Post 201 - Kona day 9 - Race day: pre-race

Day 9 - Saturday 12th October 2019 - Ironman world championship pre-race

I slept as well as could have been hoped. I got out of bed, and had my bagel and peanut butter, and a handful of nuts. Tried and tested and trusted. I was glad that I needed a seat on the toilet without any effort. That was a load off my mind, and out of my guts. I took the waterproof suncream out onto the lanai (it’s strong-smelling stuff, and it is a spray, so I didn’t want it stinking out the condo). I went mad with it, getting as much of it on me as possible. This would be the last day I'd need it and I wasn't taking a quarter of a bottle back home... 

I had hoped the others would be up by now, so that someone could help me rub it into the hard-to-reach spots on my back. I was in limbo for 10-15 minutes waiting for someone to surface to help me, so I got my drinks ready, got properly dressed, did what I needed to do. I didn’t want to be in a rush.

It was time to go. Out onto Ali’i drive in the dark. It wasn’t raining. But it had been raining overnight. Hopefully the shuttle bus wouldn’t take too long to arrive. I don’t do waiting very well, especially when I don’t know how long I will be waiting for. So I started to walk. With my thumb out. Hoping someone that was driving down to the start/finish/transition/pier area would stop. There was no sign of any bus. A few others were standing waiting. Then a big wagon pulled out of a driveway. “Want a lift?!” “I sure do!”

They had one space in the car – Chris, a Peruvian competitor, his girlfriend and his mum. It was brilliant. Much better than a late, overcrowded, stuffy shuttle bus. We chatted a bit, and found out we were in the same age group and that he was a tremendous cyclist. Getting towards town, we realised parking was going to be difficult – the car parks were obviously all full and cars were strewn all along the roadways. Us two competitors jumped out and headed for transition. I was glad that parking wasn't my problem, and I'm sure Chris was glad too. One less thing to worry about and deal with. I was so grateful for the lift.

Transition was busy, as you'd expect. All the official pre-race processes were so efficient, all staffed by fantastic volunteers. I suppose by now the Ironman world championship is a well-oiled machine. We were directed round the back of the hotel. We were each weighed, and our weights recorded – I suppose in case anyone collapses with dehydration or worse, then the medics will be able to work out roughly how much fluid has been lost. We were then directed to body-marking. I hate body-marking (and even more so I hate removing body marking), but nonetheless, I had two big number “1847”s marked on my forearms.

A big sexy racing guy... the wheelchair competitor next to me saw me taking this photo 

and we had a laugh and wished each other luck. 

The weighing station

As I walked past the hotel, I saw that I had wifi on my phone. I recorded a little pre-race video and while it was rolling, I realised I had no idea what to say, and was a little bit emotional. And looked like a sinister greased skeleton in the dim light... hopefully it didn't scare my mum who I have no doubt was sitting at home, probably already completely on edge about the whole thing. "See you in ten hours or less hopefully" was how I signed off. It was good to get a message back from her.

We were directed round onto the pier. Dawn was breaking. It was overcast and moody. It wouldn’t be a classically blue-sea sunrise swim. It would be grey and cloudy. This suited me. I don’t mind the heat, but I don’t want to get sunburned. Also, I don’t have super-expensive polarised swimming goggles, so not having any sun glare when swimming is good, and not being blinded when breathing or sighting is good.

Walk this way for good times...

I headed for my bike. The bikes were wet. It had rained overnight. I took my bike over to the railing, out of the crowds, so I had a bit of space to work. I mounted my bottles and computer, calibrated the power meter, oiled the chain. I was about to bin the rest of the oil when someone asked if they could have it. No problem. Everything was done. You could re-think it ten times, but you have to accept and trust that it’s all ready. I heard an Irish accent, on the phone to home. We had a quick chat – she had young kids back in Ireland. We wished each other luck.

The pros had their own fenced-off area in transition. 

A bit of a goldfish bowl for them...

