An Irishman's Diary

COVERING Giovanni Trapattoni’s visit to Croagh Patrick last weekend, I found myself with a small dilemma. The veteran manager took part only in the start of a charity climb, before – still on the lower slopes – he had to turn back for a scheduled press conference at sea-level.

So I had to go back too, while the other climbers, including the Taoiseach, continued their ascent. They were all well out of sight by the time the press conference ended. At which point, with a clear conscience, I could have gone home, as most of my fellow acrobats in the media circus already had.

But it was a lovely day and, somehow, there was a sense of unfinished business. I couldn’t drive all the way to Westport and not climb the Reek. Besides which, I needed to do penance, if only for my full Irish breakfast earlier. Provided I hurried,

I might still even catch the others.

So I started up the slope again and this time didn’t stop for as much as a breather, although I was sometimes tempted. It had been 10 years or more since my last ascent. And I wasn’t sure if it was me or the mountain, but the climb seemed a lot steeper than I remembered: especially the final, shale-covered section.

This is always the hardest part. Among those coming the other way were members of Mayo Mountain Rescue, helping a woman who had lost her nerve on the precipitous descent. But I clambered past them and, minutes later, arrived on the crowded summit (the Taoiseach and the others were still there, at a prayer service in the tiny chapel), soaked in sweat and virtue.

I MIGHT feel even more virtuous now about having climbed the Reek were it not for the annoying fact that, several times on the way both up and down, I was passed by runners. Not just the footwear, I mean. Actual human athletes. Members of the Irish Mountain Runners Association, no doubt, although they were gone before I could ask.

The IMRA is a sub-section of Ireland’s latter-day running boom, catering for those masochists who, unlike the rest of us, don’t find horizontal road races a sufficient challenge. And if I try hard enough, I can almost imagine myself running up a mountain. It’s the running down that stretches credulity. Just thinking about it gives me knee injuries.

And yet they have full-blown races on Croagh Patrick, as on many other Irish mountains. Not only that, but on the IMRA degree-of-difficulty scale, measured from one to 10, the famous penitential route merits only an eight. Or at least it did until this year, when the race was rested from the schedule.

Part of the problem is that, while the gradient might not present any special difficulties compared with other courses, the Reek does have an unusually high number of those athletic obstacles known as pilgrims and other hikers.

To minimise the potential for runner-on-pilgrim impacts, IMRA first altered its race so that only the ascent was via the traditional walking route, while the downward section, where braking can be difficult, was elsewhere. Now, even that is under review.

In the meantime, the record for the 7km course stands at just under 43 minutes. And speed records are the only thing set there. For some, running up and down Croagh Patrick once in a day is not enough. Thus, last year, a group of 11 ultra-masochists did it 12 times each within a 24-hour period, raising money for charity while (surprise, surprise) setting another new record.

CLEARLY, IDEAS about penance have changed since St Patrick’s time.

Indeed an annual feature of Reek Sunday these days is the presence at the mountain’s base of leaflet-bearing Northern evangelists, whose argument is that if the people really want to save their souls (and their soles too, maybe), they would be better off at home, reading the bible, than performing acts of penitence, however challenging.

My last Reek climb had coincided with the annual Drumcree stand-offs, of which Croagh Patrick was turning into an amusing mirror image. Here you had Southern Catholics trying to walk to a church on top of a hill, in July, by the route their fathers and forefathers had always taken, while a group of Northern Protestants were attempting to re-route them, albeit towards salvation.

But even for those who do believe in physical penance, the Croagh Patrick climb may not be what it once was. Yes of course, it’s all relative. For many people, climbing any mountain is still a challenge.

And yet, as I watched my fellow walkers in their hiking shoes and boots last weekend, and as the odd two-legged mountain goat skipped past us in Nikes, it struck me that a lot of what used to qualify as penance is now just health and fitness.

If anything, the physical demands of the pilgrimage are lessening. The night-time ascent is a thing of the past (officially, anyway), and barefoot climbs are also now discouraged. Meanwhile, in athletics, barefoot running is all the rage. I didn’t see any of it on the Reek last weekend, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Yes, I know there’s more to the Croagh Patrick pilgrimage than mere climbing. There are prayers and station rituals as well. And for those so inclined, supplementary forms of suffering can be self-imposed. Even mountain runners have a selective approach to physical endurance.

Whereas St Patrick, as we all know, didn’t just climb the Reek, he also fasted up there for 40 days and nights, which I believe is still the record.