12 300's on Friday, then 70 minutes yesterday, and 20 100's today. Today's session went very well though: I actually felt light on my feet.

Been very busy with the day job getting stuff finished before I disappear off to Manchester, so not played anything serious online. Just stuck to $1/$2 Limit in the background as I worked. Limit's easiest to play in Automode, and the players are so bad it's guaranteed bankroll boost. I ended up about $500 on the week.

Played my Wednesday night local pub tournament: usual mix of exhileration and frustration. Lost half my stack on a hand where one woman playing every pot limped from mid position, I called in the SB with A10s, flop came AQ2, I check, and she bets 5000 of her 5600 into a pot of 600. WFT is that, I wonder, before deciding it's not a big ace or a set since she'd be more encouraging of a call, so I have to call. I'm right: all she has is Q9. But another Q hits the turn and I've lost half my stack. Bad enough but what annoyed me most is everyone at the table seemed to think it was really great play on her part: really "courageous" and "that's what poker is all about". Hmmm, 5000 to win 600, 90% of your stack, with at best 5 outs if you're called.

Next hand, I'm still steaming a little bit, which explains why I raise to 1200 on the button over two habitual limpers (including my new nemesis), or 25% of my remaining stack, with AJ. By God if those fuckers must play their Q9's and J8's I'll make them pay, I was thinking, if I was thinking.

Flop's KKQ and I'm not going near it even when it's checked around. Turn's a 10 to make my straight so when it's checked around again I'm all in and ready to say "Well played" to either of them if they have KQ or K10. They both instacall so I know I'm out. Only I'm not. Two Ace 10's!!! So I triple back up into a chip lead until the final table.

Card dead at the final table, the blinds come racing like they're on the Balco list, and with 5 left and 3 paid, I 3 bet a limper with KQ for 30% of my stack. He calls, flop is A102, he checks, so I bet half the pot to find out if he has the ace. He instacalls so I know he has it. Turn's a 9, river's a 3, it's checked down, and he has Q9! Hand of the night clearly. Shortly after I lose allin with JJ against AQ.

Played the SE 500 Euro game last night and never really got going after losing nearly half my stack early in a hand I possibly misplayed. When it's button on blind and you have the novice's favourite hand (Top Pair Top Kicker) all the way, you're always going to lose some chips but I could perhaps have lost 2000 less. Action was check, check, pot, call, fold on the flop, check, half pot, min raise on the turn, all in, call on the river. The call on the river is the dubious part as even with TPTK I'm really only beating a bluff. But I was getting 2 to 1 on the call, there were busted flushes and a busted straight out there, and with my opponent so short stacked he could have been desperate so I ascribed a higher probability to the bluff than I would normally, based purely on his stack size, and his style. My read turned out to be accurate as he later pulled a massive bluff on Willie Clynes, and then went out of the tournament on a semi bluff rereraise for 100 BB. But not in this specific instance, as he'd flopped a set of 2's. The brother reckoned I played it fine but I think I could have folded the river. Busted draws and short stack desperation aside, I think I knew I was beaten from the way he played it but just made a stubborn call.

Actually recovered by the break after picking up 10's in the BB. Late position loose raiser raised, button called, SB called, I reraised big, and the button called with 3's suspecting a squeeze.

After the break just gradually withered away. Two double ups (KK against AQ, AQs against 9's) threatened to get me back into it but was followed by AJ beating my Q's, so was forced to widen my pushing range and my A8 from the CO ran into Adam "The Champ" Fallon's 8's in the SB. Adam really impressed me yet again: he was shorter stacked than me for a while but didn't panic and was right back in it when I left. Future poker superstar for sure.

Off to Manchester with the brother for a week to play the GUKPT.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Satellite of love

Qualified for three super sats this weekend.

First up Madrid last night, as previously logged.

WSOP tonight, down to 120 after my first hand (all in with AK v KK), somehow recovered to 30K chip leader with 20 left, then 3 river suckouts in quick succession.