The crowds on the pier

Loaded, fuelled, oiled, inflated, prepped and ready...

Dawn breaks on Ironman world championship day

Let's do this... I asked a volunteer marshal to take this photo. 

She was absolutely adamant that no phones were allowed in transition,

despite most people having phones and taking photos...

I managed to persuade her to take a photo.

I headed for the swim start corrals. Ate an energy bar. It was almost fully bright. Just before I left transition, there were a few massage therapists. My neck certainly wasn’t as bad as it had been 2 days ago, but it also certainly could have been a lot better. “For last-minute tune-ups”, they said. I told them my neck was a mess. Obviously they asked why. I explained the dozing in the car and the fan blowing cold air on it overnight. I felt pretty stupid explaining it, but my masseuse got to work on it. She really knew what she was doing, getting me to move my neck in tandem with her fingers getting deep into the muscles. It helped. Then it was time to drop my gear bag off with the volunteers, and clear the pier before the race started.

I didn’t see any of the pros starting as I was too busy in my own world of preparation and massage. In previous years, there was always then an iconic mass-start for everyone else. However, this year, 30 minutes after the pros, they were starting the different age groups in waves over 30-40 minutes. The thinking was to minimise the impact of fast age-groupers catching up on the pro women and interfering with their race, and also to try to reduce the density of age-group athletes coming out of the water and onto the bike at any one time.

Ironman is a non-drafting race, so you are required to maintain a 10 metre gap to the bike in front. In normal Ironman triathlons, you have athletes coming out of the water in swim times from 50 minutes to over 2 hours, which means there is a good spread of athletes on the bike course. In the world championships, you probably have 1600 people all swimming between 55-70 minutes. So, with so many bikes all starting at the same time, it’s clear to see that there is a problem in trying to maintain a legal gap to the bike in front. Plenty of people are caught out and get penalties, which are often harsh as there simply isn’t space to maintain gaps, particularly early on the bike before it spreads out. It's often a case of wrong place, wrong time, and I didn't want to get caught out like this. (Then there are the intentional drafters (cheats), but that’s another story)...

Transition from above - my bike wasn't far from the massive 

inflatable yellow gatorade bottle at the top of the pier

Transition with athletes getting ready

Transition clear of athletes

You can just about see the line of buoys stretching into the distance

and the turnaround boat under the far headland

So, no mass start this year. I was in the first wave to start, at 6:55am. Male athletes between 18 and 39 years of age would be in this start wave, and we were to gather in Corral 1. Other age groups/sexes would then start at 5-minute intervals until about 7:30am. I joined the back of Corral 1. We would all descend the steps at dig-me beach and swim out maybe 150m to the start “line” between two buoys. So I wasn’t bothered about being at the front of the corral. It didn't matter if I was one of the last into the water, as I could swim out and position myself where I wanted when lining up in the water. 

I planned to stay to the far left, near the sea wall, possibly try to see the others and wave (they’d hopefully be in the distinctive bright green shirts I’d bought them), and then I would stay out wide to the left for the swim, and avoid the scrum. A nice, relaxed, easy swim, no argy-bargy, well within myself. 65 minutes would be fine. That’s “slow” for me – if I pushed it I could break 60 minutes, but there’s no point in over-doing things in the first 10% of the day.

I then hoped to follow this with a 5 minute transition, and a 5:15 bike (21.3mph, hopefully at 210 watts and 140bpm). Another 5-minute transition would leave me needing to run quicker than 3:30 for the marathon, to break 10 hours overall. That was my target. Well, one of my targets. A sub-10 was my top target. I also wanted to have a good day. So if I didn’t break 10, I didn’t want to think it was a “bad day.” I wanted to race strongly, as well as I could, and to finish strongly. I didn't want the marathon to turn into a miserable trudge, at slower than 10 minutes per mile (as has happened in the past). I wanted to finish in daylight. Which meant quicker than 11 hours. This should likely be do-able. Sub-10 should also be do-able, but a sub-10 was probably more a case of “just about” than “likely”.

