The week leading upto the race had been a series of disasters. In my case I’d whacked by head on a low tree branch cutting my head open, wearing sandles too much had unexpectedly given me a left foot problem, my saddle sore issue had returned, but most critical of all - my wetsuit tore up the left leg when one of the seams gave way. I’d trained with it taped earlier in the week but this stopped the water flowing through it and then filled it. Things were not looking rosy.
I enjoyed the expo days though. I took the time to get techy so tried out some bike toys (bought some to try on the bike this year) and did the rounds. I also caught up with Dr Tim Noakes and the guys from the Cape Town University and talked about cramp for a while. They were running 3 different studies for the race and wanted lab rats and I’d been in contact with Tim for a while so volunteered. For me this started to get me in the mood although I was worried about both my suit and the foot issue.
The Race.
The transition area was huge. Absolutely filled with bikes. I got their very early (5am) and took a few photo’s for my MSc to clear the head and to relax. The weather was clear and mild but it was only later that due to the notorious local high winds that we found out that the race was nearly on the verge of being shortened or cancelled all together. Fortunately it was left untouched but it all got dicey later on.
I taped the wetsuit but remember thinking that even if a disaster ensued it was really the least of my worries so just got on with it. The day started with a sermon, a load of crazed African dancers and hell of a lot worried looking triathletes pacing about. My tactics all along had been to take the swim easy but to start on the pier side where I knew a rip current would be running and nobody else would go there because it was the inside line of the first bouy. If I got this wrong I’d end up getting there early but then swum over by everyone else (plus I’d seeded myself in the sub hour group right on the start line).
The starting gun was to be a cannon salute off the side of a Spanish galleon moored offshore and when the gun went I hammered it. I think I was in the top 40 or 50 at the first bouy with a clean line. The gambit had paid off but I realised quickly that my left leg was filling with water again which would prove problematic. As it was, I stopped using my legs as this was contributing to the pumping in of the water.
As it was the first lap went ok. I decided not to look at the clock when we got onto the beach for the start of the 2nd lap because I was already working probably too hard anyway and secondly my calf nearly cramped when I porpoised in so need to nurse it at the time. Due to my suit repair it had filled with water which couldn't escape. This slowed things down somewhat. I was certain that I’d do 1:05 or 1:10 at absolute worst. Unfortunately for the entire field, a storm erupted on the second lap and the wind began to gust at 40 knots making visibility an issue and navigation erratic for the entire field. By the time we got out of the water the pro’s had only just cut the hour themselves and I was horrified to see my 1:19 up on the board. I was already 15 minutes down. It was interesting that Julian was 10 metres in front of me (I’d never seen him ‘til the end of the swim) heading up the ramp. I dived on the floor to get the suit off but the tape made the ankle too tight and whilst Julian was running for his bag I was yelling frantically to the two wetsuit strippers to rip it off.
I then hit the bag point as the heavens opened and things were getting nasty. When I got into the change tent it resembled a field hospital – absolute bedlam if you haven’t seen this one up close. I got changed quickly, skipped suncream to save time and headed out of the door with Julian wisely still seated putting on more clothing but that due to his nutrition issues would sadly be the last I’d see of him.
By the time I’d ran the 50 metres from tent to my bike I was already soaked and people were getting blown all over the asphalt. So we all then set off for 112 miles. I’d only moved a few feet but due to a monstrous headwind I was already in my lowest gear…….on the flat, and I hadn’t even gone up the climb out of town yet. That headwind stayed with us for over an hour whilst I held a speed of 9mph. Some of the lighter athletes were zig zagging all over the road trying to literally sail upwind. It was then I realised my heart rate monitor had leaked meaning it was trashed and I had no data other than my bike computer so I’d have to judge the entire race blind with perceived exertion.
As some of you know I was aiming to do 11 hours but only 2 hours into the race I realised that with the swim troubles and now the bike conditions that wasn’t going to be feasible so it was now the taking part as best as possible and that raised my own personal concerns. My point is that whilst every experienced ironman athlete will tell you that as a rookie (irrespective of ability) the day should be about patience (and I’d agreed at the time) I only intended to do one of these and caution doesn’t make good bar tales. When we hit the turnaround of the bike the wind became a heavy tailwind and I then consciously made the choice that with the time goal gone I needed to be proactive not reactive to the situation. At which point I shifted into 54/11, dropped my head and then banged out the next 20 miles at a 28mph average speed. This got me through the first lap in 1:55…..and exactly on target. The next 2 laps were torture both in terms of speed and comfort as a result. I put out the 2 laps in 2:00 and then a 2:05. Nutritionally things had been hard as well. I was trying to get down 500kcals an hour but couldn’t stomach as much on the last lap. Eating that much was just an utter nightmare. I finished on schedule in 6 hours in ferocious conditions.
