Ironman St. George 2010

It feels a lot longer than a few months ago when I blogged about using the gym bike and turbo trainer and looking forward to getting out on my road bike, freshly arrived on air freight from the UK. Maybe it feels so long as so many 5.5 mile laps of Stanley Park have now passed, each one etching their patterns of bumps, lumps, loose stones and potholes on my brain. February to late April saw plenty of riding, initially with Pacific Spirit Tri Club but increasingly alone as I learned some routes away from the urban grid system and needed to put in more and more steady mileage without the sociable coffee stops or hanging around for slower group members. I managed a couple of century rides – one that included the Pacific Populaire race, two punctures and getting very lost, and another along the Sea-to-Sky highway to Squamish and back in 5 hours 45 minutes of rain. Swimming went even better. Having the Aquatic Centre only a 20 minute walk from home meant I was able to swim regularly before work and the 50m pool length makes it so much easier to knock out longer distances during standard swim sessions. And running went to plan both in frequency and duration; the only thing missing was a few more half marathon, 16 and 20 mile races in the Vancouver area, which is a much more fun way to train than plodding around alone on a Wednesday night. Andrea and I did do a couple of half marathons, one in Fort Langley and the other in Abbotsford, and I even managed a third place finish at Abbotsford having led for the first four miles and been in second until 11 miles – my first podium since primary school sports day. Not that there was a podium, prize money or even mention in the local paper.

All totalled, between January and April I clocked 41.63 miles of swimming, 1,025.3 miles cycling, 37.8 hours on a static bike and 269.5 miles running. In volume alone this exceeded my training for Ironman Brazil last year and so the numbers gave me confidence that I was in good shape, even if scary reports about the IMSG course and non-existence of results data from previous years (this being the first year of the race) made it difficult to estimate how I’d do.

Of course, hindsight tends to gloss over the hard times. As the training period went on I started to hate the pool, the early alarms, stomping up and down the same path on the sea wall, limiting my intake of latte and muffins, hours and hours in the rain, cold and dark. I got bored of Ironman, of focusing so long and hard on something that many of my friends were bored by or simply didn’t understand or care about. And I had plenty of spells of self doubt, terror and panic. The worse of these was seven weeks out from the race when I was behind on my bike schedule and unhappy that my weight wasn’t falling fast enough, and I got a stark and real glimpse of Ironman racing by spending the day and night online following Dave’s excellent 11:30 at Ironman New Zealand.

But I pushed on and the weeks passed and as always with Ironman or any of the big endurance events I’ve done, it was a huge relief to get to the taper. I trained pretty hard until two weeks before the race, peaking with my second 100 mile ride backed up with a short run. And while I continued to do something active every day bar two or three until race day, it was a real mental treat to lose some of the structure and only face half hour sessions rather than two hours in the mornings or after work.

My change in life circumstances compared to Ironman UK 2008 or Ironman Brazil 2009 benefited me massively as my one-block walk to work in comparison to coach journey in and out of London bought me at least four extra hours per day. All considered, for such an early season race, the preparation went well. It was going to be windy and hilly and I didn’t expect a personal best, but I knew I could travel to Utah feeling good.

Wednesday 28th April
We flew Vancouver-Las Vegas on Wednesday 28th April, three days before the race, hired a SUV at the airport, took a quick and unintentional cruise down the Strip, and then got onto I-15 for the 110 mile drive north through Nevada, cutting across the corner of Arizona and to St. George, Utah. Our hotel – Wingate by Wyndham – was one of the ‘official’ race hotels and there was a welcome banner in reception and several other competitors around with game faces already on. The hotel staff were great – they seemed genuinely excited about the race and very flexible to our needs, letting us take bikes to our rooms and doling out directions and weather reports. This was the beginning of a huge local welcome that we’d see throughout the stay and that will probably make Ironman St. George one of the most popular races in North America. As an economic or cultural centre, the town of St. George doesn’t have much to offer. It does, however, have great scenery and is the gateway to Zion National Park, hence the abundance of hotels, and so the people are used to welcoming visitors, especially those who’re going to stay and spend money. The town also hosts one of the top ten marathons in the US and so is used to big sporting occasions. Many small and local businesses were displaying Ironman welcome banners, even those whose services we were unlikely to need to use. Most people on the streets knew about the race and were keen to ask where we’d travelled from and tell us how crazy they thought we are. And an Ironman festival started up near Town Square the day before the race with food stalls, arts and crafts vendors, entertainers and kids’ areas. I couldn’t help comparing this to my experience at Sherborne in England a couple of years ago – a town only a little smaller than St. George – where the locals gave their best impression of both apathy to the occasion and disgruntlement that their route to B&Q was blocked on a Sunday morning.

