Ironman Coeur d'Alene 2011

It’s now nine days since Ironman Coeur d’Alene and I’ve forgotten much of the race.  Only certain moments remain as snapshots, engrained more through post-race storytelling than original memory.  It’s a strange sensation.  Something so important to me – the first half of 2011 was essentially dedicated to it – and such an immersive experience on race day, and yet the 11 hours and nine minutes that passed between the starting gun and me crossing the finish line are reduced to a small number of basic, emotionless stills.  For example, about 15 miles into the run, somewhere between nine and nine and a half hours into my race, I remember thinking “this is hell, I’m in my own personal hell”.  At the time it didn’t feel like I was exaggerating, even in a small way, but now as I write I can’t actually recall the suffering.  I can remember not being able to lift my knees very high, and my running stride being half of what it normally is, and greedily gulping down double cola’s with ice at each aid station, but I can’t recreate the distress in my mind or return my consciousness to the state of deep depression I felt between miles 14-20 of the marathon.  It’s a delayed anaesthesia – I definitely felt the pain at the time, I’m just somehow numb to it afterwards.  This forgetfulness is probably one of the reasons I have now completed five Ironman triathlons and will probably do five more.  And five after that.

I live in Vancouver and in North American terms, at only 448 miles from home, IM Coeur d’Alene is a local race.  Coeur d’Alene is a city of 50,000 people on a lake in north Idaho.  It was founded by French-Canadian fur traders who christened the city after the Francophone name they’d given to the local Indian tribe.  These days, Coeur d’Alene is 95% white, very sleepy, and pretty far from anywhere else that most people will have heard of.  The three most famous things about it are that 1) since 2003 it has hosted an annual Ironman triathlon in which athletes swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles and run 26.2 miles; 2) it hosts the world headquarters of The Pita Pit; and 3) it is home to Ellen Travolta, the eldest sibling of John Travolta.  It’s also stunningly beautiful, especially on a sunny day, and we were lucky to be there during good weather.  In fact, it’s my favourite Ironman race town so far.  The locals matched the residents of St. George for their hospitality and excitement for the event, and yet unlike St. George it’s a town built for pedestrians, not cars, and so with a discernible town centre packed full of independent shops, cafes, bars and restaurants (each offering a deal or simply a ‘good luck’ message to Ironman competitors and supporters).  Being on the lake, it’s a holiday town and so in late June is just coming into season, not like Jurere in Brazil, which was picturesque but closing down for autumn by the time of the race.  And it’s not too big to suffer from Zurich syndrome, where the organisers boast of an urban race when actually they mean multiple run loops around some paths several kilometres from the heart of the city.  I’ve left out a comparison to Sherborne, former host of Ironman UK, but the less said about that town as a race venue the better.   Yep, no doubt helped by clear blue skies and temperatures in the low 70s, Coeur d’Alene had it all – good coffee, plenty of hotels (that were ok with bikes being left in bedrooms and constantly wheeled through corridors), friendly locals, cheering crowds, and a town centre venue for start and finish.

Dave, my buddy and triathlon nemesis, flew from London to Vancouver a week before the race and spent a few days in BC before Andrea, him and I drove for nine hours to the venue on Thursday, three days before race day.  We took turns during the journey watching the wind catch and play with our expensive bikes hanging on a rack from the boot of the car.  But it was nice, for a change, to be driving to an Ironman and not having to dismantle my bike and pack it with all my other gear into a case for a flight.  We survived on the S-diet – Starbuck’s, Subway and Skittles – and got to the Best Western bang on schedule and with enough time to unload and relax before bed.

On Friday morning Dave and I did loops of the hotel car park to check our bikes.  Mine had had a pre-race service only a few days before and as I hadn’t taken it apart for travel and then reassembled it, I didn’t expect any issues, but it’s calming to check.  You train for six months for an Ironman and five miles into the bike you don’t want to hear a creak or feel your gears slipping.  After four laps I was satisfied with my machine but was enjoying the pedal following several days of rest and so we did about another ten “ok, last one” laps before grabbing our wetsuits and heading down to race HQ for registration and a practice swim.  The water was cold and choppy.  It was worrying.  After a couple of minutes I couldn’t feel my hands, feet or face.  And it was difficult to see above the swell to sight.  Scores of other athletes were down swimming but no-one looked happy.  The cold I could deal with – it’s a fact of life in all British triathlons, regardless of time of season – but the wind would make matters unpleasant.  We heard there was a similar issue last year and the medics struggled to cope with competitors’ seasickness.  I tried not to dwell on it, had a short massage, registered and we went back to the hotel to lie down. 

Andrea and I in the days before the race

That evening we drove to Spokane, the city across the state line in Washington, to collect Stephanie who had just flown in from London via Seattle, and Andrea and I managed to make it back into town in time for the race briefing.  I was excited about the race, but it was comforting going to bed knowing that tomorrow morning was still the day before the race and not the day of the race.

