Running on what dwindling dregs of energy I had remaining, I made it to the next water and energy station between miles twenty and twenty-one. By now I was close to hitting the wall. I took on two bottles of water at this station, because I felt like I desperately needed it. This station was also giving out small packs of gummy sweets, so I took a pack for energy and as a distraction. I also took two bottles of water; I drank one straight away and held onto the other one to drink between now and the next water station. The fact I felt I needed to take on extra water in between stations was an indication of my condition at this point.

From that water station on Fosters Avenue, it was a short distance to the next turn left onto Stillorgan Road. Stillorgan Road is a major artery into the city, with two lanes in either direction, so once again I was unnerved by the roar of passing traffic. The marathon only followed that for a short while before it followed the slip road onto a flyover. I ate some of my gummy sweets at this point to try and distract me again, but it wasn’t really working. I did feel strange again running up a road where usually I’d be run over in a second.

On the bridge crossing over Stillorgan Road, there was a St John Ambulance station offering Vaseline, but I was already greased up enough. The marathon followed the slip road back down onto Stillorgan Road but I didn’t feel quite as disconcerted running on a main road this time, possibly because I was so tired and possibly because the traffic was coming towards me, rather than from behind me.

The next milestone was a water station on Nutley Road. I needed water and a toilet break, but I really didn’t want to stop, because I knew it would be extremely difficult to get started again. At this point I noticed the first rumblings in my stomach and bowels. All was not well down there, but I wouldn’t really find out about that until after the race.

Like I thought, I was in such pain, that I didn’t start running again immediately after leaving the toilet. I took a short walking start, turning the corner onto Merrion Road, then, to the shouts of encouragement from bystanders, I pushed myself into starting running again. I wasn’t tempted to take a longer walking break because I knew if I did, it would slow me down overall so much I would probably not be able to make my target time.

Whilst I was running the marathon, I didn’t take much notice of what road I was on, I just followed the markers which indicated the direction of the route. I believed that concentrating on running the marathon and monitoring my own condition was more important than precisely knowing the route. However, the disadvantage of this approach was that I was unaware of just how close I was to the city centre and thus the finish line. Had I known that, It would have been a fantastic boost. What it did mean however was that the marathon was working it’s way back north towards the city centre and the finish.

Merrion Road seemed unending. It was partly due to the fact I was so tired and in so much pain and also, like Crumlin Road earlier on, it was just a long, boring stretch of road to run along. I continually asked myself, “We must be getting close to the city centre by now”, but still the surroundings told me we were still in the suburbs and (I presumed) nowhere near the centre.  I didn’t really realise that the marathon was closer to the centre than I thought until it turned onto Shelbourne Road. The road was lined with fewer trees, there were more shops on each side of the road and it was clear we were leaving the leafy suburbs behind.

Running along Shelbourne Road, I felt a small boost from knowing that we were definitely getting closer to the city centre. The closer the marathon came to the centre, the busier the streets became and the more the atmosphere changed to that of a bustling city centre.At about mile twenty-four, Shelbourne Road led onto Grand Canal Street, which led the marathon into the city centre, at last.

At the last water station, I grabbed a last bottle of water, but I think my body had had just about enough water as it could take, so I kept the bottle to sip along the last mile. A mile later, at the twenty-five mile marker, I passed Hollies Street, which I had run down some five hours earlier. I was so lost in concentration that I didn’t even notice that I was retracing steps from that morning.

I did have enough presence of mind, however, to look out for my support team. We had arranged to rendez-vous around the twenty-five mile marker on Fenian Street, so I was trying to keep a look out whilst not looking too far ahead. In the latter stages of the marathon when it was painful, I ran looking straight down at the road, because looking ahead I would feel overwhelmed by the remaining distance and get an unbearable urge to stop and start walking.

Running up Fenian Place, I caught sight of them lined up across the wide road. They all fiddled with their cameras and cheered me on. This was a massive boost as I was really feeling a bit low at this point. Catching up with them also meant that I was tangibly close to the finish line. Whilst they had a five-minute walk down Merrion Street to the finish, I still had a gruelling mile and 385 yards to run before I would allow myself to stop.

The marathon turned right onto Westland Street then left onto Pearse Street, which now seemed vaguely familiar from this morning. When the route curved around the grounds of Trinity College, I began to feel the worst effects of my last-mile push. I developed a throbbing headache which made my temples pound. I really just wanted to stop and collapse, just to give my feet and muscles a break from the constant pain.

There was a slight gradient on Grafton Street, but I was so tired and in so much pain it took a disproportionate amount of effort to get to the top and turn left onto Nassau Street. I knew I was so close to the finish now, but this street was deceptively long. Not just that, but my stomach trouble from earlier returned with that headache. I felt like the water was drinking may have been adding to the problem, so I threw away the half-full bottle and just kept running. Just before the final turn onto Merrion Square West, I had some stomach cramps, which would usually have stopped me from running, but I decided that being so close to the finish, I would just try and ignore them and deal with them after the finish.

