National Seniors Reimagined

Imagine if we could have the major international championships first, and then the national championships!

Imagine the introductions!

Ciara Mageean: Recent Commonwealth and European 1500m silver medallist. 

Mark English: Irish 800m record holder. European 800m bronze. 

Rhasidat Adeleke: Fifth in Europe. Ninth in the world. The one who, draped in an Irish flag, made a point of acknowledging the Irish supporters in the crowd after she broke the Irish 400m record in Munich. 

Israel Olatunde: the fastest ever Irishman. European 100m finalist at twenty.

Sarah Lavin: World Indoor and European outdoor finalist. 

Fionnuala McCormack: Ireland's most capped female. Seventh in Munich. Understated. Underrated. Underappreciated.

Efrem Gidey and Brian Fay: European top eight finishers. 

Louise Shanahan: European 800m finalist. Irish record holder.

Sophie Becker, Phil Healy, Sharlene Mawdsley, Roisin Harrison and Cliodhna Manning: European relay finalists along with Adeleke. Six of the 10 fastest 400m runners we've ever produced. Healy, Becker, Chris O'Donnell and Jack Raftery: World mixed relay finalists. Olympic mixed relay finalists in there too.

Andrew Coscoran. European 1500m finalist. World and Olympic semi-finalist. Morton Mile winner.

Kate O'Connor: Commonwealth silver medallist in the heptathlon.

Reece Adamola, Nicola Tuthill, Nicholas Griggs: World U20 finalists.

Darragh McElhinney and Sarah Healy: Irish U23 records each at three different distances outdoors in 2022.

Luke McCann: Irish senior 1000m records, indoors and out, in 2022.

Thomas Barr: 10-time Irish 400m hurdles champion. And the rest.

Michelle Finn, 8-time Irish steeplechase champion. European finalist.

The list goes on.

Imagine how easy that would be to promote. 

Morton Stadium would be packed!

For reasons I don't need to go into here, you could never hold your national champs after the majors, but there's got to be a way to capitalise on the enthusiasm created by such a successful Irish team. And it only needs to be done once. If Morton Stadium on nationals weekend is the place to be, then Morton Stadium on nationals weekend is where we'll be.

Morton Stadium on nationals weekend definitely did not appear to be the place to be in June 2022.

I arrived to a near empty stadium, coinciding with a seemingly intended and prolonged gap in the track programme on the Sunday afternoon. After two years missed due to the pandemic, I could hardly have felt more let down. Yes the pace eventually picked up. Great races were had. And apparently the evening finals slot came across well on tv. 

But it did not have me reaching for my diary and marking the date for next year's event (ok, that's not true; the likely date was already in my diary, but imagine for a moment that I'm not me!).

The event needed a good boost of energy from somewhere.

And the schedule? With 150 years of practice, you'd think someone would at least have nailed the schedule by now!

Something clearly has to change.

I appreciate how much effort goes into running not just the national seniors, but the whole series of national championships held weekend after weekend right across the summer, and how much hard work is done by unpaid officials and committee members. And there are costs to running such events which clearly are not being met by the dismal attendance figures. And I am hesitant to criticise those who are doing things that I am not willing to do myself. But I'm also too passionate about this to say nothing at all. As a reasonable compromise, I'm going to focus mainly on some possible solutions.

Santry needs people on the back straight. Without people on the back straight it's always going to look and feel empty. Good weather helps. But people on the back straight also need to be able to see the results and hear the commentary. Give them a reason to get out of the stand and surround that track.

Many of the people who could/might attend have or are children: recently retired and former athletes, young athletes, children who've watched the Olympics or Europeans on telly and have been nagging their parents to see some of these stars up close, the children of immigrants who would benefit from seeing positive integration into the Irish community... the list goes on. So attendance needs to be child friendly - either a Sunday finals slot which isn't after their bedtime, or a Saturday slot which somehow caters for the attention span of the average nine-year-old (or more importantly their parent).

