This week was all about surviving a work trip to Italy, with 3 weeks left until Ironman race day. The day before going to Italy, I did a flat-out, maximal 100 mile time trial in 3:58, having felt a bit rough in the few days beforehand. Such an effort massively depletes the body, leaving you a bit more vulnerable to picking up a bug and getting sick. In an ideal world, I’d have been able to take a few really easy, relaxing days after the 100, get myself well recovered, and well-positioned to crack on with the final training block before the Ironman.
But, the work trip to Italy meant a lot of stress – I’d be travelling with colleagues who had been ill during all of the previous week, and I’d be sitting in stuffy, manky aeroplanes, taxis, meeting rooms and hotels. Not what I needed. I know from past experience that at best, going to Italy leaves me feeling tired, washed-out and under the weather. At worst, I end up sick. So, the most vital things I brought with me to Italy were not the laptop and the work documentation, instead, they were my tubs full of raw garlic, raw ginger, chilli peppers, vitamin pills, kiwi fruits, bananas, apples and flapjacks. Desperate times call for desperate measures…
On the positive side, the weather was going to be warm and sunny and I’d have a bit of free time in the evenings to sit in a hot bath and sleep as much as possible. I just hoped so much that I wouldn’t end up getting sick so close to the Ironman.
I got up at 5:30am on Monday morning (having got up before 3am the morning before, for the 100), and I flew out to Italy. I had a row of seats to myself towards the back of the plane, and both seats behind me were empty, so no-one was coughing or spluttering in my immediate vicinity. I drank loads of water and the flight attendants probably wondered why I was going to the toilet so much. The view over the Alps was spectacular as usual – I’d love to live in some wee Alpine town, ideally in France, parce que je parle un peu de Francais (yes I know that should have an accent on it but I can't do it on this keyboard). We landed in Italy and then it was an hour in a taxi to our final destination. Then I stood outside in the sun for 20 minutes, upping my level of Vitamin D naturally. Journey survived.
On Monday evening I asked the hotel reception for a knife, fork and spoon, then I ate some of the ginger, garlic and chillis I’d brought, then tried to defuse the heat and pain they induced in my mouth with kiwi fruits. Then I sat in a hot bath for ages. Muscle recovery. Aaahhhhh. Then I had my dinner, and was in bed by 8pm. The hotel is really stuffy and I woke up on Tuesday morning with my mouth and throat and nose all absolutely parched. This leaves you much more prone to picking up infections. Not good. I drank water and turned the hot tap on full blast, put a towel over my head and breathed in the steam, to try to de-parch my mucous membranes. I took some vitamin pills, and had breakfast.
View of the Appennine mountains (hills?) from the top floor of the hotel
Then I had to get through the day. I had brought loads of fruit so was able to graze all day, and I drank lots of water, and went outside as often as possible to get some sunshine on my skin. I tried to sit as far away from coughers as possible. I just gritted my teeth and got though it and hoped for the best. I was doing all I could to stay healthy.
I got back to the hotel and decided to go for a very easy bike ride, maybe 30 minutes. They have old upright daisybell bikes in the hotel that you can borrow. The Appennine hills/mountains are not far to the south, and the countryside is nice. I didn’t make it as far as the hills, but I had a nice, easy, flat, relaxing spin on the bike, which turned into an hour. Oh to be able to do this on a daily basis, or commute like this. One day… I had stupidly forgotten to bring my sunglasses, so every insect in Italy therefore decided that my eyes would be good places to commit suicide.
Nice, empty, quiet, warm, non-polluted roads
I got back to the hotel, spent ages picking insects out of my eyes, had my delicious food (more garlic and ginger and chillis), took another hot bath, then created a home-made sauna – I blocked the bathroom door gaps up with towels, put the shower on full heat and full blast, and sat in the steam for 20 minutes. Then I had dinner and went to bed early again.
Two very different bike rides, just a couple of days apart...
When I got up on Wednesday morning, things were bad. Glands in my neck had swollen up, and my mucous membranes were absolutely parched again, to the extent that I was coughing up horrible, thick, dry, red, bloody phlegm. Uuuurrrggghhh. I steamed myself with the hot tap and towel again, ate vitamin pills with my breakfast, and wished I wasn’t in Italy.
I got through another day, and that evening I went for a short run. Actually, not a run. A shuffle. Then, it was the usual Italian bedtime routine: garlic, chillis, ginger, hot bath, home-made sauna, dinner and bed. But I couldn’t have another night like the previous night. I didn’t want my glands to swell up any bigger and I didn’t want horrible dry red phlegm in the morning. What to do?
What to do: I filled the bath with very hot steaming water, hoping it would help to humidify the room overnight. Then I took the two bins in the room, cleaned them, and filled them with very hot water too. I put one bin on either side of the bed, and then cleaned my teeth. I was about to get into bed when I noticed one of the bins was leaking and there was water soaking into the carpet. Feck it. Stupid leaky tin bin! I emptied it down the sink, checked the other plastic bin for leaks (all good) and went to bed hoping for the best. I was glad I’d noticed the leak, because if I hadn’t, all that water would have leaked all over my room and dripped onto people who were sleeping in the room on the floor below me…
One nice sunset photo, and one cryptic sunset photo
Because I had been drinking so much water during the day, I had to get up quite a few times in the night to go to the toilet, and every time I did this I had a drink. This helped to keep my mucous membranes wet, but it meant I slept badly as I was in a vicious circle of continuously drinking and continuously needing the toilet. When the alarm went off on Thursday morning, I was absolutely knackered, but not as parched as the previous two mornings. The swelling in my glands had gone down too. I was grateful that there were no more nights to spend in the hotel as I was flying back that afternoon.
I emptied the bath and bin, I steamed myself under a towel, I ate my vitamin pills and breakfast, and had my final morning with work in Italy. Then it was off to the airport. London was experiencing bad weather, so the inbound flight from London was delayed and we were late taking off from Italy. I didn’t have a great flight back. I was sitting with the window on one side of me, and some obnoxious, coughing, spluttering guy on the other. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I put the overhead air vent on full blast to divert his germs away from me, and he tutted and glared and coughed and spluttered. I looked behind and saw that the back row of seats were free. So I told him I was very ill and needed to sit near the toilets, and escaped from his vicinity.
The flight was late getting into London because of the rain, and all the trains were delayed because of the rain, and I was very late getting home. I went home via the osteopath and had another decent treatment session. My body is definitely a lot looser now, which is great. I had planned to do a short turbo/run session when I got back, but it was late (the trains were all fecked up too due to the rain), and I was tired, and it wasn’t a key training session, so I ate my dinner and went to bed. I’d been looking forward to this dinner all week - before I went I struck a deal with my housemate - I gave him my leftover pasta on Sunday night, and he would cook for me when I got back from Italy. It’s always nicer when it’s made for you… I recounted the things I'd had to do in Italy to try to get through it. In doing so, and watching his reaction, I realised just how far removed from "normality" (whatever that is) my life has become. But, I do what I have to do...
I had to think hard about what to do over the weekend. I was exhausted. The 100 miler, and travelling to Italy, and being on the knife-edge, had taken its toll. I had planned to do a hard swim and single-leg turbo drills on Friday, an early start for a 200km bike ride followed by a run on Saturday, and another hard swim followed by a long run on Sunday. But I decided I needed to tone that down. I would be asking for trouble if I tried to do all that in such a tired and depleted state.
So instead, on Friday, I decided I’d go to the pool and do a steady 4000m. I’d do the same on Sunday and make this a “long endurance swim” weekend. Two steady long swims shouldn’t take too much out of me. I learned that starting slowly makes the overall time quicker. I was able to glance at my watch at key intervals during the swims. Here’s a breakdown of my split times for the two swims:
Friday: 1500m in 25:20. 3000m in 52:40. 3800m in 67:20. 4000m in 70:55.
Sunday: 1500m in 25:30. 3000m in 53:30. 3800m in 65:15. 4000m in 68:40.
I was almost a minute slower after 3000m in Sunday’s swim, but in the final 1000m I was much quicker, not because of any effort to swim faster but just because starting slower means you finish faster. I didn’t swim either of these swims particularly hard, so to swim an Ironman length swim in a pool with no wetsuit in 65:15 is good. My heart rates were quite low immediately afterwards as well, definitely no higher than 150bpm. Maybe this is the way to do the Ironman swim, nice and easy, no pushing hard at all… Usually after the swim, for the first hour in the Ironman bike I am fighting to get my heart rate down from over 170bpm to under 150bpm. An easier swim would mean it wouldn’t get anywhere near 170bpm, setting me up for a better bike and run hopefully. I might lose a couple of minutes in the swim, but should gain it back in the bike and run.
I didn’t do any single leg drills on Friday evening and went to bed early, having decided against a 6am start the following morning for a 200km cycle as well. It wouldn’t have been a good idea as it would have been massively overdoing things. The 3:58 100 miler proved I’m in good shape, there’s not much more to gain now, but a lot to lose.
Instead on Saturday I had a much, much-needed lie-in and did a 2-hour turbo, with a “pyramid” of leg speed and leg strength drills. It was good: beneficial without taking too much out of me. I followed it with a short run. Then I did my weights and core work and had another early night. On Sunday morning I went to the pool and did another 4000m. I then ate and rested, and later in the afternoon, forced myself out for an hour of hilly running. I didn’t push too hard and ran just slightly quicker than 7 minute miles, up and down a lot of hills. Then I finished off with more core work and weights.
It seemed I had gotten away with things. I hadn’t got ill, I’d got through the Italy trip, I’d been sensible enough over the weekend to know to listen to my body and tone my training down. I knew I was in good shape, the 3:58 100 miler had confirmed that. I was really excited after my 3:59 100 miler two years ago, but I’m not as excited this year. I haven’t allowed myself to be. I know only too well how quickly things can go wrong. I just need a good final three weeks, and a nice day on race day, and for things to go well on the day for a change. Too much to ask? Hopefully not…
I’ll have one more tough week next week where I’ll do an FTP bike test to see what my power output is, and I’ll base my Ironman bike pacing on the results of this test. I’m already not looking forward to doing the test – you basically go as hard as you can for 20 minutes and it is not pleasant. I’ll also try and do a “metric Ironman” at the weekend, which will be a 112km bike (instead of a 112 mile bike as in the Ironman) and a 26km run (instead of a 26 mile run as in the Ironman). I’ll do these at race intensity and hopefully it’ll set me up well.