Finally Manchester, where the script was get big stack, lose race, repeat about 20 times. Arrived at final table with big stack (3 tickets), lost some more races, was short stack with five left, one huge call with K8 in the SB to be shown 108 (totally read dependent), this time no suckout, marginal short stack with 4 left, clung on and ducked and dived and eventually two of the others went allin, AQ v KK, the marginally bigger stacked AQ went hit two pairs and that was that, ticket plus expenses for a tournament I was going to go to anyway.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

The good, the bad, and the sucky

Good day online on the cash tables, up just over a grand.

No joy in Manchester satellite though. Pretty card dead for most of it, but hung in there and with 12 left and three tickets was about average when I lost 2 allins in quick succession and that was that. First one I had Jacks in the SB against J9 on the button and the lucky bugger hit his straight. Second one was a pure race, A6s against 5's so fair enough. Just to make it more galling though, caught the 6 on the flop but a 5 on the turn killed me. Sometimes I hate tournament poker, and the next 15-20 minutes will be some of those times.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Another final table

But no cash. Not really much of a performance either.

Played the Fitz tonight and to be honest never really got going. Got very little to play with early doors and then couldn't connect with flops. So I basically just drifted back and back from starting stack to 1K (5 BB's) before there was a suckout led short stack recovery that saw me get to the final table with 9K, shortish but playable. Started with Ace 8 in the SB, three limpers, all in, first limper reraises allin, other limpers dive out of the way. I'm thinking big pair or ace, but no, she turns over 7's, happy days, specially once I hit my Ace on the turn. Then a button raise gets through, then another double up when I suck out with AJ against the same lady's AQ, and then another courtesy of the only really decent play I made all night.

Young guy playing like an escaped lunatic raises 1200 (3 BB) UTG blind, I'm sitting with 4850 so looking to move again so if it's passed round to me I figure any hand above average is an allin hand, I have K9 suited so off we go. My rocky image helps ensure nobody else decides to get involved, my opponents calls blind (!), turns over J8, and my hand holds.

Unfortunately that was my high point. I played my first FT hand terribly weakly. Monster stack UTG min raised, guy just next to him flatcalled, Denis Reyes in the small blind completed, and I have AJ. Think about pushing but a little bit worried about the UTG min raise so instead I elect to see what the flop brings. In retrospect, hard to know what I'm hoping for flopwise other than some miracle like two pairs and KQ10. It's actually Q82 rainbow. Nothing for me there so I check expecting to be folding when someone bets, but it's checked around. Jack on the turn. I figure there's probably no queen out there since a queen should have bet the flop with 4 people in the pot to protect against J10, so my first instinct is all in to protect. But then I think no, I'm only getting called by a queen or better, so I'll just check, see what the river brings, and maybe someone will bluff at it and I'll make more if noone has the queen (and lose less if they do and I just have to call a value bet on the end). River's a relatively innocuous looking 9 (only slightly worried about J10) so I check, and the guy at the end (most obvious bluffing position) bets 2K. I figure with pot odds of 7 to 2 I have to call and guess what, he has pocket 9's so he rivered a set. If I'd gone with Plan A and pushed the turn, he'd have been gone and I'd have been up to over 14K instead of down to less than 5K. Given the tournament situation (blinds 400/800 and about to rise to 500/1000) I had to just ignore a slowplayed queen (or set, or 109, or QJ etc.) and just hope my J was good. If someone was slowplaying something better, then good luck to them, but more than 50% of the time my AJ would be good on the turn and I was pushing 7K to win 7K (and more importantly give myself a proper shot at doing something at the FT other than push or fold), so it should have been a no brainer push.

Few hands later, I came over a limper with pocket 10's in the cutoff only to have him call with Jacks. Nothing wrong with that play, the damage was done the previous hand.

