My Ironman UK 2016 was a bit of a disaster, but my friend Chris was also competing, and he put in a strong showing at his first Ironman. I asked/coerced him into writing a few words about his day. Something to look back on in years to come...
Chris writes below:
This is really not something I like doing, but
here is my experience of this years Ironman UK in my own words. John refused to
pass on some excellent race photo's taken by his father Brian until I wrote him
something and when faced with outrageous bribary and outstanding photography, I
capitulated. Seriously, the sight of Brian crouched down low with his camera
point upwards as I ran by made me laugh to myself!
Firstly, I'm not a triathlete like John. I'd
never really swam much further than a few lengths until about 18months ago and
cycling was just something that allowed me to commute to work and avoid the
tube in London. My sporting background was based around football and lifting
weights until I started running four years ago when I got a place in the London
marathon (that I forgot I applied for!). Fast forward to today and I've pretty
much taught myself to swim from scratch and started cycling properly since March
of this year, however with a few years of running behind me, that was always
going to be my strong suit. With that in mind, I approached this race with the
logic of, if I can get through the swim and the bike, I'm confident I can get
to the end.
Ahead of this race I hadn't swam outdoors in over
a year and only worn a wetsuit once to practice the fit. All of my swimming was
in a local 50m lido which opens for lane swimming between 6pm and 8pm on
weekdays. As I finish work at 6pm, my longest swim sessions consisted of racing
to the pool straight from work and getting straight in and swimming as many
lengths as I could before they lifeguards kicked me out at 8pm. On a
particularly efficient day I managed about 3200m (2 miles) in just over an hour
in the pool. On this day, I was getting kicked out but confident I could've
carried on for another 12 lengths to make it up to 3800m on race day.
Race day arrived and I decided to be cautious
throughout the day, even though I was confident of swimming the 2.4 miles
quicker than 1hr30, I decided to start in the 1hr30 start pen just so I was
tempted to swim off like a rocket and pay the price on the second lap. It's
quite disconcerting swimming in murky water at 6am when you're not used to it.
In the pool you follow the lines on the pool floor until you hit a wall and
then turn around, in the lake you can barely make out your hands in front of
your face. This proved irritating when swimmers slightly ahead decided to
change to breaststroke without warning to check their position and I slammed
into the back of them and took a few agressive kicks to the face. I swore at
most of them, I have a temper and
competition brings out the worst of it.
The irony is of course I swim blind
most of the time too, I dont sight well and I rely heavily on being able to see
another swimmer to the side of me when turning to breathe and assumed if I was
with other swimmers, we were going the right way. Safety in numbers. The first
1.2 mile lap seemed to go quite slowly, it took a while to get into a rhythm
due to all the stop-starting but the the second lap seemed to go quickly, the
field had thinned out noticably and there was plenty of water ahead to swim
into without hitting anybody. Some of that water found itself into my mouth,
which in a desperate attempt to burp it out, I vomitted back into the lake.
John had scared me with horror stories about algae so I didn't take any
chances. Sorry to anybody behind me that had to deal with that, unless you're
one of those breaststrokers that kicked me! 2.4 miles in 1hour27, including the
little run bit inbetween laps and zig zagging across the lake as I dont look
where I'm swimming.
I came out of the water really happy, the swim
was easily the toughest obstacle of the day for me and it was over with and I
felt like it was comfortable. In a peverse way I remember approaching the swim
exit and thinking, "I've got this, this wasn't so bad, I could probably do
a 5km open water swim one day!". Running along to T1 I saw another
competitor just ahead struggling with his wetsuit zip so I unfastened it for
him and made a joke before running off into the tent, I was in a good mood at
this point!
Onto the bike, 112 miles of hilly Lancashire
countryside. I dont have a fancy time
trial bike, I have an aluminium road bike that I use for work with a few
aerobars fastened to the front. I was worried about this course and my climbing
ability. On a few training rides I'd really struggled up some inclines and some
of them were of a similar diffficulty to both SheepHouse Lane and Hunters Hill
which I'd have to scale twice. I couldn't understand why I was so terrible at
climbing. I wondered if my gearing was different to everybody elses, I wondered
if it was a weight issue as at 75kg I don't have a cyclists physique or if I
just lacked climbing strength (I only started cycling more than two hours in
April).
As luck would have it, I got my bike serviced three days before the
race and my local workshop said the chain was worn out and replaced it. On
Friday evening after registration I drove to the steepest part of the 112 mile
course, Hunters Hill, to do a recce and see what I was up against. I took the
bike out of the back and spun up to the top quite easily. I was confused. It
was tough, my heart rate shot up but nothing overly challengeing. I took
confidence from the fact I even got up it at all, but I assumed it was because
I was fresh and it would be a different prospect 90miles in on race day.