Race briefing

Saturday.  Probably the most chilled out day preceding any of my Ironmans.  I had some breakfast, did some final tinkering to the bike, cleaned the chain, checked the bolts, and then went for a 15 minute run with some pick-ups.  Then I loaded my bike onto the car and took it into town for racking and my T1 and T2 bags for drop off, and undertook a quick orientation of the transition areas.  Following this, Andrea and I had lunch in our quickly-becoming home-from-home coffee shop, Java, on Sherman Avenue.  We strolled around town and finally ended up back at the hotel for a few hours of lying down to read and watch TV, before dinner at 7pm with Dave and Stephanie in a lovely Italian, in which Dave and I drank water and ordered the blandest food available from a rich and very tempting menu.  We were in our rooms for 8:45pm and after final gear checks and leaving everything I’d need for the following morning neatly ordered by the door, I was into bed.  I was fairly calm and I was tired, so I expected to sleep.  But I couldn’t.  Every time I started to sink into drowsiness a panicked thought about the race would rocket through my head.  I drifted around in semi-consciousness, trying not to look at the clock and worry about how I wasn’t sleeping only a few hours before having to swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles and run a marathon.  Eventually I gave in and looked.  It was 12:15am.  My alarm was set to go off at 4:01am.  Don’t panic, 3:46 sleep will be enough, just relax.  But it just didn’t happen.  I don’t remember checking the time after 2am, so I must have dropped off around then.  The alarm sounded at 4am and it was game on.

Bike ready to race

The hotel laid on an early breakfast (small bowl of Cheerios, plain bagel with peanut butter, banana) and shuttle bus to the race HQ and we arrived a comfortable 1:45 before the start.  Plenty of time to stand around and try to sense any inclination for my bowels to move, as well as visit the body marking station, pump my tyres, attach my nutrition to my bike, pull my wetsuit on and shuffle down to the beach.  At 6:50am with a clear sky and the sun low on the horizon I stood on the beach next to Dave and scanned over the heads of 2,600 others to see a backdrop of thousands of spectators.  There were scores of safety boats, kayaks and boards waiting for us in the water.  Someone sang the Star Spangled Banner and most around us put their hand on their heart and sang too.  I was crapping myself.  It never gets easier.  Then we were off.  It was a running start into the water but felt neither as manic as what I’d expected nor as what it looked when I subsequently  reviewed the video taken by Andrea on the sidelines.  There were no high winds and the water was still, apart from the turbulence caused by 5,200 rotating arms and 5,200 kicking feet.  A two loop swim with a short out, run along the beach and then back in at the end of the first loop.  I like those swims – getting out at half way, even if only for 5-10 seconds, gives you something to look forward to.  At the half way mark I checked my watch to see 00:35, which was ok.  I was hoping for my regular 1:10 swim so I was on target and feeling good.  By the second loop the field had strung out and I had plenty of open water.  I was concentrating on my technique, thinking about an early catch and a strong pull.  I exited in 1:13, a few minutes slower than planned but I’d slowed to pee a couple of times, which I knew was time well invested as I could then survive the full bike course without having to stop.  Peeing on bike and run courses used to be easy but race directors are now getting strict and impose time penalties if you’re caught doing it anywhere but the portable toilets set up around the course.  But you can always bet they don’t have enough of those and so you often see a queue of two or three guys losing valuable minutes waiting outside a reeking plastic port-a-loo by the side of a huge empty field in the middle of nowhere.  That’s what I wanted to avoid.  My slow swim time was compounded by a sloppy T1 as I struggled to pull my tri top onto my cold, wet torso and then wipe the sand and wet grass off my feet before putting my socks and bike shoes on.  I didn’t plan on changing my socks all day and so it was important to know there was nothing in there to cause friction over the next ten hours.

Swim start

A two lap bike.  Each lap was 15 miles of out and back along the side of the lake from the town centre before going onto a 41 mile loop through Hayden and around Hayden Lake.  The road surfaces were sublime, probably the smoothest I’ve ever raced on at any distance.  This was my first race on my new bike and using my new race wheels.  My cycling has always been a puzzle.  My physique, commitment to training and overall levels of fitness suggest I should always be quicker, and yet I normally lose places on the bike and have to fight to regain them on the run.  I’ve tried all sorts of things to improve and dropping several thousand dollars on a new Cervelo P3 earlier this year was really the last throw of the dice.  Yes, I was a bad workman blaming my tools.  Actually, the best thing wasn’t the new bike, however lighter and more aerodynamic than my old (Blue) one it is, but the free bike fit that came with it.  I spent valuable time with Murray at Speed Theory getting the positioning of seat, headset and aerobars just right to allow me to spend as much of the 112 miles as possible in as efficient an aero position as possible.  I know from experience that in still conditions on a flat road the difference between being on my aerobars and being on my bullhorns was ~0.5mph.  Which doesn’t sound much, but it delivers a 10-12 minutes faster bike split in an Ironman.  I knew from my training that my set-up on the Cervelo is significantly more comfortable than the Blue, and I’d finished each of my long training rides strongly without experiencing any of the back, shoulder, neck and arm pains that I was now coming to associate with the bad set-up on the Blue.