Saying all this, as I was going to bed on Sunday evening, knowing that Monday was a rest day, I felt that my right quad was sore. Hmmmm. It was sore enough for me to take two anti-inflammatories before I went to bed. It’s a big thing for me to decide to take anti-inflammatories. There was no reason for my quad to be sore, I hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. And at the time of writing, on Monday, it still doesn’t feel right. and I've had another couple of anti-inflammatory pills. I hope this doesn’t turn into another major curveball at this stage…
Training done this week was as follows:
Mon 20 June: Rest
Tue 21 June: 1 hour bike
Wed 22 June: 20 minute run
Thu 23 June: Rest
Fri 24 June: Swim 4.1km
Sat 25 June: 2 hour turbo, 20 minute run
Sun 26 June: Swim 4.1km, 60 minute hilly run (6:52/mile, 149bpm)
This was the week of a 100 mile time trial in Cambridgeshire,
and for me it was quite an important event and a good way to gauge where I’m
at, 4 weeks out from Ironman UK. In 2013 I did the Icknield 100 mile time
trial, up and down the A1 dual carriageway near Bedford, very early in the
morning. I did 4:14, and this translated into a 5:30 hilly bike leg at Ironman UK not
long afterwards. It counted for nothing though as I erupted with vomiting and
diarrhoea at mile 16 of the run while leading my age group…
In 2014, I went back to the same Icknield time trial and did
3:59 for the 100 miles, just over 25mph. I was really pleased with this, a full
15 minutes quicker than the year before, and it gave me a lot of confidence for
Ironman UK in 2014. I had hoped to bike in the region of 5:15 – 5:20 at Ironman
UK, which would have put me in a strong position to qualify for Kona. Ironman
UK in 2014 went off the rails too unfortunately, as a sports massage gone wrong
just 2 weeks out from race day left me hospitalised and hooked up to
intravenous medication for 3 days…
I didn’t do a 100 mile time trial in 2015 as the Icknield
event wasn’t held, and the North Norfolk 100 mile time trial was cancelled at
short notice. But I planned to do the ECCA (Eastern Counties Cycling
Association) 100 mile time trial event on 19th June 2016 as part of my build-up
to Ironman UK this year. It’s a similar course to Icknield, up and down a flat
dual carriageway (the A11 near Cambridge), and I hoped to get a good gauge of
where my level is at in the run-up to Ironman UK. So, for me, the ECCA 100 was
an important event.
I did a long run on the evening of Wednesday 15th June, and
this was to be the last tough training session of a training block before the
100 miler. I would have the Thursday, Friday and Saturday to recover and do
some easy training, tapering down for the 100. I find long runs very tough on
the body and very difficult to recover from. My stomach felt a bit upset during
this run, but I got through it, ate well afterwards (lots of ginger and garlic
which apparently have anti-inflammatory properties, and make you smell nice too),
gave my legs the hot and cold shower treatment, and went to bed early. I didn’t
sleep well, and didn’t feel great the next morning.
I went to work as usual, and everyone at work seemed to be
ill, coughing, spluttering and sneezing everywhere. My body was depleted from
the long run the night before, I didn’t feel great, and now I had to sit with
people who were coughing and spluttering. I nearly cracked up, I wanted so much
to not be there, and by the end of the day my health had gone downhill, I felt
terrible, and I literally could barely speak. Needless to say, I was in a dark,
dark mood. I went home, and did what I could to try to mitigate. I had two
shots of strong vodka, two raw chillis, two raw cloves of garlic, a chunk of
raw ginger, and two kiwi fruits. Then I went to bed.
I felt worse in the morning. My eyes were leaking gunge and
were all puffed up and twitching. I was absolutely raging. Would it be worth
doing the 100 miler? How long would this illness take to run its course? To be
fair, by lunchtime I was feeling a bit better and I went to the pool and did a
short swim. Then I got home, and went back on the emergency mitigation diet –
more vodka, garlic, chillis, ginger and kiwi fruits, and early to bed, hoping
for the best.
By the next morning I was feeling a lot better but was very
aware that I had felt terrible only a day or two previously. I wondered if I
was out of the woods. Would competing in the 100 mile time trial do me any
good? Would it deplete and tire me to the point where things might get very bad?
I’m only 4 weeks away from the Ironman – I don’t want to be feeling sick at
this stage. I knew I wouldn’t get much sleep before the 100 – I had decided to
drive up on the morning of the event rather than stay in a hotel – this would
save money and would mean that I wouldn’t be risking a noisy hotel. But with a
5:47am start, I’d have to be out of bed before 3am…
I also knew that the
morning after the 100, assuming I wasn’t ill, I’d be up very early to go to
Italy (with all that entails – stuffy planes, stuffy taxis, stuffy hotels,
stuffy meetings rooms, and in close company with colleagues who were seemingly
all ill). There are limits on how much a body and an immune system can tolerate
before they break down, resulting in illness…
Anyway, I decided I’d go to the 100, see how I felt, and if
I was really feeling bad I would just have to pull out. So I went and picked up
a rental car on Saturday afternoon and got all my gear together. I did most of
the preparation on Saturday afternoon, so that when Sunday morning came, all I
had to do was load my bike into the car and set off.
I went to bed at 7:00pm on Saturday night, with the alarm
set for before 3am – the earliest I’ve ever got up in my life. It wasn’t fun.
The drive up was quick as there wasn’t much traffic, but there were a few spits
of rain and the sky was looking a bit ominous – a bit different from the
sunshine the forecast had predicted. I arrived to Fulbourne, a small village
just outside Cambridge, and pulled into the village hall which was serving as
the event headquarters. It was said that this was one of the fastest 100-mile
time trial courses in the UK, and it had attracted a quality, quality field. It
was busy at the village hall, people were unloading their cars, preparing their
bikes, getting changed, rubbing deep heat into their muscles, putting on
aerodynamic helmets, and pedalling off for the 3-mile warm-up ride to the start
line.
There was some incredible equipment on show – the best that
money can buy. Gleaming, shiny disc wheels, bikes, skinsuits, aero helmets, the
works. I have a nice bike, there’s no doubt about that, but some of the bikes
here were leagues above mine. You could only stare…
The first rider was away at around 4:45am, with a rider
starting every minute. I was starting at 5:47am, and riders would be starting
up until 6:15am. I got ready, and decided that although it was cold so early in
the morning, I’d only wear one layer, thinking that things would warm up when
the sun got up. I did put on arm warmers and gloves.
I was about to head to the start when I realised I hadn’t
locked the car, and I had put the car key (which wasn’t a “proper” key but one
of those credit-card type keys) into the aerodynamic storage box behind my seat
tube. No problem – just take the key out, lock the car, and get going. Except I
couldn’t get the aero box lid open, it had completely jammed. Feck it! It
wouldn’t open, no matter what I did. And, while bending over the bike and
trying to get the aero box lid open, I tweaked something on the right hand side
of my lower back, and was pretty peeved.
My wallet and phone
and stuff were in the car. Time was getting tight. The aero box wouldn’t open. I
had to go. I decided to chance it and left the car unlocked… I hoped that
no-one would be prowling round a village hall so early in the morning, and
there were loads of other riders’ cars there too – safety in numbers… I knew
I’d have a problem getting the “key” out of the box when I got back though
(assuming the car was still there), but that could wait, I had 100 miles to
ride first…
Ready to go...
The way to the start was well signposted, and I rode to the
start debating whether to stop and duck behind a bush, as I half-needed to pee.
Time was very tight and I was glad I didn’t stop in the end, as I got to the
start line with about 90 seconds to spare. I spent those 90 seconds wriggling
and jiggling my back, trying to shake it out and loosen it. Then it was time to
go. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, go…” said the starter, and between pedalling off, trying to
start my Garmin computer, and being close to the verge, I almost swerved off
the road and into the ditch. I heard a “whoops” behind me and a few laughs, and
I finally got going properly.
Almost immediately, the course turned onto the dual
carriageway. And that was it. Northbound for around 16 miles, up a slip road, a
U-turn at an elevated roundabout, down the opposite slip road, then southbound
for around 16 miles, then up another slip road and another U-turn around
another elevated roundabout, then northbound again. 3 laps. Pretty flat apart
from the slip roads.
I thought around 250-260 watts would be about right, and I
wanted to try to keep my heart rate under 160bpm, at least for the first half
anyway. At the Icknield 100 mile time trial two years previously, my heart rate
had averaged 160 for the 3:59, so I was aiming for similar. I was flying on the
first northbound part of the course, averaging almost 26mph for just over
150bpm. Wow, I thought, if the whole thing is like this, I am going to smash 4
hours.
Going up the first slip road, I saw a flash – there was a
photographer out, and then I had a decision to make. To pee going down the slip
road, or not to pee? There would be nowhere else to freewheel down a hill, only
on the slip roads, so I decided to go. Ohhhhh it was lovely and warm, then the
wind chill kicked in and it was cold. Then it dried. Lovely.
Not looking too bad at this stage...
It quickly became obvious that southbound was a lot slower
than northbound. My average speed dropped. I didn’t feel like I was flying any
more. The road surface seemed to be worse, and there seemed to be a headwind.
This would explain the fast, almost effortless, first northbound stretch. There
was nothing for it but to get on with it and stick to the strategy – keep the
heart rate under 160bpm, don’t push too hard in the early stages, and keep
eating and drinking – one gel and half an energy bar per hour, and 500-700ml
energy drink per hour, as I’ll do in the Ironman.
I got to the bottom turn and my average speed had dropped to
a fraction under 25mph. So much for smashing 4 hours then! Looking back at the
data from my ride, it was on this first tough southbound stretch that I pushed
too hard, my watts were up at 280, which is too high. I should have reined myself
in a bit, and I paid for overcooking it slightly early in the event with an
agonising final 20 miles.
I turned and headed northbound again, after a couple of
miles I passed the turn for the finish. It would still be well over 2 hours
before I could make this turn. It was an extremely fast 15 miles northbound,
averaging over 27mph. By this stage, some of the faster riders who had started
later than me were starting to come past me at incredible speeds.
Drafting or slipstreaming in a time trial is against the
rules, but even if I’d wanted to cheat (which I didn’t, I wanted an honest 100),
these guys were going too fast to get into their slipstream. I later learned
that the winner did 3:22, averaging almost 30mph for the entire ride. Amazing,
I couldn’t even contemplate that. When I was on the fastest stretch of road,
going at my maximum speed, I was doing 30mph. These fast guys averaged that for
the whole 100.
