By Lauren Dangel

Not many Americans who take part in the Gaelic games get to play their sports on Irish soil, but I was privileged to do just that as a member of Cleveland St Pat’s. St. Jarlath’s GAA earlier this month. Two teammates, Cory and Dee, scheduled their wedding in County Mayo, and plans for a team trip grew from there. 

While many of my teammates had played sports their whole lives, I was still learning both camogie and what it meant to be part of a team.

I had also never flown on a plane! Despite the uncertainty, I’d dreamed for years of going to Ireland and writing about it, and from start to finish; my teammates helped me to let go of the self-doubt that nearly kept me home.

I had taken the big day off to finish packing and mentally prepare for my first flight. My mom called mid-morning to ask some last mom questions, “Do you have your passport? Did you pack your inhaler?” 

The tears hit out of nowhere. Why was I crying?!?! I had no idea. I felt like a terrified little kid heading to her first day of preschool, unsure of whether she’d know where to go or what to do once she arrived at her destination. 

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Once on the plane, it felt like we were on the runway forever, and then, we weren’t. I teared up a little on takeoff; I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t out of fear, but out of simple amazement that we were so high in the air. I was right by the wing, and the Aer Lingus shamrock right at the end of it was a welcoming sight. 

I kept patient, and soon I saw the forty shades of green! Of course, I took a picture out the window for Instagram. 

We landed in Dublin and boarded a bus to Galway. I looked out the window at the country that had lived in my dreams for so many years, feeling out of place on the left side of the road, reading the street signs in English and Irish trying to see how many new words I could memorize. Once I got to exploring with teammates in Galway, I felt silly for doing all of that crying.

The next day’s main event was our camogie match with St. Thomas’ GAA. The Irish players and coaches led the warm-up for everyone. It was great to learn, along with seeing how Irish players would communicate and anticipate on the field, both at that game and while watching our men’s team play Castlebar GAA the next day.

Climbing Croagh Patrick

We moved to County Mayo, and the highlight of that stop and our whole trip was our climb of Croagh Patrick. I knew it would be a challenging hike, but looking back, I had no concept of how steep it was. Had I known, I would have fueled like I would for a camogie match. 

It didn’t take long to start feeling the heat, grow painfully aware of my dwindling water supply and notice more of the group getting ahead. Thankfully, I had some teammates stay by me, despite my need for more breaks than others. 

Self-doubt began to kick in. I thought of turning around, but I knew I would regret it.

It was time to lock in. Count out ten steps. Now twenty. Just do this a few more times.

At this point, my second wind had carried me a bit further ahead of the teammates who had been with me, and I was on the side of a 2,500-foot mountain by myself, growing increasingly fatigued and carrying a cell phone with a battery at two percent (Don’t tell my mom).

Just as an inkling of an urge to turn around was about to interrupt my progress, an unknown Frenchman caught up with me. Despite the language barrier, he knew I was struggling and handed me one of his hiking poles before we each continued at our own paces.

More step-counting. Suddenly, I could see my teammate Kayla at the top. “You’re almost there, Lauren!” Just a few more steps, and then the whole team was together at the peak!

We cheered, explored, took pictures and soaked in the views around us. We had walked in the path of St. Patrick, and it felt better than any race PR. 

I reunited with the Frenchman and returned his hiking pole with my best “merci.” My calves were twitching and my lungs were just about done, but the church at the top was finally in front of me.

I had proven myself wrong and made it to the peak. Once I saw the view of Clew Bay, I couldn’t believe I’d considered turning around.

Early on descent, I slipped and fell right on my knee. Two teammates, Cavan and Tim, stayed with me the rest of the way down, and their support is something I’ll always remember.

In Achill, Cleveland’s twin city, our club played with Westport GAA. These games marked the first time that hurling or camogie had been played in Achill in decades!

The next day was an action-packed one in County Tipperary that ended in a training session with Moycarkey GAA.

One of the coaches noticed me attempting to catch with a bit of a flat hand. She told me, “You need to claw at it. I bet if you do it like that next time, you’ll catch it.” 

The next time the sliotar came my way, I curled my fingers forward, and it worked. Catching had been one of my main struggles in the ongoing process of mastering camogie fundamentals, and I took that one home to practices in Cleveland. 

The trip was nearing its end, and once we had a few days in Dublin, it was time to go home. I was by the wing again.

Shamrocked

“There’s your shamrock, Lauren,” my teammate Shawn said. I remembered how scared I was to embark on this journey, and now I was so sad to leave. My second flight was about to be a piece of cake; I just wish it hadn’t arrived so soon. 

I’ve been missing Ireland every day since returning home and think of it every time I catch a little bit more cleanly at practice, taste a pint of Guinness and think “not the same,” and put on my trad playlist in the adjustment back to real life. 

I guess the only way to fix this is to go back.

Also, attached to this email are some pictures from the trip: the church at the peak of Croagh Patrick, me on the mountain climb and a group photo of Cleveland GAA and St. Thomas’ GAA.

*Lauren Dangel is email manager for development and alumni communications at Case Western Reserve University. She plays camogie with Cleveland St. Pat’s-St. Jarlath’s GAA and enjoys sports blogging. 

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