I’d no idea where Dave was.  I’m normally ahead of him on the swim but with losing a few minutes and faffing around in T1 I expected him to be in front.  Shortly before the first turnaround at 7.5 miles I saw him and calculated he was four minutes up on me.  Game over, as far as I was concerned.  Despite me being considerably quicker at IM UK and IM Brazil, Dave had a breakthrough in 2010 and beat me to the finish by 45 minutes in Switzerland last July.  He’d ramped up both his bike and run training for this race and entered our dual as clear favourite.  I expected that to beat him I’d need to steal several minutes on the swim, hold off for as long as possible on the bike and try and enter the run course within 15 minutes of him to eventually run him down somewhere around mile 20 of the marathon.  But whatever, I was feeling good and tried not to let it bother me.  As Andrea had advised, race my own race and if that ends up good enough to beat Dave then consider it a bonus.  But most importantly, race my own race.  I was feeling good, hardly trying and yet coasting along the flats at 23-24mph.  The hills between miles 25-45 were a shock but I knew they’d be tougher the second time.  I saw Dave in his Union Jack bike jersey again at the next turnaround and figured out that he hadn’t extended his lead and was still four minutes up.  Oh, that’s interesting.  The return into town was fast and it was fun time-trialling through the intersections and streets closed off to traffic.

I was making a determined effort to consume more calories than normal on the bike.  In all I took one gel at T1, three Clif bars (which were very dry and hard to swallow as I got more dehydrated later into the bike), most of a packet of Gu Chomps, two gels, one bottle of Gatorade and two bottles of Ironman Perform sports drink.  Probably around 2,000 calories in total.  By the end of the bike I’d probably already burned 6,000 calories and so I was in major deficit, but not nearly as much as previous long course races.  I knew from experience that I wouldn’t want to take any solids onboard during the run and so had to maximise my intake on the bike.

It was nice seeing Andrea and Steph as I came through town at the end of lap one and I gave them a thumbs up.  I’d nailed the first 56 miles in 2:46 (and so 4:07 in total was on the clock).  On a good day I was hoping for a 5:45 bike but as a backstop I just wanted to break six hours and so I was on a high to know already that barring mechanical or injury I was on target to smash my bike hoodoo.  I was watching for Dave in the minutes leading up to the next turnaround.  I was just coming to terms with missing him and thinking he must have surged when I saw him coming down the other side of the road only 200 metres in front.  I’d gained four minutes in the last 25 miles.  Now this is what I call a race.  He didn’t smile or wave as before and I knew my performance was getting to him.  One established ‘truth’ of our friendly rivalry is that he’s stronger on the bike than me.  For him not to have been pulling away would’ve been concerning enough, but to be getting caught was unthinkable for us both.  I caught and passed him in the town centre at the mile 70 marker.  As I moved alongside he asked “what did you have for breakfast?”.  I tried to play it calm, chatted about the swim and only moved ahead when we got some open road a few hundred yards out of the town centre.  I got into the aero position and pushed.  I expected him to step up his game and stay with me.  For the next 10-15 miles I didn’t allow myself to look back, frightened to discover him only a legal seven metres back and me showing my insecurities.  And yet despite starting to hurt and having to stand to get up some of the hills, by the time I saw him at the next turnaround I’d put four minutes into him.  This lifted me again and I rode strongly back into town, by this stage confident that he wouldn’t catch me today.



Mile 70.  The pass.  Andrea thought she was photographing Dave and didn't spot me ten yards away over his right shoulder.

I got to the dismount line with a bike split of 5:38.  I’d averaged 19.9mph over a rolling course and in my overall targets had more than compensated for a slow swim and T1.  Despite having to be dragged back from entering the women’s changing tent at T2, I got through transition quickly thanks to a kind volunteer who I left to repack the scattered contents of my T2 bag, and entered the run course on an accumulative 7:02.  A 3:58 marathon and the sub-11 was there for the taking.  I smiled when I saw Andrea at the start of the run course to let her know I was happy and in confident mood.  While Dave’s running is much improved, I somehow knew at this stage that in our private battle he was beaten, and so all I needed to concentrate on now was running my own race.  I was pleased to settle naturally into 8:15-8:30 minute/mile splits, with a brief interruption at the end of mile two to stop for a very painful pee (I’ll save you a description of the sensation or colour).  The twists and turns through the residential streets in town were a little annoying.  I hadn’t driven the run course and so hadn’t realised it would take so long to get out onto the path at the side of the highway along the lake.  When I finally got there I was starting to hurt but my spirits lifted when I brushed shoulders with Craig Alexander as he ran back into town on the final few miles of his race.  This is a two-times World Champion, one of the greatest ever Ironman triathletes, and here I was on the same course as him.  Only two and a half hours behind.  As it happened, he went on to finish in 8:16 and break the course record.  Not bad, especially when you consider he was only clocking his mandatory Ironman to qualify for the World Championships in Hawaii later this year, and that they’d modified the run course this year to add two extra hills on each of the two laps.