I got to half distance in 1:57:48. This was almost 6 minutes
faster than the standalone 50 mile TT I had done in Essex just 4 weeks
previously (although on a much tougher course). So I was looking good to break
4 hours. I felt reasonable. It seemed I had dodged a massive bullet (or
bullets, of coughs, sneezes and germs launched repeatedly my way at work). I
got to the top turn again. I needed a pee again. I freewheeled down the slip
road and let loose. Ahhhhhh.
Then it was 16 miles of nightmare along the tougher
southbound section. I rattled over the poor road surface at the northernmost
part of the course, I got down low to minimise the headwind resistance, and I
pedalled and pedalled. My average speed dropped again, but it had “only”
dropped to 25.1mph by the time I reached the bottom turn. I saw another flash
at the bottom turn, then it was back northbound.
Looking less OK now...
As I passed the finish line turn-off, I was then on my final
lap. One quick northbound section, one horrible southbound section, and a final
few miles to the end. That was all. I had to keep it together. I didn’t just
want to break 4 hours. I wanted to break 3:59 and set a new PB. The wind must
have been gradually strengthening, because on this third and final northbound
section, I hit my fastest speeds. For one 5-mile stretch I averaged over
29mph(!) for “only” 258 watts.
But this “only” 258 watts was a sign of things to come,
because my power was gradually starting to fade and I was paying for those
stints at 280 watts earlier in the event. But the tailwind masked the fading,
and my speed was high. I had given every marshal a shout of thanks up to this
point, but now I was going so hard, I was concentrating and focusing and giving
everything to maintain my pace, so the marshals were just a blur. Everything
was a bit of a blur.
At the final turn, I had one last pee and I worked out that
I “only” had to average 23mph for the final 20 miles to get under 4 hours. It
was going to be touch and go. I knew I was fading. Not spectacularly, but my
legs just couldn’t sustain 260 watts any more, when previously it would have
been no problem. For the final four 5-mile stretches, my power went from 257 to
252 to 244 to 234 watts. It was agony. I started to feel terrible. Everything
was hurting. My left arm especially was in agony, I couldn’t lift it off the
elbow pad. My legs just wanted to stop. I was working really hard, chasing
a goal. Another sub-4. A 3:58, or better…
It was tough, tough going. Some more fast guys came past.
Wow. They were like motorbikes flying past. But I’m not an out-and-out cyclist
or time-triallist. I’m a triathlete. I wonder how much faster I could be if I
devoted myself solely to cycling. But then I tell myself not to wonder, because
I am a triathlete. Standalone swimming is compromised, standalone cycling is compromised, and standalone running is compromised, for the benefit of the bigger "whole triathlon" picture.
My energy levels were dropping, so I had a gel. Then,
shortly after, I had another. Then another. Anything to give me an extra kick.
These gels came at a cost though, and I started to do pukey burps. Tunnel
vision kicked in. This was grim. 90 miles down, 10 to go. So much done, so
little to do, but the little remaining was seeming to take forever. The
previous 90 miles count for nothing unless you keep this together. Keep
pushing.
My average speed dropped down to 25.1mph. I knew the final
turn would push that further down, as you have to slow down for the turn. I
hoped I’d have the legs to ride at over 25mph on the final few northbound miles
to the turn-off for the finish. As I tried to accelerate down the last slip
road, I was at 25.0mph average. I had just a few miles to go. I needed to push
hard.
I gave it everything. I was only averaging in 230-240 watts
but it felt like about 400 watts. I was churning and gurning and grunting and
gritting my teeth. My average went to 25.1mph. I would break 4 hours. But I
didn’t ease off. I wanted every last second. I wanted under 3:59. My Garmin
beeped for 100 miles but I was still on the dual carriageway.
Then the final turn came, and I was an incoherent, uncoordinated
mess. It was a very tight turn and I don’t know how I got round it without crashing.
I ran wide away to the opposite side of the road on the exit of the turn. I’m
glad there was no traffic. I passed the finish line. I’d emptied the tank. My
reward was 3:58. When my Garmin beeped for 100 miles, it had taken 3:58:21, and
my official finish time was 3:58:43. A minute or so quicker than 2014, when I’d
been really, really pleased, and excited for what I thought it meant I could do
in the Ironman bike.
At the finish line, tank emptied
But at this moment, I didn’t have the strength to be
pleased. I felt awful. It was a few miles to spin back to the event
headquarters, and almost immediately after finishing, I was shivering, pretty
hard. I could barely control the bike. Everything, and I mean everything, was
in agony. My arms, shoulders, neck, my left arm in particular, my arse, my
legs, my feet. I was grunting and groaning. I was ruined.
I doubt that feeling rough earlier in the week helped my
time trial performance much, but to be honest, there was never a point in the
race where I felt like I was directly affected. Again, I don’t think it helped,
but I don’t think I felt terrible at the end because I had felt rough earlier
in the week. I just felt terrible because I had gone so hard. Quite a big part
of me was thinking, “Why do I do this, I never want to do this again and feel
like this again…”
As I spun very slowly to the race headquarters, and
gradually recovered, I got chatting to a few people. One guy had done a 3:59.
But the previous week, he had done a 12-hour time trial, covering 270 miles.
Work that out… over 22mph, for 12 hours, without stopping. I can’t imagine
doing that. I got back to the village hall, and the car was still there. I knew
I needed to get some warm clothes on quickly, so that was the first thing I
did. I wanted to go for a run, but I first needed to get the car key out from
the aero box because I needed to lock my bike in the car if I was going to run.
Never mind the car being stolen, I can’t have the bike being nicked! It’s
probably worth more than the car anyway… And to be honest, I didn’t have it in
me to go for a run straight away anyway.
I tried everything to open the box, and it wouldn’t open. I
turned the bike upside down and shook it, to no avail. I got a guy to help.
Nothing would work. I was wondering what on earth I was going to do. Then,
after about 15 minutes, finally, alleluia, it opened. I got the key out, put
the bike in the car, locked it, and went for a run. 20 minutes at Ironman pace.
It wasn’t bad. I warmed up. The sun was out. I finished my run, and ate some
food I’d brought – chicken sandwiches, a banana, an apple, some nuts and some
coconut juice. It disappeared quickly and then I went into the village hall to
look at the results. There it was, 3:58:42. Nice. But as decent as I might have
thought it was (and a sub-4 hour 100 mile ride certainly isn’t bad), there were
some seriously quick times on the results board. Times in the 3:20s, 3:30s and
3:40s. Very fast.
I spotted a marshal I’d seen out on the course, an older guy
with a distinctive cycling top on. I went and said thanks, and got chatting. It
turned out he was actually a cycling journalist, and he was really into his
cycling, asking me who I was, and how I’d done, and how things had gone out on
the course, making notes in his notebook as we chatted, as if I was someone
noteworthy – I guess it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d done 3:19 or 4:30 or
6:15, he’d have had the same interest and enthusiasm. What a man, with cycling
in his blood.
Then it was time to head home. I was still too wrecked and
too preoccupied with the now-imminent trip to Italy to be pleased with my
result, and maybe also experience has taught me that there are no guarantees in
Ironman racing. I wondered about Italy. I really didn’t want to go, but I
couldn’t not go. Talk about a tricky situation.
I got back and got unpacked, left the car back, washed everything,
and had a think. I felt absolutely shattered, and what I really needed were a
few 12-hour sleeps and a few easy, relaxed, stress-free days. But going to
Italy would mean getting up at 5:30am the next morning. Although I felt
shattered, I didn’t feel ill. I really had dodged a few bullets, with sick
colleagues, with feeling rough during the week, with what genuinely was an
amazingly quick recovery before the time trial, and with seemingly getting
through the time trial without making things worse.
But, forget about dodging bullets, going to Italy would be
like walking into the path of an oncoming express train… Manky aeroplanes and
taxis. Air conditioning. Unusual food. Coughing and spluttering colleagues. Packed
meeting rooms. I’d be asking for it. I know what going to Italy for work is
like, I’ve done it often enough times. I always end up feeling drained, rough,
depleted and ill. I really didn’t want to go. Would anyone else have called in
sick in a similar situation…?
In the end, my dedicated professionalism meant that there
was no decision really, I had to go. I wouldn’t miss any training as I would be
resting and recovering from the efforts of the 100. I could have hot baths in
the hotel, and get some hot sunshine on my skin. I wouldn’t have to spend
two-and-a-half hours each day commuting, so this would mean I could get to bed
earlier. I could bring “mitigating foods”… I’d have to make the best of it.
Although I've said I shouldn't wonder, I do sometimes wonder how much faster I could be on a bike if I had limitless funds, resources and time to play with. Yes I have a nice bike, and it has been professionally fitted, but there's a lot more I could do: I could pay for wind tunnel testing, and get a bike fit done when in the wind tunnel, while simultaneously analysing power output, heart rate, comfort and aerodynamics. I could get cutting-edge drag-resistant clothing. I could get a helmet that optimises aerodynamics based on my body position. I could get a disc wheel, and a lighter, stiffer, more aerodynamic bike. Hiring a coach would probably help too. As would regular sports massage.
There is almost literally no limit to what you can do, but it's diminishing returns, and you reach the point where each incremental gain costs another fortune. You can literally buy speed. And for that reason, I don't think the Ironman (and cycling) playing field is entirely level at amateur level (you assume that professionals have access to the same level of equipment, technology and resources).
And then, after all that, there's the question of doping. I'm sure that clean professionals wonder if their competitors are doping, and I'm also fairly sure that amateur sport (particularly amateur endurance sport) isn't 100% clean either. And more recently there have been cases of "mechanical doping" - motors hidden inside bike frames. But doping (medical or mechanical) is another topic entirely.
Key sentence: "All riders have the right to compete in cycling competitions knowing that they, and their competitors, are clean." I'd extend that to "all sportspersons, professional or amateur".
For me, although I don't have super top-end gear and have drawn lines on what I spend money on, I believe I have a bike and equipment that allow me to have no excuses. And I certainly know I train and compete clean.
Training done around the ECCA 100 mile time trial was as
follows:
Mon 13 June: Rest
Tue 14 June: 45 minute turbo (8 x 1 minute >400 watts)
Wed 15 June: 2:20 run (18.25 miles, 7:40/mile, 135bpm)
Thu 16 June: Rest
Fri 17 June: Swim 1k
Sat 18 June: Rest
Sun 19 June: Bike 110 miles (100 mile TT in 3:58:43, 263/266W A/NP, 157bpm, 92rpm),
20 minute run
I took a few days off after the Bristol triathlon. It had
been a big effort and I needed to make sure I was properly recovered before
getting back into heavy training.
