This was my 'A' race for the year, my first Iron Man branded event and the first time I'd raced 'away' where I needed to pack and try my best not to forget anything. I'd be a long way from home if I did. So, in these scenarios I resorted to what always works best - a list. I was rather proud of it, I'll share it in another post. It consisted of all the kit and gubbins I needed, a box to tick when I'd added it to the pile in the conservatory and another box to tick when I'd packed it.
I'd already given the bike a final test and clean and it was looking resplendent with its new 86mm aero wheel set and luminous tri bar tape to help me in transition. Luckily for me a very generous friend had fitted a new cassette to my new rear wheel for me. Packing took place over two days and eventually, I was ready to go. List ticked and double-checked.
I was racing with a good friend, Ian, who had also volunteered to drive. With the bikes and all the gear packed, we were on our way. We spent the whole journey chatting about Triathlon, the race and our expectations. Finally we arrived at Jct 13 of the M6, our home for the next couple of days.
I hadn't considered that the hotel would be full of competitors, it was great to see lots of other athletes buzzing around, getting bike envy as people wheeled in gorgeous TT bikes. There were IRON MAN event people there doing IRON MAN event type things wearing IRON MAN clothes. As a novice I hadn't realised it was the thing to do to wear a 'Finisher' t-shirt from a prior event. Anything counted, Triathlon, Marathon...Something to remember for my next race ! There was some bad news when we checked in - the presidential suite we thought we'd booked was actually being refurbished, so we had to make do with a standard twin. Oh well never mind as long as it was clean and comfortable, it would do just fine.
Saturday dawned a lovely day and I was looking forward to getting to the venue and soaking up some Iron Man atmosphere. Lucky for me, my mate was so well prepared with knowing where he was going it all made for an 'easy' weekend for me. On arriving at Race HQ, we headed for registration. It was seriously warm so I was happy to hit the shade of the Iron Man shop and registration area. Of course, I bought the obligatory Iron Man t-shirt for the race, with my name in microscopic print on the back.
There wasn't much of a queue at registration (compared to the queue for merchandise !) so after a short wait it was my turn to register. I handed over my BTF license and drivers license and then started to panic as there seemed to be a problem...I imagine it was the usual problem I encounter.....he's registered in the M45-49 age category...but that can't be right...those young looks working against me again I thought.....haha, no chance. It seemed the date of birth on my race license didn't tally with my id. Another 'race rule' immediately came to mind - No id = No race. It was an anxious wait but I got the all-clear eventually, and was tagged with my wrist band and got my ruck sack and race pack. The race briefing was next and my abiding memory was of being told, well actually begged, to take it easy and go slow, due to the high temperature predicted for race day. Note to self...don't go fast on race day ! That would be quite easy I was sure of it.
Then it was off to complete racking and transition set up. Another first for me was the split transition. I'd heard a lot of negative things about it and how awkward it can be. In all honesty, thanks to the efficiency and preparation of my mate it all seemed easy. Iron Man themselves made it pretty clear. We had a bike bag and run bag where we placed all the items we needed for transitions in the respective bags.
This part I found nerve-wracking as you don't want to arrive at transition to find you've forgotten something, or put the wrong items in. T2 was first as this was where registration was. To sooth my OCD tendencies, I go through a 'dry run' for the T2 bag (at least three times), so I visualize coming into T2 and go through the changing process in my head to make sure I have packed the right bits.
Then it was just a matter of hanging your bag on your numbered peg. The bags are all neatly lined up in rows in a marquee with seating. Real luxury compared to other races. I later learn, or figure out for myself that this is what is known as a clean transition. So last job is to memorize the bag location, dry run the route from the transition 'in' door and make sure I know where I'm going. Of course, I'll forget that on race day, but at the time, it makes you feel like you are in charge and have planned and rehearsed.
