Dublin Harriers

I know I am in Ireland when I go out to run at 5:30AM* and I dodge a surprising number of people in the dark and rainy streets of Dublin.

*(actually, 4:30AM since the clocks changed a week earlier than in the States...oops)

They're pretty early to Mass, I'm thinking, and it's Sunday so it's unlikely they're heading to work...and they seem too happy to be coming off the late shift. Hmmmm.

After passing one particularly rowdy group who splashes deliberately through puddles while shouting to me, "you know, it's a bit dangerous out alone at this hour, like," the image of a warm pub and a frosty glass of Guinness crosses my mind. Ahh, I'm heading out but they're heading home from a long night's play. Classic.

Doing as the Romans do per my usual habit, I, too, stay out into the wee hours the next night. Rich takes me for a pint at Grogan's and then to see Hannah at Cafe Bar Deli before we head over to the Smithfield Square to hear a Klezmer-blues band at the Red Line Roots Festival.

We jam with bands Prison Love - a seven-piece string mix of bluegrass and gospel, country and cajun - and the North Strand Kontra Band. Hillbilly meets Klezmer...and Irish women in retro clothes and purple tights jump around with shaggy-haired men, some in cowboy hats, none in yamulkes, I'm disappointed to report.

I really should have headed back to my dorm room at Abigail's Hostel before 2AM, but, oh well. Only live once. Besides, I only had a marathon to run later that morning.

Yup, the Dublin Marathon was on, and I managed to beg my way into the race the day before. Stepping out my door near the Ha'Penny Bridge on the way to the start line I turned my bad ankle. The Italians I was walking with swore on my behalf, shocked by my bad luck when they heard it POP and watched me go down to the sidewalk. I figured, what's one more handicap? I mean, c'mon, it's not like I have anything more to lose here! We bought some pain meds in the closest chemist and I took as many as my stomach could handle over the next hours.

At the expo the day before I got to talk with one of my childhood heroes, Eamonn Coghlan, whom I had also met when covering the Millrose Games in NYC a couple of years ago. He's just published an autobiography, Eamonn Coghlan: Chairman Of the Boards, Master of the Mile in which he reveals that the pressure of winning and the depression from losing his one Olympic bid nearly caused him to take drugs and end his life. He is a fascinating and warm man I am lucky to have met, again.

I guess the time training with Olympians in the heat of Morocco and the altitude of Ethiopia helped make up the insufficient training and preparation because I finished the marathon without too much suffering and even enjoyed it at points. A great introduction to the city in my first 36 hours in Dublin. Cheers!