Sean played too and just died the slow death of a 1000 cuts, or rather bad hands.

Other than that, was in town on business all day so didn't play online.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Aces, the perfect blind steal hand

Pretty good day online yesterday, satellited into two weekly final super sats, including the Green Joker Poker WSOP final again, so happy with that. Almost won a ticket to Madrid too: second last table, 6 tickets, I've about 60% of what I reckon I need for the ticket when I pick up kings two off the button. Two limpers. There's a French lunatic I'd earlier seen push all in with A6o and suck out who keeps coming over the top with any pair, rag aces etc., so I raised to 5BB (bigger than normal for me). Sure enough, he pushes all in (I cover him). Shortie on the button pushes too, I call. Frenchie has Jacks, shorty has 5's, happy days. Flop is K102 rainbow, happier days. Turns a 9 and alarm bells start to ring and yup, rivers a gutwrenching Q. Otherwise, I've got my ticket, instead I'm short and push into Aces with AQ.

Played some cash and barely broke even. Could have been a big winning day: got into a 2000 Euro pot with a massive draw. 15 outs twice, but missed.

Played my local pub tournament in the evening. No joy, but plenty of fun. First I had to contain myself as the resident geniuses who regard hands like J8o as the mortal nuts discussed what a shit player in the IO apparently is. A third guy claiming to be a mate of his offered a very lukewarm defence that "he's improved a lot in the last few months". Sample play from this guy: I've not played a pot yet, I raise with AJ, he min reraises, normally I fold but decide to call since this is a glorified turbo sit and go. Flow K109, I check, he overbets the pot, I fold, he shows QJ.

Few hands later, I raise again with AJ, he calls, SB shoves (for 80 BB's!), I fold, he calls. I'm expecting to see Queens and Ace King, but no, it's 2's and Ace 10.

Did win one early pot when I raised 3 BB with Q's on the button, sighed when I got five callers, but was happy when the flop came Q22. Flop checked around. Turn's a promising looking Ace, but still nobody betting. River's a hopeful 10 but still nobody biting. I throw out a bet of 500 hoping the pot odds of 3 to 1 will tempt someone and yup, a guy with K4 calls on the basis that he didn't think I had a Ace or a Queen when I didn't bet earlier.

Sat there like a rock sticking to the prescribed sng strategy of tight early, all in or fold late, when I pick up Aces UTG. Raise to 3 BB, one caller, and the BB. Flop is Q55, I bet 1200, blind calls. Turns an innocuous 8 but I figure I'm either way ahead of behind to a 5 so I just check. River's a Q. Gah. She bets 2000, I fold showing Aces, she shows Q3o. General puzzlement as to how I could fold aces. I've just reenforced the general opinion I'm the worst player there, so I start getting advice from everyone. Should have shown preflop. 3 BB UTG when I haven't played a hand in a hour isn't strength? Apparently not: what you always want to do with aces is move all in. Makes them much harder to crack.

In the end, I'm down to 4.5 BB when I push with QJ and get a lucky double up against JJ. Then I'm down to 7.5 BB again when I have 3's in the SB. Three limpers. I know the first two always limp fold to an allin, and I know for a fact the third guy doesn't have a pair (he's the guy who lectured me on going allin with Aces, and had gone all in with 2's earlier, so he always raises with a pair), so it's likely a good a spot as any, and I shove. Read is spot on, first two limpers fold their ace rags, and third guy calls with Ace 9. Flops a 9 and c'est ma vie.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Back to Poker

Maybe the running break did me good because since I came back I'm running much better in poker terms.

Highlight: second place in the Sporting Emporium Monthly 200 tourney. Overall, I was very happy with my play. Maybe a little raggedy at the start as I still felt very tired from Brno but I woke up as the tournament went on and think I played my best stuff on the last two tables.