And we need it to be a place for those who used to run to meet up with old acquaintances. To re-connect with the sport. To see the possibilities of where and how they could continue to be involved. Or, for once, to just enjoy the sport from the other side of the fence.

So, how about this?

Saturday afternoon - heats for pretty much anything that their needs to be heats for. Use pre-registration to ensure these run off as slickly as possible - you should know on Friday just how many heats you'll have in each event. Have commentators loaded to the gills with interesting facts and information about every single athlete competing. And really think about how you can best showcase your field events during this time. 

Have the final of whichever sprints need to be had on day one.

Then put barriers in lane three. Bring the crowds in around the track (nothing new or novel at this stage - and we know it works). And run off all the distance races one after another. The various races of the men's 5000m. The women's 5000m. The walks. The steeplechases. A junior race or two. Fill that back straight with cheer. The place could be hopping.

See, that would get me to Dublin on the Saturday. I might even stretch to a hotel room for the night, even at Dublin prices! Livestreaming viewing should also be through the roof, as those with a distance-running interest tune in not just from across Ireland, but across the world. Put your best commentators on commentary and reel in the punters. There may even be the potential for this to be shown live on tv. Imagine it was good enough to get people to say, 'Wait, I could attend more of this tomorrow, in person? Pass me the credit card now.' 

We could even cleverly showcase certain field events during this time, the men's and women's shot put for example. Use the crowd to give them a boost too.

We could do this better than any other national championship in the world!

The Sunday probably doesn't need to change that drastically. You'd be missing a few events - a steeplechase, the walks and some 5000m races. But there's no reason a condensed programme, without the silly gap in the middle, wouldn't work. Three rounds of the 100m might be an issue, but we'll work on that one too. 

Again, clever showcasing of field events would help. But people need to be able to follow what's going on with those. A big screen with live results would be the dream, but there's no reason someone with a giant whiteboard, some marker pens, and a little bit of humour couldn't work wonders on that front. 

Have people greeting those arriving who've never been to an athletics event before, and ensuring they have the best possible experience. Put together idiots guides. Tell them what they should look out for. Take them to the heart of the action. God, imagine if we could get athletes to do this. It would be a great use of any top athlete not able to race that weekend. 

Ok, maybe now I'm getting a little bit carried away.

And we need to decide if filling the stadium with children, or having the live tv slot well past their bedtime, is more important. But we need that stadium full. It doesn't matter if they're paying or not. Just get them there. And we only need to do it once. If it's a positive experience for all those who attend, then the next time it's will fill up itself.

Imagine the potential!

Unfortunately we can't have nationals after majors. But we could still have the best nationals in the world! After 150 years of trying, it's about time we did just that.

What if?

Imagine you're an elite athlete. You may well be. Or a former one. Now imagine in ten years' time the doping authorities have developed new doping detections methods, re-tested every sample in their possession, and found numerous positive samples. You're a clean athlete, and always have been, so your samples come back clean. But those of your competitors are not. You're due a number of medal upgrades.

Are you:

(a) Pissed off that you've been cheated all along

or

(b) Delighted that they've finally done something about all the blatant cheating?

Truth is you've probably been secretly upgrading yourself all along. You always knew these athletes were doping, and that there was a chance that they might be caught. The positives haven't come as a shock. Nor should they, if you've been paying any attention at all.

But what if they started catching those with apparent immunity? Those that you thought might be doping, but weren't as blatant. Those that are also clearly talented and not purely the product of chemical enhancement. The golden guys and girls that put the sport in the spotlight. The big names. The big stars. The ones you never thought would be caught. How do you feel now? Are you pissed?

Now, what if it is someone you never suspected? Perhaps someone you even like. 

What if it's someone you're associated with?

How do you feel now?

Now, consider you're not clean. You might not be. They've finally hunted you down?

How do you feel now?

Why has a sport of equals so quickly become a sport of haves and have-nots?

Over the coming week at the European Athletics Championships in Munich, athletes ranked in the top 12 in each of the sprint events, including hurdles, have been given a bye to the semi-finals of their respective event and a precious seeded lane for that second round.

