Art O Neill Challenge: Round 2

We also review this night on Episode 312 of the Any Given Runday Podcast, available on Spotify HERE, Apple Podcasts HERE and YouTube HERE

Three years ago, my naivety and the desire for an adventure got me to the start of the Art O’Neill Challenge, a 60k event starting in Dublin Castle and working your way through the night and the Wicklow mountains until you got to Glenmalure.

I knew navigation was involved, but how hard is it really to find your way out of a field and keep heading south?

For someone like me with zero navigation skills, too hard!

I found myself alone and lost for multiple hours in the lashing rain, hopeless and miserable as I did circles around the field. By the time I arrived at the second, and last, checkpoint, I was 50 minutes late.

My race was over, and I would not get to attempt the last 17km, which I was told was even more challenging. Highly unlikely, I thought.

Back in 2023 with no idea what was in store for me

Three years later, and I was back at the starting line.

If you think I was eager to go for my chance at redemption, you’d be sadly mistaken.

I wasn’t fit. My back had seized up after a 5k effort on New Years Day, which left me seriously doubting whether this was a wise decision. 

Every smart bone in my body told me it was not…

But I don’t have many of them.

So when my better half asked me two days before the event whether I was going to do it, I felt I had to at least try.

Very few knew. I didn’t even bring it up on the podcast.

But I’d rather try and fail than be at the house when the race starts, thinking about what-ifs.

So, last Friday night, I found myself at Dublin Castle attempting to start the Art O’Neill Challenge … but why does this thing start at 11 pm?!

”The Art O'Neill Challenge is a brutal winter ultra-endurance event (approx. 60km) commemorating the 1592 escape of Art O'Neill, Henry O'Neill, and Red Hugh O'Donnell from Dublin Castle into the Wicklow Mountains, with participants navigating challenging open terrain at night, mirroring the fugitives' desperate flight for survival, though sadly Art succumbed to hypothermia during the historical event”

I learned on the night that the events led to the Nine Year War.

The race itself is broken up into two main parts.

The first is a 25km road race up to Kippure Estate. At Kippure Estate, you’re met with food, and your prepacked bag, along with your mandatory kit for the next 35km, where the off road and navigation really begins.

And at this point, I should say if you’re reading this looking for advice, I’m probably not the best to go to!

All smiles for the camera but I knew what was ahead of me this time!

We got to Dublin Castle just after ten for sign in, gear check and to drop off the aforementioned bag that would be dropped up to Kippure Estate.

I was feeling nervous, but trying to keep calm and take it one step at a time. Unlike a few years ago, I knew what awaited. And I knew that I could mentally prepare myself for it, but I was not physically prepared.

The last non-competitive wave went off at half 10.

Niamh looked at me and said, “Why aren’t you in that?”

I hadn’t an answer for her.

My wave was at 11. I wasn’t racing. I wasn’t competing. I just wanted to finish. But I still waited.

It was another half hour to mentally prepare and, while I wasn’t racing, I wanted to hit the checkpoints on time at the 11 o’clock start.

The plan was simple:

Slow, comfortable jog. No need to look at pace, just keep steady.

Walk any sort of hill!

I needed as much energy as I could for the second half of the race.

Eat little and often.

I wasn’t fit enough, I could ill afford to make that worse and not be fuelled enough.

11pm… and we’re off, as I stayed at the back of the crew.

A few years ago, I somehow got off course in the first 2km… that wasn’t going to happen again

You’ll never guess what number I was back in 2023 for AON

For the first 12–13km, I sat behind a decent-sized group. We were met by a parked Ambulance and Mountain Rescue jeep every few km before they would leapfrog us up the road again. 

Then the climbing started. 

And so did the walking. I was ok with this. I knew I was in for a long night, and I felt prepared for this. Well, mentally anyway.

What I wasn’t anticipating was being by myself so early in the race.

The crowd that I had snuck in behind slowly drifted further and further ahead of me.

By 19km, they were all gone.

Thankfully, there was a nice downhill section to keep confidence up as we got closer to Kippure Estate.

25km, I think I’m feeling good, despite wondering where the hell everyone is?!