Thursday 29th April
I hadn’t unpacked my bike the night before because I was tired from travel and knew that the mechanics’ workshop at the expo was already closed and so if I found any problems I wouldn’t be able to do anything about them until Thursday anyway. So immediately after breakfast and a gentle run I set to work slicing off the copious layers of bubble wrap, attaching the saddle bag, bento bag, two bottle cages and straightening up the aero bars that I’d collapsed for travel. A problem. I couldn’t attach the rear derailleur. It’s a straightforward screw mechanism but I simply couldn’t get the screw to take in the thread. I tried for 10 minutes, moved onto something else to stop myself getting too wound up, returned to it still without success, and so on. Andrea arrived in the room from being in the gym where she’d gone to stay out of my way, and she gave it a try but the screw just wouldn’t attach. There was nothing else for it – I had a quick shower to clean off the oil I was covered in and loaded the bike into the SUV and headed the couple of miles to the race expo and mechanics’ workshop at the Dixie Center. Two days before the race and the place was buzzing. It seemed that most of the 2,000-odd registered athletes had arrived in town and the usual frenzy of buying last minute gear, registering, body marking and bike fixes was going on. I was on edge – I’m always paranoid about mechanical issues and this time they were actually happening to me – but it was a strange compensation to see 20-30 other bikes checked into the workshop and realise that I wasn’t alone. The mechanic told me that the derailleur hanger thread was corrupted. They didn’t have a replacement part suitable for my Blue bike in stock and wouldn’t be able to order one in time, but could try and remove some of the corruption so that it would at least attach, if only tentatively. I needed to leave it with them and sweat it out for a few hours and after taking my ticket the mechanic told me that “it should be ok for the race, but the first thing you need to do when you get home is get a new hanger”. I wasn’t sure whether or not to take assurance from that.

Pre-race bike mechanic...at least I was in company

Anyway, I used the time to register, buy a race branded bike jersey, mug and M-Dot sun visor, eat lunch and generally soak up the atmosphere. I had planned to use Thursday for a short practice ride and to also recce the swim venue, but I now needed to be flexible with that. Another source of stress arose. The store hadn’t received their order of CO2 canisters and none of us who’d travelled by plane had been allowed to bring our own stocks on our flights. The shop promised they’d arrive on Friday morning, although details on exactly what time or the size of the order were vague.

I returned to the Dixie Center in the afternoon and collected my Blue. The procedure had gone well and the derailleur was attached, although I didn’t jiggle it to see how firmly it was on for fear of it coming off irreparably. $15 well spent and my race was back on. I carried the bike outside to the SUV, put on the wheels, hooked up the chain, pumped the tyres and took it for a quick spin around the car park to check everything was ok, before going back into the race HQ for a thirty minute massage and to get my number ink sprayed on my upper arms and left calf. Two days before the race seemed early for this but I was assured nothing would remove the ink for 7-10 days, and it made one less thing to worry about on race morning. I went home, laid out all my kit on the bed and headed into the town centre with Andrea in search of dinner. The main street was lined with race banners and the workmen and race organisers were out building the finish chute, spectator areas and support tents. We had a quick meal in Pasta Factory and then returned to the Dixie Center for the athletes’ race briefing. As far as these go, this was pretty slick. It came at the end of the athletes’ dinner, which Andrea and I had skipped, and the organisers showed appreciation that no-one wanted to be there longer than necessary. Most of the 2,000 competitors were in the room, as well as sponsors’ representatives and VIPs, including Paul Newby-Fraser, local resident, wife of Race Director Paul Huddle, and eight-times Ironman World Champion, and Dave Orlowski, third place finisher in the original 1978 Hawaii Ironman. After a few introductory remarks from Paul Huddle and short comments by the official race medic, the remainder of the briefing was delivered by pre-recorded film on big screens around the room. As well as livening up the briefing, this meant that the organisers could screen certain parts of the course and show us the locations of transitions, hazards, points of interest and so on. After an hour and a quarter and with my head buzzing with information, the briefing was over.

