Mindful West Run: The Pack

When I was 18 all I needed to be a superhero was a cape.

I think I wore my pants over my trousers a few times.

Everything around me was easy.
I had what I thought was a magic chair.
I threw my clothes on when I got home late at night and they magically appeared, washed and ironed, in my drawer the next day.

Ah yes. It was wonderful to be oblivious to what it meant to grow up and face the world.

But what I had then was a very closely-knit group of friends.

We are still very close now although I am in a different country than them.

We did plenty of things that we should not have done.
We burned the candle at both ends.
We got into trouble a couple of times and yet, we really looked after each other.

At the time I am not sure if I was aware of the importance of what we had, but I felt safe in their company.

We were a testosterone-driven pack of young Italian males, with simple ideas, most of them revolving around trying to meet girls.

But when the proverbial hit the fan – a couple of times – nobody ran away.
We stayed together and got through it.

I was only 22 when I left home and the biggest problem was to leave my friends behind.

My family, well, yes, of course, I missed them but at that moment in time leaving the pack was the biggest issue.

I landed in Ireland with a handful of useless English phrases, an Irish girlfriend and her group of friends.

I had to make sure to re-form the pack.

I met wonderful people, friends to this day.

They nurtured me through slagging – SLAGGING, one of the first words I learned after the F word that seemed to be appearing in every conversation – and through friendship.

Then my own kids came along and with that more changes: nappies, sleepless nights, playgrounds, schools and all that goes with parenthood.

And a new set of friends.

Driven by circumstances, I found myself within a new group, a new pack, new stories.

This current group has developed into something quite special.

We meet for coffee most mornings, we go for runs and weekends away, we do what lads need to do.

When we are outdoors, running or swimming in the cold Irish sea, the conversation is real.

We pour our hearts out to one another.
We ask for advice.
We share stories and most importantly we slag each other and have a laugh.

We were recalling exam time recently, the leaving cert, in Italy called Maturita’ – Maturity!
I was anything but mature at that stage.

May in Rome was hitting temperatures in the late 20s.
I grew up by the seaside and the lure of the beach was very strong.

I remember hating having to sit at home in the sweltering heat – we didn’t have air conditioning units – and all I wanted to do was to be outside and away from the books.

One of my friends, a couple of years older and already in University, had started jogging – as it was known then, now it is called running!!!

A trail off the beating path, dusty and safe from cars, was his loop. 4km.

I decided to join him once. I tried to keep up the pace but couldn’t. Literally ate his dust.

But I recall getting back into the house, a quick shower and all of a sudden the books on the sitting room table didn’t look that bad.

I am now 52 years of age and running is still my decompressing valve.

I travel a lot for work and the first thing I pack is my running shoes.
That is all you need most of the time – well OK a pair of shorts and a t-shirt is always a good idea too.

I run in the mornings, early and the rest of the day just fall into place.

I love running on my own at times, especially if I am working on a creative project and I need to get my juices flowing, but most of the time I am out with the pack.

There is a healthy peer pressure that keeps us literally on our toes.

Our runs started off as a 5km down the road and after a number of marathons has now moved to ultradistances.

Two years ago we went running a race in a small town on the Spanish mountains, Montseny.

We were the only non-local runners.

It was a distance of 80Km over 5 mountains with an overall elevation of 9000 meters.

We train in Wicklow and the highest “mountain” I think is 400 meters high.

We went. We saw it. We were scared!

The five peaks stood in front of us, majestic and looked impossible to climb, never mind running them.

The race started and we got through the first peak, descended it, only to find out that the second one was there waiting for us.

No Respite.

Halfway up the climb, my head went.

“Lads, I am done” were my very words. “I’ll get to the top and I’ll get the rescue vehicle to take me back”

The top was 16Km into the 80km run.

The pack got behind me.

They talked to me.
Cajoled me.
Distracted me.
Broke-down the run in very small bites – we’ll get to the bottom of the next peak, there is food there and a toilet, you can refill your bottles, …. –
and we talked and we talked and we took in the beauty of the landscape and we savoured the smells and…

We cross the line.

Some friends were already there.
Waiting for us with open arms.

18 hours on our feet.
18 hours that nobody will give you but your true friends.

Someone once said: ultramarathons are 95% mental and 5% in your head!

It’s not the end of the world. It can be done.

And I have been using it at work and with all my other projects outside of work.
It’s not the end of the world.
Small bites.

Fresh air.
Exercise.
Heart to heart chats.
It’s free.
It’s real.

So this year we decided to make the run nice and long and hope to have people joining us along the way.

Three days long to be exact.

From Greystones to Galway.
240 km.

We’ll run, we’ll walk, we’ll talk, we’ll laugh and we create memories that will be there forever.

I feel safe in my pack.

Find yours, put in more than what you are going to get out of it.

Enjoy all it gives you.

The Mindful West run is a 240km run from Greystones to Galway in aid of a Lust for Life and CMRF Crumlin. If you enjoyed this story please donate to the run here.