This ridiculous format is just one in a long list of ‘innovations’ which favour the haves over the have-nots. But so widely ridiculed on the previous two occasions it was used (in 2016 and 2018), I was somewhat blindsided by its resurrection post-Covid. I can’t have been the only one.

But shame on me for not seeing this one coming. We shouldn’t, at this point, be surprised by the introduction and desperate retention of formats which add nothing to the sport and which do not have the athletes’ best interests at heart.

And so, those who have the fastest times so far this season get to sit out the first round in Munich.

And those just outside those top dozen spots, as well as those further down the field, get to warm up, go through the dreaded callroom, race, encounter the mixed zone, and warm down a whole extra time. And their best hope? Lane two or lane seven in the semi-final and not picking up an injury or worse in the process.

Remember, this group of athletes, too, includes those who didn’t quite make the automatic qualifying time, and who had to chase ranking points as well as times, finish high enough in their national championships to gain selection, manoeuvre whatever other ‘qualifying’ criteria their NGB put in their way, and, do it all by late June, because anyone who didn’t qualify for Worlds essentially sat through a month of minimal opportunities to gain either ranking points or qualifying times, let alone have a chance to earn a living from the sport.

God help anyone who picked up a minor injury or Covid in May.

The ranking-based quota system, which depends largely on athletes having enough sway to get them into Cat B or higher races, and championship formats with byes or repêchages disproportionately play into the hands of those who are at the top of their game, those who have already achieved, and potentially (dare I say it), those who are doping.

The quota system is not liked by athletes, is increasingly ignored (or adapted in some way) by national governing bodies, and does nothing to reduce the integrity issues which were used to sell it in the first place. Indeed, the opposite may well be true.

But yet, both the World and European federations carry on regardless. You’ve got to wonder what’s in it for them.

And the whole shambles doesn’t end there. There’s the thing about what shoes to wear – and not just because the sport continues to shoot itself in the foot. There’s the fact you can qualify for an Olympic 10,000m without ever stepping on a track, in a pair of shoes that are not allowed on the track.

And if I’m reading it right (forgive me if I’m not, it got a bit complicated recently), you can achieve a standard in any event, in a development (but not a prototype) shoe – wings optional - which isn’t yet available to your competitors.

And final 3 – whatever version of which we’re on by now – can get in the bin with the rest.

I’m not against innovation (ok, maybe I am a little bit), but anything you introduce shouldn’t divide one level of athlete from the next, shouldn’t corrode integrity, and shouldn’t make things more complicated.

You wouldn’t get away with any of this crap in the Community Games, so why do it at the top level?

Perhaps that could be the litmus test.

Less a weekend to remember; more a weekend we can never forget

"You wouldn’t get this sort of hospitality in Kinsale, would you?", dad joked, prouder that he’d beaten me to the now regular reminder of that unplanned, late February weekend in Kinsale, than he was of the humour itself.

After being bedridden for almost two weeks with a virus (yes, the v word) from hell and unable to travel to England for a cross country race as planned, I made a last-minute decision to take the parents to Cork and meet up with some friends.

Such rash, last-minute plans, well outside tourist season, left us with zero choice in way of accommodation; we took the last room in town. 'Reasonably priced family room.' 'Central location.' 'Harbour view.' What could possibly go wrong?

After travelling across the south of the country with no great hurry on us, we arrived in Kinsale as the light was beginning to fade. We briefly stopped by the guest house and I ran in to pick up the key – we weren’t going to waste time on idle chitchat, though it later transpired that the landlady had a similar minimalist approach to her hosting duties – and we set about exploring the sites of the area. Not for the last time that weekend, we travelled all the back roads, this time via James Fort and Sandycove to windswept Old Head.

With a strong family principle of never returning the same way as we came, we took the only other road off the peninsula and returned to Kinsale via Ballinaspidal and its once-famous grotto. Exhausted from the day’s travels, it was difficult to conceive how busloads of Catholics, considerably more committed than ourselves, once made the 400-kilomtere round-trip from Wexford on a weekly basis and maintained a thriving local economy focused on moving statues and the like.

