A Mexican, A Marathon and Me – by Trevor Cummins (Ballymore Cobh AC)

Double Olympian and two-time New York City marathon winner German Silva is not the calibre of athlete you expect to be exchanging pleasantries with when you are a few kilometres from home in your second marathon having starting running less than two years previously.

However, this was the unusual but rather pleasing situation I found myself in last weekend when partaking in the 40th edition of the Amsterdam marathon where damp but calm conditions greeted the 16,000 or so athletes who took on the pancake flat course which welcomes runners from all over the world, many in pursuit of a fast time or personal best.

A more calculated approach to preparation had given me every confidence that I could break through the three-hour barrier which had firmly stopped me in my tracks last October when running in the Dublin City marathon. Diet, strength, conditioning, speed work, mentality and marathon specific sessions had all stepped on a level since last year, yet no one could be certain that a cat would not be thrown among the pigeons when the time came to deliver. It is often said that getting to the start line of a marathon is an achievement in itself, given the demands placed on the body during the often-arduous training undertaken in advance of the big day.

Soaking in the pre-race atmosphere while limbering up inside the Olympic Stadium, host to the 1928 games, allowed me to appreciate the idea that I was carrying the club colours of Ballymore Cobh a little further than I had ever went before in them. A similar sense of pride had struck me a couple of days beforehand when I noticed the tricolour amongst the many flags of the competing nations which flew from atop of the old red brick venue where the iconic Olympic Flame was first lit.

Once the race got underway, it was evident that the three-hour pacing team were not hanging about and were actually travelling quicker than the normally expected speed. After 10k, I made a decision to let them off out of sight and instead concentrated on settling myself into a nice, steady, even-paced rhythm. For most of the section where we ran out and back along the River Amstel, I had like-minded company in the form of Nikki Gibson, a Scottish athlete representing Edinburgh AC. Through occasional chatting and encouragement we pulled each other through close to 10 of the 42.2km course. Working together, rolling along.

Getting to the 32k mark on track for sub three-hours (4.15min per km or 6.50min per mile) was the plan, with permission granted to gently increase the pace thereafter provided I was feeling strong enough to push on for home. As we passed the many bands of drummers, whose rhythm you simply could not ignore, their sounds and the noise of the encouraging crowds almost carried me along on a cloud as we continued our advance back towards the city centre. It was at this point the realization began to strike me that the great challenge was finally being overcome.

The many months of early morning rises for pre-work runs, the gym sessions on Bank Holiday Monday’s, the two, sometimes closer to three hour Saturday morning sessions up and down the Old Blackrock Railway line, the strict treat-free diet and everything else that went with putting my life and soul into my goal, it was all being justified in those moments and it was becoming very clear that the marathon nor the three hour milestone longer held any power over me. I was gone through the 32k mark and it honestly felt like I had been dropped there by taxi. This was proving easier than I had anticipated, and I wasn’t complaining!

Although sympathetic to the sight of those suffering as we went into the closing stages of the race, the confidence you get from passing people, one after another, just fills you with more belief. Even German and his three-hour pacing group got the slip as we worked our way back towards the stadium. That was until the diminutive Mexican reappeared on my shoulder a short time later to enquire about how I was feeling. “Very well”, said I!

Nicknamed ‘Wrong-Way Silva’ after an unexpected detour in one of his NYC marathon victories saw him having to overcome a forty yard advantage he temporarily conceded to his fellow countryman and eventual second placed Benjamin Paredes, there is little doubt that the man with a marathon personal 2.08.56 had plenty in hand as we cruised through the beautiful Vondelpark. So, when he’s asked how I was feeling with only a few kilometres left and the reply was a positive one, he didn’t need anymore encouragement to step on the pedal. “2.58. Let’s do it, let’s break 2.58. Come with me.”

It was now clearly a case of by how much, and no longer a question of if we were going to clear the target. Slight cramping in my hamstrings tempered the adrenaline that at this stage must have been nearly set to go into overdrive. Victoria and our two boys were set to be inside the main stand of the stadium but might not have been expecting me back so soon! The sight of the Olympic Rings above the tunnel which led us back onto the track was another spine-tingling moment on a day I will cherish for a while yet.

Rounding the bend for home, roared on by the crowd, I spotted my most loyal supporter. Although well known as a rightly proud British lady, the moment must have overcome her too as she was now waving the green,white and gold while shouting those final words of encouragement before I hit the line in 2.57.36

A season that had delivered plenty already, had now been rounded off in perfect style. The guidance of my run coach Emmett Dunleavy of PerfectPacing, strength coach Katie O’Shea of Bestlife, along with the unyielding support of my extraordinary parents and the ever-faithful Victoria were all instrumental in helping me achieve my goal.

Above all else, I’m proud to say my hard work did not leave me down.

A lot done, with plenty more to do!