I was trying to stay controlled through the aid stations, hoping to ‘race’ at least the first 13-16 miles before succumbing to aid station-to-aid station survival mode.  The sun felt hot, the cold sponges felt good, but my legs were starting to hurt.  The views along the side of the lake were pretty but I noticed I was withdrawing into myself, keeping my head down and staring only at the asphalt or gravel five yards ahead.  I was speaking to no-one.  I hate out-and-back courses.  26.2 miles is 26.2 miles no matter how it’s configured, but it’s depressing to be running away from where you know you ultimately need to return.  The hills before and after the turnaround were killers.  Many others were walking them, knowing they still had two or three hours until the finish and determined not to spike their heart rates at this stage, but I’m stubborn and shuffled up them.  I hit town and the halfway mark at an accumulative 8:59 and knew deep down I hadn’t left myself enough time in reserve for the inevitable slowing in the second 13.1 miles.  I saw Andrea and Steph and struggled to raise a smile or a wave.  I wasn’t in a happy place.  My target shifted from a sub-11 to a sub-11:06 to ensure I beat Dave’s Ironman PB from Switzerland.

The third quarter of the run, the notorious third quarter.  You’re too far into the run for it to be fun anymore, a welcome change from cycling.  And you’ve been racing hard for over nine hours – in a single session, without interruption, more than six times the total government recommendation for healthy physical exercise in a full week.  Yet you’re still not close enough to the finish to let that high carry you.  In fact, on this course, I was running away from the finish.  My hips were tightening and my knees were dropping and while I was overtaking many slower swim-bikers who were just beginning their first lap of the run, I knew I wasn’t moving very fast.  Within a couple of miles I took two 30 second walk breaks to try and shake things up.  After the turnaround I saw Dave for the second time and calculated that my lead had extended to 24 minutes.  At least that was something.  Head down, only six miles to go.  I picked up pace and crossed off each mile marker.  By mile 24 I was back in the suburbs and with plenty of support around I decided to finish strongly.  The sub-11:06 was lost but making sure I beat 11:10 became immensely important to me over those last two miles.  Finally I turned into Sherman Avenue and the five or six block decline to the finish chute.  I picked up another couple of places and allowed myself a few hand pumps to the crowds while still a couple of hundred yards out.  As I approached the chute I could see the Northern Ireland flag waving behind the barrier.  The clock was on 11:09:35 and so I didn’t stop to kiss Andrea as there was another guy to overtake and that sub-11:10 to secure.  I crossed the line in 11:09:40 and was caught by two guys in their fifties who congratulated me and propped me up as my timing chip was removed, I received my finisher’s medal and t-shirt and had my photo taken.  When they eventually realised I wasn’t going to collapse they let me go and I doubled back to the bleachers and found Andrea for a hug.  Job done.

Five minutes after finishing in 11:09:40

Dave finished in 11:52 and we were both pleased with our day's work.  Rivalry to be continued.

I came 315/2187 finishers overall and 55/228 finishers in my M30-34 age category.  My splits were:

• Swim: 01:14:27 (disappointing)
• Bike: 05:38:18 (excellent)
• Run: 04:07:48 (must do better)

I’m happy with a PB on my fifth Ironman and with the big gains achieved on the bike, but I know I can go quicker overall.  I can run a fresh marathon in just a shade over three hours and so it’s crazy that an Ironman run takes me a full hour longer.  Definite low hanging fruit there.  I’m capable of a 10:30 and should soon be doing 10:45s as my default time on a standard course.  If I keep working, I know I’ll figure this thing out.

The road to Ironman St. George...

Bye bye, gym bike

Hello, road bike

Ironman training isn’t easy for the pros. It’s even tougher for age groupers that need to hold down jobs, especially those trying to put an equal amount of effort into advancing a career. Add in a trans-continental emigration and it really messes with your head.

I’ve arrived in Vancouver, British Columbia – my home for at least the next two years. For a triathlete in training this seems like heaven – good roads, lots of mountains, a sea wall and path that runs for nearly 15 miles around the downtown area, including the beautiful Stanley Park, a public 50m pool that opens at 6:30am every day, all the open water you could ever need, several active tri clubs and an all-round outdoor and health-conscious culture. So in the future this place is going to be fantastic for me, but coming here, and of course the freezing weather we had in Oxford the first two weeks in January, has meant my four month programme leading to Ironman St. George has got off to a slow start. Well, I say that, but the nature of this sport and the people that do it (i.e. me) means we’re convinced we’re never training enough, that we need to be consistently doing two sessions a day instead of just one, that 30-45 minute runs need to be done at the highest tempo possible to compensate for them being so ‘short’ and that we really must find the time for more core and weights strength training.