It was a drive back to a local rugby club to part up and bag the kit for T1. Tyres were checked and the same routine performed, the dry run of changing from swim to bike kit to ensure everything was in the bag. Numbers stuck to bag and then set off for T1. There was a fairly long walk to T1 to rack the bikes, but it was a hot summers day and there was nothing else pressing to do, so it was a leisurely walk. We came past the reservoir on the way and made a note to reccy that the best we could on the walk back.
At the transition for the bike (T1) we perform the same routine and then collect our race chips on the way out. This was an odd way to do it I thought as usually the race chip is in the race pack. On race day, we would be asked by some lads where they get their race chips from.....so it clearly caught a few people out who racked their T1 gear but went out the same way they arrived, rather than the T1 exit to collect their chip. If ever there was a reminder to read the race pack and/or attend the race briefing, that was it. I wouldn't want to be running about on race morning trying to find where I should collect my race chip.
As we exit the T1 tent, race chips in hand and leave behind the greenhouse warmth of the gazeebo, we are done. Registered, racked and ready to go. Of course, we spend some time wallowing in bike envy (again) on the way back to the car, seeing if we can spot the pro-bikes and guessing how much they might be worth - but we know, you can't buy speed, so we don't regret the fact we haven't racked similarly priced equipment as come race day, surely we will be as fast as those guys....wont we?
On the walk back, we stop at the reservoir to try and suss out the swim entry point and course. I recall the copious warnings and reminders about the reservoir being a site of special scientific interest and how we should ensure our wetsuits are spotless and that, if we enter the water outside of the race or an official familiarization swim, we could be removed from the race. It all seems somewhat over the top as I watch families and dogs playing in the water and some lad, ill prepared for the heat wave but deciding he'll just go in the water in his pants. I notice a few beer cans floating nearby. Maybe the special scientific interest parts are elsewhere....
Anyhow, we think we've sussed the start point and then I begin to follow the buoys to plot the course. Immediately panic sets in again. How on earth can that be 1900m, it looks more like about 3 miles ! My local lake where I train is much smaller and has about a 900m lap, so usually I'm doing 2 laps of this. This is a straight 1 'loop' swim, no laps. The distance looks massive. I can't quite comprehend it in my mind. My mate does a great job of reassuring me it is no further than I'm used to swimming in the two laps of my local lake - I know he's right, but it just looks bigger. Anyway, it is what it is and I know it is only 1900m so lets not worry any more. For now, a night of comfort and relaxing awaits on the M6.
Food is dispatched at the local Michelin starred Hungry Horse. Back to the room and showers had and then the best bit of the day so far. I realize the race pack contains actual proper Triathlon race tattoos. They did mention this in the race briefing but I was to focused on reminding myself not to go fast on race day ! The thought of that swim soon subsides as I contemplate the opportunity to look like a real triathlete, with the addition of my race numbers on my arms. I spend the next hour making a right pigs ear of applying said Tattoos and sending pictures to my family and friends.
Bedtime beckons and alarms are set for 4am(ish). This is the point you appreciate what a tough sport this can be, just the getting up times are hard ! I try to drift off to sleep and can remember as clear as day, I have two dreams as a I doze. One sees me swim with almost perfect navigation and easily beat the swim cutoff, followed by the opposite where I have a mare and get hauled from the race before I reach my bike....I hope it is the former come race day......
I'd already given the bike a final test and clean and it was looking resplendent with its new 86mm aero wheel set and luminous tri bar tape to help me in transition. Luckily for me a very generous friend had fitted a new cassette to my new rear wheel for me. Packing took place over two days and eventually, I was ready to go. List ticked and double-checked.
I was racing with a good friend, Ian, who had also volunteered to drive. With the bikes and all the gear packed, we were on our way. We spent the whole journey chatting about Triathlon, the race and our expectations. Finally we arrived at Jct 13 of the M6, our home for the next couple of days.
