Porridge, banana, deep heat, Vaseline, hat, gloves, jacket, gels, jellybeans.
Step out the front door into the cold. Dark, cold, 3 degrees, with low fog and a street light glow. There’s frost on the windscreen.
Park up. Step out of the warm car. The bracing cold hits, clouds of breath condense. Stars, stars, stars. And Venus. Reminded of the reports from Titanic survivors of the brilliant canopy of stars the night she sank. Hope I don’t hit an iceberg this morning – 22miles to go, before I sleep. Maybe that’s what the wall is like. Push those thoughts away. Stretch, warm-up, pure cold darkness below lit up by brilliant stars from above. We’re in the middle, in the fog. We’re in front of the clinic.
Hot prickling tears, wanting to come out. Not now.
Pick a partner, kneel down on the cold cold ground and hold their feet. Get them to try to lift their feet. Its hard. Its hard to not be able to lift your feet. For some of the kids in the clinic, this is everyday.
Stand up. Give that person a hug. A man I’ve never spoken to before gives me a hug. We’re joking at the awkwardness off it. Suddenly self conscious. What it would mean for some of the kids in the clinic to be able to hug their parents.
Close your eyes. Remember the big days, the happy days, the communions, weddings, graduations. How many of the kids in the clinic will get to enjoy these.
Jesus, not now, you can’t cry now. Not in front of everyone. Everyone’s the same out here in the cold, in front of that building that does so much. Things that cannot be measured.
The route, the route, the route. The GPS couldn’t tell you what colour the house on the bend is though.
Walk to the 50KM/H sign. Line up along the road. A gaggle of Crusaders? A clutch? The luckiest people in the world, right now. To be here, doing this, together. To be able to be here. To be able to do this.
Kneel down, hold feet, try to walk – everyday
A slow gentle pace into the unknown, into the half light of pre-dawn, over the hump back bridge and into the heart of the Parish. Darkness, bright, bright stars, pools of mist creeping out of fields. Farms still asleep. Cows looking at you, over hedges and gates. Night receding, the land throwing off its cloak of pure whiteness. On over well worn roads, enjoying them in the noisy solitude of the run.
Giving a hug. When I get home, I will. I’m welling up now.
Spectral shadows of this years Crusaders through the glowing fog, lit by dancing beams from the cars. Is the sun spinning in the sky? Probably just a little dehydrated. Take a gel, and a few sips, I’ll be grand.
Up through Doora and out onto the old Limerick road. The most important Crusaders on the run. The ones with the hands outstretched bearing bottles and words of encouragement. Water, chocolate, oranges, jelly babies. Trick or treat. What’s the trick that this is such a treat?
Carnelly Woods to Clarecastle. Knots of Crusaders disappearing into the fog. Conversations more punctuated now. Back into town and left for Ballybeg, or Ballbag (literal translation – ‘ A Most Topographically Unforgiving Place’). Left onto Carmody street. Pretend you’ve just left DNG and it’s a short run back to the clinic. Mind games. Out into the countryside again.
Remember the big days, the happy days, the communions, weddings, graduations.
No icebergs today. Turn right at the small bridge (‘Right, Right’). The rolling countryside changes again. How many rivers have we crossed today? How many ruins of castles have we passed today? Appreciating it. Living life now. Up on to the Gort road now, past signs for Barfeield 3KM, 2KM. A jig and a dance and its back down towards Ballyalla (Valhalla) and entering Barefield by the tradesmans. One lap. The last 0.2. The luckiest people in the world today. Everyone outside, steam rising, support, unity. At the clinic.