Drive-by pilgrimage complete, we headed to Dinos for a fish and chip supper.  “The Irish don't play games with their potatoes”, one reviewer had commented online. “Their fish and chips are the bomb.com!” I need say no more.

With bellies almost full, and dessert procured from the Centra across the road, we retired to our room-for-three to unwind.

Plans to enjoy aforementioned baked goods in a cosy room with a warm cup of tea were, however, overly optimistic.

Not only was the room cold – read ‘Baltic’ – but we couldn’t find the kettle. The heating, it seemed, had just been turned on, possibly for the first time in months, so there was nothing to it but to climb beneath the sheets, turn on the telly, and wait it out.

Only the telly didn’t work either.

I’m not sure who commented first, but I’m glad, convalescent and all that I was, that I wasn’t the only one to notice that the bed sheets were damp! The radiator – groaning to life as it was – wasn’t going to be enough to sort out this mess. I could only hope that the clothes I’d left on to keep me warm would also help keep me dry.

***

Thanks to body heat alone, we survived. And headed down to breakfast with misplaced confidence that things couldn’t get any worse.

When the Weetabix wrapper, my cereal of choice, didn’t have its usual crunchy feel to it, I quickly opted for the cornflakes, or own-brand alternative thereof. Unfortunately the lifeless flakes were already in the bowl by the time I realised they too were a relic of tourist seasons past.

“Excuse me, can we have some more orange juice, please?”, I called after the landlady, attempting to procure for Dad some more of the one consumable item we’d been carefully rationed.

“You can have this”, one of the guests at the table behind us declared, filling the hesitant void which represented not so much a refusal as a non-starter on the behalf of our host. “Our friend won’t be making it down for breakfast.” Either he’d been forewarned, or he was quite partial to Kinsale’s version of the waterbed!

“Grand” the proprietor declared, picking the glass of this apparently valuable commodity and placing it in front of Dad.

The small victory, however, soon turned as sour as the milk in our bowls, as our disbelieving eyes followed her towards the kitchen with the remains of the half glass dad had earlier managed to barter from mam.

This was hospitality to make Basil Faulty blush.

***

There was a collective sigh of relief as we made it out to the car, and set out on another day of adventure. I spent the following hours taking finish-line photos of the hundreds of runners, walkers and strollers who had completed the Kinsale 10 Mile – a race which my friend organises – consuming triangular sandwiches, and entertaining her twin girls. There was even tea, in Styrofoam cups, dispensed from a Burco boiler!

The parents, well and truly infected with the adventurers’ bug, headed to Galley Head, and took in all that the initial miles of the Wild Atlantic Way has to offer.

Following our reunion later that afternoon, we said our goodbyes to the Breens and O'Donoghues, and looked forward to all the athletics events we’d see them at over the summer.

We took the High Road out of Kinsale, through the narrow streets of Summercove, before stopping by Charles’ Fort. The unwritten rules for such journeys are that mam drives where she’s told, I, with a couple of maps on my lap, choose the route, and dad, with prime view from the passenger seat, comments on the relative abundance or lack of sheep, cattle, and tillage in each of the townlands we encounter.

And that afternoon there were plenty of directions given and received, and much farmland to be commented on. Bellgooley, Ballyfeard, Meane Bridge, Carrigaline. It’s as if we knew it would be a while until we could do it all again. Passage West, and the bypassing of the daunting Jack Lynch tunnel, was a highlight for our driver, as we took the ferry across the River Lee. We headed back to the mainland past Fota Island, and resolved to return to visit Cobh in the summer. We all agreed that these trips were going to become a more regular feature in our lives.

***

Two weeks later, the world stopped. 

It’s likely that in years to come time will be referred to as either BC – before Covid – or AD: after dat! 

But for us, that weekend in Kinsale changed everything, forever.

We were reminded that the good life isn’t all about meticulously planned vacations, luxury accommodation, and gourmet meals.

It’s about seizing every moment and ringing it for everything it’s worth.