I hadn't considered that the hotel would be full of competitors, it was great to see lots of other athletes buzzing around, getting bike envy as people wheeled in gorgeous TT bikes. There were IRON MAN event people there doing IRON MAN event type things wearing IRON MAN clothes. As a novice I hadn't realised it was the thing to do to wear a 'Finisher' t-shirt from a prior event. Anything counted, Triathlon, Marathon...Something to remember for my next race ! There was some bad news when we checked in - the presidential suite we thought we'd booked was actually being refurbished, so we had to make do with a standard twin. Oh well never mind as long as it was clean and comfortable, it would do just fine.
Saturday dawned a lovely day and I was looking forward to getting to the venue and soaking up some Iron Man atmosphere. Lucky for me, my mate was so well prepared with knowing where he was going it all made for an 'easy' weekend for me. On arriving at Race HQ, we headed for registration. It was seriously warm so I was happy to hit the shade of the Iron Man shop and registration area. Of course, I bought the obligatory Iron Man t-shirt for the race, with my name in microscopic print on the back.
There wasn't much of a queue at registration (compared to the queue for merchandise !) so after a short wait it was my turn to register. I handed over my BTF license and drivers license and then started to panic as there seemed to be a problem...I imagine it was the usual problem I encounter.....he's registered in the M45-49 age category...but that can't be right...those young looks working against me again I thought.....haha, no chance. It seemed the date of birth on my race license didn't tally with my id. Another 'race rule' immediately came to mind - No id = No race. It was an anxious wait but I got the all-clear eventually, and was tagged with my wrist band and got my ruck sack and race pack. The race briefing was next and my abiding memory was of being told, well actually begged, to take it easy and go slow, due to the high temperature predicted for race day. Note to self...don't go fast on race day ! That would be quite easy I was sure of it.
Then it was off to complete racking and transition set up. Another first for me was the split transition. I'd heard a lot of negative things about it and how awkward it can be. In all honesty, thanks to the efficiency and preparation of my mate it all seemed easy. Iron Man themselves made it pretty clear. We had a bike bag and run bag where we placed all the items we needed for transitions in the respective bags.
This part I found nerve-wracking as you don't want to arrive at transition to find you've forgotten something, or put the wrong items in. T2 was first as this was where registration was. To sooth my OCD tendencies, I go through a 'dry run' for the T2 bag (at least three times), so I visualize coming into T2 and go through the changing process in my head to make sure I have packed the right bits.
Then it was just a matter of hanging your bag on your numbered peg. The bags are all neatly lined up in rows in a marquee with seating. Real luxury compared to other races. I later learn, or figure out for myself that this is what is known as a clean transition. So last job is to memorize the bag location, dry run the route from the transition 'in' door and make sure I know where I'm going. Of course, I'll forget that on race day, but at the time, it makes you feel like you are in charge and have planned and rehearsed.
It was a drive back to a local rugby club to part up and bag the kit for T1. Tyres were checked and the same routine performed, the dry run of changing from swim to bike kit to ensure everything was in the bag. Numbers stuck to bag and then set off for T1. There was a fairly long walk to T1 to rack the bikes, but it was a hot summers day and there was nothing else pressing to do, so it was a leisurely walk. We came past the reservoir on the way and made a note to reccy that the best we could on the walk back.
At the transition for the bike (T1) we perform the same routine and then collect our race chips on the way out. This was an odd way to do it I thought as usually the race chip is in the race pack. On race day, we would be asked by some lads where they get their race chips from.....so it clearly caught a few people out who racked their T1 gear but went out the same way they arrived, rather than the T1 exit to collect their chip. If ever there was a reminder to read the race pack and/or attend the race briefing, that was it. I wouldn't want to be running about on race morning trying to find where I should collect my race chip.
As we exit the T1 tent, race chips in hand and leave behind the greenhouse warmth of the gazeebo, we are done. Registered, racked and ready to go. Of course, we spend some time wallowing in bike envy (again) on the way back to the car, seeing if we can spot the pro-bikes and guessing how much they might be worth - but we know, you can't buy speed, so we don't regret the fact we haven't racked similarly priced equipment as come race day, surely we will be as fast as those guys....wont we?
