I recently went into my local chemist to stock up on my supplies of Voltarol and Vaseline. The owner asked “Conas a raibh an samhradh agat?” to which I answered “Go maith agus ní raibh and aimsir ró-dhona”. He smiled and raised an eyebrow as I turned and exited onto the rain soaked street.
Sure its been a summer to remember and in some cases to forget. Summer 2012 will live in my memory for quite a while. Yes the record books have been re-written with the rain that has fallen and Clonakilty almost became the Tasmania of Ireland. But the record books are made to be re-written, and summers to be enjoyed.
The premiership season had barely finished when the long awaited exile of the green army took to the road and to the streets of Poland. For years the Irish have welcomed and befriended the Polish and that gesture was reciprocated when we arrived in our thousands and were taken into the bosom of their people. The football was nothing to write home about but the fans will long be remembered for their singing, annoying Roy and extending 2 fingers to his begrudgery.
No sooner were we getting over the disappointment and ecstasy of the Euros when Katie was carrying the tri-colour for the Irish team and more record books to be rewritten. Rob Heffernan taking almost 8 minutes off the Irish record for what must be the toughest endurance event in the Olympics, 50km, almost 3.5 hours of walking like a supermodel on speed. Hats off to them, I’d be praying for a third red card.
A record 5 medals coming home, brilliant and a brand new screaming record set in the boxing arena for the entrance of Katie Taylor in her long awaited bout with Natasha Jones.
My heart went out to Joanne Cuddihy. In an interview after her heat, she spoke about leaving her family and boyfriend at home to concentrate on her training while living in Australia and her personal disappointment in her heat, convinced that she hadn’t qualified for the semis. Ciaran O’Lionaird who was so annoyed with his performance, he spoke with angered despair about quitting. Eoin Rhinisch, with the hunting glare of Padraig Harrington, left bobbing in a torrent of water realising that a missed gate was the end of his Olympic dream, again. As a marathon runner, I had a lump in my throat the size of a melon watching Catriona Jennings coming to the finish line with unimaginable pain etched on her face and holding off the tears until she crossed the line and fell into the embrace of her loved one. Proud to be Irish, Ye Betcha.
I’ve really enjoyed the summer. After an absence of about 5 months from running I’ve returned and just like the rest of you, am quietly setting my goals for the October bank holiday Monday. I’ve managed just one 10k race this year, no record but happy with my mornings work. The Saturday morning run is all for fun, staying fit, injury free and trying to remember 100 names and faces.
A couple of weeks ago I was asked where I’d been on holidays, “that I’d a fine colour”. The answer was pretty simple, an hour in Inchydoney and a couple rounds of golf. The extent of my tan runs to just above my elbows and to my t-shirt neckline, true Irish colouring.
I was however on a holiday, a weeklong staycation. Last year we were up and around Westport. Cycled around Achill Island and ventured through the burnt, barren beauty of Connemera. This year we hit south. It started with a 10k race around the Lakes of Killarney. On the t-shirt it says “I’ve completed the worlds most beautiful road race”, it’s true. Just an hour north is a village called Ballyheigue, if you’ve never taken a walk on its long sandy beach, you should do, its medicine for the soul. With Carrantuohill clouded over there was no chance of a climb and so down to Kenmare. Its no wonder the yanks go gaga for this town. Its Irish name is Neidin, meaning little nest. This colourful, vibrant town is nested into the Caha Mountains and at the junction of the Bearra peninsula and the Ring of Kerry. Having lived and worked in Neidin 12 years ago I suppose I’m entitled to be biased. I’d been on the Ring of Kerry on numerous occasions. Dealing with the tour buses, the stop start braking action of the rental cars and of course its staggering beauty. I had however never been on the Bearra peninsula and over the Healy Pass. It has without a doubt the most magnificent, unspoilt beauty I’ve seen. There are no tour buses and very few cars and on a Thursday late last July it was I doing the stop start motion.
The weather might not always follow the seasons but we live in a beautiful country, part of it unspoilt treasures. We are a nation overflowing with pride for our own and a respect for others. The starting line is just 11 weeks away, bring that pride with you and the seasons will take care of the weather.
A summer of discontent? I don’t think so
Jwalkin.
Sure its been a summer to remember and in some cases to forget. Summer 2012 will live in my memory for quite a while. Yes the record books have been re-written with the rain that has fallen and Clonakilty almost became the Tasmania of Ireland. But the record books are made to be re-written, and summers to be enjoyed.
The premiership season had barely finished when the long awaited exile of the green army took to the road and to the streets of Poland. For years the Irish have welcomed and befriended the Polish and that gesture was reciprocated when we arrived in our thousands and were taken into the bosom of their people. The football was nothing to write home about but the fans will long be remembered for their singing, annoying Roy and extending 2 fingers to his begrudgery.
No sooner were we getting over the disappointment and ecstasy of the Euros when Katie was carrying the tri-colour for the Irish team and more record books to be rewritten. Rob Heffernan taking almost 8 minutes off the Irish record for what must be the toughest endurance event in the Olympics, 50km, almost 3.5 hours of walking like a supermodel on speed. Hats off to them, I’d be praying for a third red card.
A record 5 medals coming home, brilliant and a brand new screaming record set in the boxing arena for the entrance of Katie Taylor in her long awaited bout with Natasha Jones.
My heart went out to Joanne Cuddihy. In an interview after her heat, she spoke about leaving her family and boyfriend at home to concentrate on her training while living in Australia and her personal disappointment in her heat, convinced that she hadn’t qualified for the semis. Ciaran O’Lionaird who was so annoyed with his performance, he spoke with angered despair about quitting. Eoin Rhinisch, with the hunting glare of Padraig Harrington, left bobbing in a torrent of water realising that a missed gate was the end of his Olympic dream, again. As a marathon runner, I had a lump in my throat the size of a melon watching Catriona Jennings coming to the finish line with unimaginable pain etched on her face and holding off the tears until she crossed the line and fell into the embrace of her loved one. Proud to be Irish, Ye Betcha.
I’ve really enjoyed the summer. After an absence of about 5 months from running I’ve returned and just like the rest of you, am quietly setting my goals for the October bank holiday Monday. I’ve managed just one 10k race this year, no record but happy with my mornings work. The Saturday morning run is all for fun, staying fit, injury free and trying to remember 100 names and faces.
A couple of weeks ago I was asked where I’d been on holidays, “that I’d a fine colour”. The answer was pretty simple, an hour in Inchydoney and a couple rounds of golf. The extent of my tan runs to just above my elbows and to my t-shirt neckline, true Irish colouring.
I was however on a holiday, a weeklong staycation. Last year we were up and around Westport. Cycled around Achill Island and ventured through the burnt, barren beauty of Connemera. This year we hit south. It started with a 10k race around the Lakes of Killarney. On the t-shirt it says “I’ve completed the worlds most beautiful road race”, it’s true. Just an hour north is a village called Ballyheigue, if you’ve never taken a walk on its long sandy beach, you should do, its medicine for the soul. With Carrantuohill clouded over there was no chance of a climb and so down to Kenmare. Its no wonder the yanks go gaga for this town. Its Irish name is Neidin, meaning little nest. This colourful, vibrant town is nested into the Caha Mountains and at the junction of the Bearra peninsula and the Ring of Kerry. Having lived and worked in Neidin 12 years ago I suppose I’m entitled to be biased. I’d been on the Ring of Kerry on numerous occasions. Dealing with the tour buses, the stop start braking action of the rental cars and of course its staggering beauty. I had however never been on the Bearra peninsula and over the Healy Pass. It has without a doubt the most magnificent, unspoilt beauty I’ve seen. There are no tour buses and very few cars and on a Thursday late last July it was I doing the stop start motion.
The weather might not always follow the seasons but we live in a beautiful country, part of it unspoilt treasures. We are a nation overflowing with pride for our own and a respect for others. The starting line is just 11 weeks away, bring that pride with you and the seasons will take care of the weather.
A summer of discontent? I don’t think so
Jwalkin.