IRONMAN UK 2008
I once heard someone say that the 3rd one is a bad one. It's all relative I'm sure, but this one certainly didn't go quite to plan for me.
The 6am start time proved ambitious as we were all locked in transition waiting for some light to appear over the horizon. Thick cloud however blocked out the sunrise. Following a 200m warm-up swim to the start line, there was then a 20 minute 'cool down' as we waited either for more light or for the front row to get back behind the start line. The more I race though, the more I see that as futile, unless they start using the kayak marshals as a physical barrier from the outset.
Where a few were audibly annoyed by the set back, I know that winding yourself up does nothing but waste energy and blur your focus so, when the gun went off, I just got on with it. I went off a little quicker than usual for the first few metres to try and get the blood flowing and was surprised to notice a few grey and pink pro-hats around me (they didn't get a head start in this race as they usually do). This lasted for all of about 3 minutes and I continued in unfamiliar territory, being left behind, not just by the fast front end of the field, but gradually being overtaken by worryingly large groups from the middle of the pack. I knew I wasn't comfortable and could sense the feeling ebbing from my fingers as I began to lose grip on the water. This was the theme for most of the swim and then, about 400m from the end a deep cramp set in to the entire length of my right leg and my left calf. I had to roll on to my back to stretch out without tempting the nearest marshal into a bit of emergency rescue practice. The last straight into the lake shore felt long and the jog into transition was stiff. My ego had taken a bit of a hit having taken about 10 mins longer in the water than I'm used to, and I'd never been into a transition tent this crowded before!
For those of you yet to experience an Ironman, in most cases it's a very slick operation. Your bike and run kit are in different bags hanging on separate racks that you run through on the way to the change tent. This is no doubt to save embarrassing the spectators with unexpected exposure (although let's face it, lycra isn't the most flattering of fabrics anyway), and also to avoid too much congestion in transition - when you arrive at your bike, you just grab it and go rather than messing about and tripping over yours and everyonelse's kit.
Having followed the weather closely and with some concern for the few days prior to the race, I'd packed my T1 bag with leg warmers and a windproof top, taking the time to make sure I was suitably insulated from the Arctic conditions outside (no exaggeration, honest) - and I was glad I did. My toes were numb and my legs heavy from the earlier cramp, and I have to admit my spirits were not great at this point. The first mile was up hill and that's where I knew that this was going to be a long day, the climb was much harder than it should have been. Lap one wasn't too bad but after 2 hrs I still hadn't really found my bike legs and I wasn't gaining much of the ground that I'd lost in the water. Lap two was no easier, the constantly rolling course (amassing more accumulated metres of climbing than IM France) sapping more energy - and I then discovered that the aid stations weren't handing out gels... there goes the nutrition plan (note to self, check the pre race info more closely or pack more gels to start with!). About half way round the bike, my race plan went from chasing a PB to just getting through it. At the end of lap two, I was ready to call it a day. I'd finish the bike (mostly cos it was a long walk back otherwise!) and then head straight to the nearest bacon sandwich. I was going to give up, and I didn't care. I could smell the coffee as I pushed through the wind and occasional rain shower, and I even shrugged off being overtaken by one of my female club mates (no I don't want to be beaten by girls I know!), who quipped 'taking it easy Stu?!' - thanks Mim ;-) In reality I was pleased to talk to someone I knew and have a joke about how bad we felt... one of us evidently better than the other however, as I watched her disappear round the next corner!
As I arrived in T2 wondering if they had BBQ sauce for my bacon sandwich, I was stung by a little pang of pride. So I wasn't on for a fast time, or going to end the season with a PB, but I don't like failing and I certainly don't like quitting. A while ago I made up my mind never to pull out of a race unless I get pulled off for a good medical reason, and having watched Rutger Beke, a seasoned pro, walk the marathon in Kona 2007 rather than quit, out of respect to the race and everyone who's worked so hard to get there, I knew I'd never really wanted to stop - maybe I'd put my run shoes on and see what happened...
I returned the favour and caught Mim in transition, running with her for most of the first mile, before warming up a little and moving on. Mile by mile, this was how it was going to work. Find a rhythm and stick to it, only slowing down at aid stations to eat and drink, but picking up the pace again at the end of each table. No walking this time. Mile by mile. The course was hilly, some of it off road, and it was still damp and cool. The support however was fantastic. My parents were, as ever, there from start to finish. They'd camped out on the bike course for the best part of 5 hours and seen me twice, and were now in the centre of town with some friends (theirs and mine) and most of the local population for the run. The BRAT (Birmingham Running and Triathlon club) support crew were there too, and if ever there was a day when we (I!) needed them all, this was it. Thanks guys, your enthusiasm (and unbelievable volume, Brian!) always makes my day out there.