Standard seemed very high to me as it always does in the SE (but then I've only played the big games there). So high at the first table I was at that I was starting to seriously wonder if I was the value. I managed to wither down to about half my starting stack early on due to card death until I got lucky with a big blind special chasing a flush draw that never came but backdooring a straight runner runner when my opponent was slowplaying top set. Given that the flush didn't arrive, the poor girl had to think she was betting the nuts when instead she was doubling me up on the river (though as a sign of just how strong the table was, the guy sitting across from me not in the hand knew the exact cards, 7h6h, before I turned them over).

Didn't really get going until Adam The Champ Fallon doubled me up on the second last table with A8s against my AK, and then later got lucky to win a race with 10's against AQ when my opponent hit his Q on the flop but I rivered a gutshot straight.

Was so card dead at the final table at the start I was down to 7 BB until I got a card rush that brought me from shortie with 6 left to headsup. The best thing about it was I could very easily have been gone out in 6th a few hands earlier. I button raised with 8's, and Kevin Fitzpatrick moved all in for a bit more than I had. Normally when you've got 8's on the button and already put 30% of your short stack in it's an automatic call, but I decided to take some time to think it over. Kev had moved all in after some considerable thought of his own. I make no secret of the fact that not only do I rate him as one of the best players I've come across but he's probably the one guy in Ireland I've played against a bit that I really don't feel I have much of a read on. I looked at him for a while and again found him tough to read, but did get a vague sense of strength. I also pondered the fact that he'd effectively committed his entire stack (or 90%) in a situation where he had to think I was calling. I know he knows I'm not one for button raising just for sheer devilment, and he'd seen me decline several opportunities already at the final table, so looking at it through his eyes, he had to think I must have something, and I had to call, and yet he'd still pushed. So I decided I was, at best, at very best, racing, but more likely a horrible dog to a bigger pair, and made a crying fold. He told me later he had a bigger pair (of course I shouldn't necessarily believe him, but choose to).

This was just one example in the tournament where I got away from good but still beaten hands. I've identified my inability to do that often as my biggest glaring weakness so it's good to see an improvement. I probably got away from more hands in this one tournament than in all the others I've played this year put together.

The recovery started a few hands later. Kev got dogged and lost an all in to be left microstacked. He's BB, I'm SB, and he announces he's calling with any two cards (which I knew anyway). I pick up K6, way better than average, and he calls with J6. My hand holds up and I'm clapping myself for edging one more place up the prizes despite being short for so long. A few hands later the hyperaggressive Sean P raises all in from the SB on my BB, I have jacks for an instacall, he tables 76s, and I double up. Card rush from there sees me move from 14K to 100K in half a dozen hands.

Eventually got headsup with Joe (goodluck2me from boards.ie), but outchipped 4 to 1. Shame it didn't last longer as I think it would have been fun but at least I did what I could. Three hands in a row I folded preflop to reraises, when it turns out he had me crushed with kinhs twice and queens once. Then I'm check-raised with J7 on a J22 flop qhen he has a better jack, and I get away.

Getting away is all well and good but all this folding doesn't add to your stack and now his advantage was 5 to 1 so I needed a double up just to make it interesting. Then I pick up 10s after he's raised again. This time I figure him for a lower pair than my 10's, so the choices are trap call, raise or all in. In the end, I go all in, thinking he'll call with a lower pair (if that's what he has) thinking he's probably racing, so a good spot for a much needed double up.

Read was spot on, he flipped over 5's, but my flopping ability failed me. He spiked a 5 on the flop and that sealed the deal. Overall though, I was very happy, and he was a deserving winner having dominated the tournament from start to finish. Very nice guy and yet another example of a young guy half my age already a brilliant player.

