Alcohol & Fell Running (or Artistry in the Irish Pub)

Robbie Bryson, World Masters Hill Running Champion 2002, Dermot McGonigle, twice Scottish Fell Running Champion, Deon McNeilly, many times Northern Ireland Fell Running Champion (and silver medallist in the British Cross Country Championships in 1988 out kicked by Eamon Martin) all have a couple of obvious things in common. They all run for Newcastle AC and keep their soul in the Mourne Mountains, but there is something else. They all love their Guinness, by the gallon.

It is an observation that the level of ability to run in the mountains is directly proportional to the ability of the liver to digest alcohol and it is a further observation that fell runners have been testing this theory for years and, as the results are not yet conclusive, the research continues. Of course, the Irish are partial to a Guinness or two, but there is still the ability to shock the locals whenever they discover finely tuned athletes over indulging in a licensed premise. For lovers of fell running, it is part of the religion; the golfers have the nineteenth hole, fell runners have the Guinness (if you're English, Scottish or Welsh, please read 'real ale' or better still 'Deuchars IPA' and you'll keep up faster) but in the shadow of the mountain, it tastes much better than next to the 18th green - fell runners earn it more and so, the beer goes down easier.

Of course, the love of the pub post-race is not unique to the Irish fraternity, it is reflected throughout the sport of fell running. The photo below was taken in Newcastle's 'Central Park' on the evening of 3rd April after the Donard-Commedagh race, the first round of the British Championship series. What do we see? If you're following so far, you'll know the answer already, three recent British Fell Running Champions (and Scoffer) participating in their love of Guinness and, in the interest of sports science, continuing to provide real-life research into the link between the liver and the ability to descend rapidly.

For many years now, the annual Hill & Dale Series in the Mourne Mountains has grown in popularity. On a Thursday night for 11 weeks in a row from the turning of the hour that gives enough evening light (apart from the last race, which is on a Friday night with the leisure activities extending well into Saturday morning) an average of 110+ turn up in the Mournes from all over the country to participate in a race that tends to have a record around the half hour mark. Each race has a unique character, from the faster forest race to the roughest of mountain terrain. However, each race has one thing in common, the post-race congregation in the pub. The Series and respective pubs with grid references for anyone who wants to visit, after a rewarding run in unspoilt mountainous surroundings, are noted below:

McVeigh Classic Frankie's, Castlewellan (340350)
Tollymore Forest Avoca Hotel, Newcastle (377307)
Slieve Martin Glenside Inn, Rostrevor (181184)
Slieve Binnian Anchor Bar, Newcastle (376306)
Moughanmore Doran's Mourneview, Hilltown (225293)
Hen & Cock Rathfriland (197336)
Monument Race Frankie's, Castlewellan (340350)
Loughshannagh Mary Margaret's, Hilltown (223300)
Rocky Doran's Mourneview, Hilltown (225293)
Meelbeg Meelmore Maghera Inn (373344)
Donard Forest Avoca Hotel, Newcastle (377307)

Not everyone comes to the pub, of course, some have to drive maybe two hours home and need to be up early for work on the Friday, however, the headcount still tends to be 80 or 90. The atmosphere is great, stories of the best routes, awful climbs, breakneck descents, getting lost, the excess pounds of the winter, they're all there. Sandwiches; cheese, ham, tuna, salad and many people's favourite, McNeilly's egg and onion - he's not just a good runner? Feed the stomach, quench the thirst (one sober driver and a group of liquefied passengers enjoying the research) and renew the soul.

So what do we conclude from all of this? The pub is an integral part of our sport (of course, only if you want it to be) where the best (and we can all continue to live in awe of the best and their ability on the mountains) show that they are mortals like the rest of us. Elitism and fell running are not good bedfellows, our sport is different than many others, the mountain is the true leveller, everyone in the race battles against themselves as well as others and that sense of achievement is felt by all, no matter where you finish. That's the beauty of our sport, that's the beauty of the pub; it's the escapism from the rat race. What about the morning after? For the Hill & Dale, it's work, but with a better attitude; for the weekend race, it's whether the traditional long slow Sunday run in the hills, forest or sand hills can be approached in a sober enough state.

BOGBOY

The Sunningdale Sportsman composed by Brain Mc burney and sung at the Christmas Dinner 2004

Bold Paul Mawhirt

Ye maids of CKC who're anxious for running
A word of advice I will give unto you:
Proceed to the Mournes, to the athletic sporting
And hand your names into the race committee.
But do not commence any stretching or warm up
till a runner you see comin' over the hill,
And down through the valleys and hills of the Mournes
The Sunningdale sportsman, the bold Paul Mawhirt

chorus

For ramblin', for rovin', for running and sportin'
For drinkin' black porter as fast as you fill;
In all your days running, you'll find none so jovial
As the Sunningdale sportsman, the bold Paul Mawhirt

At the Hill and Dale race between Cock and Hen Mountain
'Twas held in a spot by the banks of the Bann
The Newcastle boys were afraid of being beaten,
So they sent for bold Paul from Sunningdale Park
'He ran to the line and away he did fly
And show'd those BARF boys a clean pair of studs
If they came in his way, he surely would beat them
And the papers sang the praises of the bold Paul Mawhirt.

He went to a match between the Pumas and Ireland
Expecting to return in one hour or two
But the sense it did leave him and the devil persuade him,
To partake in a spree, and that's nothing new.
His eyes they did glaze and his legs they went bendy
Which reminded him clear of a time not a dream
When a young Miss O'Kane went past him quite handy
On the steep rocky slopes above Glenaveagh stream

He can tour on a bike , in the Alps he can hike
And trees he can plant although that is no more
His actions and deeds before him proceed
And some of them now I'd like to record
He's a golfer a shooter a fisher and fowler
A true all round sportsman of fame and renown
But his one life's obsession and only true passion
Is to go to the hills and to run up and down

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