I was disappointed to hear that one of my mates had not been able to continue on to the run, but seeing the others as we passed on the out and back sections lifted my spirits and I soon began to feel pretty good. Maybe I was just so deliriously happy to get off the bike that anything would have felt good, but I never seemed to lose the rhythm, nor did it feel as hard as it probably should have. Energy drink at every aid station, gel and water every 25 minutes, and the occasional handful of pretzels bites when the stomach felt empty! Whilst this was by far the hilliest run course I've yet encountered, it didn't feel like I was out there very long and the mile markers came and went pretty quickly. I made up a lot of places, and came in with a marathon PB!
After a shocking morning, I can honestly say that I enjoyed the afternoon, and was the happiest I've ever been on a finish line. Having realised that you can turn a bad day into a good one if you really want to, and finding out that I can push myself through the pain, made me most proud of finishing this race. No Kona yet, but lessons learnt and confidence boosted for next season.
Retrospective - this race was perhaps a little too soon after IM France for me, and following such a stunning course in (some would disagree here) beautiful conditions, I came into IMUK a lot less excited, and probably a little tired, both mentally and physically. I signed up in the 'come down' period after Nice, where I'd had a good race, but not as good as I'd hoped - the adrenalin was still high and I think I made a rash decision. That being said, I know now what it's like to race in less than optimal conditions, and how to finish smiling after the run when I didn't think I was going to be able to walk after the bike.
No regrets at all
Thanks to the misfortune of another BRAT friend, Maria, for whom the cold and nutritional problems had her in the medical tent for 3 hours after the race (she finished with a huge PB, in what was her second IM, only 10 weeks after her 1st!), I was around to see the end of the race as the back markers came in from the dark. It's true that this really is a special time and you can't help but smile as the ones who've been out there 15 or 16 hours realise they've made it. The enthusiasm of the crowd who stuck it out until midnight was amazing. If you can still stand after your next Ironman I'd recommend hanging around as long as you can... Just don't get cold!
Thanks Brian for coaching me through a great season, Hannah for keeping the injuries at bay, and to everyone else for your support along the way.
The 6am start time proved ambitious as we were all locked in transition waiting for some light to appear over the horizon. Thick cloud however blocked out the sunrise. Following a 200m warm-up swim to the start line, there was then a 20 minute 'cool down' as we waited either for more light or for the front row to get back behind the start line. The more I race though, the more I see that as futile, unless they start using the kayak marshals as a physical barrier from the outset.
Where a few were audibly annoyed by the set back, I know that winding yourself up does nothing but waste energy and blur your focus so, when the gun went off, I just got on with it. I went off a little quicker than usual for the first few metres to try and get the blood flowing and was surprised to notice a few grey and pink pro-hats around me (they didn't get a head start in this race as they usually do). This lasted for all of about 3 minutes and I continued in unfamiliar territory, being left behind, not just by the fast front end of the field, but gradually being overtaken by worryingly large groups from the middle of the pack. I knew I wasn't comfortable and could sense the feeling ebbing from my fingers as I began to lose grip on the water. This was the theme for most of the swim and then, about 400m from the end a deep cramp set in to the entire length of my right leg and my left calf. I had to roll on to my back to stretch out without tempting the nearest marshal into a bit of emergency rescue practice. The last straight into the lake shore felt long and the jog into transition was stiff. My ego had taken a bit of a hit having taken about 10 mins longer in the water than I'm used to, and I'd never been into a transition tent this crowded before!
For those of you yet to experience an Ironman, in most cases it's a very slick operation. Your bike and run kit are in different bags hanging on separate racks that you run through on the way to the change tent. This is no doubt to save embarrassing the spectators with unexpected exposure (although let's face it, lycra isn't the most flattering of fabrics anyway), and also to avoid too much congestion in transition - when you arrive at your bike, you just grab it and go rather than messing about and tripping over yours and everyonelse's kit.