Final table was particularly strong I thought, one of three I've been involved in this year, the other two being CHL's January end of month, and European Deepstack (obviously). In all three tournaments, I felt I played my very best stuff at the final table. My ROI on these bigger tournaments with better tables is running at something ridic like +1000%, whereas in the smaller tourneys in the Fitz that I play more regularly it's more like 100%, and in my local pub it's only 50%. Obviously variance is the main reason for this discrepancy, but I do find it easier to play against the better players and bring out my A game. If anything, my play in the smaller tourneys has deteriorated since my big win, I just can't seem to focus and play my best when I know it's going to just come down to whether the Ace rag merchants hit their rags or otherwise suck out on me.

Online, I've returned to cash with a vengeance (though it's early yet, too early to say whether it's just variance or genuine skill edge). Apart from that, I played a few satellites to close-but0no-cigar outcomes. Qualified from a satellite to a satellite to the WSOP Weekly final on Green Joker Poker but never really got going. Also close things for WSOP on Ladbrokes, Labrokes Poker Million (one outered on the river for a ticket!), and Madrid (5th with 4 tickets, after losing a race for the ticket with the other short stack with A6 against K2s - he hit his flush on the BLEEDIN' FLOP), but no actual tickets.

Next major live outing will probably be the new SE 500 tournament just before I head to Manchester for the GUKPT. I've also qualified already for the Irish Masters just after.

Speaking of which, I've decided that if I'm to take this seriously as a potential livelihood at some point, I should start doing professional things like reducing my variance in specific events, so if anyone playing the GUKPT Manchester or Irish Masters would be interested in swapping percentages with me, give me a shout.

Final, a big McLoving well done to Gary Clarke for winning his WSOP ME ticket. The legend grows, Gary, it just grows and grows like...um...a grower.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

GOING ROUND THE BEND IN BRNO FOR 6 HOURS

Getting there
The first mistake was leaving it till the day before the race to travel. Okay, it's not a long trip, with a flight just over 2 hours, but allowing for taxis and buses to get from Prague airport to Brno meant we spent 10 hours getting from door to door. The mistake being compounded by taking an early morning flight meaning the all important sleep of the night before the night before was compromised.
Weather was a bit warmer and a lot more pleasant than back in Dublin. Apart from a flying visit in the early 90s, this was my first time in Czech land, and I was very impressed by the place and the people. It seemed to me they combine the efficiency of the Germans with a whimsical easy-going charm and humour that is peculiarly their own, as might be expected from a culture that produced Kafka and Kundera. So everything is very well organised but you don't have the feeling you're going to be barked at or arrested at any moment for some involuntary transgression of an unknown local law or custom.
I was under the impression my race was at 9 AM the next morning, but it turned out I'd misread the email and it was actually 9 PM. Tony's race, the 48 hour, was due to start at 10 AM though so that meant an early start anyway. The big news was that Yiannis kouros, the world's greatest ever ultra runner (world's greatest ever athlete, in my view) was also in town for the 48 hour race.

Sixth or seventh circle?

The arena
The "stadium" turned out to be a large oval shaped building dubbed the Central European Conference Centre. Given the shape and the floor surface (shiny concrete) it looks like its main purpose might be as a rollerskating rink (and indeed there were people whizzing around on roller blades, including the genial race director Tomas Rusek). Mireille was complaining about aches and pains after an hour or two just walking on it, so I wasn't looking forward to running for 6 hours on it. The oval shape meant you were never actually running in a straight line: instead it was like running round one enormous bend for 6 hours.

Tony's race started rather surreally with the sight of a rather portly French gentleman who looked more like a shot putter than a distance athlete charging off like it was a 400 metre race, followed at a bit of a distance by Yiannis Kouros, then a bit more distance back to Tony and the rest.
I started trying to psyche myself for the ordeal ahead in what was becoming an increasingly unpleasant environment of a hard floor, no natural day light, and an almost constant beeping of champion chips as runners passed over the mats at the end of each lap. As we were lying on adjoining mattresses trying to get some rest, Paddy asked me if this was the sixth circle of Hell, or the seventh. By afternoon the lack of natural light was getting to both of us and we went outside for a short while.