Just a shame someone didn’t do that with the bedsheets!

Let me give you an analogy.

Sometimes, in my crazier moments, I consider resitting the Leaving Cert.

I have a lingering curiosity as to whether, almost quarter of a century on, I would do better or worse.

The conditions would be quite different.

I’d have the benefit of twenty-three years of real-life experience and knowledge acquisition and assimilation.

I’d approach with a greater sense of self-confidence and self-worth.

I would not have the benefit of two years of intensive and focused study and revision.

I would, however, have better, easier ways of learning and remembering crucial facts.

There would be a less riding on the results. I’d be less nervous. I probably wouldn’t be as motivated.

Whether or not I’d do better or worse remains in the balance. 

But that’s exactly why I’d want to embark on such a venture.

If I did do better in those exams now than I did in 1997, I would, in fact, be better at those exams now than I was in 1997.

If I did worse, it would be down to the effort I put into revision (the training, let’s call it); the way in which I approached the exams (let’s, for arguments sake, call that my motivation, or, dare I say it, my mindset); other factors specific to that particular day (the conditions); or bad luck with the questions asked (the opposition).

Perhaps you can start to see where I’m going with this?

Now, not only has my knowledge (hopefully) improved, but so has technology. All the knowledge needed to complete a good leaving certificate exam is available at my fingertips. Typing a few key words into a smarter-than-me phone will give me the information I need to answer questions on everything from algebra to zygotes. Yes, I still need to know what the question is asking, to own and know how to use the phone, and to take from it the information I need to maximise the marks awarded.

I’d still need to put the work in.

If technological assistance was suddenly allowed, however, not only would it not be the same race as the original Leaving Certificate.

It wouldn’t even be the same sport.

...

I wouldn’t really resit the Leaving Cert.

Not ever.

But every year since 2003, the last time that I set a steeplechase PB, I’ve been resitting that particular athletics exam; trying to see if I can replicate or improve on the result or, since getting older, just how close I can get.

The conditions are not the same every year. But the sport is.

Or at least it was.

I’ve become a wiser, smarter racer and a better judge of pace. I train smarter. I’d like to think that I’m better at the technical aspects of the event.

I even, occasionally, do some cramming (some call it altitude training).

But I’m older. Much older. I can’t bang out 400m sessions like I used to. I don’t train as hard as I once did. Some days I’m not even all that motivated.

But I’m still curious. Still curious how close I can get to that ancient PB.

When I come close, as I did in 2011, I appreciate how very different training can lead to similar results in the same sport.

When I don’t, I receive a timely reminder that I should have better appreciated my best results (along with my Leaving Cert grades) when they happened.

Better or worse, I have fun comparing where I am now to where I was then.

Soon I won’t even have that.

But when I sit my (probable) final steeplechase test next summer, I won’t be doing it with a smarter-than-me phone in my hand, or a faster-than-me pair of spikes on my feet.

I’m not interested in a different exam.

I’m only interested in the old one.

And not only will the spikes be similar to the ones I wore when I last broke 11 minutes, but, God and some superglue willing, they’ll literally be the same pair!

If I was an athlete...

If I was an athlete…

… I’d be getting ahead by putting my feet up!

It seems that, at every turn, I’ve been the big bad reality wolf recently, quashing people’s hopes that they’re going to finally get to play that promotion game, reminding them that even a truncated or delayed season was a faint reality.

But, finally, the sports world seems to be coming to the realisation that 2020 just isn’t going to happen.

And while every man and his training-partner dog has been busy demonstrating that they are tougher and more resilient than the next, devising a mega weights workout for their back garden, or calculating just how many miles they can tot up within a two kilometres of their house, the clever ones have been saying nothing.

In a competitive world, becoming ever more professionalised, sportspeople have been conditioned to prove that they want it more than the next, to fight against all the odds, to not, for one second, give up hope. It’s as though they must always fight to the bitter end, or to die trying, only stopping when they’ve been dragged kicking and screaming from the battlefield.

And that’s part of what makes sportspeople so special.