Three days after Bristol, I decided I’d go for an easy swim,
to ease back into training. I went to a pool on the way home from work, paid
for a swim, got changed, went through, and the pool was literally jam-packed.
There was nowhere to swim. Even the lifeguard agreed there was no point in me
getting in to try and swim. The pool was full, literally full, of people just
messing about. So I got changed and went to reception and asked for a refund,
got repeatedly fobbed off, and ended up being given the email address of a
manager. What a farce. Four days after Bristol, I felt I was ready to get back
into proper training.
I bought a few of the official photographs from Bristol – I
doubt I’ll ever win a triathlon again and I may as well have a few photos from
it. The bike photos are decent, but the run finish line photos are not pretty.
I didn’t think they would be, but they are worse than I thought. It looks like
I am screaming and roaring across the line, but this definitely wasn’t the
case, I didn’t make any noise, it’s just a face of pure pain. Plus, it’s
interesting that despite the tunnel vision and pain and everything, I’m
stopping my watch at the line – it has become instinct for me that on
completion of an effort, I’ll reach for my watch to stop the timer or to
“split” a lap time or interval time or whatever. I’m sure if I didn’t wear a
watch, I would still reach for my wrist instinctively. I've uploaded these photos to the Bristol triathlon post from last week.
I’d heard about an “under-over” bike session that I wanted
to do. It is one of professional cyclist/time-triallist Alex Dowsett’s
“favourite” sessions, and a session that is apparently good for boosting your
functional threshold power (FTP). You warm up, and then it’s a 20-minute
session, and then you cool down. The main 20-minute session involves 2 minutes
at 95% of FTP, and 2 minutes at 105% of FTP, repeated for the 20 minutes.
My FTP is around 310 watts at the minute, so I’d be doing
intervals at 295 watts and 325 watts. It was a tough session but I seemed able
to hold in the region of 330-340 watts for the “over” intervals, which would
indicate that my FTP is higher than I think. I’ll have to do another FTP test
soon to find out where I’m at. Anyway, I was pleased with the session and
followed it with an easy 20-minute run.
This “under-over” session had done the rounds on Facebook,
that’s where I heard about it. I finished the session, got back after my run,
and Steve said “I’ve got a really good session for you to try…” I said, “I’ve
probably just done it!” We’d both seen it on Facebook…
On Friday I went to the pool and did a Critical Swim Speed
session. After a warm-up, I did 3 x 600m, with 1 minute of recovery between
each. The first two were OK, in 6:13 and 6:16, but I struggled with the third
one, and did 6:26. A bit slower, but still a good swim workout. I was pleased
to swim the 1500m in Bristol in under 22 minutes, and so my swimming should
hopefully be OK for the Ironman. I went home and did 30 minutes of single-leg
drills on the turbo trainer, and then got my bike and my nutrition ready for
the following morning.
On Saturday and Sunday I planned to do back-to-back 100 mile
rides. This meant I wouldn’t get any weekend swimming done, but Ironman
training and racing is an exercise in compromise and in seeing the bigger
picture. My swimming is acceptable. I could put a lot of time and effort into
improving my swimming, and maybe gain another minute or two at best, but this
wouldn’t be time well spent. I can focus more on bike (and run) training and
gain more time that way.
Broadly speaking, I should be swimming the Ironman UK swim
in 60 minutes, doing the bike in 5:30 (330 minutes) and doing the run in
something like 3:20 (200 minutes). If I can become a 3% better swimmer, I will
save just under 2 minutes. If I become 3% better on the bike, I will save
almost 10 minutes, and if I gain 3% on the run, that’s 6 minutes, so it’s clear
where a lot of my training time should be dedicated. I felt that back-to-back
100 mile bike rides would be of benefit, and would help my endurance and leg
strength, and this would also transfer to running. I was happy to sacrifice a
weekend swim session to do the back-to-back rides.
So I headed off early on Saturday morning, with lots of
maltodextrin powder in my water bottles, and battered out 104 miles. I didn’t
feel as good as I hoped I would, and I think that I still had some residual
fatigue left over from Bristol, plus I had trained hard on Thursday and Friday.
The maltodextrin wasn’t going down as well as I hoped it would. And on the way
back, with about 5 miles left to ride, the sky darkened. It looked pretty
ominous. Then with 2 miles left, it started to spit with rain. Literally as I
was getting back to the house, it really started to rain heavily, with thunder
and lightning too. Had I been even a few minutes later, my bike and I would
have been soaked.
I had planned to go out and do a short run after the ride.
It was pouring. To run or not to run…? No pain, no gain. I pulled on a
waterproof, and went out and got drenched, but it was still quite warm and I
didn’t get cold. I got straight in the shower and got to bed as early as
possible. Same again the next day…
Where I went on the bike...
I decided that Sunday’s 100 miles would be done on the turbo
trainer as the forecast wasn’t great, and I could do some very specific and
precise leg strength work on the turbo. I did over 5 hours, and it was fairly
tedious. No pain, no gain. I did quite a lot of low cadence, high-gear leg
work, trying to build strength. In the final couple of hours, I was getting
very tired and my legs were getting very heavy. I was glad when it was over,
and I went out again for a short run. I was pleased to have gotten through the
weekend and I had clocked up a lot of miles.
I had Monday off to try to recover, and thought about what
I’d do for the rest of the week. I knew that at the end of the week, on Sunday
19th June, I would be doing a 100-mile time trial, so I knew the latter part of
the week would be spent taking it easy. I planned to do a full-on bike interval
session on Tuesday evening, but felt tired, so I settled for a 45-minute turbo
with 8 sets of one-minute intervals at over 400 watts. I needed to do a long
run too this week, which I planned for Wednesday, and I told myself if I got
through this long run, there would be no more hard training before the 100 mile
time trial.
So I headed out on Wednesday night and ran for two hours and
twenty minutes, covering over 18 miles, at an average heart rate of 134bpm.
Ian joined me for 6 or 7 miles of it and the company made it a lot more
enjoyable and the miles seemed to pass a lot faster. It wasn’t a particularly
fast run, but I took in lots of hills. Ironman UK is hilly, so training on
hills is a good idea.
Long runs knacker me more than any other training I do,
leaving my body feeling pretty wrecked. This two hour and twenty minute run was
no exception, and as soon as I finished, I did everything I could to try to
recover well. I made sure I got some protein on board, took a shower, gave my
legs the alternating hot and cold shower treatment, ate lots of ginger (it has
anti-inflammatory properties) and went to bed as soon as possible, but I didn’t
sleep well. When people talk about feeling like they’ve been “hit by a bus”, I
guess this is how they feel.
That’s some tough training done in the last week and a lot
of miles under the belt. I was very tired on Wednesday night after the long
run. In the last week I’d done an intense turbo session, a tough swim,
single-leg bike drills, two long bike rides followed by runs, high-power bike
intervals and a long run, in addition to all the weights, core work and
stretching. I was feeling it.
I’m approaching a good level of fitness, and with this comes
the “knife edge”, or the “tightrope”, where it’s really easy to get sick as the
body and immune system is stressed by the demands of heavy training. It’s a
tough, tough time of year, when you’ve invested a lot (time, effort, money etc),
and you’re so near and yet so far from race day. It’s been the same story year
after year – the final month before race day is always very, very difficult and
stressful, trying to keep everything together.
I have another month to get through. It’s never easy, but I’ve
pretty much gone through hell this year to get myself fit, in the face of a lot
of uncertainty at work. As usual I have given up a lot and controlled
everything possible to give myself the best chance of doing well. I find it
very difficult and stressful when there are things that I can’t control which
cause problems or threaten to derail things.
Mainly, my biggest threat or risk is being around people who
are sick. I can’t stand being around people who are coughing, sneezing,
spluttering and ill. It’s very easy for me to pick up any bugs at this stage, being
on the knife edge. And with having to commute on packed trains and work in an
air-conditioned office with people who have lifestyles that are very far
removed from mine, it’s difficult to avoid being around people, germs, bugs and
illnesses. And this causes me huge stress. Really, what I need to do is take
the next month off and avoid all this.
People at work are currently ill, with colds, coughs, and what seems like the flu. There also seems to be a lot of coughing and sneezing on the trains at the minute too. It's agonising to sit among it, and it looks like I’m getting sick too. It absolutely cracks me up. I am actually feeling pretty rough. My eyes are bloodshot, my throat is sore, I can’t speak properly, and I am coughing. Urgh.
I have really fought and fought so hard this year to get
myself to a good level of fitness, it has been hugely stressful with work and
redundancies and uncertainty, never mind hating living and working in London,
and yet somehow I have managed, and here I am now, about a month before race
day, having just won the Bristol triathlon and with a 100 mile time trial in 4
days, I was finally starting to feel like things were going well, and I feel
terrible. Needless to say, I am absolutely not in a good mood right now, and I
hope things will improve quickly.
Thu 9 June: 45 minute turbo (10 x 2mins 290W/335W), 20 minute run
Fri 10 June: Swim 2.3k (3 x 600m, 1 min recovery), 30 minute turbo (single leg drills)
Sat 11 June: 104 mile bike, 20 minute run
Sun 12 June: 5:05 turbo, 25 minute run
Mon 13 June: Rest
Tue 14 June: 45 turbo (8 x 1 minute at 400+W)
Wed 15 June: 2:20 run (18.25 miles, 7:40/mile, 134bpm)
Quite a long blog post this week, but it was a really good week (well, a really good Sunday...!)
This was Bristol triathlon week. An Olympic distance
triathlon consisting of a 1500m open water swim, a 40km bike and a 10km run.
I’d done it last year and had a solid, strong race, finishing third. I haven’t
trained for the same speed intensity this year, but rather I’ve done more
endurance-based training with Ironman UK being the big target for this summer,
so I wasn’t sure how my short-course speed would be.
That said, two weeks ago I had done an encouraging 50 mile
bike time trial with a comfortable 40-minute 10km run immediately afterwards,
so I was hopeful of a decent showing in Bristol. I didn’t expect to challenge
for the win last year and I certainly wasn’t expecting to challenge for the win
this time around. I didn’t even think I would be looking at another top-3
finish, but I wanted to race well so I tapered down for a few days before, keeping
an eye on the weather forecast. It seemed to suggest conditions would be sunny
and warm, with the risk of thunderstorms. Hmmmm.