Just fucken do it
I tried using my Light and Sound mind state optimizer machine to mellow out, with some success, and managed to fall asleep at the end of one of its tranquillity programmes. When I woke up, I listened to my MP3 player, the beautiful sad crystal tones of Bic Runga helping to block out the constant chip beepings. I thought about my goals for this race: to win the race, to break Tony's Irish indoor record of 59 km, to break Eddie Gallen's all surfaces record (set outdoors) of 67.4 km. Beyond that, my coach Norrie Williamson had suggested setting 81 km as the maximum target I was capable of in my current shape. This seemed very optimistic to me, almost two 3 hour marathons back to back, but I figured I might as well go for it.
As race time approached, my stomach started to feel queasy and I decided to take a Rennie as a precaution. Mireille gave me my pre-race massage, I did the minimum of stretching, and it was time to stroll to the start line. I tried to think of a positive mantra or message to focus on but all that came to mind was "Just fucken do it".
Show time

Just before the start


As I stood on the start line, I looked around at the competition, most of whom looked like they'd been ordered from an Aryan Athletics God catalogue. I know from experience though that in the world of ultra running appearances not only can be deceptive, but generally are. And so it proved: when the race started, it was the slight looking young guy in the gray T shirt who shot off rather than the more obvious male model candidates, and in fact the biggest threat of all to me in the race turned out to be a tall gangly guy with an awkward-looking swaying running gait. Hour one

End of lap 1
Half way through the first 270 metre lap, I'd caught the leader and we ran through the half the first lap together. He was starting to slow and I decided to pass him. For the next thirty minutes or so, I just concentrated on lapping in 72-74 seconds, and to my surprise nobody came with me or tried to chase. With the short lap, I was lapping people almost right away, and before long had lapped the entire field, in the process identifying the tall runner in blue as the main competition.
After discussing race tactics with Norrie, the plan was to take my first scheduled walking break at 45 minutes, but the problems started long before then. I'd taken my first few swigs of sports drink after 10 minutes and then 20 minutes, and could feel they weren't agreeing me. An unscheduled pitstop in the toilets revealed bad diarrhea, so I took an Imodium and hoped for the best. I couldn't stomach the thought of more sports drink so I switched over to water. Unfortunately the diarrhea kept coming necessitating more pitstops and the walk break became a toilet break. The guy in blue seemed to take heart from my problems and after one long pitstop got himself back to less than a lap behind.
Notwithstanding my problems, I covered 13.6 km in the first hour, which means that I was compounding my problems by running too hard when I was running, setting myself up for problems later in the race.

Hour two
The stomach and diarrhea problems continued well into hour two, but otherwise I was feeling reasonably comfortable and taking confidence from the fact that even with the problems I seemed to be able to keep going at target pace, and consistently lapping everyone. I fell into a routine of focusing on the tall runner in blue from about half a lap behind (or ahead) of him, gradually reeling him in, then running behind him for long enough to let him know I was there, then surging by.
Mireille passed on a text she'd just received from Norrie saying I'd started too hard and should take more walking breaks. I caught the bit about starting too hard, but not the bit about taking more walking breaks, but in any case, the unscheduled toilet breaks were continuing. Paddy was also coming into his own as an assistant, whizzing around the place taking photos, keeping me updated on distance covered, how far I was ahead, and relaying information back to Mireille about what I needed on the next lap. I was very grateful for the magniminity with which he was taking this insanity as he's had a lot of upheaval in his own life in recent weeks but I guess having seen his girlfriend disappear down a tunnel in Rath Lugh and having to deal with the ensuing media frenzy this may have seemed like a lesser excursion from mental health.
Towards the end of hour two my diarrhea seemed to subside but I still couldn't stomach the thought of solid food or even sports drink. I covered almost 13 kilometres in hour 2.