I think someone said once that this race doesn’t really begin until the marathon but to be fair I was really looking forward to it. I hadn’t run one before but then it’s all mental at this stage and I had no problem in that department even if my running style was, well, ugly. The only thing I didn’t want was a few thousand people to see me empty my stomach at the side of the road in full view.
I managed to run it all whilst only walking the aid stations alternating between drinking sports drink and then water and coke and water every 2k. This worked well and combined with the salt tablets gave me a cramp free experience.
I actually ran pretty well in my own mind and whilst I’d targeted a 4 hour split (but did a 4:28) I was hammering for pretty much the whole thing at a steady state only struggling in the last 3 miles (but still managed to run a few more people down). There were a lot of walkers and broken spirits out there. I found it easy to concentrate but then that was what my 1am runs had been for in training.
The finish line appeared just as the sun had set and thinking about it now, it was all pretty hazy as I was trying to drop a person behind at the time and wanted to milk the finish chute for all it was worth. I do vaguely recollect the dozen cheerleaders and a large crowd though. You couldn’t hear anything but a constant roar like a football match every time anyone entered that thing and combined with a crane suspended sound system and a TV screen made it a great moment. All I remember was a medal going round the neck, a foil blanket appearing and complete leg shut down by the time I’d got into the medical control area. I only lost 2kg in weight over the day.
It was a 12hr finish, not what I’d wanted but I’d raced on it my own terms.
Epitaph.
The funny thing was that it wasn’t my race that really made the day good. I went back (as per tradition) and watched the last competitors fight to make the 17hour cut off including a 72 year old who completed with 10 minutes to go. One female competitor who was pursued by the TV helicopter (and being virtually dragged by spectators in sheer desperation to make the cut) failed by one single minute. She was only 200m from the finish line when the time cut came, and then passed. It was pretty emotional for everyone by that point.
Ironman wasn’t the huge life changing experience I thought it would be and I didn’t have any ‘revelations on the road to Damascus’ whilst out on the course. Now looking back 3 days later I think that’s because whilst it was a challenge and the training was hard work I honestly never thought I could fail and so any risks in my mind were relatively small.
The day after the race I went to the finishers’ party and everyone was treated equally and with great respect. Newbies were stood on chairs and with a 2000 strong audience were given a standing ovation by all. That was awesome from where I was as I was the only newbie in our corner of the marquee.
The next morning at the hotel an American, a South African and myself swapped tales over bagels as one of the French guys (who was classy enough to finish inside the top 30) hobbled in to breakfast, shook my hand, and said ‘welcome to the club’. That was just great.
Closing Party 
Bryce.
I enjoyed the expo days though. I took the time to get techy so tried out some bike toys (bought some to try on the bike this year) and did the rounds. I also caught up with Dr Tim Noakes and the guys from the Cape Town University and talked about cramp for a while. They were running 3 different studies for the race and wanted lab rats and I’d been in contact with Tim for a while so volunteered. For me this started to get me in the mood although I was worried about both my suit and the foot issue.
The Race.
The transition area was huge. Absolutely filled with bikes. I got their very early (5am) and took a few photo’s for my MSc to clear the head and to relax. The weather was clear and mild but it was only later that due to the notorious local high winds that we found out that the race was nearly on the verge of being shortened or cancelled all together. Fortunately it was left untouched but it all got dicey later on.
I taped the wetsuit but remember thinking that even if a disaster ensued it was really the least of my worries so just got on with it. The day started with a sermon, a load of crazed African dancers and hell of a lot worried looking triathletes pacing about. My tactics all along had been to take the swim easy but to start on the pier side where I knew a rip current would be running and nobody else would go there because it was the inside line of the first bouy. If I got this wrong I’d end up getting there early but then swum over by everyone else (plus I’d seeded myself in the sub hour group right on the start line).
The starting gun was to be a cannon salute off the side of a Spanish galleon moored offshore and when the gun went I hammered it. I think I was in the top 40 or 50 at the first bouy with a clean line. The gambit had paid off but I realised quickly that my left leg was filling with water again which would prove problematic. As it was, I stopped using my legs as this was contributing to the pumping in of the water.
As it was the first lap went ok. I decided not to look at the clock when we got onto the beach for the start of the 2nd lap because I was already working probably too hard anyway and secondly my calf nearly cramped when I porpoised in so need to nurse it at the time. Due to my suit repair it had filled with water which couldn't escape. This slowed things down somewhat. I was certain that I’d do 1:05 or 1:10 at absolute worst. Unfortunately for the entire field, a storm erupted on the second lap and the wind began to gust at 40 knots making visibility an issue and navigation erratic for the entire field. By the time we got out of the water the pro’s had only just cut the hour themselves and I was horrified to see my 1:19 up on the board. I was already 15 minutes down. It was interesting that Julian was 10 metres in front of me (I’d never seen him ‘til the end of the swim) heading up the ramp. I dived on the floor to get the suit off but the tape made the ankle too tight and whilst Julian was running for his bag I was yelling frantically to the two wetsuit strippers to rip it off.