I rested on Tuesday and Wednesday and didn’t train, I did an
easy 20 minutes on the turbo on Thursday with a few single leg drills thrown
in, followed by a short 10-minute run, and then on Friday I did an easy 1000m
in the pool, tumble turning every time at the deep end – dare I say it but I am
starting to feel that I am no longer comically bad at tumble turning, and I
don’t feel that I am drowning any more when I do them. I don’t quite have the
confidence to try tumble turning at the shallow end yet though. Fortunately
there are no tumble turns required in triathlons. I didn’t train on Saturday
either, so I was well rested and my legs felt good.
I went and picked up a rental car on Saturday, got all my
triathlon gear together, and headed off to Bristol. I was staying in Bristol
with Matt (an old friend from university/training buddy/fellow
Ironman-in-training) and Elisa (Matt’s girlfriend). Matt had done the race last
year and was entered this year as well, and Elisa had entered the sprint
distance (750m swim, 20km bike and 5km run). Neil (Matt’s former housemate) was
coming up from Southampton to race as well. A good weekend was in prospect…
A great place for a race. The bike and run both pass under the Clifton suspension bridge in the background
We had a massive and delicious spaghetti bolognese dinner,
and I had to restrict myself from eating too much. No point in carrying any
extra weight or increasing the risk of choosing between a toilet stop or an
eruption on race day. We all dedicatedly passed on dessert – that could wait
for after the race. We chatted about how crazy it was that a year had passed
since the last Bristol triathlon. Time flies, it gets quicker every year. Neil
piped up, deadpan, “Yep, we’ll all be dead soon…” Elisa countered “Hopefully
not in the race tomorrow…” Matt and Elisa have just bought a house, and are moving
next weekend, so we went and had a look, and then went to bed. Such is the
triathlete’s Saturday night – no dessert, no alcohol, no partying, and early to
bed… I’m well used to it by now…
Dinner time...
On race day, the start time was later in the day than last
year, so we’d have a bit more time in the morning. I slept pretty well, and we
didn’t have to get up too early. I’d brought all my breakfast stuff with me – porridge,
honey, walnuts, chia seeds, a banana and peanut butter, so I mixed it all
together and ate exactly as I wanted to. Perfect. We loaded up the cars and set
off to try and find parking spaces near the registration and transition venues.
We had loads of time so weren’t rushed at all. Things were
already in full swing at registration and in transition. There were four
different starting waves for the Olympic distance race, at 10:00am, 10:30am,
11:00am and 11:30am. We were in the fourth (and fastest) wave, off at 11:30am.
Elisa’s sprint distance race was off at 12:15pm. We got registered and like
last year, it was an easy and friendly process. Really, the whole thing is
brilliantly organised and I’m sure a lot of work goes into it behind the scenes
– Matt had been out the previous day volunteering with other members of the BAD
(Bristol And District) triathlon club, helping to measure and mark the run
course, and spray-painting the mount/dismount lines.
We got registered, got our race packs, got our bikes ready,
stuck our number stickers onto our bikes and helmets, fastened our race numbers
to our number belts and then headed over to transition. I had a really good
spot, right at the end of one of the bike rack railings, with a bit more space
available. I got everything racked and ready. I was a bit pushed for time last
year, but things were good this year, I was relaxed and able to take my time
squeezing into my wetsuit. No problem. There was a hazy cloud cover obscuring
the sun all morning, and it didn’t look to me like there would be any
thunderstorms.
Triathletes
Transition
The Cumberland Basin, before the sun came out...
...And after the sun came out. Great location for a swim
We were called to the pre-race briefing, and by this point
the haze had burned off and the sun came out. It was a strong, hot sun. We were
quite tightly packed in the holding pen for the race briefing, all clad in
tight rubber, with adrenaline and ambition and maybe a little apprehension
bubbling, starting to get a bit hot and bothered, itching to get going, so we
were glad to be called down to the pontoon to get into the balmy blue waters (honestly)
of Bristol’s Cumberland Basin.
We walked down onto the pontoon, and then there was nothing
for it but to take the plunge. Most people jumped straight in. I sat down and
dipped my toes. Cold, cold, cold. Maybe “balmy” was an exaggeration… Matt knows
how much I hate getting into any kind of water, even a heated swimming pool,
and as he was jumping in, he said “Good luck getting in the water John…” Earlier
in the week he had sent me a photo of the Cumberland Basin, knowing how much I
hate the thought of swimming with any kind of aquatic life that could sting or bite or worse…
I choose to do this?! For “fun”?! We had been told in the
race briefing that the water temperature was 17 degrees (“balmy” to some), and
that the water quality was excellent. There was no time to be a wimp sitting on
the side, triathlon starts wait for no-one, so I slid into the water, gasped a
few times, and doggy-paddled out to the “start line”, marked by a canoe on one
side and a starting official on the shore on the other side, armed with a
klaxon.
Last year I was quite conservative regarding where I placed
myself for the swim start, over to the left beside the basin wall. This meant I
took the wide line round the marker buoys. But this year, I positioned myself
away over to the right, taking the tighter (and hopefully marginally shorter
and faster) line, at the risk of encountering a bit more “biff” in the first
part of the swim. I thought the benefits of a shorter line and potentially
getting a good draft were worth the risk, and I didn’t expect much biff, it’s
not like an Ironman swim start with over 2000 athletes all fighting for the
same piece of water.
We were all in limbo, in position, under starter’s orders. I
wanted to get away and get going and start generating heat. We got a 60-second warning.
I dipped my face in the water. Then 30 seconds. I dipped my face in the water
again to try to get used to it. Then the klaxon. We were away.
Surprisingly there was no argy-bargy anywhere near me and I
passed the first buoy unhindered. Approaching the second buoy underneath the
flyover at the far end of the course, from what I was able to see between
breathing and lifting my head up to sight, I realised I was in a good position. There were maybe 3 or 4 swimming in a group just ahead of me, and a swarm of
swimmers just behind my left shoulder. I was too far behind the leaders to risk
trying to bridge the gap and swim in their draft, and anyway, I thought that
the lead swimmers would be swimming under 20 minutes for the 1500m, and that’s
beyond what’s sensible (or possible) for me to try to keep up with.
So I kept swimming my own swim in clear water, and felt
reasonably good. I was going quite hard but (I hoped) not too hard – it’s
always difficult to judge swim pace. It’s a two-lap swim, with 7 tight turns
around marker buoys. Making the third tight turn, a left-hander just before
half distance, I got too close to the marker buoy and whacked my wrist on it as
I was flinging my left arm forwards to take another stroke. These marker buoys
are massive big air-filled things, and you would think they would be fairly
soft. I learned the hard way that they are as rigid as brick walls and my left wrist
got a good whack. It affected my swimming rhythm and technique a little, and a
few people drew level and passed me immediately afterwards.
From then on, I could feel my left wrist was a bit sore as I
pulled with every stroke, but in all honesty, with the adrenaline pumping, it
didn’t have too much of an effect on my swimming. I knew that I’d be out of the
water in about 10 more minutes, and then I’d be relying more on my legs than on
my left wrist. So I kept swimming, into the second lap and down to the far
marker buoy again, where the water was noticeably cooler in the shade of the
flyover. I gave the buoys a slightly wider berth on the second lap – I didn’t
need another whack on the wrist. Heading back towards the end of the swim, a
few more swimmers drew level and I ended up swimming three abreast, in close
company, with nothing between us. It crossed my mind that for all I knew, it
could have been Neil and Matt, and we all agreed afterwards that it probably
was us three abreast at that point.
Approaching the end of the swim, I started to think about
transition and the things I would have to do. It’s one thing to think through a
transition, but it’s another thing entirely to execute it in the heat of
battle, out of breath, with a high heart rate, and in a rush to get through. I
wanted to be mentally ready for it.
Maybe I started the swim slightly too fast, and I lost a few
places on the second lap, but I still felt strong towards the end of the swim
and I felt that l’d had a decent swim. Quite a few swimmers exited the water at
around the same time and began the run to transition. I was more than happy to
give my (right) hand to a volunteer who hauled me up the ramp and onto the
pontoon. I swam 22:18 last year and was pleased with that. Anything similar
this year would be good. I glanced at my watch, it said 22:something. Whatever
the “something” was, 22 wasn’t bad.
I later found out that my official swim time was 21:54.
That’s decent for me. There were 7 of us who all exited the water within a few
seconds. Neil is a very good swimmer, and he was just in front of me as we ran
towards transition. He’d had a good swim. He later told us that he has only been
in a pool and swam once this year. So, it seems the only shark in the
Cumberland Basin went by the name of Neil… If he did some swim training he
could be very fast, as he proved in 2012, swimming the Ironman Wales swim in 51
minutes.
By the time I had got to my bike, my earplugs were out, my
goggles and swimming hats (2 hats to try to keep my head warm in the water)
were off, and my wetsuit was stripped to the waist. Getting the wetsuit legs
off is like trying to shake off an angry octopus or something. It’s so clumsy,
and there’s no other way other than brute force. I hauled it off, stood on my
towel and wrapped it over my feet to try to dry them off, put on my race number
belt, my helmet and my sunglasses, pulled on my shoes, grabbed my bike, saw
Matt was doing likewise just a few metres away – he’d obviously had a great
swim – and I clomped down to the bike mount line in my cleated bike shoes.
I always put my shoes on in transition because it means my
feet are clean and relatively dry in my bike shoes. Running to the mount line
in bare feet with bike shoes already clipped into the pedals means your feet
can pick up grit, and then you have to mount the bike, get your feet into the
shoes, tighten the shoes, and stay upright, all while other triathletes around
you are doing the same. And then you might find that there’s a stone or
something in your shoe. On the other hand, I get on the bike and get going
straight away and I can avoid all that. My transitions take slightly longer,
but particularly for an Ironman race, I think it’s better to take a few extra
seconds and guarantee comfortable feet and a clean getaway. Plus, it’s a few
extra seconds of recovery. Saying that, I always wonder if faster transitions
would gain me overall places…
Anyway, I got going on the bike, got round the first couple
of turns out of transition, and got down into the aero position. I went to
check my power and heart rate and realised I hadn’t started my Garmin. Grrrr. The
sun was strong by now, but I was still wet from the swim, and cycling at 25mph
means you get a good cooling breeze.
The bike course is great, along the Portway (a flat, closed
road alongside the River Avon and underneath the Clifton suspension bridge).
For a non-Bristolian like me, it’s pretty spectacular. It’s a four-lap
out-and-back route, with a tight, slow U-turn at the far end, and the course is
twisty and technical at the other end, around the transition area.