By the time I collected my bag in Kippure Estate, I was feeling good. Despite it being a lot quieter around for me at this stage compared to a few years ago, I was slightly faster. As the crew started packing up around me, I began changing my gear. Getting the wet gear on a few extra layers, including the €45 waterproof socks I had bought after my feet were drenched and frozen the last time, I knew I wouldn’t be running hard, so the layers would be needed to keep me warm. Scoffed down a few bananas and bars, and 20 minutes later I was back on my way.

I didn’t notice anyone come in after me, and two people had just gone out 2 minutes before me. They soon would be out of sight as the niggles and doubts soon crept in.

By 29km, I was seriously contemplating life choices that left me alone, unfit, sore and tired on a dirt road at 3am in the middle of nowhere. 3km or so before the true off road began, and I was hurting.

Shin splints. Tight hamstrings. Hips. Lower back. The right leg never really never stopped all night. It was just a steady, annoying 3–4/10 pain that kept reminding me it was there.

At that point, I decided the running part was over.

I had thought about the race being over.

The first step off road and 10km trek through the field

As the trail ended, I approached a field with a DWMRT jeep beside it.

Just tell them you’re done, I thought.

This was the field I spent a good 4-5 hours in a few years ago. Once you enter, you know you’re going through for a 10km. And with the terrain and challenges involved in getting through that field, along with my inexperience and lack of fitness, I knew that was going to be 20 minute km/pace or so…

I can’t do this, I thought…

And yet, I marched on by the jeep to start the off road navigation portion of the race.

There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity. And I just crossed it.

I started the slow march uphill, my feet sinking into the muck with every step. The odd stumble here and there. I would look up to notice that I wasn’t totally alone on the journey. I had caught up to a few people who set off hours before me to walk the route.

Faint headlamps in the distance

The ultra runners were long gone. And with each step, I wondered how the hell they could have raced this portion.

This is where the adventure and uncertainty of the race truly begins.

Looking to 200m or so to my left, I could see people taking higher ground. To my right, people are going around the field. All to avoid what I and a few others in front of me had elected to do… go across the river straight ahead… in a few km time. 

And right in front of the river, I saw someone waiting for me. His torch was dying, and he was struggling to find a way across.

“Your light is much stronger”, he shouted back at me.

I was only happy to help, but I couldn’t help but think: this poor lad has no idea who he’s trusting right now.

Doesn’t look like much, blessed to find an easy crossing

Thankfully, I spotted an easy enough crossing over a few rocks to get over the river. It wasn’t elogent, but we got over and proceeded to march through awful thorny bushes towards the exit that looked pretty close.

An hour or so later, at around 6:20am, I hopped over the last river right by the exit to the field.

The first time I tried Art, I left that field after 8am.

I can’t say I was technically faster this time, just less lost.

The guy I was with had fallen behind a bit, but I was sure I’d see him 2km down the road at the final checkpoint. I didn’t know that, with the exception of checkpoints, it would be the last time I’d see anyone on this route until near the end of my race.

It was all flat road until the checkpoint, but my body wouldn’t let me run it.

Coffee!

At 7am, I was sitting on a bench in a marquee with coffee in hand. I felt like I was over the worst.

4km to the cross, 13km to the finish.

I had recced the way from here to the cross before with Ciara Smullen (who was on the podcast a few years ago with all the info on where I went wrong), her sister, Niamh Brophy and a few of their friends.

I was starting to think that this would be easy.

Then I heard the rain starting to pelt on the marquee. A new challenge.

I filled the water bottle and waited a few more minutes.

No sign of it stopping. Still dark out.

Torch on.

Hood up.

Let’s go. 

I started marching up the hill along the path. The watch started to beep at me. It beeped again.

And again.

But I’m on the path, how could I get lost on a path.

Beeped again.

Finally, I looked at it.

Well off course, I was.

I went back to see a 5 foot wall into a maze of Christmas trees. Now I remember that there was a shortcut through.

If I go diagonally through this maze, I would get to the river I thought.

20 minutes in, I remembered I was wrong.

I headed straight up, falling through broken branches, getting smacked in the face repeatedly by Christmas trees and squeezing through the branches in tight spaces. I eventually reached a path on higher ground.

Well, it’s a lot easier from this point of view to see where i went wrong!

Once again, I remembered this after I made the mistake. I was warned I should have recced and that I would forget a year later.

Like most things, I had to find out the hard way.

Strangely, I was enjoying parts of this. The uncertainty. The adventure. The feeling of being very small in a very big place.

That would change again shortly.

The sun was coming up as I made my way towards the river. Stick to the left of the river all the way up, then cross at…

No, stick to the right of the river and cross early at…

No…

Shit, I couldn’t remember.

Just follow the watch.

At this stage, I should point out that I was following Ricki Wynne’s GPX on my watch. Ricki had won the race a few years ago. And if he was doing it this year, he would’ve been at home, tucked into his bed by the time I was at this point of the race.

But, if he won the thing, he must have taken the most direct route, which is a smart thing to follow, right?

WRONG.

Ricky is a mountain goat.

I am not.

When I saw where the watch was taking me across and the mountain to climb, I thought there had to be a better way.

I was full sure I didn’t climb that mountain on the recce last year, and I remember being told something specific about this stage, but I couldn’t remember what it was…

As I continued along the river, I eventually came to a narrow section with just enough rocks to cross.

Next thing I know, I was up on the mountain I said I was avoiding. The watch said I was on course.

Even now, I’m not so sure that this is pointing anywhere near Art’s cross

I was high enough now to look miles back into the distance, and I saw absolutely no one. Part of me thought that they’re probably packing up at the finish line and I’d be heading into Glenmalure to nothing.

But I hadn’t much time to think about that. The mountain got steeper. I was on my hands and knees at sections to continue the climb.

With no one near me, I could speak my thoughts out loud.

“How the hell does anyone race this?!”

The rain, which had gone, came back much heavier. It turned to hail as I got to the top and looked around…

To faintly see Art’s cross in the distance…

Hope…

And I could also make out the longer, but easier route I should have taken, which I definitely did last year in the recce.

I slowly made my way across, towards the cross.

4km and 2 hours later from when I set off from checkpoint 2 and that cup of coffee, I finally made it to the cross!

A lot easier to get to Bray Head!

I was not the best of company for the lads waiting for me as they handed me the Art buff as proof that I passed by the cross to the finish.

“All downhill from here”, I sighed in relief

“Flat”, they responded.

13km to go, and as I left the Cross, I got the sense that the worst was over as I headed east towards a river and the final descent into Glenmalure.

Like many times throughout the race, I was wrong.

The terrain was by far the worst I had encountered. 2-3 foot drops into pits of muck as I continued to barely move forward.

And like a video game, when you reach a higher level, another element comes into play to make it harder…

Snow.

The watch kept spinning and jumping through screens and menus in the snow, confusing me about where I was going. Going East wasn’t as easy as it sounds, and I felt like I was getting lost again and again.

Constant reminders from the watch that I was going off route was not helping.

At this point, I just laughed. What else could you do?

Eventually, it eased, and I got back on track. The muck turned to flat grass.

Absolute luxury. 

Then came the endless slanted hills. It didn’t look like I would be on these for long, but every time you think you’re finished, the hill updated like an old Sega racing game and another slanted hill seemed to magically appear as I got close to the end.

I got tired and hungry, so I sat down on a tree stump to have a bit of breakfast.

“2 hours”, I texted Niamh, so she wouldn’t be waiting around too long to pick me up. I may have sent the same text an hour before.

I packed back up and hit the road…well, slanting hills… again.

Finally, a downhill portion. And I loved that for all of 20m before I fell.

I fell forward. I slipped backwards. I stumbled sideways.

Baffled that I hadn’t torn any muscles and ligaments in my legs, I continued down the hill until I eventually saw a path. A 5-foot drop or so at the edge of the field, it felt like 10 as I slowly slid off and dropped down onto some lovely concrete.

9 plus km to go and I’m on the road for all of it, I thought.

You know by now that that’s not going to be true!