Friday 30th April
After breakfast I went for a ride for 15-20 minutes, partly to give my bike a once over and partly to assure myself that I could still balance on two wheels. Outside the hotel lobby I saw a guy from Texas who was setting out on a jog and we got talking about how much colder it was than we expected, especially first thing in the morning, and our thoughts on adjusting our clothing plans for the bike leg. Getting out of the cold water and onto the bike at 8am the following day would be chillier than either of us had been anticipating. The ride went well, the bike was running smoothly, and I went back to the room to pack my T1 and T2 bags.Around 11am Andrea and I went back to the Dixie Center in search of the CO2 canister shipment. FedEx boxes were in the store, still unpacked, and despite me trying to look as anxious as possible and several other competitors pacing nervously around the shop the staff didn’t look like they were in a rush to open them. We decided to split up – Andrea would stay in the store ready to pounce on four 16 ounce canisters, while I went to the town centre to drop off my T2 (bike to run transition) bag. I got back to the Dixie Center to find Andrea outside, shaking her head and looking downcast. One of her little jokes, the canisters were in her bag and I could relax. I went back to the hotel and got my stuff together to drive up to Sand Hallow Reservoir. When I opened the car door on arrival I felt a massive gust of wind – it was fairly breezy up there and the water was choppy. I racked my bike, dropped off my T1 (swim to bike transition) bag, went down to the edge of the water, put on my wetsuit for the first time in nine months and stepped in for a practice swim. It was definitely cold but I dived under quickly and swam a few strokes. It wasn’t cold enough for me to get a numb head, so certainly warmer than what Heron Lake would be at this time of year and what most other athletes were making it out to be, yet the high winds were creating havoc on the surface and making both sighting and breathing very difficult. I swam out 200 metres, went around a buoy and turned back for shore. The swim was supposed to give me confidence as I hadn’t been in open water since the Singapore International Triathlon last August but instead it worried me. If the conditions were going to be like that the following morning it wasn’t going to be a good experience. I put on a warm sweater and drove to the hotel. I was getting more and more nervous, however having racking my bike and deposited my kit I was pleased that all the pre-race melee was over and all I had to do was eat dinner and relax for the evening. There were fast food restaurants all over town but the options for healthy, hearty food were limited and so we went back to a slightly busier Pasta Factory and I had a large plate of penne, grilled chicken and a light pesto sauce.

Race day
This was my third Ironman and while I knew my training had been sufficient and issues with my bike resolved the rest of that evening, night and early morning was tortuous. I don’t think I’ve ever been as nervous before a race and I can’t quite figure out why. It was party fear of the conditions at the swim – the cold and the wind. My alarm was set for 3:17am and I slept soundly until midnight before waking and then tossing and turning, all the while semi-dreaming and fretting, until the alarm finally sounded. I hadn’t wanted to rely on the hotel providing an early breakfast and so after a hot shower I had my regular morning meal of orange juice and Cheerios with yoghurt bought from Walmart the day before. After double and triple checking I had everything I needed I said goodbye to Andrea and drove into the town centre to drop off my bike special needs bag, slip a t-shirt and some energy chews into my T2 bag and catch one of the athletes’ shuttle buses to Sand Hallow. 