There was a bit of a wait in the starting corral before we were called into the water. I hadn’t got my goggles or hat on yet, nor my earplugs. I stretched a bit, then sat down. I happened to see June heading for her starting corral. I gave her a shout and was appalled to see her snag her foot on a thick cable (for the sound system or TV or something). She said it was fine, and we wished each other luck. I checked my watch. We should be called into the water shortly. I put my light blue official swimming hat on, and earplugs in, and then an official started shouting at me.

They had been at pains to say if you started in the wrong place, you’d be disqualified. But I was in the right place, in Corral 1. But apparently I was meant to be at the very front of the corral, with the other light-blue caps. I started to try to push forwards, but it was slow going. The official was yelling at me so I took out my earplugs and looked at him. “Get to the front, now! Follow me! Dive through the fence!” His tone left absolutely no room for argument or hesitation. I literally dived through the fence and he sprinted with me, round the back of the finisher’s arch, through the big curtain that hangs down, and he pushed me in to the front of the swim queue. He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up and disappeared. The light blue caps (of which I was one) were already getting into the water. Irreversible wheels were now in motion. This was happening.

I didn’t even think about what had happened. Down the steps. To the start of the Ironman world championships. I was near the back of the light-blue group. Athletes were standing on the steps. Taking it all in. Looking all around them. And blocking things up, causing a back-up. Officials were frantically yelling at us to hurry up. I checked my watch. Only 3 minutes to swim out. Get a move on. Don’t miss the start! So I didn’t really have time to do anything other than pause for a second or two before I was swimming off to the start. While wading out, I managed to bump my foot on a rock. Damn that. I should have been paying more attention. It was sore, but not a disaster, and I didn’t think it would bother me once I had shaken it out.

I didn’t hear any of the formalities, none of the music, none of what the announcer was saying, none of the Hawaiian drums or pomp or ceremony or anything (partly because I had my earplugs in, partly because I was trying to get in the zone). It was all just a blur in the background.

Proceedings as viewed from the sea wall - I must be

just to the right of the big black buoy

I made it with about 90 seconds to spare. I certainly wasn’t the last person to the start line. I thought that the organisers and marshals would have their work cut out, trying to get everyone into the water and moving away from the steps and off to the start line. I tried to recover my breath, get my heart rate down, and catch a glimpse of my support team off on the sea wall. The sea wall was packed. I saw some green, hoped it was them, waved like crazy, and then it was almost time to start the Ironman world championships. 

Spot the green...

Zoomed in this time

I was right where I wanted to be. I was at the Ironman world championships. I was away off to the left. I hoped it would be a good day. Swimmers wanted to get going. Then the starting horn went…

Post 200 - Kona day 8 - Loosening, spinning, racking

Day 8 - Friday 11th October 2019

The day before the Ironman World Championship… Almost a week ago, when I arrived to Kona, because of the jetlag, I had been waking up and getting up very early. Now, nearly a week later, I had gradually adjusted day by day to be waking up progressively later. So this morning, I tried to get up a bit earlier, to try to adjust in advance of the early start on race day tomorrow morning.

My neck, although still painful, was definitely a bit easier. I knew from yesterday that I could run, and would be able to run, even if it was painful. I’d find out today how my neck would hold up to holding a “turtling” aero position, tucked in tight and low on the bike. I had another hard massage from Deirdre. I told her to get right into it. I was grateful. She’d have run through a brick wall if it would have helped.

I had breakfast and completed my final bike preparations – packing up the puncture repair equipment I hoped I wouldn’t need, securing the carbon dioxide re-inflation canisters behind the saddle, then taping the zip-lock bag of puncture repair equipment onto the canisters, making sure that nothing impeded taking the bottles in and out of the rear-mounted bottle cages. I stuck a few shamrock and name stickers onto my frame. They looked decent.