I knew my power and heart rate figures from last year so I
had those to go on (40km, 1:02:24, 267 watts average power, 273W normalised
power, 1.022 variability index, 502W max power, 167bpm average heart rate,
178/153bpm max/min heart rate, 31.75mph max speed). It’s always alarming to get
on the bike and see how high your heart rate is after the swim and first
transition. I was at around 175bpm. Sky high. I needed to get that down fast,
but I also wanted to ride fast. Getting your heart rate down fast and riding fast
don’t go well together, and as ever in triathlon, you have to strike a delicate
balance.
I got it down to 170bpm and although I would have liked to
get it to something like 165bpm, I settled in at around 170bpm. For this I was
averaging well over 270 watts. Not bad, but could I hold it? I knew I was
working hard, I wouldn’t say I was “comfortable”, but I felt decent and so I
maintained my output. It’s maybe a 6 or 7 minute blast out to the U-turn at the
far end. I used the U-turn to get a mini-recovery, getting up from the aero
position, freewheeling into the turn, then braking almost to a standstill,
taking the turn, and then accelerating away again. I tried not to spike my
power too high on the exit of the U-turns, to avoid destroying my legs. Then it’s
a 6 or 7 minute blast back to the technical section around the transition area.
This technical section was fun to ride, lined with barriers
and cheering spectators, the atmosphere was great around here, and again it offered
an opportunity to get up from the aero position and get some sort of
mini-recovery. You come in off the Portway, up a hill, round to the right, over
a bridge, down a long, looping, tightening right-handed slip road, towards
transition, then you bear right, up a short drag, over the top, then a quick
tight left/right down a short hill, then a left-hander where there were lots
and lots of spectators beside the swim entrance around what I will term
Bristol’s “hot corner” (in reference to Kona’s “hot corner” at the Ironman
world championships, where lots of spectators congregate), then over to the far
side of the Cumberland Basin, around one more left-hander, bike rattling over
the rough road surface at this point, then out and away again on the Portway,
tucking tight into the aero position, “turtling” your head down low and
shrugging your shoulders as tight as possible to catch as little wind as
possible.
That’s one lap. Repeat this 4 times to get 40km in total on
the bike, in hopefully not much more than an hour…
It’s difficult to get a good idea of where you are in the
race, and who you are racing against, due to the seeded wave starts. There had
been three waves that started before our wave, so the Portway was busy with
triathletes, but approaching the U-turn I was able to take a look and see who
was going the opposite direction and get an idea of who was ahead of me. I
maintained my output and felt like I was riding well. I kept drinking, and had
3 gels while on the bike.
I had a new X-Lab Torpedo horizontally-mounted front water
bottle (more aerodynamic than my old vertically mounted front bottle). It’s
definitely a neater solution, but not as easy to drink from – it has a bite
valve on the straw and quite a low liquid flow rate. So I might cut off the
bite valve. I was loving my new Rudy Project Wingspan aero helmet:
shorter-tailed, more aero for me, really well ventilated on such a hot day, and
far more comfortable than my old helmet. I barely knew I was wearing it –
compared to my old helmet, it’s like wearing a cloud. I was also loving my new
Zone3 triathlon shorts – easily the most comfortable tri shorts I have ever
used. Things were going good.
Love the new helmet, love the new shorts, love the new aero front bottle... Love the photos too actually, whoever took these has a good eye
I was ahead of Matt, who at this point was ahead of Neil, and
I got a few shouts from them as we passed. I was working pretty hard and down tight
in the aero position so it was difficult to respond to them, and indeed it was
difficult to pick them out – they were both wearing the local BAD tri (Bristol
And District) club gear, and the BAD tri club members were out in force – lots
of red and black tri tops. With a 40-50mph speed differential when passing
people in opposite directions, and with so many people in red and black, things
can become a bit of a blur. Maybe I’m easier to pick out in my green helmet and
green calf compression tubes…
Elisa was also racing, she had entered the sprint distance
race, which started 45 minutes after our wave, so with the way the timings and
distances worked, we were all riding on the Portway at the same time. I got a
shout from her too, which with the speed differential as I was zooming one way
and her in the opposite direction was a bit like “go
JooooOOOOOOHHHHHhhhnnnnnnn”, like the changing pitch of a motorbike engine as
it speeds past. I also caught sight of Desi and Tim (who know Matt and Elisa
and Neil, I met them at last year’s race) spectating in the same spot as they did
last year, in the central reservation of the Portway just as it split close to
the transition area. I tried to give them a wave each time I passed, and Desi
took a few brilliant photos:
Elisa
Neil
Me
Desi should be a photographer, this is brilliant
Approaching the final U-turn at the far end of the last lap,
I made an effort to try to see who was on the home straight and who could be
ahead of me in the race. I saw one guy who I thought for sure was leading the
race, and I didn’t think there was anyone else ahead of me in the race, but I
couldn’t be absolutely certain and it was difficult to tell. I was fairly sure
I was riding in second place though, with another guy right on my tail.
Coming into transition, I loosened my shoes, jumped off, and
racked my bike. I biked 1:01:28, the fastest bike split of the day and almost a
minute quicker than I did last year. My data was as follows: 276 watts average
power (9 watts more than last year), 279 watts normalised power (6 watts higher
than last year), 1.011 variability index (so a really consistent bike), 493
watts max power, 170bpm average heart rate (3bpm higher than last year),
179/163bpm max/min heart rate, 29.76mph max speed. I was over 4W/kg for the ride. My bike was really
consistent and from my Garmin computer, the data from my 5-mile splits was as
follows:
0-5 miles: 272W/174bpm
5-10 miles: 274W/170bpm
10-15 miles: 281W/169bpm
15-20 miles: 282W/169bpm
20-25 miles: 273W/168bpm (backing off the power slightly to ease the transition
to running, or just tired…?!)
Comparisons with last year are as follows (yep, I like data and numbers...!):
1:02:24
/ 1:01:28 time
267 / 276 watts average power
273 / 279 watts normalised power
1.022 / 1.011 VI
502 / 493 watts max power
167 / 170 bpm average HR
178 / 179 bpm max HR
153 / 163 bpm minimum HR 18 / 25 degrees celcius average temperature (much warmer this year).
31.75 / 29.76 mph max speed (there was a slight headwind this year on the marginally faster return leg of the Portway and I think top speeds were down a fraction).
Overall a really solid bike effort, but it would be meaningless unless I
could back it up with a decent run…
The guy who was just behind me was really quick through
transition and didn’t put socks on. He was away like a flash as I was wrestling
into my socks, and then I set off behind him. He had gained about 15 seconds on
me in transition alone, in the space of just over a minute. 15 seconds doesn’t
sound like much, but it’s a lot of time to pull back. He was maybe 60 or 70m
ahead, running in what I assumed to be second place. I thought I was third. I
knew that I’d had a strong run last year (under 36 minutes, 172bpm average
heart rate, 181 maximum heart rate near the end), and I hoped for a strong run
this year, but I knew that I had biked harder this year, and I didn’t think my
running speed fitness was quite as good as last year. I hoped I hadn’t biked
too hard, that I’d not be overcooked on the run, and that I’d have good running
legs allowing me a good strong run.
The first (and last) kilometre of the run could be described
as a “hilly cross country course on tarmac” (I once heard the Scottish Road
Relay Championships in Livingston described like this, it’s a pretty good
description). Along footpaths, across bridges, along pedestrian walkways, up and
down ramps, twisting and turning, difficult to get a rhythm. It’s “interesting”
running to say the least! Then the course opens up onto the out-and-back
section, along a trail running through the trees beside the River Avon, on the
opposite bank to the bike course. Conditions underfoot were good, but it is a
challenging run, with the typical twists and undulations you’d expect from a
trail run. The temperature was really hotting up by now, so it wasn’t going to
be an easy run.
I didn’t feel great for the first couple of kilometres. I
felt a bit pukey and burpy. Maybe 3 gels on the bike was one too many, and with
the heat and effort levels, they didn’t seem to have digested properly. I felt
a bit dehydrated. I’d had about 500ml of water on the bike with my gels, but
maybe I should have had more water. I should have had a drink at the water
station 1km in to the run. This was a mistake, but I didn’t feel like drinking
water when I was feeling pukey and burpy. There were a lot of marshals in the
first (and therefore last) kilometre of the run because there were so many turns
requiring direction, and the water station too. The marshals were great, all
day long. On the run they were all shouting “come on John”, “looking good
John”, “well done John”, and I was thinking “how do all these people know me?”
Then I realised, my name is on my race number and they can see that…
Gradually I reeled in the guy who was running in second
place. He had “Pollard” written across the back of his tri-suit. Dave Pollard. But
I knew from how I was feeling, from the heat and from my pace that I wasn’t
going to be running anywhere near 35 minutes this year. And it wasn’t as if I
was taking it easy, my heart rate was well over 170bpm, so I was working hard.
Dave and I ended up running together out to the turning
point. We weren’t running shoulder to shoulder because the trail was quite
narrow and there were athletes coming back in the opposite direction on the
final stretches of their runs. We were each taking turns at the front. I just
ran how I felt, and if I felt the pace was too slow, I took the lead. If he wanted
to come through, I let him. I ran my own pace and wasn’t too influenced by him,
and I couldn’t work out if he was trying to work with me or trying to get away.
It didn’t matter to me, I just ran at a pace I thought I could maintain for 10km.
It was warm and I unzipped the front of my top to try and cool down. The pukey
and burpy feelings thankfully subsided after a few kilometres. I wanted a
drink, but the water station wasn’t until 9km…
As we approached the turn, I again started to look for
people running in the opposite direction who could be ahead of me in the race.
I saw the same guy I had seen on the bike, maybe a minute or more ahead,
looking like he was running well. I later found out his name was Jamie. I
didn’t see anyone else, so I assumed Jamie was the leader and I was running in
second/third with Dave. Dave and I reached the turn together and began our run
for home. I didn’t up my pace or make a surge or anything, but I ended up gradually
leaving Dave behind.
Things got really tough. It was hot. I was more dehydrated
than I wanted to be. I probably didn’t drink enough on the bike and didn’t
realise how hot it was – you get a 25mph cooling breeze on the bike, and you’re
still wet from the swim on the first part of the bike anyway. And my feet,
ahhhh my feet were in absolute agony, I have no idea why. The soles of my feet got
horrendously sore on the run. It was like they were being sliced with knives.
It has happened a couple of times before, in races but not in training. I have
no idea why it happens. I knew I had only 15 minutes left to run and I knew I
could grit my teeth and get through it, but if I’d had another 2 hours left to
run in an Ironman, I don’t know if I could have hacked it.
