Well, another disaster. Another DNF. It’s becoming the norm
to be honest. In the build-up to race day, I was almost waiting and expecting
something to go wrong. I could hardly believe that I made it to the start line
in great shape and in a great frame of mind. I really thought it was going to
be my day. Even the weather was good. And then it went wrong…
The final taper week was good, I did what I had to do and
felt good. My knee cleared up. I had to change my chain in the final week, but
this was OK. The old one had stretched a bit, so I got a new one put on. No
problem.
I knew I was in good shape. Based on previous Ironmans, and
based on comparing my training to previous years, I thought as best and worst
cases that I’d swim 55-65 minutes, ride 5:20-5:30, and run 3:20-3:35. Adding 10
minutes for transitions, this would give me a finishing time of somewhere
between 9:45 and 10:20. I really expected to go under 10 hours. I was fairly
certain that 9:45 would qualify. I thought it was reasonably likely that anything
under 10 hours would have a good chance of qualifying, and anything between
10:00 and 10:30 would still have a chance, but not as good a chance.
The drive up on Friday with my brother was a nightmare. What
should have taken less than 5 hours took 8 hours. Too much traffic and not
enough road space. We drove up in convoy with Chris and Kim – Chris was also
racing, in his first Ironman. I made registration with 5 minutes to spare. I
went for a short bike ride when we got to our hotel, and then had dinner and
went to bed. The hotel staff were great about microwaving my dinner and
porridge. One less thing to worry about.
On Saturday I got everything ready, my mum and dad arrived
from Northern Ireland, and we all went and racked our bikes and bike bags at T1,
and our run bags at T2. The transition by the lake was an absolute muck bath,
ankle deep in mud. I’ve never seen it as bad. With everything set up, we went
back to the hotel, I went for a short run, Matt arrived, and we went to sleep
early.
Optimism the day before
Sunday morning was no problem. I didn’t sleep too badly, I had
my breakfast and we drove to the start. I loaded my drinks and Garmin onto the
bike, and made a mental note to carry my bike out of transition. I didn’t want
to get it covered in mud, and I didn’t want any mud to get onto the braking
surfaces.
I put on my wetsuit, went for a short jog, did some arm
windmilling and stretching, wished Chris a good race, wished everyone else a
good day, and went to join the long queue of Ironman athletes snaking back from
the swim start. Ironman UK used to be an in-water start. An in-water start at
Ironman UK is no problem – it’s fresh water, not particularly cold, there’s no
swell and no waves, there’s a lot of space and no mad dash to a close first
turn buoy – it’s a long 800m to the first turn.
But for whatever reason, they’ve changed it to a land-based
start. It’s a 2-lap swim and by the time they get over 2000 people in the
water, the faster people are coming through to lap them. This isn’t
particularly safe because slow swimmers often do breaststroke, which means the
faster swimmers can get “mule kicks” to the face, and it can’t be very safe or
enjoyable for the slower swimmers to have the faster people swimming over the
top of them.
Anyway, it is what it is. I lined up very close to the
front, hoping for a sub-60 minute swim. The pros started in the water at
5:55am. We were away at 6am. I was really calm in those 5 minutes. Here I was,
unbelievably, against the odds, in great shape, with a great day and good
weather ahead. Let’s do this.
The starting hooter went and we went down to the pontoon and
jumped in. I noted the “no diving” signs. I was on the right hand side and
jumped off the front right of the pontoon. It wasn’t even a “jump”, just a step
down from the pontoon into the water. Nothing more or less than would have
reasonably been expected. And with that, my day was ripped to shreds. The water
couldn’t have been more than a foot deep and there were massive sharp rocks.
About 15 or 20 people all piled in on top of each other before anyone realised
what was going on. There was no warning, no pontoon marshals, no water
marshals, no canoe marshals, nothing. Pretty bad organisation.
There was a lot of swearing and yells of pain. Everyone
starting at the front would have been racing for a world championship qualification
slot, and would have put a hell of a lot of time, effort, money and sacrifice
into their preparation for this day. I know what I’ve been through to get to
the start line. It was just unbelievable.
The shock and pain of it, and having people behind stumbling
and suffering the same fate, meant we all just fell over, onto more rocks. I
hurt/cut/injured the soles of my feet, my left shin, both knees, and both
hands. I literally could not believe what had just happened.
I staggered my way out to deeper water and I swam on, but deep
down I knew my day was ruined. My initial thoughts were that the sole of my
left foot was cut, which would mean I’d struggle to cycle and run. As I
continued to swim, I realised that when I kicked, my knees were sore and my
shin was sore. I couldn’t kick properly. The palms of both hands were sore. But
I couldn’t really look at the damage when I was swimming, I just battered on.
The first lap of the swim passed for me in around 29 minutes.
If I hadn’t been injured, maybe it would have been a minute to two quicker.
This would have been a great first lap. As I exited the water and ran over the
timing mats, the sole of my left foot was really sore. I didn’t fancy a full
marathon…
I got back into the water, and almost immediately started to
lap the slower swimmers. Many were doing breaststroke, and I got two mule-kicks
to the face. I can’t understand why Ironman UK doesn’t do an in-water start.
You could be injured really badly by a breaststroke mule kick. The second lap
was no fun, and I exited the water in 61 minutes. This wasn’t a bad swim to be
honest, but my mind was full of dark, dark thoughts. I was raging. Race ruined.
It should not have happened. Would I be able to cycle? Would I be able to run?