I then hit the bag point as the heavens opened and things were getting nasty. When I got into the change tent it resembled a field hospital – absolute bedlam if you haven’t seen this one up close. I got changed quickly, skipped suncream to save time and headed out of the door with Julian wisely still seated putting on more clothing but that due to his nutrition issues would sadly be the last I’d see of him.
By the time I’d ran the 50 metres from tent to my bike I was already soaked and people were getting blown all over the asphalt. So we all then set off for 112 miles. I’d only moved a few feet but due to a monstrous headwind I was already in my lowest gear…….on the flat, and I hadn’t even gone up the climb out of town yet. That headwind stayed with us for over an hour whilst I held a speed of 9mph. Some of the lighter athletes were zig zagging all over the road trying to literally sail upwind. It was then I realised my heart rate monitor had leaked meaning it was trashed and I had no data other than my bike computer so I’d have to judge the entire race blind with perceived exertion.
As some of you know I was aiming to do 11 hours but only 2 hours into the race I realised that with the swim troubles and now the bike conditions that wasn’t going to be feasible so it was now the taking part as best as possible and that raised my own personal concerns. My point is that whilst every experienced ironman athlete will tell you that as a rookie (irrespective of ability) the day should be about patience (and I’d agreed at the time) I only intended to do one of these and caution doesn’t make good bar tales. When we hit the turnaround of the bike the wind became a heavy tailwind and I then consciously made the choice that with the time goal gone I needed to be proactive not reactive to the situation. At which point I shifted into 54/11, dropped my head and then banged out the next 20 miles at a 28mph average speed. This got me through the first lap in 1:55…..and exactly on target. The next 2 laps were torture both in terms of speed and comfort as a result. I put out the 2 laps in 2:00 and then a 2:05. Nutritionally things had been hard as well. I was trying to get down 500kcals an hour but couldn’t stomach as much on the last lap. Eating that much was just an utter nightmare. I finished on schedule in 6 hours in ferocious conditions.
I think someone said once that this race doesn’t really begin until the marathon but to be fair I was really looking forward to it. I hadn’t run one before but then it’s all mental at this stage and I had no problem in that department even if my running style was, well, ugly. The only thing I didn’t want was a few thousand people to see me empty my stomach at the side of the road in full view.
I managed to run it all whilst only walking the aid stations alternating between drinking sports drink and then water and coke and water every 2k. This worked well and combined with the salt tablets gave me a cramp free experience.
I actually ran pretty well in my own mind and whilst I’d targeted a 4 hour split (but did a 4:28) I was hammering for pretty much the whole thing at a steady state only struggling in the last 3 miles (but still managed to run a few more people down). There were a lot of walkers and broken spirits out there. I found it easy to concentrate but then that was what my 1am runs had been for in training.
The finish line appeared just as the sun had set and thinking about it now, it was all pretty hazy as I was trying to drop a person behind at the time and wanted to milk the finish chute for all it was worth. I do vaguely recollect the dozen cheerleaders and a large crowd though. You couldn’t hear anything but a constant roar like a football match every time anyone entered that thing and combined with a crane suspended sound system and a TV screen made it a great moment. All I remember was a medal going round the neck, a foil blanket appearing and complete leg shut down by the time I’d got into the medical control area. I only lost 2kg in weight over the day.
It was a 12hr finish, not what I’d wanted but I’d raced on it my own terms.
Epitaph.
The funny thing was that it wasn’t my race that really made the day good. I went back (as per tradition) and watched the last competitors fight to make the 17hour cut off including a 72 year old who completed with 10 minutes to go. One female competitor who was pursued by the TV helicopter (and being virtually dragged by spectators in sheer desperation to make the cut) failed by one single minute. She was only 200m from the finish line when the time cut came, and then passed. It was pretty emotional for everyone by that point.
Ironman wasn’t the huge life changing experience I thought it would be and I didn’t have any ‘revelations on the road to Damascus’ whilst out on the course. Now looking back 3 days later I think that’s because whilst it was a challenge and the training was hard work I honestly never thought I could fail and so any risks in my mind were relatively small.
The day after the race I went to the finishers’ party and everyone was treated equally and with great respect. Newbies were stood on chairs and with a 2000 strong audience were given a standing ovation by all. That was awesome from where I was as I was the only newbie in our corner of the marquee.
The next morning at the hotel an American, a South African and myself swapped tales over bagels as one of the French guys (who was classy enough to finish inside the top 30) hobbled in to breakfast, shook my hand, and said ‘welcome to the club’. That was just great.
Closing Party Bryce.
Last edited by:
UK Gear Muncher: Mar 29, 06 6:35