Then I had to head out for an hour on the bike. A short bike was better than a run, as it’s less fatiguing. I had two objectives. One was to open the legs out. The second was not to crash or be crashed into. I’d have to pay maximum attention to everything. Ali’i drive was packed. Bikes, runners, walkers. Traffic could barely get through. It was slow going. The final stretch was closed to traffic, but I was able to weave through the foot traffic, past the finishing chute and finish line gantry which was taking shape, and then up onto the Palani hill and onto the Queen K.

I couldn’t relax because in the first few miles of the Queen K, there are a lot of intersections and traffic lights. A video had been released in advance: 

I was very careful to say the least, but was able to do a few short, sharp efforts. My neck was uncomfortable but not acutely painful. Hopefully over the rest of the day and the night it would continue to ease. Hopefully it wouldn’t restrict me in the race.

I waved at most of the cyclists heading back in the opposite direction. Some were happy to wave back. Some didn’t even look. Some saw, but were taking things far too seriously to wave back. I turned and headed for home. Tomorrow the Queen K would be closed and would have 2400 bikes on it.

I didn’t fancy trying to get the bike through the crowds at the finish area so I headed down the Kuakini highway off Palani and then down Hualalai road onto Ali’i drive, towards our condo. I got back in once piece. Great success. Then a quick swim in one of the condo's pools...

Various colours of plumeria flower around the condo.

Yet another very cool feature of Hawaii.

Then I had to get ready for the race. Steve and Natalie and Deidre headed into town for a “mooch”, leaving me in peace. We’d meet later, after I had racked my bike and bags. A "mooch" turned into eating and drinking their way through a happy hour at one of the restaurants by the ocean. 

Meanwhile, I had a lot to think about and a lot to prepare. I laid out my blue transition bag (swim to bike), my red transition bag (bike to run) and my white bag (for after the race). I laid out all my swim gear, all my bike gear, all my bike nutrition and hydration, all my run gear, all my run nutrition, all my after-race gear, and everything I would need immediately when I woke up. I loaded the bike up with gels and bars and energy chews, and then anything extra went into my tri top, which I would put on after the swim. I’d put the bottles on the bike tomorrow morning before the start.

I ran through the stages in my mind: pre-race, swim, transition, bike, transition, run, finish. I’ve done this many times. I was sure I had it all covered. Everything was done. Wasn’t it? No it wasn’t… I needed some flat Coke for immediately after the swim. I messaged the others who were in town: “Can you please buy me a bottle of regular Coke and get it as flat as possible? Shake the hell out of it and open and close it repeatedly.” I meant to buy the Coke ages ago and leave it open in the fridge for days, which would have flattened it.

The others obliged… 

I met them just outside the King K hotel, where athletes were wheeling their bikes into transition to rack them. We did the serious business of transferring flat Coke into my small bottle. 

One looking serious and wearing silly, one looking serious and wearing normal, 

one looking silly and wearing normal...

It was time to rack. There were ominous dark clouds covering the hill behind Kona. It was going to rain. I wanted to cover parts of my bike to keep it dry. I should have brought a few big plastic bags. We dug through our stuff and found one small bag and one elastic hair bobble to hold the bag in place, which would have to do.

Then I joined the parade of athletes making their way into transition. A few companies were lining this parade giving away freebies to “their” athletes. Riders of Felt bikes and users of Enve wheels got freebies. I didn’t, being a Trek and Hed rider. We paraded passed the volunteers who recorded the make of every component on our bikes, to be used for statistical and marketing purposes: wheels, tyres, handlebars, hydration systems, frame, gears, power meter, pedals, you name it. Here are the results:

https://www.triathlete.com/2019/10/news/kona-bike-count-did-cervelo-reign-again_384244

I had a Trek bike, Hed wheels, Sram groupset, Bontrager aero bars, Shimano pedals, a Stages power meter, Bontrager saddle, X-lab front hydration (assisted with cable ties), Bontrager rear hydration (assisted with cable ties), regular sized wheel pulleys, and round chainrings. How they can spot all these different things as you walk past is beyond me!

On the way into transition I was stopped by a spectator who said my helmet was the coolest thing she'd ever seen, and she asked for a photo. No problem! Plenty of effort went into "decorating" that helmet!  

After the bike security photographs, everyone got their own personal volunteer escort in transition. My bags were taken from me by my volunteer, and I was walked through transition, to my bike racking space away up at the far end of the pier in the second-last aisle, level with the gap in the aisles. Easy enough to find on race morning. The helmet was very distinctive as well. I was given a small Hawaii Ironman "M-dot" logo sticker for my bike. I already had a few of these on my bike. One more wouldn't hurt...

Then it was down to the bag racking areas, where I was walked and talked through everything. I left transition via the hotel,where there was a good display of historical memorabilia. 

Stormy and moody

A replica of the first ever Ironman winner's trophy

Finisher medals through the ages

The first-ever Ironman results

Promotional posters

A random photographer taking photos. Why not?!

In many senses, there was an ominous air of anticipation and stored energy that was on the cusp of being released. A storm was brewing in those dark clouds up on the hill. 2400 athletes were about to let loose months and years of work. Perhaps appropriately, it was like a volcano just before eruption.

We headed back, but not before I saw my own personal street art on Ali’i drive. It was so cool. 

It was an early dinner before an early night. The others took charge and cooked up a massive plate of sweet and sour tofu stir-fry with pasta. Perfect. I could have eaten twice what I did, but had to limit myself. This time tomorrow, I could eat and drink whatever I wanted. I had to keep the discipline for one more day. We agreed that I would have to leave earlier than the others in the morning. I’d get the shuttle bus (for athletes only) and they would walk down to try to find a spot on the sea wall to watch the swim. 

After another neck massage and a bit of stretching, it was to bed, to try to get some sleep before a 3:50am alarm on Ironman World Championship day…

Post 199 - Kona day 7 - Underpants, agony, banquet

Day 7 - Thursday 10th October 2019

The underpants run. A Kona must-do. A legendary part of the experience. A couple of miles jogging around the heart of Kona, in underpants. I was looking forward to it. The shamrock underpants had been procured. I wasn’t too bothered about prancing round in underpants. Most people in Kona this week are prancing around in short shorts, or tight tri shorts, and not much else apart from heart rate monitor straps and running shoes. I think some of the others might have been having second thoughts, but I had seen footage of it from previous years. It’s a bit of fun, it raises a few dollars for charity, and it’s for everyone – all ages, sizes, abilities. It would be a laugh.

The fan had been on in the room all night, blowing air on my neck. My entire body is a wreck, and has been for years – everything is permanently tight and sore. My neck was already a bit stiff from the long drive and the half-dozing in the car last night. The fan blowing cool air on it hadn’t helped and now it felt decidedly stiff. I’d get through the underpants run and then see about stretching it and massaging it,

The underpants run started stupidly early. I suppose this is because it’s easier to close Ali’i drive at an early hour, and also the thousands of participants would get frazzled by the sun if it was in the middle of the day. We were a bit late and didn’t manage to get there to team up with the rest of Team Ireland. We parked the car and legged it down Palani hill as the run was leaving the King K hotel. As I started to run, my neck completely seized up. Completely. Agonisingly. Every step was painful. After the initial seizing up, the intensity of the pain decreased a bit, but it was still pretty bad. And only 2 days from the race…

I would have to make the best of it, get through the underpants run, get back to the condo, and do as much work on it as I could to try to loosen it out. Sore neck apart, the underpants run was fun. All manner of extravagant underpants and costumes. Some people took the underpants-ing and the costume-ing very seriously. Some people took it less seriously. Some people were seriously, seriously ripped, tanned and proud to show it off. Others less so, myself included – very skinny/lean and very white in comparison to many others.