I walked along the path until another beep from the watch.

Sharp turn right. The path was not going right.

Instead, the watch was taking me down the steepest hill yet towards the river. I knew there was no way my knees could take this!

I’d rather stay on the path for an extra 3-4km than attempt that hill. I continued along the path, hoping it would lead me into Glenmalure.

200m later, the path came to a dead end.

I searched Google Maps for a solution. A straight path to the finish… except Google Maps put me 2km ahead of where I was to start a path to Glenmalure.

I had no choice but to slowly edge my way down the mountain, towards the river, and hope to find a path.

The watch beeped during this slow descent. This time to tell me I was averaging 1 km every 30 minutes.

Niamh’s going to be waiting a while, I thought! 

I continued cautiously. The only thing that would stop me from finishing this race was an accident.

Out of seemingly nowhere, another trail. My luck was turning, and I was feeling confident that the finish could finally be in sight. And as I crossed the river, the thought crossed my mind… no more hills? No more muck and boggy grass?

The thoughts brought a boost of much needed energy.
And for the first time in six or seven hours, I ran.

Not fast. Not pretty. But running… well, jogging. Shuffling the feet, some might say.

It was mostly downhill and pretty slippery at times, but we were making serious ground in comparison to the last 6-7 hours.

I would still have to walk in parts, until the watch told me to cross the river.

It looked believable at the time that this was my only option

There was no bridge in sight (or so I thought at the time)…

Well, the socks hadn’t let me down so far, and I could see flat concrete only a foot or so deep, so I ran across. Probably the fastest I had run all night… although that wasn’t saying much

I found out later that I had run past the crossing point by only 10 or so metres! Tiredness had certainly kicked in

But it was 5.5km to the finish, and damnit I was going to finish this one strong.

And off I ran

Until it got to a hill to walk.

But I would run again

Until the pain in my right shin became unbearable.

The running/walking continued until 3km to go. Then I made the decision to stay walking. I couldn’t come this far only to be injured now, if I wasn’t already. The pain in my right shin had crept up to a 6-7…(don’t…)

For the first time since the river 5-6 hours ago, I saw people on the course, walking towards the finish line.

A little nod as I sped walked past. 

The final 500m included one last pointless hill into Glenmalure. I felt each step on my shin, fearing I had done some long term damage.

An epic sprint finish, this was not!

As I crossed over the hill, I saw Niamh in her massive duvet jacket.

Relief. Pure relief.

Not pride... well, a little pride, but just thank God this is over.

A few people in the car park clapped as I crossed the finish line and managed a two thumbs up.

I was spent.

Thankfully, there were sausage and bacon sandwiches right there. Better than any medal!

I devoured two as Niamh came over to me. I nodded and just scoffed my face… I’m not even sure if I nodded.

Eventually, I had words for her:

“That was fucking ridiculous.”

Only time I’ve been jealous of Niamh’s jacket!

Why I’m Glad I Did It (And Why I’m Done)

There were moments during the night when I remembered exactly why I signed up for the Art O’Neill Challenge

The adventure.
The uncertainty.
The history.
The weather and external challenges.
The internal mental battles to continue.
The feeling that the only way out is forward and that you are doing something that so few attempt.

It’s insane, but it’s unbelievable and exciting. I was truly nervous at the start line for what I was about to put myself through.

No race I’ve done compares to it that I have ever done.

But I also know this… 

I had no business doing it in the condition I was in.

I have enormous respect for the people who race this. The mountain runners. The navigators. The people who make this terrain look effortless.

That’s not me.

And that’s okay.

I’ve scratched the itch. I got the adventure. I’m glad I did it. And I don’t need to go back.

And after reading this blog (this is too long to be a blog, right?) to the very end, and you have an inkling to try it, I’ll give two pieces of advice that should be glaringly obvious.

1. Recce the course!

2. Sign up for smaller trail runs and get used to the terrain like IMRA races. My fitness and lack of experience on trails give me a different experience than you may have… and most likely a different time!

Back to the road for me… well, kinda

Donadea 50k, I’ve 4 weeks to get ready…