I sat alone on a grass slope, feeling cool ground and Irish grass under my feet. The cool winds, powered by the Atlantic, brushes against my face. I was perfectly content, there, just outside of the red oval, watching the meet enter its closing stages. I had just run the 3000 meter’s at the Cork City Games- a race that represented my first international competition. I entered the race with a shaken level of confidence- the product of an overloaded mind and jet-lag comparable to a hangover felt most within the legs. Despite all of this, I stood on that curved starting line, thinking how unbelievable it was to be on the other side of the world, preparing to run a race.
I tried to take it all in; the lush, green hill sides, unfamiliar landmarks, and outrageously friendly townspeople. I tried to mental snapshots of all that I saw. I had never thought that running circles would give me such experiences. I was in a state of disbelief, unable to really come to grips with it all.
The race itself an adrenaline-charged event, over as quickly as it started.
The crack of the gun erased my doubts and eased my discomfort. In an instant I was entranced, back into The Task itself. Seven and a half times I circled the track, surging and coasting, playing the standard lactic chess with the others. I rallied late and walked away with a feeling of surprise. Sometimes, the legs can remember exact what they need to do. Thank God for that.
The dust settled and I sat on that grassy slope, staring at the 2nd place medal, a great and unexpected beginning to this unreal adventure.
After a long time, I left the track, now nearly empty. I breathed deep into the foreign air, enjoying the walk to my athlete-housing. Moving purposefully slow, I reflected on the race, the sudden trek to uncharted waters, and the past few months that have brought me something special: life in the purest form. Sifting through it all, I laughed out-loud, smiling to the heavens…
I knew it then.
I know it now.
For better or worse, this was meant to be.
-Jordan McNamara
If anyone should ask, your forth great grandfather, another Michael McNamara, left from Listowel as a consequence of the potato famine in about 1864. Uncle Bob McNamara
A most enjoyable read. Thank you. Enjoy your summer and long may you run!
Jordan, just curious, you mentioned having an altitude tent before. How much do you think it helped and when did you start using it?