On the walk back, we stop at the reservoir to try and suss out the swim entry point and course. I recall the copious warnings and reminders about the reservoir being a site of special scientific interest and how we should ensure our wetsuits are spotless and that, if we enter the water outside of the race or an official familiarization swim, we could be removed from the race. It all seems somewhat over the top as I watch families and dogs playing in the water and some lad, ill prepared for the heat wave but deciding he'll just go in the water in his pants. I notice a few beer cans floating nearby. Maybe the special scientific interest parts are elsewhere....
Anyhow, we think we've sussed the start point and then I begin to follow the buoys to plot the course. Immediately panic sets in again. How on earth can that be 1900m, it looks more like about 3 miles ! My local lake where I train is much smaller and has about a 900m lap, so usually I'm doing 2 laps of this. This is a straight 1 'loop' swim, no laps. The distance looks massive. I can't quite comprehend it in my mind. My mate does a great job of reassuring me it is no further than I'm used to swimming in the two laps of my local lake - I know he's right, but it just looks bigger. Anyway, it is what it is and I know it is only 1900m so lets not worry any more. For now, a night of comfort and relaxing awaits on the M6.
Food is dispatched at the local Michelin starred Hungry Horse. Back to the room and showers had and then the best bit of the day so far. I realize the race pack contains actual proper Triathlon race tattoos. They did mention this in the race briefing but I was to focused on reminding myself not to go fast on race day ! The thought of that swim soon subsides as I contemplate the opportunity to look like a real triathlete, with the addition of my race numbers on my arms. I spend the next hour making a right pigs ear of applying said Tattoos and sending pictures to my family and friends.
Bedtime beckons and alarms are set for 4am(ish). This is the point you appreciate what a tough sport this can be, just the getting up times are hard ! I try to drift off to sleep and can remember as clear as day, I have two dreams as a I doze. One sees me swim with almost perfect navigation and easily beat the swim cutoff, followed by the opposite where I have a mare and get hauled from the race before I reach my bike....I hope it is the former come race day......
And no sooner have I gone to sleep, or so it seems, I am waking up on race day. This is it, my first half Iron man awaits. Breakfast, as always at this time of day, is hard to eat but a necessity, so it is dispatched with less focus on enjoyment more on the fact it is fuel for the swim. A make in the pot porridge in the room and a mug of tea. Sun cream is liberally applied. The hotel has actually laid on their full breakfast for us but I struggle with anything additional than some fruit juice. We set off for the race start on schedule. We are allowed into T1 to check bikes and add bottles and gels etc. After that, we wait near the swim start to see the pro's depart and then move to T1 to see them come out on their bikes. By 8am the day is already seriously warm - it is forecast to be the hottest day of the year so far - great ! As a result, wetsuits are left to the last minute....but soon enough that time comes and we don the gimp outfit and saunter over to the swim pens. I pick a time suited to my ability, so near the back. I get chatting to a group of lads who feel the same of their swim ability, but the chit chat and banter eases the nerves as we await our start time. The queue ahead starts to move and before I know it, we are near the pontoon. I rinse my goggles in the bucket of special scientific reservoir water and shuffle toward my nemesis. My race will be defined here, by the swim. If I make the bike, I know I'll make all the other cut off's (barring unplanned bike issues).
Before I know it, I'm snapped out of my dreaming by a soft shove in the back and someone shouting 'Go'....I perform less of a graceful dive into the water, more of a comedy stumble and we are off, my race has started. No matter what the air or water temperature, there is always that initial shock as you hit the water and it fills your wetsuit. As is usual for me, it takes me a while to settle down into my swim, but as soon as I do, I feel good. I settle into a nice consistent pace and rhythm and to my surprise am having one of my best navigation days, hitting all the markers and hardly having to detour. I am starting to enjoy myself.