The positive from January is that after a lazy-ish few months I’ve got back into the routine of training 6-10 times a week, including swim, bike (either turbo trainer or hotel gym bike...yawn) and run. The negative is that the weather and the move across the Atlantic and prairies has severely limited the long slow miles I’d like to have done on my bike as base training. In fact, I haven’t been on my bike since the second weekend in December when I went for one last brick, for old time’s sake, with Dave in Reading, Henley, Pishill, Nettlebed etc. After that it was Christmas and New Year, then snow, then frozen snow and then a flight to Canada on 12th January. My bike followed by air freight and actually arrived yesterday morning. I can’t wait to get out on it – first ride will be with the Pacific Spirit Tri Club on Saturday. I need them to show me some routes and teach me how to cycle on the right hand side of the road. I’m going to look the part as I have a new Gore windstopper and dhb bib tights that I got for Christmas to try out.

After saying last year, after too many long bikes and runs in the British winter, that 31st May (Ironman Brazil 2009) was the earliest I’d ever do a long course race while living in the northern hemisphere, I’ve gone back on my word and been seduced by the chance to enter the first ever IMSG (Utah), which runs on 1st May 2010. An Ironman in the US has long appealed as the over the top nature of some Americans is exactly what I need from spectators eight miles into the run, plus the USA is the home of the sport and I expect them to know how to organise a top notch event. But the established races there are tough to enter due to a mixture of popularity and very few spaces for overseas athletes, which is why I jumped at IMSG when it was announced (with no track record or priority lists) early last year. That it’s now only a two and a half hour flight and two hour drive, instead of an eight hour flight plus drive away just makes it even better. And a weekend in Vegas after the race seems a pretty good way to wind down.

So that’s the short term target. It’s going to be hot and hilly – early afternoon temperatures could top 100 and apparently less than a mile of the run course is on the flat – but this one is all about notching another for experience and building a big foundation that I can layer speed onto for a fast time, for me, at Ironman Switzerland on 25th July.

I’ll add the occasional update here on how my training is going. It’ll be taking in a few half marathons in British Columbia, including the Shamrock ‘n’ Race St. Patrick’s Day special next month, so I’m sure there’ll be stories to tell.

Ironman Brazil 2009

Tuesday 26th May
The journey to Florianopolis started early. My employer threw a spanner in my race plans by sending me to Singapore for the three weeks prior to the race. A brilliant opportunity but awful timing. It was too early to taper and I missed a few key sessions planned in the UK, including my third 100-mile ride. There was nothing else for it – I packed my bike, as well as swimming and running gear, and headed to Asia from early May. The welcoming and very dedicated Singapore Joyriders ensured I got in a couple of hundred extra road miles around the island, mostly between 5-7am before either the sun or traffic got too aggressive. And I sacrificed Saturday morning swims in Heron Lake for endless laps of a neighbourhood 50m pool. With a handful of runs backing up my solid 3:35 at the Belfast Marathon earlier in the month I was tired through travel and hard work, but ready to go.

Singapore to London.

Wednesday 27th May
Arrived home in Oxford feeling reasonably fresh after a night in BA business class. The morning was spent paying bills and catching up with other admin and a few loads of washing. I’d hoped to make it to the gym for a gentle spin and swim but time beat me and I’d to settle for a race haircut in the Covered Market, visit to Beeline for some gels and bars, followed by a massage with Phil. As usual, Phil was full of calming advice and motivating stories from Oxford Tri members’ exploits at Ironman Lanzarote the weekend before. Foregoing the Champions League final to ensure a peaceful reunion with my girlfriend, Andrea and I ate in Pizza Express, full of anticipation of what was ahead. Neither of us had been to South America, nor had we spent so long away together. If we’d known that pizza and calzone is the staple diet of Santa Catarinia maybe we’d have gone to Zizzi or News Cafe instead

Thursday 28th May
London to Rio.

Andrea and I met Dave and Tors in Terminal 5 and I showed off my newly waxed legs. The girls were definitely more jealous than Dave, who was exuding a quiet confidence about the race. I realised I’d forgotten my Ulster flag shortly before boarding. Thankfully Glorious Britain was on hand to sell me a large Union Flag. A proper finish chute celebration was in the planning – Dave was considering a Brazilian-style pointing to the heavens in tribute to his recently deceased cat.

The flight was ok apart from the alcoholic Italian in the aisle seat and an entertainment system that didn’t work. I compensated by catching up on some sleep, although twisting to put my head in Andrea’s lap gave me a worryingly sore left hip flexor for the next couple of days. Lesson learned – I’m stuck with economy class for several more pay rises but don’t risk anything before a race by contorting myself into strange sitting/lying positions during a long haul flight.

Saw Gareth and met Sarah, his girlfriend, when leaving the plane. Gaz in Ironman Florida polo shirt, Dave and I with Ironman Switzerland 70.3 rucksacks. It was fairly obvious where we were headed. They’d had a similar journey from Hong Kong with a single night in the UK. The advertising on the website was true and the hotel really was upstairs in the airport and so the six of us were off the flight and checked into our rooms within half an hour.
 

Friday 29th May
Rio to Florianopolis.

Walked downstairs with our suitcases and bike bags to check in early for the Gol flight down the coast to Florianopolis. It’s a cheap airline and we’d made an amateur mistake in simply assuming there’d be no problem with bringing sports equipment. In the end there wasn’t, minus the R$100 charge, but we were lucky the hordes of American athletes were on other flights.