I turned the corner and headed for the finish. Right up until a few metres from the finish line, I was scanning the crowds for my support crew and trying to get myself in a good position for the finish-line photographs they would be taking.

A few metres from the finish line, I looked at the clock on the timing gantry and it was ticking close to my target, so I mustered an absolute, desperate, last-minute dash across the line. I would have been gutted to find out, after all that effort, that I missed my target by such a close margin, but I needn’t have worried. I crossed the line as the clock struck exactly 5h30m00s.

As soon as I crossed the line I stopped running and started walking. I noticed immediately how soon I cooled down and I noticed again how cold it was. The worst thing I could have done at this point would have been to stop or collapse from exhaustion, not least because it would have been an obstruction but mainly because my muscles would have locked up and I probably wouldn’t be able to move at all.

I moved through the finisher processing on Merrion Square South, posing for my finisher photograph and then picked up my finisher’s goodie bag. Then it was time to attend to my stomach trouble. I think I may have drunk too much water during the marathon, which is what I suspect gave me the headache and stomach cramps, unlike Edinburgh where I felt I drank too little.

A good fifteen minutes later I left the finisher’s processing area and rejoined my support crew. They took some more photographs, then we decided to walk back to the hotel. Walking back along Clare Street, watching the rest of the runners finish, we saw the pint of Guinness pass us by. As for the Toucan, he and the pint became separated and the Toucan finished in a respectable sub-four hour time. Later I read that the man in the Toucan outfit was none other than the heir to the Guinness brewery fortune and the pint was his friend. Which is nice.

A few days later the official chip times were released which stated that I had met my target by completing the marathon in a time of 5h27m47s. I’m very pleased with that. It is also exactly one hour and one second faster than my previous personal best, set in Edinburgh.

Without doubt, the Dublin Marathon was one of the best, most enjoyable things I’ve ever done. It is the best marathon I’ve ever run, in terms of time and strategy. More than that, however, was the atmosphere. Dublin is called the “Friendly marathon” and after running it, I can definitely see why. At every stage of the race, there was always someone prepared to shout some words of encouragement, even if it was just someone who was passing by.

I was so impressed by the marathon and I enjoyed it so much that I think I may do it again next year. Perhaps I might even try to break my PB again.

If you’re wondering about doing a marathon, just get out there and start training. The high for me didn’t come until a day or two afterwards, after my achievement sank in, but when it does, it’s an incredible feeling.

Another person further along had done the same thing but he was playing some rousing classical piece which I didn’t recognise.

Passing the water station at mile fifteen felt like a proud moment. even though I felt a bit tired, I still felt like I was powering through the miles and the more I compared my performance to Edinburgh, the better I felt.

Running down Kimmage Road West, the Toucan and the pint of Guinness caught up with me. The toucan appeared to be in fine shape, but the pint of Guinness was looking a little more worse for wear. Taking a sharp right-turn onto Fortfield Road, the toucan overtook me and charged off. “We’ve been overtaken by a toucan!”, another runner quipped. The pint of Guinness fell behind me again though and I didn’t see him again until I was walking back along the finish line.

The marathon reached it’s most southerly point at the bottom of Fortfield Road, then took another sharp turn onto Templeogue Road. This was another rather nice section of the race, running through plenty of greenery opposite Terenure College. I had been taking my energy gels regularly and so far all that training I had done was paying off in spades. However, the furthest I had ever run in my training was fifteen miles, which I passed on Fortfield Road. I was into unknown territory here.

Between miles sixteen and seventeen, I started to get a nervous, empty feeling. It was basically my stomach telling me that I was running out of energy. I felt like I was free-wheeling, running on empty, until the next water station. What I needed was to take on more energy, but I was still a fair way from the next water and energy station.

It wasn’t until I was half-way down Milltown Road on mile eighteen that I got to the energy and water station.I didn’t realise how tired I was until I slowed down to pick up some water. Since they were also giving out energy drinks here, I decided to take one of those too. I had my hands full trying to take my energy gel whilst also holding onto two bottles, but eventually ate and drank them all.

From here the hard slog began. From this point I felt like I was really flagging and my tiredness seemed to be washing over me like waves. It was relentless. I knew I couldn’t just run through this like earlier though because I didn’t feel like I had the extra energy to give. There was nothing left over, none to spare. I felt like I had just enough to get my round. The relative “easiness” (and I do mean relative, because marathon running can never be described as easy) of the past couple of miles was a thing of the past.

From here on, it just got harder and harder and harder. I only had six miles to go, which was a standard easy distance during training, but now it seemed like someone had asked me to run another thousand miles. My feet were starting to burn and my leg muscles were starting to ache so badly it was difficult to distract myself from the pain. I couldn’t ignore it by eating sweets or anything else, it was a constant reminder, always there, nagging me.

The worst thing of all was that I knew none of this would be getting any better until way beyond the finish line. I was actively punishing my body, pushing it beyond its limits and it wouldn’t let me forget it until at least a few days after the marathon.

