“I’m kind of tired. I was out celebrating my wife’s birthday until 4am. Boy was she mad when I got home!” That was just one of the stories from one of the drivers of the City “hop on, hop off” tour that I took here in Dublin. Another is, “My wife ran off with a policeman. Now whenever I hear a siren, I get worried. What if he’s bringing her back?” One more: “Here is the smallest pub in Dublin. It holds no more than 14 people, including the barman. It’s very safe, because you can’t fall down.” Yes, some of these drivers were pretty darn funny. One of them sang quite a bit. And quite well, too. I took this tour in order to see Dublin sort of on my own, but with a bit of guidance. Some of the memorable stops that I did were: Christchurch and St. Patrick’s Cathedrals, Phoenix Park (a very nice city park where a 10K race was just finishing), Trinity College and St. Stephens Green (a smaller, but still very nice city park).
The folks I work with are extremely friendly. It’s nice to work at a place where they like you. As usual, however, I’m out in the middle of nowhere, so I have to take a tram any time I do into town. But I’m managing ok. It’s a good thing that I took that tour when I arrived – most days all I see is what’s on the 400 or so meter walk from the hotel to the office. Except, of course, what I see on my daily runs.
Those daily runs have really been, to put it as an Irishman would, brilliant. No, I don’t mean the quality of the running; I mean the scenery and the sensory experience. From the suburb of Leopardstown, I head east on bike-paths and sidewalks along the not-too-busy road down (and I do mean down) to the sea. Even this part of the run is very pleasant. There are stonewalls, blossoming trees, flowering gardens, birds singing, and the village of Newtown.
Once I reach the sea, it gets even better. I turn south and run along the shore. There are more stonewalls and villages along the way, along with harbors and seawalls. I go through the village of Dun Laoghaire (pronounced dun leery, but you probably knew that), past Dalkey Castle and turn around at an abbey placed by God on the sea in the village of Dalkey. Heading back the way I came, I have to push it to get back up the hills, but I don’t mind; running doesn’t get much better.
I’d seen a lot of Dublin, and I’d certainly seen enough of Leopardstown, so for the weekend in between the workweeks, I made my way to the countryside in order to stay at the Marriott Johnstown House Enfield Hotel and Spa. Enfield is in County Meath, about 40 miles from Dublin. Might as well be 400. Friday evening, I got my laptop bag and two other small bags, walked 15 minutes to the tram, rode 30 minutes to Dublin city center, walked 30 minutes to Conolly Station, waited for and then took the train to Enfield (45 minutes), and finally walked 30 minutes from the village to the hotel. The things I do to earn Marriott points.
I thought my Ireland running couldn’t be much nicer than that run to the sea, but it’s really nice in County Meath as well. I ran to the village and then along a canal, where there was a path of variable quality – some mud, some rocks, some cow flops, some cows, some sheep, some crushed gravel, etc. But all of it very serene. The green Irish hills and pastures loom in the background. Trees line most parts of the canal. Maybe running did get a bit better.
So after nearly 2 hours and 40 minutes of slow trail running, I get back to the hotel and, for reasons that I can’t think of, went into the spa/gymnasium. There I saw a notice about the Spa’s annual triathlon. It was to take place that very same day. I somehow gathered that there were both individuals and teams, and then, of course, asked if there were any teams that needed a runner. Of course there was. Before I knew it, I was involved. Show up at half-past 11. “Oh yeah,” I said as an afterthought, “how far is this run?” 5.2 kilometers.
Could I go out and do it again after all that trail running? I figured I could probably make the distance. After breakfast and a cold bath to recover, I went back down to the spa. Do I owe any money? No. Who and where are my teammates? They’re around somewhere – don’t worry about them. Follow Liz to get started. But it’s only ten after 11. Doesn’t matter, we’re just starting everyone in groups of 3, and in this case, 2. You can go now.
So me and Jenny started running towards town, hoping to not get lost (the directions were pretty simple, and there was a biker on the course to help). I got ahead of Jenny and then saw the biker, who yelled some words of encouragement as I went by. He was escorting another runner in. Later on he caught up and rode along with me as I looped through town and began heading back to the hotel. He continued to encourage me, and at one point told me I was doing 10 miles per hour. I slowed a bit towards the finish because there’s a hill to overcome, not to mention strong winds. I finished strong with the biker almost alongside and with Liz and about two others cheering madly. Liz kissed me. You just don’t get this kind of running experience (at least by race officials) at home. My time was 20:26, a PR for 5.2 km. And better yet, by beating Jenny, I had “won” the third or so race of my life. The others were equally low-key. I wish I knew how I did in relation to the other runners. When will I know the official results? There will be a picnic in July where they will be announced. How did my team do? Who knows?
I thought that being in County Meath would bring me close enough to easily get to some historical and archeological sites. Close I was, but there was no easy way to get to any of them. I hired a taxi for 25 Euros each way, and went to Trim. Trim is a medieval village with a large historical castle. From the tour I learned that the castle was built in the 12th century. The keep is quite tall, but only partially intact. Same with the walls. From the top of the keep I could see all around the county, including the Hill of Tara, another famous site. Trim castle is where the movie Braveheart (which is about Scotland) was filmed.
One more thought - Limerick Pork:
Until I went to Ireland, I wasn't aware that there is an actual city called Limerick. I still had to chuckle a bit when I saw "Limerick Pork" on a dinner menu. I figured they meant that the recipe came from there or that's the way they prepare it there, or something. Even so, I still somehow pictured a pork chop spouting a dirty little five-line poem.
So during this morning's long run, I came up with this thought about Limerick Pork:
There once was a piglet in Limerick
Who thought: to escape would be mighty slick
He tried to run away
But the farmer held him at bay
And that's him on the dinner table; so much for that swine trick
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