I remembered John's advice for the bike, keep it
nice and easy until you get up SheepHouse Lane for the first time which is
about 12 miles in. I believe his exact words were "let them go, you'll see
them again during the marathon". It seemed a sensible approach as I was
also conscious that in a 70.3 race last year I pushed too hard for a bike split
of 2:30 which left me in pieces during the run. On a good day I run a fresh
half marathon in under 1:20, in my half ironman I finished in over 1hr50 and
was a little embarrased with my supposed strongest discipline.
Twelve miles or
so into the bike I could hear lots of noise, I realised that SheepHouse was
approaching, the 2.5 miles of hills to the top of Lancashires moors. I spun up
the hills, kept spinning, it flattened out a little, then up again, I kept
spinnning and spinning. While I was spinning, bikes were falling behind me like
a weird 90's arcade racing game, I thought that was odd. Then suddenly I was
approaching the summit and steepest part of the hill, I dug in but surprisingly
I scaled the whole things without the need to come out of the saddle. I spent a
lot of the decline on the other side looking at the bike computer (39mph was
the fastest I saw) and wondering what all the fuss was about!
The same thing
happened at Hunters Hill, I remember appraoaching it and pumping myself up to
grit my teeth. As I spun up the hill I heard a really distinctive South African
accent shout from the side of the road "Excellent cadence Chris!"
which I particularly liked. In the narrow climb of Hunters where supporters
encrtoach on to the roads I was so quick up the hill that it almost became
dangerous as I had to try and overtake in limited space. It's easy to seen
hindsight that a really knackered old chain had been holding me back for months
and I was actually a pretty decent climber. However, at the time I was
genuinely panicking about changing my gears and derailleur on my bike to assist
with hills or even the indignity of having to get off and run up the hill like
Chris Froome!
It was a windy day, in my head before the race I
thought I could cover 112 miles in 6hours30 while taking it very easy and not
detonating before the marathon. I could tell very early on that this wasn't
going to happen, it was windy, hot and I refused to make the same mistake as
last years half ironman and chase a bike split that killed my run. In the end,
I finished in 7 hours and ready to run.
For this final 5 miles of the bike I started
getting incredible cramps in both feet, I assume this was from them being fixed
into one place for 7 hours and/or dodgy cheap cycling cleats. For the final 3
miles of the bike, I took my feet out of the shoes and with just socks on
pushed down on the shoes/pedals to try and breathe some life back into my
feet...
.. it didnt work. I jumped off the bike at the
start of t2 and couldn't walk. This was was supposed to be the second happiest
part of the day for me, right from the start I thought this was the moment I
told myself that I had to get to. I knew if I got here, with "just a
marathon" left, then by hook or by crook, I'm going home an Ironman. Not
exaggerating here, I limped with my bike to the bike rack and hobbled into the
tent and sat down to change. I didn't know what to do at this point, do I just
walk/limp 26.2 miles?
I knew competitors only have 17 hours to complete an
Ironman or you get a non-finish. I remember glancing at my watch as I hobbled
into the tent and as I'd only been racing for roughly 8hours30mins, I worked
out that I can probable just about walk to the finish if all else fails. I sat
on a chair in transition frantically self massaging both feet, (yes both feet
had identical problems) to try and force some life in to them. After three of
four minutes of this, I put my trainers on and forced myself out of the tent
and on to the road. It was a little better, I was running but not comfortably
and not gracefully, but it was quicker and easier than my hobble through
transition and at least I was making progress.
Running after a bike leg of an Ironman is
interesting. As a runner, I often go out for long runs at a very comfortable
pace which doesn't really elevate my heart rate but trains my legs to build up
muscular endurance. I can quite comfortably run 18-20 miles at 7:00 mile pace
and talk to one of my friends next to me in full sentences the whole time. An
Ironman marathon is a different sport altogether, I knew this beforehand
because John was trying to tell me to start conservatively and not ruin my
race. So the first few miles I had my eyes glued to my watch, I was committed
to running the first five miles at no quicker than 8:00 mile pace, yet every
time I got distracted I would accidentally speed up and be running 7:00 again
and have to force myself to slow down by taking smaller steps.
One of my
biggest takeaways from this race (which my running friends found quite amusing)
was the bizarre feeling of running what we would consider a very slow pace yet
overtaking triathletes one by one almost continusouly for the first five miles.