Standing in the queue for the shuttle bus I was joined by a couple of lads from Wolverhampton, one of whom was wearing a Human Race Ballbuster fleece from the 2006 race, which I’d also done. In fact, I was wearing a hoodie from the same race in 2009 and we smiled at the coincidence of travelling to southern Utah to meet another guy who’d done the same relatively small race in the Surrey hills. This would be Paul’s 10th Iron-distance race and he was determined the one he would retire after. I kidded that he has probably said the same about each of the previous nine, but he seemed fairly adamant. Funnily enough, Andrea got speaking to a couple of Union flag waving women later in the day who turned out to be the wives of these lads, and they kept each other company and teamed up as a three-strong support crew for much of the bike and run legs. On boarding the yellow school bus I heard “hello, David” and saw Andrew Sixsmith, another Pacific Spirit Tri Club member and fellow Brit sitting near the front. I joined him and we spent the journey to Sand Hallow chatting about different races we’d done in the past and hope to do in the future. On arriving at the venue, still pre-dawn, we said goodbye and wished each other luck as we went off to prepare for the race.

The transition area was very dark, but mercifully the air was still – there was no sign of the high winds from the day before, a massive relief. We were in the middle of what felt like a desert and only one floodlight had been set up in the bike rack area, and it was on the other side of the lot and not shedding much light over me or my stuff. I’d deflated my tyres the day before to avoid any afternoon blowouts and so had brought my own track pump, thankfully avoiding the long queues for the air station. I took turns with a guy beside me inflating tyres as the other shone iPhone light on the procedings. I slipped my drinks bottles into the cages, added some lube to the chain, checked the bike was in the right gear for when I would hop on it after the swim, and wandered off to find a portable toilet. It was still before 6am and I’d plenty of time. In fact, I was starting to wish I’d given myself an extra 20 minutes in bed. But the toilet queue moved really slowly and it was over half an hour until I got my turn, meaning I returned to my bike at 6:25am just as the announcer started encouraging us to vacate the transition area and move to the water for the swim start. I applied liberal slappings of baby oil to my lower legs, shoulders and arms, slipped into my wetsuit, grabbed my caps and goggles, packed up my dry clothes bag, dropped them off for transportation to the finish line, and joined hundreds of others shuffling towards the arch marking the swim entrance. The atmosphere was pumping now, music was blaring out of the speakers and the announcer was talking everyone through exactly what would happen, when and what we needed to be doing minute-by-minute. The preparation was over; I was ready to go.

This is where the race report begins. I don’t apologise for the long description of the build-up, even if it is both tedious and a little boring. As I’ve learned in my three Ironmans, this is all part of the race experience. The day itself passes in a blur and memories of it are often condensed into small snapshots or two or three meaningful encounters or events, but often the success of the race hinges on the success of the pre-race preparation – the travel, kit organisation, bike mechanics, diet, hydration, sleep. In many ways, setting aside all the training, I consider my Ironman experience to begin the moment I leave home for the airport, and anyone reading this who plans to do their first Ironman sometime soon needs to give suitable thought to how they’re going to structure the two or three days before to do everything they need to do as efficiently and calmly as possible. I’m getting better at it but can still improve.

Swim – 2.4 miles
There was a lot of nervous energy around as we herded down to the water’s edge. We were separated from spectators but many were scanning the crowds lined up and shouting last minute declarations of love and the odd quip of gallows humour. I was just glad to be going. I knew from experience that as soon as the gun goes all nerves disappear and I’m completely in the moment, an aspect I love about racing, and playing all sport, and I was only a few minutes away from that, even if many hours separated me from the finish line. The announcer was telling us all to keep moving forward but I got to the water with over 10 minutes until the start and was relieved to hear him tell us that if we didn’t want to get in just yet we could stand to the side. It wasn’t warm standing there in the fresh morning air, but it was a lot colder in the water, and I avoided getting in for nearly five minutes. Once in I swam straight out to the start buoys and found myself a good position on the inside line, about third or fourth row back. I could see the bank lined with thousands of spectators, hundreds of athletes still getting in, and a media helicopter hovering overhead. Suddenly I heard the Star Spangled Banner playing – exactly the kind of hyperbole I wanted from a US race – and hundreds of people bobbing around me in the water whooping and cheering as it ended. Before I knew it, and with no notice or count down, the gun went and mayhem began.

Swim start in Sand Hallow Reservoir

The water was 15 degrees Celsius (59 degrees Fahrenheit) – chilly for everyone but not unreasonable for European or Canadian competitors, particularly for an event at the very beginning of May. For the Americans, on the other hand, especially the large numbers who had travelled north from Arizona and Texas and east from California, this was a big issue. At the race briefing the organisers advised everyone against buying neoprene boots, particularly if never used before, and stated that gloves were banned, but did recommend that people wear neoprene caps, a handy stock of which had arrived in the WTC store at the expo. For my part, I was nervous about the swim, but mostly due to the choppiness of the day before, and I opted for my usual code of tri shorts, wetsuit and two swim caps and was fine. Adrenaline adds at least a couple of degrees of warmth, as does urine. It barely needs to be said that there was the usual thrashing, overtaking, undertaking, elbowing, zigzagging and ankle grabbing for the first 1,000m. After that, I was mostly able to find clear water, especially as I was prepared to take a wider line on the long, straight stretches. Visibility was just about good enough for me to glimpse pink flipping feet before my eyes and I tried to draft a few times.

The course was simple – a single loop with four legs (1,000m, 500m, 1,700m and 600m) going anti-clockwise, and so with three 90 degree left-hand turns. Between the fights and skirmishes I was concentrating on my stroke, thinking about all the time I’d spent in the pool in Vancouver and concentrating on the same issues of form that I do there – high elbows, long stroke, glide, good catch, pull right back to my hip. Trying not to sight too often and breathing every second stroke. My watch got knocked three times and I had to pause and restick the Velcro strap, other than that the only annoyance was the rising sun, which was shining directly into our eyes after the first turn. I couldn’t see the buoys, and this was mildly panicking, so I just followed the orange caps ahead of me and hoped the guy at the front knew where he was going. Another turn and onto the long 1,700m stretch. In one straight line this leg was 200m longer than the entire swim at an Olympic distance triathlon. I just tried to concentrate on form, although knew that due to the conditions and recent lack of open water training I wasn’t swimming as well as in the pool. Eventually the red rock island in the middle of the Reservoir appeared on my left and I swam alongside this until the final turn buoy. I knew I was near the end of the swim. With a couple of hundred of metres to go I could hear the PA system on the shore and start to see the exit and so I quickened my pace and started kicking harder to get the blood flowing in my legs – I knew that if everything went well it would be at least another 11 hours before I’d be horizontal again. I’m convinced you move faster by swimming than wading and so I swam until so close to the edge that my feet started kicking the bottom and a volunteer hand appeared to help me up. I pulled off my cap and goggles, stripped my wetsuit to my waist while jogging, and got to the peelers who lowered me to the ground and pulled my wetsuit off completely. I ran down the rows of T1 bags, grabbed mine and dashed into a very busy changing tent where I was helped by another volunteer who stuffed my wetsuit into the bag while I put on socks, bike shoes, tri top, bike jersey, number belt, sun glasses and helmet. As I jogged back outside I could see the hundreds and hundreds of bikes still racked, which picked up spirits up – my watch had said 01:10 as I exited the water and this was at least five minutes slower than I’d been hoping for, but it seemed I was still well up the field. A volunteer was handing out blobs of sun cream and I managed to grab some on the way past and smear it down my left arm and left leg. This meant I ended the day with pretty bad sunburn on my uncovered right arm and leg. Steering my bike by the saddle I ran over the timing mat and mount line.