Hour three
My mood seemed to take a turn for the worse early in hour three and my pace dipped. Now I was struggling to lap in 80 seconds, perhaps affected my the lack of nutrition, and also struggling with motivation since it seemed I was going to win the race easily and break the target records. I covered about 12 kilometres I think.

Hour four
I continued to struggle with motivation and now I was also starting to fret about lack of carbohydrate intake, as I still couldn't face the thought of eating or sports drink, and I started to wonder if it would be even physiologically possible to keep going in the last hour when it would be a full 8-9 hours after my last solid meal. At about 3 hours 40, my diarrhea returned with a vengeance, and I disconsolately asked Mireille if it was safe to take another Imodium. The box said one every 6 hours but we decided this was an extreme situation and we'd wait a while and then take it if necessary. Eventually I took my second Imodium shortly before 4 hours. A text had arrived from Norrie counselling that I try to eat some yoghurt, which I managed to do and it seemed to help. I think I covered about 11 kilometres in this hour.

Hour five
The diarrhea subsided and I took a swig of local cola at the start of the hour. My pace was still dropping though, but I was finally taking proper walking breaks rather than toilet breaks, and these seemed to help as I came back from each break able to lap about 10 seconds faster than my last lap pre-walking break. The original plan was to take them every 30 minutes from this point on but it was probably more like every 20 minutes. Mentally I was starting to get a bit confused too as glycogen deprivation started to hit, but Paddy and Mireille were doing a great job keeping me alert with information on how far ahead I was, and making sure I was taking on the correct amount of water and electrolyte capsules. I'm not the only one suffering though: despite slowing myself, I'm lapping people more frequently, and a few times I see the small guy in the grey T shirt sitting on a chair apparently crying while a friend tries to encourage him to get going again.
The organisers were making deft use of inspirational rock music to keep us going. Bruce Springsteen featured prominently (Baby we were borrrrn to runnnnnn!). Most of the other choices were inspired too, like Elton John's "I'm Still Standing", but the choice of Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car", title notwithstanding a rather grim tale of what it's like to be working poor in the US, towards the end of hour five was either viciously or unconscious ironic.
I covered just over 10 kilometres in the hour.
Hour six
At the start of hour six another encouraging text arrived from Norrie exhorting me to try to lift the pace for the last hour. I tried to lift myself mentally and focus on what I wanted from the last hour. I'd already broken Tony's old indoors record and only needed another 7 or 8 kilometres to get past Eddie's outdoor record, not much more than walking pace, so I fixed on 70 kilometres as my new target. For a final boost I took another swig of the local cola and regretted it almost instantly as about 100 metres later I was down on my knees vomiting copiously beside a pillar. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a lady waiting discreetly with a mop for me to finish. I struggled to my feet and made it to the next pillar before I was down again, vomiting again. I could see the lady mopping the other little pool I'd left for her looking over and thinking "When I'm finished here I need to do there". Again I staggered to my feet, and this time I made it the half around to where Mireille was waiting with water, before the thought of drinking water upset my stomach to the point that I left another little pool at Mireille's feet, dashed into the nearby toilets with the idea of finishing the job in a cubicle, didn't make it that far but instead ended up emptying out what was left into a urinal to the startled alarm of the "occupant" of the next urinal who was going about his business using the urinal for its primary intended function. Face down at penis height emptying your stomach into a public toilet urinal, oh the glamour of ultra running.
When I eventually stood up, the room was spinning and my legs couldn't agree on the direction to take. Somehow I staggered out and onto the track and started shuffling again. My mind was in panic and I asked Paddy to find out how far I was ahead so I could work out if I could walk the last hour and still win. By the time the answer came back I had started to feel better and was running again, albeit slowly. Forty minutes from the end, I took what I intended to be my last walk break before the final "sprint", and worked out what pace I needed to get me to 70 km. I was moving pretty well again but every so often my legs threw a wobbly. I was still worried about total collapse, and so was Mireille, and we both could see the other was worried, but we left it unsaid. Instead she gamely stuck to the task of giving me water and cheering me on.
During the last half hour I gradually increased my pace and 8 laps out I knew I was going to break 70 kilometres unless I collapsed. I also worked out that if instead of 8 laps I somehow managed 9 I'd blip past 71k, so that became the new goal. This eventually meant covering the last four laps in 70 seconds each, making them my four fastest laps of the race. Ahead of me, the tall lanky figure in blue and in second was also experiencing a surge, even though he was by now almost 20 laps behind me. This dragged me along as I concentrated on blocking out all the distress signals my bodily functions were sending me, putting it all off until I crossed that line in 4, 3, 2, 1 laps. I made it with a few seconds to spare and came to a shuddering halt on my knees to vomit what was left in my stomach onto the ground. Paddy and Mireille had arrived to take photos, and someone asked Mireille if he should call a doctor. Mireille, a hardened veteran for how far an ultra runner can push themselves but also how quick they can recover told him there was no need.