Having followed the weather closely and with some concern for the few days prior to the race, I'd packed my T1 bag with leg warmers and a windproof top, taking the time to make sure I was suitably insulated from the Arctic conditions outside (no exaggeration, honest) - and I was glad I did. My toes were numb and my legs heavy from the earlier cramp, and I have to admit my spirits were not great at this point. The first mile was up hill and that's where I knew that this was going to be a long day, the climb was much harder than it should have been. Lap one wasn't too bad but after 2 hrs I still hadn't really found my bike legs and I wasn't gaining much of the ground that I'd lost in the water. Lap two was no easier, the constantly rolling course (amassing more accumulated metres of climbing than IM France) sapping more energy - and I then discovered that the aid stations weren't handing out gels... there goes the nutrition plan (note to self, check the pre race info more closely or pack more gels to start with!). About half way round the bike, my race plan went from chasing a PB to just getting through it. At the end of lap two, I was ready to call it a day. I'd finish the bike (mostly cos it was a long walk back otherwise!) and then head straight to the nearest bacon sandwich. I was going to give up, and I didn't care. I could smell the coffee as I pushed through the wind and occasional rain shower, and I even shrugged off being overtaken by one of my female club mates (no I don't want to be beaten by girls I know!), who quipped 'taking it easy Stu?!' - thanks Mim ;-) In reality I was pleased to talk to someone I knew and have a joke about how bad we felt... one of us evidently better than the other however, as I watched her disappear round the next corner!
As I arrived in T2 wondering if they had BBQ sauce for my bacon sandwich, I was stung by a little pang of pride. So I wasn't on for a fast time, or going to end the season with a PB, but I don't like failing and I certainly don't like quitting. A while ago I made up my mind never to pull out of a race unless I get pulled off for a good medical reason, and having watched Rutger Beke, a seasoned pro, walk the marathon in Kona 2007 rather than quit, out of respect to the race and everyone who's worked so hard to get there, I knew I'd never really wanted to stop - maybe I'd put my run shoes on and see what happened...
I returned the favour and caught Mim in transition, running with her for most of the first mile, before warming up a little and moving on. Mile by mile, this was how it was going to work. Find a rhythm and stick to it, only slowing down at aid stations to eat and drink, but picking up the pace again at the end of each table. No walking this time. Mile by mile. The course was hilly, some of it off road, and it was still damp and cool. The support however was fantastic. My parents were, as ever, there from start to finish. They'd camped out on the bike course for the best part of 5 hours and seen me twice, and were now in the centre of town with some friends (theirs and mine) and most of the local population for the run. The BRAT (Birmingham Running and Triathlon club) support crew were there too, and if ever there was a day when we (I!) needed them all, this was it. Thanks guys, your enthusiasm (and unbelievable volume, Brian!) always makes my day out there.
I was disappointed to hear that one of my mates had not been able to continue on to the run, but seeing the others as we passed on the out and back sections lifted my spirits and I soon began to feel pretty good. Maybe I was just so deliriously happy to get off the bike that anything would have felt good, but I never seemed to lose the rhythm, nor did it feel as hard as it probably should have. Energy drink at every aid station, gel and water every 25 minutes, and the occasional handful of pretzels bites when the stomach felt empty! Whilst this was by far the hilliest run course I've yet encountered, it didn't feel like I was out there very long and the mile markers came and went pretty quickly. I made up a lot of places, and came in with a marathon PB!
After a shocking morning, I can honestly say that I enjoyed the afternoon, and was the happiest I've ever been on a finish line. Having realised that you can turn a bad day into a good one if you really want to, and finding out that I can push myself through the pain, made me most proud of finishing this race. No Kona yet, but lessons learnt and confidence boosted for next season.
Retrospective - this race was perhaps a little too soon after IM France for me, and following such a stunning course in (some would disagree here) beautiful conditions, I came into IMUK a lot less excited, and probably a little tired, both mentally and physically. I signed up in the 'come down' period after Nice, where I'd had a good race, but not as good as I'd hoped - the adrenalin was still high and I think I made a rash decision. That being said, I know now what it's like to race in less than optimal conditions, and how to finish smiling after the run when I didn't think I was going to be able to walk after the bike.
No regrets at all
Thanks to the misfortune of another BRAT friend, Maria, for whom the cold and nutritional problems had her in the medical tent for 3 hours after the race (she finished with a huge PB, in what was her second IM, only 10 weeks after her 1st!), I was around to see the end of the race as the back markers came in from the dark. It's true that this really is a special time and you can't help but smile as the ones who've been out there 15 or 16 hours realise they've made it. The enthusiasm of the crowd who stuck it out until midnight was amazing. If you can still stand after your next Ironman I'd recommend hanging around as long as you can... Just don't get cold!
Thanks Brian for coaching me through a great season, Hannah for keeping the injuries at bay, and to everyone else for your support along the way.