It's just a very strange feeling for a non-triathete to be running what we
consider to be ridiculously slowly, yet this pace was overtaking lots of
people. After 6 or 7 miles I arrived at "the loop" which in a
nutshell, is one road that you take until you reach an end turnaround point, at
which point you go back along the same road and into Bolton Town Centre,
(straight by the finish line) where you turnaround again. You do this hilly up
and down loop four times until you accumulate 26.2 miles.
I spent almost the whole loop scanning the road
side looking for John and my supporters. Before the race I'd already made a
conscious decision to get information on John's race position and relay it to
him just in case it makes a difference to his finishing position. Seeing
familiar faces and sharing a 5 second conversation really breaks up the race
and is a welcome distraction. With
almost one loop gone and no sign of John or the supporters I looked at my watch
and saw the clock said 9:50, I reached the conclusion that this would probably
be around John's finish time and that the supporters were probably cheering him
across the finish line.
A few minutes later I saw the supporters and got told I
was looking strong and doing really well. I thought it was a joke, I was
basically jogging and I made a joke about finishing the marathon in 1hour40 and
qualifying for Kona. Then I heard John had dropped out before I ran out of
range to hear the end of the conversation. I was confused for the remainder of
the loop but focussed on enjoying the crowds in the Town Centre, I was loving
the run, it felt easy, I was overtaking people and I was running much better
than I thought I would off the bike. It was about mile 14 that the magnitude of
the Ironman caught me up and bit me on the backside.
From mile 14 until around
mile 20 I made a conscious decision to copy a lot of my fellow runners and
power walk some of the ridiculous up hills and then run the flats and
downhills. By mile 20, I was pretty much broken, and also walking through every
aid station to get sugars and water topped up.
was now running 8:30 and 9:00 miles. That's right, the pace that was
"too easy and I keep accidentally speeding up" from miles 1-6 had
suddenly become too much handle. Lots of people were telling me I was doing
really well, I'd lost my smile, I knew I wasn't. I remember walking after the
aid station one man in the crowd saying "the aid station is over now, get
moving again" and instinctively I did - I always seem to respond better to
the stick than the carrot!
It sounds coutner intuitive, but in hindsight I
know this dramatic loss of run speed was almost certainly down to bike fitness.
I knew a few other athletes in the race this year, none of which can match my
running performance over almost any distance, but all of which are far superior
cyclists, all of which clocked a quicker Ironman marathon time than me. Simply
put, riding 112 miles in 7 hours is more taxing on my body than covering the
distance 30/60mins quicker is for another competitor. I saw the support again
at mile 22, four miles until the finish and I made a joke that my legs no longer
work and that I'll see them at the finish in 40 minutes!
Back into Bolton for the final time, a few people
noticed the red band on my arm which means all laps had been completed and
shouted at me to finish hard. I overtook maybe seven people with red bands in
the final 400 metres, it's funny how I suddenly had energy when my legs didn't
work five minutes ago.
The finish line. In my imagination I always hoped
for an empty red carpet to power down at the end, high fiving the crowd, doing
a little dance, savouring the moment before being photographed crossing the
famous finishing line. In life you dont always get what you want. I saw two
people just ahead that I was quickly closing on and could (and probably should)
have overtaken on the red carpet but I as this was my one and only Ironman, I
wanted to ensure I got a good photo crossing the line! I slowed down a little
to create a gap to the runners ahead which only pushed my back closer to
another man right behind me. My plan didn't really work as four people more or
less crossed the line within 5 seconds of each other - what are the chances!
Still across the line, a mini celebration of
becoming an Ironman and receive the confirmation of a medal. It wasn't pretty,
I certainly wasn't bike fit but I got through it and can proudly call myself an
Ironman. It'll probably be my last one, it's not something I can really commit
time to again. However, even just a few days later there's a gremlin on my
shoulder that is telling me that I could do it again so much faster with the
knowledge of my weakenesses and the confidence of familiarity. You can smash
the hills. You can swim the distance. If you do an easier course you could take
two hours off that time.
Unfortunately, that is my personality summed up
very accurately in a few words. Three years ago an Ironman was a ludicrously
difficult challenge for the super fit (idiots) like John Lenehan not
weight-lifting footballers like me. Two minutes before stepping in the lake at
6am I wasn't 100% convinced I'd be able to complete the challenge. Two days
post-race and I'm sat critiquing the mistakes and telling myself it wasn't good
enough and I need to do it again and do it better. I hear Barcelona is nice (and flat) at this
time of year! :)
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