Bike – 112 miles
I checked my watch and the bike leg was underway after 01:17. I wasn’t exactly sure what was ahead as unlike many I hadn’t driven the bike course, yet I knew there would be about a 20 mile stretch with sweeping ascents and descents back into St. George and then two 45 mile loops, each one comprising over 30 miles of climbing followed by 15 miles of fast downhill. The first 20 miles were a dream. On the climbs I sat back, slipped into a very low gear and spinned, and was pleased that I was gaining places. I also took the chance to eat and drink. At Ironman Brazil last year I bombed at the start of the run and one possible explanation for this was under eating and drinking during the bike, so I was determined to fuel early and regularly. I tried to remember the numbers and kit of the few cyclists who screamed past me during the first hour of the bike as going too hard, too early would be a sure way to blow up on this course.

Due to the logistical challenges of split transitions and Sand Hallow being so far out of town, Andrea hadn’t seen the swim and I’d missed her being there so it was nice to catch sight of her at the side of the road, and waving the Ulster flag, at the beginning of the first 45 mile loop. I checked my watch and it was exactly 9:30am – bang on the time I’d told her to expect me. So far, so good. There were a few ups and downs but before long it was obvious that the general trend was upwards. Nothing too steep, just long grinds. At times false flats – the roads looked level but when I checked my bike computer I was only travelling at 14-16mph. This continued and the road surface got worse. We were heading into the countryside and there were few spectators, apart from the occasional farmer and wife who, finding themselves imprisoned in their homes for the day by road closures, decided to set up chairs at the end of their driveways and watch the show. I’d heard about ‘The Wall’ but couldn’t remember where it was. After going through an aid station a guy pulled alongside me and said “the next few hills we’re hitting are going to be hell” and over the following 10 miles we tackled three big ones, the third being The Wall and taking about 10 minutes to summit with a mix of low gear spinning and standing on the pedals. From the top it was wide roads and either flats or gentle descents, leading into steeper descents past Snow Canyon and this was a chance to crank into a big gear, get aero and sit between 28-42mph and make up some time.



Stunning scenery on the bike course

Half way into the bike and I was starting to hurt. I’d read that anyone doing this course on a tri bike would get a very sore back and neck and this is where I was developing pain. My spirits were also dropping. By the end of the first loop I’d been racing for around five hours. Fatigue was starting to set in and yet I still had a lot of pedal turning ahead of me before the marathon. The false flats and gradual climbs were even worse the second time around. I was working hard, breathing hard and my heart rate was high and yet at times I was moving no faster than 11-12mph uphill and into a strong headwind. This was my first Ironman using a bike computer and watching my distance increase virtually metre-by-metre I knew that at this rate it would be another couple of hours until I got to the top of the loop and began the descent back into town. Also, by this stage the field was starting to thread out. There wasn’t much overtaking and very little chat from the other athletes as everyone was suffering. I was still taking on board gels, Powerbars and half bananas, as well as switching between Gatorade and water.

This time I knew exactly what was coming up and was out of the saddle a little more on the three big climbs as well as standing to stretch my back occasionally on the flats. I was encouraged to make up at least 10 places on the second epic trip up The Wall, even if my lungs did feel ready to explode. I had a mini celebration at the top knowing that the hardest work was over, before remembering that there was still nearly 20 miles of speed work to go and time to be recovered. For the previous 30 miles I’d been playing cat and mouse with the same bunch of riders and this continued down past Snow Canyon, however strong cross winds were giving us serious wobbles and forcing us to touch our brakes at times on the steeper parts of the descent. I was getting the usual end-of-bike emotions, which are always accentuated by tiredness. When thinking about an Ironman I always look forward to the run – by that stage, no matter how wrecked I am, I know my feet are on the ground and I’m back in complete control. I’m no longer at the mercy of a machine, even if it’s a well cared for machine on which I spend a lot of money. Completing the swim and then the bike feels like a major milestone. I swept back towards town, saw Andrea and her new friends all looking like they’d just come from Last Night of the Proms, went through the no-pass zone and travelled down South Bluff Street in the opposite direction to those athletes already on the run course. The crowds here were great and I got a real lift being on the closed roads back in town and cheered by thousands of people behind the barriers. After taking rights at two roundabouts I saw the bike finish line and unclipped, jumped off and let a volunteer catch my bike. I struggled to run, especially in my cleats. Someone on a loudspeaker had announced my race number and it allowed a volunteer to be standing waiting with my T2 bag, which I grabbed on the way past and into the changing tent.