Anyway, I was fairly sure I was running in second and I
didn’t want to drop my pace and get eaten up by people coming through from behind.
I thought it was very unlikely that I would make up enough time to challenge
the leader. We were still on the trail and in the trees, and so I couldn’t see
him ahead. I thought the gap was at least a minute, based on what I’d seen at
the turn.
I was just running at as hard a pace as I hoped I could
maintain to the finish, but it was going to be a long, long 4km until the end.
4km? I could do that in 12-13 minutes usually, but I had no idea how long it
would take me now. 15 minutes? 16? Ages and ages. Time distorts when you are at
or close to your limit. 10 seconds seems like a minute, and a minute seems like
forever. You could “choose” to stop (or ease off) and all the pain would
subside and stop, time would go back to normal, but there’s no choice to make, you
can’t stop, you can’t let up, you keep going and you accept that a minute will
take forever, never mind 15 or 16 minutes…
I passed Matt as he was heading out. It was good to see him,
something to distract the mind. He looked good and was well up in the race compared
to last year. I stuck out my hand for a high five. It was like a gunshot. I
wished I hadn’t, because it hurt like mad, a massive slap at close to 20mph… Fortunately
it was my right hand. Had it been the left hand that I’d whacked off the buoy
in the swim, my wrist would have probably snapped…
I kept running. Shortly afterwards, when I had maybe just
over 3km left to run, I saw Neil heading out. He shouted “25 seconds, 25
seconds…” 25 seconds? 25 seconds to the leader? I thought I was further back
than that. 25 seconds… Aaargh. 3km left? What’s that? 9 seconds per kilometre
to make up? 13 seconds per mile? A massive ask. I wasn’t feeling great. I
needed a drink, and I needed this absolute agony in the soles of my feet to
stop. But there were still 3km left. Normally that would be not much more than 9
minutes. In this state, maybe 12 minutes or more? 12 more damned minutes...
Could I win it? Probably not, it was a big gap, but you
never know what might happen and I at least wanted to run the best I could and
win that personal battle with myself. Forget the result, forget the clock,
forget the time, forget everyone else, just get to the finish and be able to
say you gave it everything. Don’t let up, don’t ease off, don’t slow down. You may or may not win the race if you give it everything, but you won't win it if you don't give it everything, so you have to try, you have to give it everything, you have to give yourself the chance.
I saw a couple of athletes sitting/lying by the trailside,
one being tended by medics. The heat was taking its toll. I was in a deep, dark
place. I think I passed Elisa as she was heading out, but I can’t remember with
any clarity. I was just hanging on. Another kilometre passed. 2km to go. Surely
less than 8 minutes of this to go. Surely I can keep this up for another 8 minutes.
I still wasn’t thinking about catching the leader, I thought he was too far
ahead, and coming so close to the finish line he’d surely find some strength
and speed to get him over the line in first place. I just wanted to maintain my
pace and get to the finish line and be able to say that I had left it all out
there and raced my best, regardless of the result. That’s always what I try to
do in a race.
With maybe 1.5km to go, I still couldn’t see Jamie, the leader, ahead
as I was still in the woods, but I was still running as hard as I could. I
overtook a slower runner who had obviously started in an earlier wave. I heard
him say, “Go on, I can sense his weakness…” I assumed he was referring to
Jamie. I still couldn’t see him. Often, you’ll hear all sorts from spectators
and other athletes: you’ll be told you’re being caught when you’re not (to try
to spur you on to run faster), you’ll be told you look great when you look like
death (to try to make you feel better and that it’s all worth it), you’ll be
told that the guy in front is flagging when he’s not (to try to spur you on to
run faster), or you’ll be told the gap is only 10 seconds to the guy in front
when it’s really 20 seconds (to make you believe you can catch him up). So you
take anything you hear with a pinch of salt, and you use your own senses to
work out how things are panning out, and you run the best you can.
With 1km to go, I was finally out of the actual woods and
approaching the “interesting” section again. But I was far from out of the
metaphorical woods, which were getting denser by the second. Could I hang on
and keep the pace going? It would be up and down steep ramps, around tight
hairpins and corners, over bridges, and an overall uphill final kilometre to
the finish line. Would this be the toughest kilometre of my life? For some
reason I looked at my watch to check my heart rate. I’ve no idea why I did
this, it’s not like knowing it was going to help me. 185bpm. The ragged edge.
I’ve never ever seen it higher than 185bpm in even the toughest training I’ve
done. I was maxing out. Could I hold it for another kilometre?
There’s a water station at the 1km/9km mark, and I needed a
gulp, my mouth and lips were parched. A slower runner was also approaching the water
station and she got in the way (I think
it was a girl but tunnel vision was kicking in and all I could see was the
bottle of water that I was going for), so I had to shout and point at the
marshal who was holding up the water bottle, I grabbed it, took one spluttery gulp,
didn’t get much down my throat (it’s not easy to drink when you are breathing
so hard), poured a bit over my head, ditched the bottle, and got ready for the
final few minutes.
I finally saw the leader ahead for the first time now that
we were out of the woods. Maybe 15 seconds ahead. Less than 1km to go. He
realised I was gaining on him, but I still thought the gap was too much, maybe
40 metres. It wasn’t really about catching him, it was just about getting to
the finish line and maintaining the pace that I had been fighting to hold, that
would mean I could say that I hadn’t let up and that I had won my own battle. If
it meant I caught Jamie, then great, and if not, then it would be the fastest
and best second place I was capable of. Or, someone behind might still pass me,
but if someone was after me, I didn’t know – I wasn’t looking back, and if
someone was able to overtake me, then given my effort level, they’d deserve it.
The gap to the leader was closing so slowly. It was agonising.
We took a hairpin bend which led onto a pedestrian ramp up
to a footbridge. The gap was maybe 10 seconds. I got onto the ramp. Steep. So
steep. There was a slower triathlete in front and two cyclists (not in the
race) crossing the bridge in the opposite direction. The leader had cleared all
this and was away and free. This could ruin things for me. We were all going to
converge at the 90-degree right-hander at the top of the ramp that led onto the
bridge. Oh no. If I have to stop, it’ll be a nightmare. I could lose 4 or 5 seconds.
Maybe more. I’d never get going again. I desperately didn’t want to lose any
time here.
I must have had a desperate look because the cyclists caught
sight of me, stopped before the turn, and left enough room for single file on
the left hand side. But the slower athlete in front was going through the gap
left by the cyclists and blocking my way. I had to get through, and with a hand
on his back and a bit of a grunt (which was meant to be taken as “Excuse me,
kind fellow triathlete, please don’t mind me passing by…”) I
pushed/squeezed/blitzed through whatever space there was. Sorry!
Then it was over the bridge, and around another right turn, and
I knew in my head exactly what was coming as I’d seen it earlier in the day as
we walked to registration, and I knew it from last year: along a path which led
to a very short, sharp, steep downhill, at the bottom was a tight 90-degree right
turn, then it was onto a footpath by the main road for maybe around 300m,
followed by a fast and open 90-degree right hander which led onto the uphill
finish straight, with the finish line 20-30m further along. The short, steep
downhill and 90-degree right hander were real rhythm-breakers, but I got
through them and onto the footpath alongside the road. Not long to go now. I still
wasn’t sure if I could catch Jamie. He was maybe 6 or 7 seconds ahead.
Halfway along this footpath, 15 or 20 seconds later, with
not much more than 30 seconds left to run, the gap was still closing. For the
first time, I realised that there was a genuine chance I could do it. There was
a chance I could actually catch him and win this triathlon race. There it was,
a massive gold-plated carrot, a few seconds up the road, I was closing on the
leader and approaching the finish line. I had a chance to win a triathlon.
My focus shifted from maintaining my pace to catching Jamie.
I knew I had to lift my pace to the fastest sprint I was capable of, and even
beyond that. I knew I had to pass him before the final turn onto the finish
straight, because I thought whoever got onto the short finishing straight first
would have the finish line in sight, and would only have a very short distance
left to cover and would likely win the race. I knew I had to make the pass at
speed, go straight by, strong and fast, not giving him much chance to react,
and hold on until the line. If that was good enough to win, then great, and if
he had the legs to outsprint me, then congratulations to him, but I was going
to give it everything. It’s not every day you’re in a position to win a
triathlon. It might never happen again. Give it everything and then some.
Even with that, I might not do it. He might lift the pace. I
might not be able to maintain a full sprint for so long, I might blow up. But
the chance was there. I had to try. I had to go for it.
So somehow I lifted the pace to a flat-out sprint. I’ve no
idea how I did this, I was already so far into the red zone, on the absolute
ragged edge. It wasn’t just a burst for a few seconds that was needed, it was
all-out for 20-30 seconds, until the line. I just went for it. Flat out. The
gap closed. Then there was no gap. I passed him right on the turn. I’m sure the
crowd lining the finishing straight were making lots of noise, but all I heard
was Jamie going “Aaaahhhhh” when I passed him. I had to get to the line. I went
way harder than I’ve ever gone in my life and got over the line ahead.
My finish is at 1:23:40 in this video
I don’t have the words… In 1999, Alex Ferguson won his first
Champion’s League title after his Manchester United team epically scored twice in
injury time to defeat Bayern Munich. He was asked for his immediate reaction at
the final whistle. Lost for words, all he could say was “Football? Bloody
hell…” Substitute “football” for “triathlon” and I’ll leave it at that. Unreal.
I ran 38:42, around 3 minutes down on last year. Running
conditions were hot and difficult this year, and I don’t think my run speed
this year is quite where it was last year. Plus, I had biked a bit harder this
year, which would have made the run tougher. My overall finish time was
2:06:12, about a minute and a half down on last year. None of this really
mattered. I’d swam well, biked well, and held things together on the run, kept
my pace, and had the most epic of finishes. It would have been easy to just
cruise in to the finish line, but I’d persisted and I’d fought to run as well
as it was possible to run, irrespective of what the outcome might have been.
And I’d ended up winning. Whatever else may or may not happen in my triathlon
career, however Ironman UK goes this year, after all the nightmare Ironman races I've had over the years, whether I ever qualify for Kona or
not, at least I can say that I have won a triathlon. Some justification for
everything I’ve put into it over the years.
In the finish area, immediately after crossing the line, I
stumbled over to the railings and flopped over, completely wrecked. It took me
a good while to get my breathing and heart rate back under control. A medic
came over, asking if I was all right. I couldn’t even speak but I gave a
thumbs-up. I don’t know how long I spent in immediate recovery mode but it was
a lot longer than usual. I later checked my watch and saw that my heart rate
had peaked at 192bpm. I didn’t think my heart rate went to 192bpm and I doubt
it ever will again… I was running so, so hard.