Typically, as I hit the turn point and start to head for the finish, the markers are less frequent and I rely on some kind water marshals to nudge me in the right direction. Soon after, someone swims right over the top of me....why - I wonder, do you have to do that, you have all that space and you swim over me. I bet they are the same people that, on entering a massive car park will park right next to the only car already parked ! So in the later stages, as I start to tire in the swim, I naturally slow and start to drift off the target finish point, but I check my watch and I'm certain I'm way inside the cut off. Eventually I exit the water, still I feel ok, legs are good and I start the undressing process as I run to T1. Must be one of the longest transitions ever...the gazebo never seems to arrive. As usual, there is some good natured humour about the length of the run from the water. My transition isn't bad and soon I'm running to the exit, bag in hand. In my eagerness to dump my bag I realise my bandanna is still inside so I have to flap my arms wildly to get attention of the baggage guys to get my bag back. I struggle with sweat running into my eyes so the bandanna would be a big miss on such a hot day. Luckily my arm waving helps and I'm able to retrieve my bandanna.
The one benefit of being such a poor swimmer is that it makes it so much easier to find your bike ! The day-glo yellow tape on my Tri bars though is a revelation...what a great idea ! In no time I'm pushing my bike towards the exit and looking forward to some food and drink. I soon settle onto my bike and am taking in some gel and water. I find the bike course quite frustrating as it feels like as soon as I get onto the TT bars, I'm off again for a turn or an incline. But the closed roads are nice. Not even a few miles into the bike I see people stopping to fix flats, I feel so sorry for them having to stop so early. Luckily for me, the bike is trouble free. My bike does develop a niggle where the gears don't seem to be indexing properly but this doesn't stop me and the bike is still running well. I plug away on the course, making sure to take my gels and water regularly and tick the miles off. Oddly for me, at about 10-15 miles to go, I can't wait to get off the bike. Something I've never felt before, but for some reason, after 40 odd miles, I seem to have had enough.
As I enter the last few hundred metres, my legs feel ok. I haven't hammered the bike but have still made good time. As I dismount, things take a rapid turn for the worst. Wow, are those my legs...really. They aren't the same one's I was just riding on I'm sure. They feel weak and wobbly. My thoughts immediately turn to the fact I now have to run a half marathon...on these legs? Well, no one said it would be easy, so just get on with it. I locate my bag and take the luxury of a plastic seat and take my time getting changed. I don't have a Tri suit so am making a full costume change. Luckily someone left some sun cream lying around, so I take the opportunity to reapply some. I trot out of the tent and at once know I'm in for a tough run. My legs aren't working properly and my whole core seems to be hurting.
I tell myself I'll be fine once I've run for a few minutes and re-adjusted the legs. As I crest the first hill and take some drinks, I start to pick up pace and as I go downhill, I'm near 7 min miles. This is more like it. The crowds are superb, I'm feeling good about the run...It doesn't last long. As I reach the flat and swing right, all the pace goes and I'm back to near 9 min miles. I work out at that pace I'll be way outside my target time of sub 2hr for the run. It is really hot now and I'm struggling already. As I shuffle through the grounds of the estate, I follow the lead of others and weave into shaded areas. I start a conversation with myself, I've been found out already, the run will be my downfall...hang on, you've done the beachy head marathon, this is nothing near so hard....you have to get that medal...dig in, get on with it. But I'm resigned to the fact that after the first of four laps, I'm in survival mode. It will be a mix of running and walking to see me through. Walking really pains me. I've never had to walk in a half marathon, or marathon before now. But I simply cannot run all the time and when I do, I'm 'running' at near 10 min mile pace. But I'm not the only one walking in parts which eases the pain of having to do it. There are upsides and downsides to the run course, laps makes it easy to compartmentalise, you can tick off each lap and count down laps rather than miles. The downside is reading the signs telling you, if you are on lap 2, this is 9 miles....I really wanted to be at 9 miles already ! I carry on with my mix of walking and running but really, even the running is not really much quicker than the walk. I search out the hosepipes and locals spraying water over us...it really is so hot. I come to another drink stop and do something I've never done before, not in a race, not even in day to day existence....I take a cup of Pepsi. Why, is anyone's guess, but I think it turns out to help me get through the rest of the day. If I were to ever have a fizzy drink, it was always Coke, never Pepsi. But there is Pepsi on offer...It tastes lovely. I take a second cup, it tastes even better and I'm off again on my run/walk. But now, with a renewed focus. If I can get to the next drink stop, I can have my cup of Pepsi. This is the pattern for the rest of the run, I crave the next drink stop so I can taste that Pepsi again.
The crowds keep me going between the drink stops and I'm counting off the laps slowly, this run is just taking forever. I relish the parts of the course that are shaded as it offers some respite from the heat. When I stop at the drinks stops, I can feel the heat start to build and I'm glad to get moving again. As I continue to shuffle around the course, I see people being sick in the side of the road, people on stretchers, someone taking oxygen, a paramedic on a bike whizzing off somewhere. In a bizarre way, this gives me a lift, I'm suffering, but not as much as some others. Again, that sense of feeling sorry for fellow competitors comes back. All that training, all that preparation only on the day to fall short, probably scuppered by the heat? It makes me more determined to press on.
Eventually, I am entitled to make the left turn that will take me to the finishing shute. This is what it has all been for. This is my moment, I am going to finish my first half iron man, I've made it. Somehow, I cross the line and don't really feel that elated or overjoyed. I think the battle with that run has exhausted me and I don't feel like a celebration is deserved at that point. It is sheer relief only at this point. I wander through the finishers shute and get my medal...and it is a nice one. Big and weighty and it says 'Iron Man' on it....that's what I wanted ! I enter the finishers tent and collect my finishers t-shirt and know that I need to stretch. I feel dreadful. I'm sure my mate has finished hours before me and I hope he hasn't got bored and left without me. I try to look for him but no luck. I wander to the bag claim and get my 'street clothes' bag. My mate has obviously asked the guy manning the re-claim If I've been in as he says someone was looking for me. I get on with my stretching. And then a lovely volunteer wanders over to me and asks me if I'm ok....yes I say, I'm just stretching. I'm not sure she's convinced - I must look that bad ! I finish some stretching and suddenly I have the urge to get out of this race kit. The heat has turned the whole thing into a sweat laden millstone that seems to be weighing me down now. I drop to a seat....and there she is again, the volunteer....are you ok she asks me again. I laugh to myself, do I really look that bad.
Changing makes me feel instantly better. There is food on offer and lots of it, but I cannot face it. I'm certain that existing on gels and liquid for 6 hours upsets your appetite for real food. All I can manage is - yep, some Pepsi ! Eventually, my mate tracks me down and I'm grateful for the banter, which of course I was expecting. Where have you been....what took you. We exchange congratulations and I'm amazed by his finish time. We decide not to linger and start the journey home, taking the obligatory selfies and pictures before we go.
As we load up the car and discuss our races, it starts to sink in what I have achieved. I've gone from a virtual non-swimmer, to swimming 1.2 miles, riding 56 miles and running a half marathon. I start to feel proud, the time doesn't matter, the finishing position (which I don't have a clue about) doesn't even matter. I finished. I can still walk and talk. I live to tell the tale and do it again. The drive home is great, congratulations from friends and family trickle in over the phone and the sense of achievement grows and grows.
Above all, those reservations about the swim cut off are now distant memories....when I get home, I don't have to explain why I might have paid nearly £200 to swim round a reservoir !
I am a half iron man, I somehow feel part of a special club. What a day, what a journey to get here to this point. I've loved the whole process. I can't wait to do it again.
Before I know it, I'm snapped out of my dreaming by a soft shove in the back and someone shouting 'Go'....I perform less of a graceful dive into the water, more of a comedy stumble and we are off, my race has started. No matter what the air or water temperature, there is always that initial shock as you hit the water and it fills your wetsuit. As is usual for me, it takes me a while to settle down into my swim, but as soon as I do, I feel good. I settle into a nice consistent pace and rhythm and to my surprise am having one of my best navigation days, hitting all the markers and hardly having to detour. I am starting to enjoy myself.
Typically, as I hit the turn point and start to head for the finish, the markers are less frequent and I rely on some kind water marshals to nudge me in the right direction. Soon after, someone swims right over the top of me....why - I wonder, do you have to do that, you have all that space and you swim over me. I bet they are the same people that, on entering a massive car park will park right next to the only car already parked ! So in the later stages, as I start to tire in the swim, I naturally slow and start to drift off the target finish point, but I check my watch and I'm certain I'm way inside the cut off. Eventually I exit the water, still I feel ok, legs are good and I start the undressing process as I run to T1. Must be one of the longest transitions ever...the gazebo never seems to arrive. As usual, there is some good natured humour about the length of the run from the water. My transition isn't bad and soon I'm running to the exit, bag in hand. In my eagerness to dump my bag I realise my bandanna is still inside so I have to flap my arms wildly to get attention of the baggage guys to get my bag back. I struggle with sweat running into my eyes so the bandanna would be a big miss on such a hot day. Luckily my arm waving helps and I'm able to retrieve my bandanna.
The one benefit of being such a poor swimmer is that it makes it so much easier to find your bike ! The day-glo yellow tape on my Tri bars though is a revelation...what a great idea ! In no time I'm pushing my bike towards the exit and looking forward to some food and drink. I soon settle onto my bike and am taking in some gel and water. I find the bike course quite frustrating as it feels like as soon as I get onto the TT bars, I'm off again for a turn or an incline. But the closed roads are nice. Not even a few miles into the bike I see people stopping to fix flats, I feel so sorry for them having to stop so early. Luckily for me, the bike is trouble free. My bike does develop a niggle where the gears don't seem to be indexing properly but this doesn't stop me and the bike is still running well. I plug away on the course, making sure to take my gels and water regularly and tick the miles off. Oddly for me, at about 10-15 miles to go, I can't wait to get off the bike. Something I've never felt before, but for some reason, after 40 odd miles, I seem to have had enough.
As I enter the last few hundred metres, my legs feel ok. I haven't hammered the bike but have still made good time. As I dismount, things take a rapid turn for the worst. Wow, are those my legs...really. They aren't the same one's I was just riding on I'm sure. They feel weak and wobbly. My thoughts immediately turn to the fact I now have to run a half marathon...on these legs? Well, no one said it would be easy, so just get on with it. I locate my bag and take the luxury of a plastic seat and take my time getting changed. I don't have a Tri suit so am making a full costume change. Luckily someone left some sun cream lying around, so I take the opportunity to reapply some. I trot out of the tent and at once know I'm in for a tough run. My legs aren't working properly and my whole core seems to be hurting.
I tell myself I'll be fine once I've run for a few minutes and re-adjusted the legs. As I crest the first hill and take some drinks, I start to pick up pace and as I go downhill, I'm near 7 min miles. This is more like it. The crowds are superb, I'm feeling good about the run...It doesn't last long. As I reach the flat and swing right, all the pace goes and I'm back to near 9 min miles. I work out at that pace I'll be way outside my target time of sub 2hr for the run. It is really hot now and I'm struggling already. As I shuffle through the grounds of the estate, I follow the lead of others and weave into shaded areas. I start a conversation with myself, I've been found out already, the run will be my downfall...hang on, you've done the beachy head marathon, this is nothing near so hard....you have to get that medal...dig in, get on with it. But I'm resigned to the fact that after the first of four laps, I'm in survival mode. It will be a mix of running and walking to see me through. Walking really pains me. I've never had to walk in a half marathon, or marathon before now. But I simply cannot run all the time and when I do, I'm 'running' at near 10 min mile pace. But I'm not the only one walking in parts which eases the pain of having to do it. There are upsides and downsides to the run course, laps makes it easy to compartmentalise, you can tick off each lap and count down laps rather than miles. The downside is reading the signs telling you, if you are on lap 2, this is 9 miles....I really wanted to be at 9 miles already ! I carry on with my mix of walking and running but really, even the running is not really much quicker than the walk. I search out the hosepipes and locals spraying water over us...it really is so hot. I come to another drink stop and do something I've never done before, not in a race, not even in day to day existence....I take a cup of Pepsi. Why, is anyone's guess, but I think it turns out to help me get through the rest of the day. If I were to ever have a fizzy drink, it was always Coke, never Pepsi. But there is Pepsi on offer...It tastes lovely. I take a second cup, it tastes even better and I'm off again on my run/walk. But now, with a renewed focus. If I can get to the next drink stop, I can have my cup of Pepsi. This is the pattern for the rest of the run, I crave the next drink stop so I can taste that Pepsi again.