Run – 26.2 miles
My leg muscles were quivering, my back aching and I sat down to change. 08:03 was on the clock. This was ok – I knew it was a 12 hour plus race before beginning. I struggled to speak to the volunteer who was tipping out the contents of my T2 bag and asking me what I needed for the run. I ripped my race number off the belt and had to spend a minute replacing it with the spare I’d packed in my T2 bag. I took off my bike jersey, Vaselined up, changed socks and shoes and shuffled out of the tent and onto the run course. I was feeling ok. My legs were unsteady and hamstrings tight but not as bad as I’d experienced before and I knew it wouldn’t take long to loosen up and find my running form. 26 miles to go.

Within a few hundred yards I heard Andrea screaming from the other side of the road and frantically waving a ‘Running is your discipline’ poster at me upside down. I shouted back that it was upside down, teasing her, and grateful for the gesture. She was right, I can run strongly on an Ironman and knew I could gain a lot of places over the next four hours if I paced myself properly. The first four miles were uphill, first shallow and steady and then steep. Shortly after seeing Andrea a guy called Christopher from Phoenix, Arizona pulled up alongside me and we spent the next five or six miles pacing each other and distracting each other from the pain by sharing triathlon stories and swapping thoughts on the bike and swim. We hit the 800m, 5% gradient at mile four together and pulled each other up, picking up another guy on the way as most other people around us were reduced to a walk. But after a while I realised that he was stretching me too much and, as nice as the company was, it would be suicide for me to try to stay with him. I wished him well and let him go, sticking to my own pace. There was an aid station every mile and I tried not to look forward any further than that. The volunteers on each aid station were fantastic and each one was configured identically, meaning I developed a routine that became almost a ritual as I passed through each one. First I’d grab a couple of cold sponges and clean my face and squeeze the rest of the water over my head, then I’d grab a cup of water and take a gulp, then one or two orange wedges and finally a cup of flat cola. Being new in town and not wanting to upset the locals, the race organisers were very hot on rubbish disposal and there were strict time penalties for anyone dumping packaging on the course outside specified areas, and so 50 yards after the end of each aid station there was a ‘Last chance trash’ sign forcing me to consume what I’d lifted slightly quicker than I’d like to have. I was carrying gels and energy chews but didn’t feel like taking them or any other of the solids on offer the entire run. I was slightly tempted by the chicken broth at one point but a hit of sugar from the cola every mile proved enough.

I was feeling ok, or as ok as can be expected several miles into an Ironman run, and was churning out 9-10 minute miles, reeling more and more people in. I think I was only overtaken by three or four athletes the entire marathon, excluding the handful of pros who eased past me behind their outriders, one full lap ahead. I reached the 6.5 mile turnaround and started the back stretch towards town. The run course was an out-and-back times two and since most of it took us out of town and into the hills above there weren’t many supporters for long periods. The general profile on the return leg was downhill, although with enough variety to merit concentration. After a few miles I drew alongside and then past Christopher. He had slowed and was obviously suffering while I was grinding it out at a consistent and sustainable pace. I saw Andrea just before the run special needs area and once again when I looped around the roundabout at halfway and began my second 13.1 mile out-and-back. Her face and arms were looking red after a long day in the sun and I shouted at her to put on some sunscreen. I reserved the right to be the only one wincing and moaning the next day! I told myself I’d just a half marathon to knock out and I’ll see Andrea again at the finish chute in a couple of hours. I was becoming more and more determined that I wouldn’t walk a step and was feeling tired but strong. Now the course was familiar and I knew what I had ahead. The long, slow drag, the up and down cul-de-sac, the steep climb, the loop cul-de-sac, the turnaround and the same steps again in reverse. I was ticking off the mile markers and watching the minutes pass on my wrist, knowing that at my current pace each minute represented a bit more than 10% of a mile or 1/260th of the marathon. I ran for a couple of miles tucked in behind a woman in the 35-39 age group with ‘mother of six’ inked on her right calf. Six neglected children, obviously, because she couldn’t have been making such good progress without a lot of training time away from home.