We were at our resort apartment in Canasvierias by lunchtime and celebrated by taking a stroll along the beach and finding an outdoor restaurant for burger and chips. While staring out to sea we saw a few individuals in wetsuits trying out the water. More and more we started spotting tanned and lycra clad guys pedalling the streets on top-end tri bikes. After lunch we built our bikes, both with no problems or damage in transit – phew – and in early evening we took a taxi to race HQ in Jurere. Well, we took a taxi to near race HQ but as it was soon time for registration to close and everyone was feeling hungry again we diverted to go for dinner…pizza. Second amateur mistake. Lesson learned – register as early as possible.

 Saturday 30th May
We were discovering that our apartment was great but slightly isolated from the Ironman expo. After a couple of dodgy experiences with unofficial taxis the day before, Dave and I decided to brave the local bus system to go to register and spend plenty of money on stylish Ironman Brazil stash. Three buses, two terminals and only one fare later we made it. We both bought IMB bike jerseys and a few other bits and pieces. I did my piece to camera for my personalised IMB DVD – naturally forgetting everything I’d planned to say and instead rambling on about how rubbish the weather was – and we sauntered over to the registration tent at 11:30am. Only to find everything packed up and just a handful of staff remaining. It had closed at 11am and we’d missed registration. This was our third overseas trip for middle or long distance races and we’d got complacent. Lesson learned – don’t be slack with pre-race routine. Anyway, apologies and a little pleading later and the race staff sorted us out with wristband, race programme, race numbers, stickers, timing chips, health declarations and freebies. Ten minutes later we bumped into Gareth and Anthony in the expo tent and told them what happened. They stared back blankly – they hadn’t registered either. I jogged with them to the registration tent but by this time it was completely empty. I last saw them disappear into the main building, reaching for their wallets and ready to bribe someone. Next time we spotted each other was on the beach the following morning, two minutes before the hooter, and it was a relief.

Back to the apartment to pack swim, T1 and T2 bags and take the bikes out for a final spin to double check everything worked. I followed this up with a 10 minute run. The main drag in Jurere had been packed with runners, some of them really hammering it, other just showing off their gear from other Ironmans and their race-ready bodies. I just wanted to burn off some nervous energy and remind myself I could still run. That came in useful eight miles into the marathon the next day.

After that we packed the bikes and kit into our newly acquired ‘hire car’ (owned by the receptionist’s mate who gave us a verbal rental agreement – “one dent ok, but two and there will be big problem”) and drove over to check them in. The race organisation was fantastic. Every team we encountered over the next 24 hours, whether bike and helmet checkers, the people that showed you to your bike station in T1, the guys in the changing tent, even the body painters, had designated English speakers, easily identifiable with Union Jack’s on their t-shirts. They were also friendly and full of encouragement. The atmosphere was really building now, the music was blaring out of the speakers all over race HQ, and I walked around T1 a few times to memorise the location of my bike.

We arrived back at the apartment earlier than expected and Andrea and Tors made a perfect simple pasta dinner and then we all had an early night.
 

Sunday 31st May
I slept really well – I’d settle for an uninterrupted six hours every time before a big race – and the alarm woke me at 4:11am. Cornflakes, yoghurt, banana, orange juice and a shower. The previous day Dave and I had arranged for a taxi to collect us outside the resort gates at 5am, leaving the hire car for the girls to follow us down at a more sociable hour. We arrived there, Dave already in his wetsuit up to his waist, and a car boot party from the previous night was still in full swing in the village 100 yards along the road. But no taxi. We gave it ten minutes before accepting the driver was still in bed and Dave walked back to the apartment to wake Tors and ask nicely for a lift. Next thing I knew I heard a horn and saw someone frantically waving out of the back of a small car. Dave had bumped into Alexandro, an Argentinean athlete who we’d spoken to in the resort the previous day, and he and his wife offered us a lift. There was plenty of chat for the first five minutes of the journey before we all went quiet, obviously thinking about the day ahead, especially as the car struggled in second gear up the hills we’d face later on the first lap of the run course. I remember saying something to Dave about how for months beforehand we live off the anticipation of Ironman with all our friends knowing about it and forever asking how we’re getting on, and now, unfortunately, the day had come to actually have to do the 2.4, 112 and 26.2 miles.

The hour before the race was the usual blur. I inflated my tyres, attached saddle bag, bento box and pump to my bike, rechecked my T1 and T2 bags were still on their hooks, did some stretches, had a small snack and eventually slapped on some baby oil and slipped into my wetsuit. I also had a quick chat to the American athlete beside me for whom this was his 19th Ironman. Dave and I then took the 10 minute walk down to the beach and had a quick dip to test out the ocean before walking up the beach to the start line. We’d cut things fine and there were less than five minutes to the start, which turned out great as we’d no time to think. I saw a girl bawling her eyes out. Her face was red and she looked distraught. I gave her the thumbs up and a smile and really hope she started, and finished, the race.

