Since school has finally started after nine long (but also short) months, I need to wrap up the half marathon that my stupid awesome brother made me do:
We met in the Dublin airport, both of us coming from our respective continents. Actually, in order to arrive in Phoenix Park at the appointed hour, we had to literally do planes, trains and automobiles to complete our mission. All in the name of a free t-shirt.
Race day morning. We woke up wicked early in Bray and hopped on the DART (thanks for getting out of bed Olivia!). The upside to the early start? We got to watch sunrise over Dublin Bay, and I unsuccessfully tried to explain the literary significance of Sandymount Strand to my brother.
Not that I need to list further reasons why I shall be moving back to Dublin, but really- what other country posts poetry in their public transport system? I might add that we were in the first DART car, and were pretty sure that the conductor was listening to Slayer as a soundtrack to his 7am route. Poetry and death metal: two great tastes that go together.
Off the Dart on the north side, and we hope the Luas to get to Heuston Station. Next it’s off to catch a shuttle bus into sprawling Phoenix Park.
I’m so not used to running in this chilled (but ultimately preferable weather). Hope it doesn’t rain. But then again, this is Ireland…
Bollocks. Race hasn’t even started and God is already messing with the rain spigot.
We pick up our numbers, drop off our bags, and we are heading to the start! As you can see the uniform of choice was the Team BT shirts. It was kind of a no-brainer since we love BethAnn, and wanted to pay tribute to all she has accomplished.
Just before the start. He’s ready to run the longest he’s ever run. If that makes sense…
Here we go!
Looking strong at mile 3, like he almost would consider taking up this sport full time! Don’t worry, he’ll look tired later on…
And then it starts to rain, and Megan questions the wisdom of deciding to run 13.1 miles holding a fairly sizable camera.
And this guy passes us! As he pedals he is serenading runners with “Singing in the Rain” and “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary”
There are hills in Phoenix Park. I didn’t really know that before. Thus, “Move yer arse” might have been more helfpul for me…
But I guess the sign worked for this guy, because I looked up and suddenly he was passing everyone on the hills.
They had scouts on the course who were tasked with picking up our empty cups. This kid on the right did absolutely nothing but vogue while his buddies did all the work.
Just before mile 13. I’m having fun, but I think John is wondering “Where the Hell is that mile marker?”
The finish line is in site!
We were pretty drenched by the end, but the announcer at the Finish Line gave Team BT a shout out as we crossed. Yay!
So my brother did it. This is the guy who said he could never run anything, but did 2.5 miles to shut me up about nine months ago. Then he did Falmouth, and it was clear that he was going to take me up on my offer of a “free trip” to Dublin.
Escape from Phoenix Park resulted in hot chocolate and a well-deserved breakfast.
Does he look tired? Indeed, but he actually looks good considering that he is normally doing the activity below instead of running 13.1 miles:
Jet Lag becomes him
So my brother did it. He earned his 13.1 car sticker and is now safe and sound back in the ice arena-packed environs of New England. Although he has hung up his running shoes, I am proud of him for tackling such a crazy goal. I am also secretly grateful to him for creating a reason for us to go back to Ireland and relive some of the good ole days.
Thanks also to Olivia and Brian for some great craic. I am extremely fortunate to count so many incredible friends and family in my life.
So that’s it. I’m back in Dakar and you can stand by for further musings on why each day presents previously unheard of logistical challenges that impede my everyday life.
It’s gonna be fun.