After Edinburgh, I’d decided to invest in an arm-wallet, which allowed me to carry extra energy gels. If Edinburgh was anything to go by, I’d be needing them! I left Dad in bed, still dozing away whilst I went down for breakfast.

My Dad and the rest of the support crew had decided to return to the hotel to have their breakfast after I had set off, which was a charming thought – as I would be pounding the streets of Dublin, they would be enjoying a “Full Irish” breakfast!

So we all congregated in the hotel lobby and set off on the 1.5 mile walk to the start line. The lengthy walk would, I hoped,  serve as a warm-up, seen as I hadn’t decided to do a short pre-race run this time. It was a fresh, crisp morning and very cold. The sun was hiding behind clouds, so we go the light but not the warmth. It was very cold. I wasn’t looking forward to the point where I would have to take off my jumper and jogging bottoms because I knew there would be a lot of hanging around waiting to start.

When we got to the start line, (view a map of the route – external link) at the junction of Lower Fitzwilliam Street and Merrion Square East, I had to say goodbye to my support team and be funnelled through into one of the pens. So I got changed there and then, pinned my race number to my running shirt and clipped on my pace band. Then I entered the runners-only section on Merrion Square South to join all the other runners. Merrion Square South was full of runners, depositing their kit-bags, taking toilet breaks, getting changed and warming up.

I followed the instructions of the race marshals and walked all the way around the block, walking down Merrion Street. All the “green numbered” runners then had to turn again onto Lower Baggott Street (although some runners took a crafty and rather pointless shortcut down Fitzwilliam Lane and Baggotrain Place to cut the corner off). Finally all the runners took another left turn back onto Lower Fitzwilliam Street.

I gave my Dad a ring on my mobile to see if he was anywhere near me and found him and the support crew waiting just a few dozen yards away on the pavement. They’d made their way down from the start line to try and see if they could see me. I moved as far up the crowd as I could until it became too dense to carry on. The start line was only a hundred yards in front of me and there was a great carnival atmosphere. On one of the side streets a kettle-drum band was bashing out a rhythm to get everyone in the mood.

As I thought, I was standing around for a good fifteen minutes before everyone got under way. I tried to stay warm by doing some last-minute warm-ups, but there was no disguising just how cold it was. My support crew took plenty of photos, including some of me (which make for an interesting before and after comparison).

At about ten to nine, the announcer piped up and asked for quiet whilst the Irish national anthem was played. How was I feeling? Well, I had plenty of nervous energy as ever, but this was balanced out by my faith in the tremendous amounts of training I’d put in – more than ever before. So I was confident I’d be able to complete the race in my target time of under 5h30m.

Now one of the things I’m used to is seeing runners walk around in the pen wearing bin-liners (seriously) to keep themselves warm whilst waiting. What I’ve never seen before was clothes being thrown from the middle of the crowd onto the pavement. This was a rather bizarre sight, watching jumpers, jogging bottoms and other bits of clothing flying about minutes before the start. The spectators had to be careful not to be hit by airborne clothing!

Finally, at 08:55, the wheelchair competitors set off and the crowd moved forward. At 09:00, the rest of the field set off, including me. Everyone walked towards the start. I waved goodbye to my support crew and started jogging slowly. When I crossed the start line, I set my stopwatch going on my mobile, which I would be using to track my pace and make sure I wasn’t going too fast, especially in the early stages.

By the time I crossed the start line, I realised just how cold my hands were, because they were nearly numb!

The route of the course through Gosford House was a huge loop, intially through fields and past farm buildings, then behind the rather beautiful country house itself. I walked most of this section because I was totally drained. At mile eighteen took us through some woods, where I decided to try start running again, mainly because running felt less painful on my feet than walking. As the course left the woods, we left the estate through a rather grand gatehouse. This was a great moment, for this was where the course really did turn round – finally!

The joy of turning round was still tempered by the fact that I had more than six miles to go. I still felt totally exhausted, but after the next water station, I decided to keep running for as long as possible. So I kept my head down and just concentrated on the road. Whenever I looked up, I just thought of how far I still had to go.

Approaching mile 21, my spirits began to be lifted as we passed the holiday park I had passed going out. This told me that I was getting closer to civilisation and thus the finish line. Just before I approached the park where the relay changeover was taking place, I passed a group of well-wishers who cheered me and told me there were only five miles to go. it sounded like a short distance, but I knew it the finish was still a fairly long way off. I had kept my hands clenched in my usual running position that I now had pins and needles so bad I had hardly close them.

At Cockenzie and Port Seton, I passed through two more energy stations. At this point, I was grateful for every drop of water or energy drink I could get. I had already taken my two carbo gels (which was all I could fit in the pocket of my running shorts). They didn’t make me feel like I had an energy boost, but that was probably more the pain or tiredness talking. Running through Prestonpans, between miles 23 and 24 was a bit eerie as there was virtually no-one around, except the race marshals who stood guard every few hundred yards.