Then we were off. The beach start wasn’t as crazy as I’d expected but once everyone dived the water was very busy for the first 10 minutes with the usual tugging, zigzagging, over and undertaking, elbowing and attempted drowning. I wasn’t enjoying the swell – it felt much larger than it had looked from the beach and I couldn’t sight the buoys ahead because of oncoming waves. I ended up having to follow the white swim caps ahead of me for the next 2.4 miles, which probably meant my course was inefficient but it was the same for everyone. We came out onto the beach after the first lap. Running along the beach in a corridor formed by the crowd was great and I checked my watch – 00:38 – surprisingly on target considering the first lap was 2,100m. The second lap definitely felt shorter, also helped by there being a lot more clear water. I’d someone on my feet for half of it but didn’t manage to get pulled along myself. I exited in 1:10, ran up the beach and was delighted to see teams of people to help us out of our wetsuits. Then through the crowds again to the changing tent.

Starting lap two

I’d a good T1, much quicker than Ironman UK last year, mostly due to planning. I got a big cheer from Andrea and Tors a couple of hundred yards into the bike and off I went. 112 miles. My bike is definitely my weakest discipline and I was prepared to lose places to the weak swimmers but strong cyclists over the next 30 or 40 miles. That happened but I was ready for it and enjoying the ride. I also knew from my swim time that it was unlikely that Dave was ahead of me and got more and more pleased when every rider that passed turned out not to be him. I knew that as long as I stayed in the lead on the bike until at least 50-60 miles then my stronger run would still make me favourite. We hadn’t talked about it much in the few days beforehand, but our rivalry is a big driver for both of us and I knew Dave wanted to avenge defeat at IMUK last year. Anyway, the sun was shining, which was a very pleasant surprise as the day before had been horrible and the forecasters had predicted showers throughout the morning of race day. On the whole the roads were good, especially as we were on the main dual carriageway into the city and then the main A-road along the coastal front, but I still kept my eyes peeled for the occasional pothole. Aid stations were so regular that after a while I ditched my two bottle strategy to save weight and stuck with one. Worst thing that could happen would be losing a bottle and having to wait only another 8 miles for a drink. Unfortunately, no gels or bars were being handed out on the bike and half-bananas were the only solids on offer. I’d a couple of those, two gels and a bar that I’d brought with me. Along with Gatorade and water I was keeping well fed and hydrated, even as midday temperatures were starting to pick up to around 20 degrees.

Halfway into the first of two laps I saw Dave at a turn point about three or four minutes down on me. I started to hurt over the next 20 miles. Nothing major, just the usual dull ache in legs, back, arms, shoulders and, mostly worryingly, brain. It was far too early to be hurting and I was finding myself out of the saddle too often. Got to the turn point with Dave still a few minutes behind me. It was great to get back to the crowds, hear the music and MC and see Andrea and Tors by the roadside. I shouted to them to look out for Dave as he was only a few minutes back, did the 180 degree turn and headed out for the second 56 miles. 02:55 so far – bang on target for the 6 hour bike I’d planned.

Enjoying the bike

I continued to hurt. It never got unbearable but I had to put in more and more effort to maintain the same speed. I was trying to be as efficient as possible and spending at least half the time on my aero bars. A guy went past me on a downhill on the carriageway with http://www.triuk.com/ on the back of his trisuit. That’s where I’d bought my bike – he was obviously one of only 11 British athletes who’d made the trip. Dave eventually caught me approaching the first of four passages through the tunnel on the second lap and he pulled alongside for a welcome chat. We were both sore and neither had enjoyed mouthfuls of the salt water on the swim. After a motorbike marshal shouted at us for drafting (drafting when riding abreast?) I told Dave to go on. We’d seen a lot of people yellow carded and, as nice as the company was, it wasn’t worth a 5-minute time penalty. I reckon Dave put three minutes into me fairly quickly after that, maybe motivated by finally being in the lead after a combined 19 hours of Ironman racing in Sherborne and Florianopolis (!), but a turn point thirty miles later I was pleased to see he was still only five minutes up. I didn’t enjoy the rest of the bike and just wanted to get finished and onto the run. The last 5k into Jurere was the longest three miles I’ve ever cycled. Saw Andrea and Tors with a mile to go – they were in a great spectating spot and I’d see them there again 15 minutes later a mile into the run. I didn’t really appreciate at the time that they’d been standing there for over six hours, just for two quick glimpses of Dave and I, but we heard all about it over the next few days. A pampering tent in the expo for Ironman girlfriends is definitely needed.

One mile to go...before the marathon

I’d a bit of an emotional wobble on the final mile. It had been the same at IMUK last year. I’ve grown to love the bike, but it’s always the leg I’m most nervous about, and so the relief at finishing it combined with the onset of real emotional tiredness brought a tear to my eye. After manning up I threw my bike to the catcher and was pointed towards the changing tent. Bike in 6:08 – I’d slipped during the second lap and was behind my target time but not too worried.