My Garmin watch didn’t really work properly last year so I
don’t have any mile splits, but this year it seemed to be OK. Given the
out-and-back course, it makes sense that miles 1 and 6 should be similar in
time, miles 2 and 5 should be similar, and miles 3 and 4 should be similar. My
splits were as follows:
Mile 1: 6:05, 167bpm
Mile 2: 5:45, 169bpm
Mile 3: 6:44, 170bpm
Mile 4: 6:54, 174bpm
Mile 5: 5:21, 177bpm
Mile 6: 6:11, 180bpm
My Garmin said there were 0.32 miles at the end, done in 1:39 (just over 5 minutes per mile), with the final sprint peaking at 4:05/mile.
I went over to the “computer tent” where you can type your
number into a computer, and it will tell you what your split times and
positions are from the timing chip around your ankle. I typed in “270” and it
came up: “1”. Confirmation in black and white. Yesssss! There were official photographers out on the course and at the finish line. I haven't bought any of the official photos (yet...) I didn't think my finish line photos would be pretty, and I saw previews of them online: they were even worse-looking than I thought! Talk about a pain face. It had been a tough, tough finish.
In the finish area, I got some much, much-needed water and I had a chat and
handshakes with a few of the guys that had finished behind me. I’m sure Jamie
was disappointed but he took it well. He’s training for Ironman Wales later
this year and hoping to qualify for the Ironman world championships like me.
He’s only 23, and with the level he’s at, I’m sure he is going to have a good
triathlon career in the years to come.
I wanted to get back out on the course and cheer Matt, Neil
and Elisa coming in, and I wanted to get jogging again to stop myself seizing
up. I went down to transition and put on some tracksuit bottoms and a top to
cover up in the sun, grabbed some food and jogged off to see them.
My dad was participating in the Gran Fondo cycling event on
the same day. Following the Giro d’Italia’s successful visit to Northern
Ireland in 2014, this Gran Fondo was a legacy event for Northern Ireland, going
from Belfast, down through the Mourne mountains and back to Belfast, over 100
miles. My mum was down watching it in Belfast and she knew I hoped to be
finished my race before 1:40pm. She had asked me to call when I was finished to
let her know how I got on. It was now well after 1:40pm. I knew she would be
waiting and wondering. So I had to call… Between this, and trying to eat food
and drink water, and then seeing Elisa appearing round a corner all of a sudden
(looking fresh and really good, it has to be said), I didn’t manage to get a
photo of her, which I was a bit annoyed about.
My dad on my old bike at the end of the Gran Fondo in Belfast. Good going!
In racing, DNF stands for “Did Not Finish” and I DNF’d my
chicken salad sandwich. It had been sitting in the heat all day and was tasting
decidedly dodgy. With my body in such a depleted state, I didn’t need to be
risking anything… Even looking at it was making me want to puke. So I fed it to
the bin instead. I had a banana, a couple of flapjacks and more water, and saw
Matt and Neil coming in with less than 1km left to run, and got a few photos.
Matt was looking battered, Neil looking quite fresh.
Matt battling
Neil the shark
Matt was 43rd overall in an impressive sub-2:30, with a very
good swim of 22:30, a strong bike of 1:10, and a “hanging-on” run of 52
minutes, still faster than his run last year despite this year’s tougher
conditions. Neil was 62nd, in 2:34, not bad for a first triathlon in years and
having done very little specific training. His shark abilities were evident with
his 21:47 swim, he biked a decent 1:15 and looked to be comfortable running 52
minutes. Elisa had done really well in her first triathlon too, swimming 19
minutes in one of her first proper open water wetsuit swims, biking 44 minutes
and finishing with an impressive 26-minute 5km run for 1:36 overall. Good going
all round.
Matt looking experienced
Neil looking like he wants more, and wants to do Ironman Wales again this year
Elisa looking rightly pleased
Me looking like I need a haircut
Job done
We all met up at the finish area, I got a goody bag for the
win, we took a couple of photos, and paid a visit to the ice cream van. I
couldn’t begin to speculate when the last time I had an actual ice cream was,
but I was going to treat myself now. Mr Whippy did the business for me and I
had a massive whipped ice cream with a massive flake in a massive cone. That’ll
do. I made short work of it. We headed back down to transition and packed up
our gear. My legs were sore, and no matter how much I drank, I couldn’t shake
off the dehydrated, wiped-out feeling. It was a long, slow, hot walk back to
the cars with our bikes and bags.
We drove back to Matt and Elisa’s and flopped on the sofa,
chatting about split times, comparisons with last year, the heat, sprint
finishes, how things had gone, and comparing sunburn. My arms were a bit red
but I wouldn’t call it full-on sunburn, and my tri top covers my shoulders so
they were fine. But some suncream might have been a good idea. Nobody could
even be bothered to take a shower. I really felt like having a beer but had to
drive back to London later that evening. Matt did his best and produced an
alcohol-free beer – the next best thing? It was cold, which was good, and I
guess the fact that it had no alcohol was good too, because alcohol would most
probably have sent me to sleep…
We were then galvanised into action by the fact that Elisa
had to take a train to Cardiff that evening for a show, so we needed to get
moving and get showered and go out for a bite to eat so that she could catch
her train at 6pm. A few showers and a short walk later, we were sitting in a
pizza restaurant. We sat inside as it was cooler indoors and we’d had enough
sun for one day. Earlier I mentioned how time distorts when you are racing (or
training) at or close to your limits. Seconds seem like minutes, minutes seem
like forever. This strange phenomenon is also evident in restaurants where
there are hungry triathletes who have just ordered food. The wait for it to
arrive seemed like forever. I’m sure we were hallucinating. Elisa’s pizza
arrived first (she was in a hurry and ordered first), and the look on Matt’s
face when he was allowed to take a slice of her pizza was a sight to behold…
I've seen that look of love before: Matt with burger on Tenerife...
I managed to restrain myself until mine arrived and I made
short work of a pulled pork pizza, a pile of chips and a bit of cheesecake.
Lovely… By now it was getting later in the evening and I had a 3-hour drive
ahead of me, and work the next day. So we headed back, Neil and I packed up,
and we drove off.
The drive back wasn’t too bad and I didn’t have to make a
single pitstop, despite drinking pretty much non-stop since the race had
finished at 1:40pm.I got back at around 11pm and by the time I had unpacked
everything and got to bed, it was well after midnight. I left the car back the
next day, got through the day at work, and spent the evening cleaning, rinsing,
washing, drying and tidying my gear. Back to reality… I planned to take a few
rest days. Bristol had been a big effort and I want to make sure I am fully
recovered. I want to do back-to-back 100 mile rides next weekend (11th and 12th
June), and then on the 19th June I will do a 100 mile bike time trial in Cambridgeshire,
then it’ll only be 4 weeks until the Ironman…
I had a visit to the osteopath on Tuesday evening. These
visits are getting better now too, my body is becoming looser and less tight. The
sessions seem easier. Things seem like they are starting to align. I just need
no interruptions or curveballs for the next 6 weeks. As time passes and the
Ironman gets closer and I get fitter, the stakes get higher and there is a lot
more to lose if things go wrong, and a lot less time/leeway to get them back on
track again. Fingers crossed.
I do have a few things to think about though. The pain in
the soles of my feet in the run in Bristol was a concern. I haven’t been happy
with the sizing of my new Brooks Adrenaline GTS 15 series running shoes: the
size 9 is a bit too small and the size 9.5 is a bit too big. The size 9 in the
13 series is perfect, but you can’t buy these any more. So I’ll need to see
about new shoes and make sure I’m happy with them, and I’ll need to do this as
soon as possible. I’ll need to make sure that my new X-Lab front-mounted bottle
delivers a good flow rate through the straw. I’m really, really happy with my
new Rudy Project Wingspan helmet and Zone3 shorts, and I’m confident that I’ll
be comfortable on the bike.
Bristol was a good boost for me and an indication that
things are finally moving in the right direction this season. I’ve won a few
running races in the past, but never a triathlon. I always thought it would be
brilliant to win a triathlon, but I’m certainly no elite athlete by any stretch
of the imagination, I wouldn’t be turning up to a triathlon (or a running race)
thinking or expecting that I could win it. There are others who are much faster
than me. For context, I averaged 276 watts on the bike in the Olympic distance
triathlon, but an elite athlete would average higher than that in a full
Ironman. I turn up to races hoping to do myself justice and to race as well as
possible. On a few occasions in the past, that has resulted in winning a few
running races, when all the factors align. And it happened again in Bristol,
things just seemed to align and what needed to come together came together.
I doubt I’ll ever win an Ironman, and it’s entirely possible
that I may never qualify for Kona. Training for an Ironman has always compromised
my speed and ability to fulfil my potential at shorter distances, both in
triathlon and in running, often to my frustration. In Bristol, like I said, things
just came together and it was unreal to be involved in such an incredible
finish, literally the stuff you dream about, digging so deep, racing strong, a
sprint finish, and ending up in first place. I doubt I’ll ever have a race like
that ever again.
Best house and housemates ever.
When they heard I won, this is the text I got.
I still haven't had any time to drink it...
Maybe on Sunday evening after my back-to-back 100 mile rides...
What a great event – friendly, welcoming and inclusive (nice weather too!) It
was great to see so many people out racing, spectating and volunteering.
Everything about the Bristol triathlon is great – the organisation, the
atmosphere, a spectacular swim, a fast, flat, scenic bike on closed roads, and
a challenging run to finish. I’ll have to try and get back next year…!
What a weekend.
I later bought some of the official race photos. I doubt I’ll ever win a triathlon again and I may as well
have a few of the official photos from it. The bike photos are decent, but the run finish line
photos are not pretty. I didn’t think they would be, but they are worse than I
thought...! It looks like I am screaming and roaring across the line, but this
definitely wasn’t the case, I didn’t make any noise, it’s just a face of pure
pain. I didn't hear a thing either from the crowd or the race announcer as I crossed the line. Plus, it’s interesting that despite the tunnel vision and pain and
everything, I’m still stopping my watch at the line – it has become instinct for me
that on completion of an effort, I’ll reach for my watch to stop the timer or
to “split” a lap time or interval time or whatever. I’m sure if I didn’t wear a
watch, I would still reach for my wrist instinctively.
Training done in the week around Bristol was as follows:
