Post 53 - Guest blogger this time...

This week's blog is a guest blog. My mum and dad were at Ironman UK and Ironman Wales this year. Ironman UK wasn't a great event for them to make their Ironman spectating debut: it's a tough logistical challenge, for athletes and spectators alike. But, worse, I was a complete mess at Ironman UK: just out of hospital, not recovered from those horrendous leg infections, and with hindsight, I was in no condition to even be attempting an Ironman, never mind thinking about qualifying for the world championships. 

Mum and Dad both really enjoyed Ironman Wales though, even though my result was disappointing. We had such good weather in Wales, there's a great atmosphere in the race hub of Tenby, it's a genuinely nice place, and I managed to finish (albeit not in a Kona qualifying position). But more than anything, they really enjoyed the company and the banter with my "support crew" who were in Tenby.

Anyway, I asked my dad if he would write a few words about Ironman Wales, and he duly obliged. Without him, I probably wouldn't have had such an interest in cycling and running. I've got my mum to thank for the swimming side of things. Thanks to the both of them, myself and my brothers are fit, active and healthy, and I'm very grateful for that.

Dad ran a few marathons when I was very young, and he was no slouch. He also bought a Raleigh Banana road bike when I was young, and I thought it was the most amazing thing. It still hangs in the garage at home. It could probably be classed as an antique by now! Dad now has his pick of two of my bikes that I've still got at home. There's nothing better than being at home and getting out for a spin on the bike with him. He can still push the pedals rightly. I also remember watching the Tour de France with dad, in the days of Stephen Roche and Miguel Indurain. Ages ago now, but very vividly remembered. "Go on ya boy ye", to Stephen Roche in 1987...

Dad is retired now and is currently in Kenya, doing voluntary work in a school in a small village in the middle of nowhere. I saw him at Heathrow before he flew off:

He wrote the following piece:


It is amazing how perception and reality can differ.  Sometimes the difference is small, sometimes it is a chasm.  As the plane gently descended to land at Bristol airport, Eileen grabbed my arm in anticipation of the bump on landing.  The landscape was rolling and hilly, not the flattish plainscape I had imagined being so close to the Bristol Channel.

Needless to say, this was our first trip to South Wales.  I knew South Wales from Geography classes many moons ago as a region of heavy industry, conjuring up images of pit heads, black-faced miners, industrial stacks, smoke, steam and red-brick factories.  It wasn’t like this at all.  The drive west along the M4 was a lovely, relaxed one through lush, green, wooded countryside.  The Port Talbot steel plant provided the only glimpse of my “old” South Wales.  Nor was there any sight of the black-faced miners, slag heaps or narrow-gauge railways as we passed the rolling hills of the Brecon Beacons, underneath which nestled the Rhondda Valley.

Our destination!  Tenby – a hundred plus miles to the west and the venue for the Ironman Wales 2014 event.  Our interest!  The participation of a former globe-trotting, all-round sportsman, Ironman, and “nothing better to do with his time” son, John.  John had assured us that this was a “really nice place” and a great venue for the event as all three stages pass through the town, making it ideal for spectators.  We were not to be disappointed on either count.  What he didn’t say was that the Tenby Ironman event is arguably the most demanding and challenging of the global Ironman series, a fact that became increasingly evident as we became more familiar with the locality.  The swim is in the chilled and choppy sea; the cycle ride is a roller-coaster of hills; and the marathon – well, what can I say!

John had the good fortune to be accompanied by a “loyal band of follower friends” whose company we had the great pleasure to be in during our stay – Elise, Natalie, Steve and Matt, all “veteran” Ironman attendants. 

Anxious to find the best spots to watch the various stages, we sought John's knowledgeable advice.  Knowledgeable because he had completed the Ironman Wales 2013 event, and was just “pipped” into sixth place where only five qualified for the World Championships.  Still, back for a second “bash” with the hope – the hope that there is no kick in the face during the swim scrum, no mechanical failures out on the bike, and no human “accidents” on the run; the expectation – the expectation that the endless hours of training pay off, that the body endures, that the mental focus stays strong; the confidence – the confidence that you have prepared well and you will succeed.  Now it is all down to performance “on the day”. 

 

John pointed out the best spectator locations and after a few quick calculations, literally on the back of a café table mat, exacted, “I’ll be past you on the first circuit at 11.40am”, referring to the cycle. Not in the least surprised at the precision and confidence of his exact, I made a mental note.

The morning sky at 6.30am was a spectacular hew of reds, oranges and light blues as the sun peeped above the horizon.  The scene masked the challenging sea conditions below our vantage point where a 2000+ speckled mass of green swim-hatted heads assembled for the swim.  Unknown to us the organisers had been monitoring the difficult sea conditions right up to the 7am start, and the swim had been in doubt right up to the last minute, such were the conditions.  We later learned that something like 80 swimmers had to be taken out of the water at some stage in the swim.

Out of the water and into his run to the bike transition John, looking good, passed us in sixty four minutes, now stripped to the waist and taking on liquid.  “He’ll be pleased with that”, I reassured Eileen, having seen the sea conditions.

By now the spectators had swollen to a mass strung out along the whole of the route, offering great vocal and visual support, support that lifted the athletes throughout the day.  John later remarked that “it’s just brilliant seeing someone you know along the course”.

With a few hours to pass as John launched out into the Pembrokeshire countryside on his first of two cycle laps, we had a few hours to enjoy in Tenby.  It has real charm, a tangible sense of history and a quaintness that endears.  It consumed our time effortlessly and in a blink we were on our way to the cycle vantage point, a mere fifteen-minute walk.  Remembering the precision of John’s prediction, we arrived in good time, found a good vantage point and put the camera in sports mode and standby – all ready!  The first of the cyclists were passing – these were the pros and élites.  “Sixteen, seventeen”, I counted.  “It’s 11.30am”, Eileen remarked nervously.  “Where is he?”  I reminded her of John’s prediction adding, “He’s not superman”.  “Thirty one, thirty two, 11.35am”.  Eileen was now hopping from one foot to the other.  “Thirty five, 11.40”.  “Something has happened to him!”  “No, he’ll be here”, I reassured her.  At 11.42am precisely he appeared on the bend approaching, his bright green gear and multi-coloured knee straps immediately recognisable.  Eileen waved and yelled frantically.  I shot the camera with one eye while trying to watch with the other.  He saw us in good time, smiled, waved, thumb up, flying.  Past in a flash!

By now there was a real carnival atmosphere throughout the town and we enjoyed the ambience, the buzz and the sense of excitement.  Elise, Natalie, Steve and Matt had taken to their own bikes and gone out to a castle on the countryside part of the route, about fifteen miles away.  It was ideal weather for such a spin, but with the sun now a feature of the day and the temperature rising, you couldn’t but think of the increasing impact on the athletes.

John passed us at the end of his cycle well within his margins, looking good and looking fresh.  A good transition and he was back out past us to start the marathon. This is where stamina, endurance and mental strength marks out the Ironman athlete like no other.  The route takes the athletes through the centre of the town on four occasions. A lapped course that demands the most careful of pacing – it isn’t about who runs quickest at this stage, it is about who slows down the least, was how John explained it.

Looking good on the first two circuits, he would have known that he was up there with the leaders.  The circuits allow accurate timing of each lap, and on the third it was evident that his awareness of “slowing down the least” was working to his disadvantage.  This section of the course where we were located was along a long steady incline – gruelling, energy-sapping and compounded on each lap.  A close-up camera shot revealed the strain and effort etched on his face.  He wasn’t alone in this regard – everyone was in the same boat.

We waited in anticipation along the finishing straight and clipped his hand in a high-five as he went past us, fresher looking than before.  He was glad to see us and his "support crew", glad to be finished.

Later, at around 11.45pm, the admiration for those still finishing before the midnight deadline was reflected in the crowd still present, amazed at their seventeen-hour endurance.  For the pros and élites, motivated by professional status, personal bests and World Championship qualifying times, the margins are small.  But, like perception and reality, such small margins can be a chasm.

Eileen and I ended our trip to Tenby in the company of good friends that evening.  And when all is said and done it is good friends that endure.