Changed from my bike jersey into my tri top, socks, running shoes, gel into my back pocket and the first of probably twenty cups of flat Pepsi and off I went on the marathon. The balls of my feet were killing me. I’d had new cleats put on my bike shoes before the race and something about them had bruised me. Thankfully, after hobbling the first few hundred yards the pain went away. Everyone hobbles the first few hundred yards of an Ironman run so I didn’t look more ridiculous than anyone else. It was good to be running. I’ve lots of confidence in my long distance running with six marathons, a few ultra marathons and the Marathon des Sables behind me. I’d also done quite a few running races during March and April in preparation – Reading half marathon, Kingston Breakfast Run 16-miler, Maidenhead Easter Ten and the Belfast marathon. But by this point I was more tired than hoped and I already knew a 3:45 marathon was a very outside bet. Saw Andrea and Tors again in the same spot and turned to run out of town on the first 21k loop. I soon passed Dave. He was walking and not happy. You ok, I asked? Feel sick, he mumbled. I shouted something about drinking plenty of water and moved past him, trying to look strong, and knew I’d really have to blow up for him to catch me again.

I did blow up, but he didn’t catch me. I really went downhill fast over the next six or seven miles. The course was very hilly and we were running in a demoralisingly straight line out of town and away from the finish line. The 20 miles left started to loom and I began to panic. I hadn’t expected to feel this bad so early. I slowed to a walk for a few minutes, angry with myself as I’d ran every step of the IMUK marathon, even through all the aid stations. At this point I was looking down the barrel of a 6 hour marathon and wasn’t happy. I saw Dave again at a turn point and he seemed in much better form. Afterwards he told me he’d been through a good patch, which coincided with my bad patch and he came within a few minutes of catching me. Then I saw Gaz about 5 minutes behind him. Maybe seeing them spurred me on; maybe I just came out of an inevitable slump, but I somehow picked up and ran strongly for the next 18 miles to the finish.

The sun started to go down during my second lap. The run course was boring and very lonely in places, but it was well configured with a 21k loop followed by two 10.5k loops. I was running strongly and keeping a close eye on my stopwatch. With 15 miles to go 11:45 had become my revised target. Andrea ran along with me for a few yards and gave the usual boost, while I could see Tors filming me at the side of the road. I asked how Dave was and they told me he’d thrown up but was still moving. The end and start of each lap were great as they passed by the finish chute and the crowds and atmosphere were brilliant. I was getting good support from American spectators who recognised me as American or British, either from the name on my race number or else my relatively pasty complexion.

Starting the final lap I passed a, ahem, very fit looking female American who was running beautifully and I told her to stay on my shoulder at 6 minute kilometres and we’d break 11:45. How fast do we need to go?, she asked. 6 minute ks. F**k that, she answered, and away I went. It felt like I was blasting along at this stage. I was passing loads of people and feeling pumped up at being within an hour of the finish. But I know from my splits that I was looking only mildly less pathetic than everyone else. Saw Anthony with only three miles to go. He was grinding it out on his second lap and shouted something about being very jealous.

For the last ten miles I’d been very ballsy at aid stations, screaming “Pepsi” and “aqua” throughout each one until someone stepped out and handed me what I needed. The quartered oranges were also going down a treat. I reckon I must have eaten about 12 oranges and drank a couple of litres of Pepsi. I went through this routine for the last time at the top of the two-mile straight down through Jurere and to the finish line. I kept checking my watch but was fairly confident of beating 11:45. Once I passed the split point for those athletes finishing a lap and those going to the finish chute I started high fiving the lines of people on each side. I felt incredible. The joy of finishing an Ironman beats just about everything. It’s not only an unbelievable achievement on the day but the end of months of training, constant tiredness and many sacrifices. At the start of the finish chute I saw Andrea and Tors. Both got quick, and probably very sweaty, kisses and Andrea handed me the Union Flag. They were both excited to see me and gave me superb support. I ran the next hundred yards to the line with the flag over my head. There was no-one else finishing in front or behind and the crowds in the bleachers gave me a great reaction. I could see 11:44:57 on the clock as I crossed the line.

What a feeling

Someone came up, put a towel over my shoulders and asked if I wanted something to eat. I said hello to Andrea and posed for a few photos before heading to the tent for pizza, more Pepsi and ice cream. Your body just tells you what it needs. Then I changed into warm clothes and went back out to meet Andrea and Tors and cheer others in. Gaz made it in 12:34, Dave finished in his hoodie in 12:58 (living his sub-13 hour dream) and Anthony in 13:18.

With Andrea post-race

I’d missed my target time but it was hard to care immediately after an Ironman. Two weeks later and I’m still not that bothered, just proud. I know I need to improve my bike. I maybe also didn’t rest enough in the final few weeks, and the travel from Singapore-London-Oxford-London-Rio-Florianopolis in the few days before the race probably didn’t help. But after comparing results from IMUK and IMB in 2008 I still reckon I made a slight improvement, and there’s definitely more to come. Next stop Ironman St. George (Utah) on 1st May 2010…or, if I can swing an extended stay in Singapore, then it’s Ironman Western Australia at the start of December. Bring it on.