Aftermath
As anticipated, I recovered pretty quickly. Within an hour I was able to eat again and moving reasonably freely. Meanwhile Tony's race was coming to an end. He'd taken his nap earlier than anticipated and now had a badly swollen ankle. Mireille massaged it and he tried to sleep it off but eventually told us to tell Tomas he was forced to withdraw. All that remained was to hang around for my presentation ceremony, scheduled for 8.30 AM. With the race finishing at 3 AM, most people including the race director were sound asleep. Shortly after my race finished, on my way to the shower I limped past a row of sleeping bags containing about half the competitors in my race.

Getting the trophy

When I was presented with my trophy, the sheer size of it took me by surprise. It's about 3 feet tall and every time I look at it I mentally hear the Champions League music! The other surprise was that the lad in the gray T shirt who had run in third for most of the race ended up being overtaken by one of the guys from the Aryan Athletics God catalogue.
Presentation

Tomas very graciously drove us back to the hotel and we spent most of the next 24 hours sleeping. We made it back for the last hour of the 48 hour race. By now it was clear that Yiannis was going to win comfortably but somewhere in the mid 30 hours he'd cracked and was reduced to a walk so Tony's World record last year survived. After the race ended I walked around congratulating the shattered 48 Hour race finishers. As I shook Yiannis' hand, I said "Well done Yiannis. You're number one" and he replied in flawless unaccented English "Thank you, that's very sweet". A modern day Greek running God and a beautiful human being, it was a pleasure to see him do what he does better than anyone else (run) and also to see the humility and humaneness with which he treats everyone from his fellow competitors, his adoring public, his crew and everyone.
Take the long way home

The following day we set out from Brno to Prague by train, not being able to face the idea of another bus trip up the motorway. This turned out to be an inpired decision as the train ride through the forested mountains was very picturesque and refreshing. In Prague, we quickly found a lovely restaurant offering such exotic choices as boar, deer and kangaroo. Tony went for a kangaroo steak while Mireille and I sampled the wild boar.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Radio gaga

Here's a sound file of my recent radio interview on RTE Radio 1's "Saturday Sport".

http://rapidshare.de/files/39004867/01_Track_1.wma.html

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

When everything goes wrong and still works out

Back from Brno, where I had to battle with nausea, stomach cramps, severe diarrhea, vomiting and not being able to keep down any solid food or sports drink for the whole 6 hours of the race.

But on the positive side, I did actually win the race by almost 5 kilometres, and broke three Irish national records in the process (indoors 50K, indoors 6 hours, all surfaces 6 hours).

Unfortunately my friend and mentor Tony Mangan had less good fortune in the 48 hour race.

I'll write a full report as soon as I can summon up the energy, but for now a really massive thank you to son Paddy and wife Mireille for somehow getting me through the race (and also to Tony for his encouragement).

Share

Twitter Delicious Facebook Digg Stumbleupon Favorites More