There’s little room, then, in that world for the ones who’ve played this smart. The ones who walked away as soon as the going got tough. The ones who figured that life itself was the only thing we’d be battling for this year. The ones who realised that being sensible, saving the strain for a later date, would yield greater results.

So often sportspeople talk about the sacrifices they make. The time they miss with their children. The lives put on hold. The constant effort. The pain.

And while not all alternatives are possible right now, there are still many opportunities to catch up on some of those missed life experiences. To give the body a break and let it fully recover for once. To do new things. To prepare for life after sport. To, perhaps, extend a career at the other end.

Whether you’re currently uncovering mental resolve you never know you had as you sprint up the stairs for the 400^th time today, or you’re giving the body the first holiday it has had in years as you finally crack on with that online course you’d put on the long finger, 2020 will certainly be a year to remember.

But if you're not rolling around the garden in tears of laughter after doing wheelbarrow races with those unluckly enough to share your space, you're probably doing this wrong!

What would I do?

Imagine you're a coach.

Maybe you already are.

Your star female athlete, after months of concern, has finally plucked up the confidence to speak to you. She’s heard and read much about the consequences of amenorrhoea, and feels that it’s time she shared with you the things that have been bothering her.

She hasn’t had a period since she upped her mileage and became more disciplined (read: “obsessive”) about her diet, eighteen months ago. The nagging pain in her foot, which gets worse the further she runs, is also a concern.

How, as a coach, do you respond?

Is your first reaction: “Oh no, the ‘P’ word! Periods are too embarrassing for me to talk about!”

Now, just imagine you’ve got past the initial discomfort, and accepted that it’s probably more awkward for the athlete to talk about periods than it is for you. Do you then question why you need to know?

Are you unaware of the risks of amenorrhoea (i.e. the absences of a regular period), under-eating, increased training and the resultant energy imbalance? And that the persistent, nagging pain might indicate a stress fracture?

Or maybe you know a bit about the issues (or have quickly educated yourself via your search engine of choice), but still question how this is relevant to you? Afterall, you’re a coach, not a doctor!

And it can’t be that bad, can it? Your athlete doesn’t have an eating disorder. If she had an eating disorder you’d know about it, wouldn’t you? She’s not even that thin, you think. If she’s not that thin, there can’t be a problem, right?

Wrong!

Now, let’s just suppose that your athlete is excessively thin. Everyone has been remarking about how ‘in shape’ she looks. She is lean and running well. Changes have happened since she’s upped her training and visited the nutritionist. And there’s been the big race wins, the personal bests and international call-ups.

Long may the good-times roll!

Then someone suggests that her thinness may be becoming excessive. Having been away at university all term, her parents haven’t seen her in a few months. When they do see her, they barely recognise her, and express their concern.

Do you try to reassure them by saying that’s all part of the bigger plan? She’s turning into a real athlete now, and being thin is all part of that.

Are you too close to notice just how excessive, dramatic and damaging the changes have been?

When the parents suggest that her absent periods may also be an issue, do you explain that away too as a normal by-product of training harder. Do you remind them that this happens to many female athletes? Do you suggest that it’s more difficult to find an endurance athlete with a regular period than it is to find one that doesn’t?

Are you naive enough to question if she’s better off without them anyway?

Or do you know and understand the risks, and the devastating long-term affect on an athlete’s health, but either consciously, or unconsciously, feel that this is something that just happens to athletes in other training groups?

Or do you know and care, and want to help, but just don’t know where to start, or who can help? Afterall there’s lots of information out there on the dangers, but very little advice on what to do next!

Have you tried seeking assistance for cases like this in the past, and struggled to get the assistance and advice you needed?

Are you being told by the ‘professionals’ that this is ‘normal’, or that issues with your athlete are not yet bad enough to warrant intervention?

Or, do you fall into the most dangerous category of all? Do you see all the warning signs, and say nothing? Do you simply hope that your athlete will be the one athlete that gets away with it?

Long may the good times roll, eh?

But they don’t, do they? The bad times roll much longer.

Always!