I was also pretty sure that my wetsuit (worth £500, yes crazy money, I know)
would also be ripped and ruined.
I made up my mind to get on the bike and try. In transition,
I realised I had badly cut my left hand and it was bleeding a lot. I did what I
had to do in transition and got away on the bike. To cut a long story short,
the bike was 6 hours of misery. Because of where my hand was cut, there was
pressure on the cut every time I got up off the aero bars (which was often,
given the hilly and twisty nature of the course), so it never got a chance to
congeal and stop bleeding. I had a cut on my right knee too. I literally bled
for the whole 6 hours. To try to stop the bleeding and wipe away the blood, I
had to wipe my hand every few minutes on my brand-new white aero triathlon top
(worth over £100, yes, crazy money, I know).
Matt was watching from the first climb on Sheephouse Lane,
having cycled out after the swim. He was cheering really enthusiastically, and
I showed him my hand as I passed. He realised that things were not going good,
and his reaction was like a balloon being deflated. He just went “Ahhhhhhhhh.”
I realised that the worst injury was to my right knee. It
had a small cut, but I was more worried about what the impact on the rocks had
done to it. It hurt every time I made a pedal stroke. It didn’t hurt to the
point where I had to stop, but it didn’t help matters. I biked just under 6
hours, which was 30 minutes slower than I wanted. I got to the second
transition area, got off the bike, and pretty quickly realised I wouldn’t be
able to run.
Well-supported, in parts
I spent ages in transition and the medics insisted on
cleaning out my cuts. Talk about pain… I took stock of the damage. The soles of
my feet, although sore, weren’t cut. My calf compression tube was ripped, and I
had a big cut on my left shin. My left hand was a mess. My right hand was sore.
Both knees were sore. I tried to run out of transition and quickly realised
that I would have to abandon. I wasn’t surprised.
I used a marshal’s phone to call Matt (a good lesson here is
to always write the names and phone numbers of your spectators and emergency
contacts on the back of your number). He had cycled into the centre of Bolton
to the run course. He cycled out to meet me and we went to the finish area together,
where I picked up my bags, got changed and ate junk food. Then we went to meet
up with everyone else on the run course and cheer Chris on.
By now it was hot (this would have suited me), but Chris was
going well, and he finished in just over 13 hours. A great effort. I was
pleased for him, he had put a lot of effort in. I went through the motions for
the rest of the day, getting back to the hotel, eating dinner (I couldn’t even
be bothered with a pint) and then trekking back to the transition area to pick
up our bikes, getting showered and cleaned up, going to bed, and driving back
to London. I just was completely fed up. My injuries were sore.
Ironman Chris at the finish
I’ll probably write a letter to Ironman about what happened,
but I doubt they’ll do anything. The clock can’t be wound back. There’s no
compensation for all the time and effort and money and sacrifice that’s gone in.
I don’t know what I will do now, but I really, really want to get out of London, and a big, big part of me wants to never do another Ironman race and build-up again because a big, big part of me is sick to death of it at this stage. So much effort and time and sacrifice and money, for what...?
It was even more galling to find out that the final Kona qualifier in my age group did 10:39. If you'd told me before the race that 10:39 would qualify, I would have smiled a giant smile.
Here’s the full misery story, with a new chapter to be added, entitled "Ironman UK 2016..."
Ironman UK 2011
(pre-London) – done on entry-level cheap bike, didn’t have a clue, 11th in
age group, good enough to plant the seed but ran out of money and couldn’t
afford to try again.
Ironman UK 2013 –
now working in London, got a new expensive bike (3 years to pay it off), was
winning my age group with 10 miles left to run, started explosive vomiting and
diarrhoea with no warning. Likely food poisoning from the hotel. Collapsed,
game over, ambulance etc.
Ironman Wales 2013
– a few weeks later, not fully recovered, finished 5th in age
group. 5th had been good enough at Ironman UK a few weeks
previously. But slots only went to 4th in Wales. Some slots
“roll down”, because some people decline their slots for whatever reason –
already qualified, for example. Usually a handful of slots roll down. Went to
the awards ceremony. No slots rolled down. Gutted.
Ironman UK 2014 – I
moved up to a tougher age group. I trained hard and was very fit, far
better than in 2013, was looking to mix it with the pros. 2 weeks before the
race, had a sports massage. Ended up in hospital for 3 days with horrendous leg
infections. Went to the race anyway. Had nothing. DNF (Did Not Finish).
Ironman Wales 2014
– not fully recovered, went in desperation more than anything, I faded halfway
through the marathon when I was in 6th. 6th would
have done it. I couldn’t hang on. I don’t know where I finished.
Ironman UK 2015 –
went through the 7-month build-up again, was optimistic going into the race.
Monsoon conditions, freezing cold, windy. I was frozen, and my power output was
terrible. Could not get going. Bad circulation in my frozen hands meant I
couldn’t feed myself nor drink (both essential…) This sounds like excuses, I’m
not making excuses, it wasn’t my day, but I’m skinny and don’t go well in the
cold (6 feet 1 and only 66kg, I was "too skinny" for the conditions).
I usually train indoors in 25-30 degree heat, I go well in warm conditions, not
in cold.
Training done in the final week before the race was as follows:
Mon 11 July: Rest
Tue 12 July: 1 hour turbo, 15 minute run
Wed 13 July: 30 minute bike, 15 minute run
Thu 14 July: Swim 1.5km
Fri 15 July: 15 minute bike
Sat 16 July: 10 minute run
Sun 17 July: Ironman UK
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