The crowds keep me going between the drink stops and I'm counting off the laps slowly, this run is just taking forever. I relish the parts of the course that are shaded as it offers some respite from the heat. When I stop at the drinks stops, I can feel the heat start to build and I'm glad to get moving again. As I continue to shuffle around the course, I see people being sick in the side of the road, people on stretchers, someone taking oxygen, a paramedic on a bike whizzing off somewhere. In a bizarre way, this gives me a lift, I'm suffering, but not as much as some others. Again, that sense of feeling sorry for fellow competitors comes back. All that training, all that preparation only on the day to fall short, probably scuppered by the heat? It makes me more determined to press on.
Eventually, I am entitled to make the left turn that will take me to the finishing shute. This is what it has all been for. This is my moment, I am going to finish my first half iron man, I've made it. Somehow, I cross the line and don't really feel that elated or overjoyed. I think the battle with that run has exhausted me and I don't feel like a celebration is deserved at that point. It is sheer relief only at this point. I wander through the finishers shute and get my medal...and it is a nice one. Big and weighty and it says 'Iron Man' on it....that's what I wanted ! I enter the finishers tent and collect my finishers t-shirt and know that I need to stretch. I feel dreadful. I'm sure my mate has finished hours before me and I hope he hasn't got bored and left without me. I try to look for him but no luck. I wander to the bag claim and get my 'street clothes' bag. My mate has obviously asked the guy manning the re-claim If I've been in as he says someone was looking for me. I get on with my stretching. And then a lovely volunteer wanders over to me and asks me if I'm ok....yes I say, I'm just stretching. I'm not sure she's convinced - I must look that bad ! I finish some stretching and suddenly I have the urge to get out of this race kit. The heat has turned the whole thing into a sweat laden millstone that seems to be weighing me down now. I drop to a seat....and there she is again, the volunteer....are you ok she asks me again. I laugh to myself, do I really look that bad.
Changing makes me feel instantly better. There is food on offer and lots of it, but I cannot face it. I'm certain that existing on gels and liquid for 6 hours upsets your appetite for real food. All I can manage is - yep, some Pepsi ! Eventually, my mate tracks me down and I'm grateful for the banter, which of course I was expecting. Where have you been....what took you. We exchange congratulations and I'm amazed by his finish time. We decide not to linger and start the journey home, taking the obligatory selfies and pictures before we go.
As we load up the car and discuss our races, it starts to sink in what I have achieved. I've gone from a virtual non-swimmer, to swimming 1.2 miles, riding 56 miles and running a half marathon. I start to feel proud, the time doesn't matter, the finishing position (which I don't have a clue about) doesn't even matter. I finished. I can still walk and talk. I live to tell the tale and do it again. The drive home is great, congratulations from friends and family trickle in over the phone and the sense of achievement grows and grows.
Above all, those reservations about the swim cut off are now distant memories....when I get home, I don't have to explain why I might have paid nearly £200 to swim round a reservoir !
I am a half iron man, I somehow feel part of a special club. What a day, what a journey to get here to this point. I've loved the whole process. I can't wait to do it again.