Finally I reached the 22 mile marker that also represented the top of the final significant hill high above the town and I started to stretch out. I knew I’d beat 12:30 and my target had become sub-12:25 – my time from Ironman UK in 2008. Ironman UK was tough but this course was a whole different level of difficulty, probably the new toughest race in North America, and a faster time here would be sure progress. I quickened to nine-minute miles, which felt Olympian as I breezed past more people, but in hindsight I know that nine-minute miles never look quick. The final mile – a long, flat straight seemed to last forever but a smile started to spread across my face as I knew I’d done it and could soak it all up. I started to high five rows of people in the crowd. I was still keeping an eye on my watch, pacing myself to finish sub-12:20. I turned right at the roundabout and could see the finish chute 400 yards ahead. I searched the crowds for Andrea and she was standing behind the barrier exactly where we’d planned the evening before. I took off my visor and sunglasses and gave her a hug and kiss before putting them back on and sprinting down the chute, overtaking one last guy on the way, and being cheered on by spectators in bleachers on each side. I crossed the line and stopped my watch at 12:19:51.

Finish line

I didn’t hear my name being announced, I don’t know if it was. I was caught by a female volunteer who got me a space blanket, which I quickly disposed of, my medal, took my timing chip, walked me over to have a finisher’s photo taken, and then walked me through Town Square, talking to me and looking into my face the whole time to judge my physical condition and see if I needed medical help. I didn’t, I felt ok, and went straight to the food area to sit down and wait for Andrea. I tried unsuccessfully to eat some pizza and downed a can of cola. Still no sign of Andrea, she was having trouble getting through the crowds, so I put my name down for a massage and lay down for 10 minutes, chatting to both the therapist as he rubbed me down and the happy athlete from Salt Lake City on the table beside me. Eventually I met Andrea and we posed for photos and swapped quick stories about our experiences throughout the day. I wanted to get into warm clothes so hobbled to collect all my bags and bike, changed in the street and we made our way to the SUV and drove to the hotel. After a shower and some ice cream I had a vague plan of returning to the race finish to watch the last competitors finish and the fireworks show, but this didn’t happen and I was asleep for 10pm. Mission accomplished.

With the flag of Northern Ireland

Post-race
I went online the following morning and checked the official results:

Swim: 01:11:00
T1: 00:05:54
Bike: 06:46:15
T2: 00:04:48
Run: 04:11:55
Total: 12:19:52

I’d came 337th out of 1,274 male finishers. 18% of athletes who started the race didn’t finish it, one of the highest DNF rates in Ironman history. I came top 31% of my M30-34 age group.

All in all, I’m happy. On reflection, I didn’t feel like I was smashing any part or section of the race, but I do think that I paced it correctly and finished in a strong and solid time, especially for that course. Once again my bike leg was weaker than either swim or run, although still top half of the field. This is where I need to improve if I want to make any leaps forward.

Next races for me are the Subaru Victoria Half Ironman on 19th June and Ironman Switzerland on 25th July. The course in Zurich is much quicker than St. George and I hope to take a chunk off my personal best of 11:44 set in Brazil last year, ideally going sub-11 hours. It’s two weeks since the race and I’ve been relaxing and eating whatever I want. But 14 days of that is enough. Now it’s time to shape up and start training again.

Thanks go to Andrea for all her wonderful patience and support.

My photos from the race build-up and race itself are here:http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=209032&id=544078435&l=1633dd00ad.