But it was all good fun, and pretty inclusive. You could wear as much or as little as you wanted. Loads of people were watching and cheering. It must have been quite a sight. Some of the expo stalls lining Ali’i Drive were throwing out freebies. It’s amazing how a freebie, no matter how tacky, can make people snatch, grab, stamp, trample, push and shove to get hold of it.

Girl on (her father's?) shoulder very happy with freebie cap

Everyone wants a freebie

Shamrock underpants, stick-on turtles, shirts, funky headgear, leis, shamrock flags

Even Mike Reilly (the voice of Ironman, who calls you over the finish line with 

"You are an Ironman") got in on the action

We managed to get a few Rudy Project caps. And a few photos. And jogged on, around the back of one of the expo areas and back along Ali’i drive to the King K hotel, where it finished. Good fun. I had hoped that the others hadn't been apprehensive about it. I knew it would be a laugh, and fairly innocent fun. I was glad when Natalie described it as "strangely brilliant." High praise indeed...!

We headed back to the condo. It had clouded over. We had an hour of chill-out time. Natalie is in training for the Dublin marathon and she needed to run. She was struggling to get her long runs done in the heat. “I’ve never been so happy to see clouds,” she said as she headed out to make the most of the rare lack of sun. All along Ali’i drive, little mini aid stations had sprung up. The different nutrition and hydration companies had set up little stalls offering free samples and drinks, and everyone out running was making full use of these. I used the hour to work on my neck and Deirdre gave it a massage.

Then, all too quickly, next up was another iconic Kona “thing”: Breakfast with Bob (and Poncho Man). Bob Babbitt is a long-time Ironman interviewer, doing fairly informal interviews with the pros before and after the race. Poncho Man is his assistant. He plays the ukulele and sings introductions and endings to the interviews. They are all recorded and shown on TV/online.

Having “Breakfast with Bob” today in an oceanfront restaurant called “On The Rocks” was famous triathlete, Olympic gold medallist, and first-time Kona competitor Alistair Brownlee. Before him were a couple of the female pros including Laura Siddall. She knows Deirdre from cycling tips to Girona in Spain. Before Breakfast with Bob, we had to have some actual breakfast. "On The Rocks" had stopped serving breakfast but Huggo’s next door fitted us in and we had a good feast overlooking the ocean.

Then we went next door for Breakfast with Bob. It was busy. Alistair Brownlee was a big draw. Saying that, with thousands upon thousands in Kona for the Ironman, it’s surprising it wasn’t far busier. There couldn’t have been more than 60 or 70 people there for it. It’s just that it was a small space! It was good to meet Laura and have a quick chat after her interview. We wished each other well for the race. Word went around that Alistair Brownlee was running late, as he had been selected for a random drugs test after the pro athlete briefing. I was standing off to the side, looking at the pro athlete autograph book. I heard someone say to another, “Is that him?” “Yeah, he’s here…” then someone came up to me and said “Are you Alistair Brownlee, let’s get you on stage…” maybe I should have played along. Faked a Yorkshire accent eee bah gum ey up lad…

Bob Babbitt, Ali Brownlee and "poncho man" on the ukulele, all triathlon legends

When Brownlee did finally arrive, he was quite cagey. The impression I got was that probably he secretly hoped to win, but realistically he might have realised Kona is a tough beast, not at all like the short-course races he is used to, and I would liken it to Mo Farah trying to do the marathon – he’s a great shorter-distance runner but not quite the same when it comes to the marathon. Different horses and different courses. Brownlee may well win Kona one day, but I suspect he will need a few years of trying, learning, and adapting first. Ever the Yorkshire man, he gave Bob a box of Yorkshire tea to conclude his interview. It’s so cool that the pros are so accessible here, you can swim with them, meet them, chat with them, get photos. We are all in the same boat.

I had to register. Today was the last day of registration. We also needed to go to the supermarket. I’d register while the others were at the supermarket. I had my identification this time. The volunteers were fantastic. It’s funny how such a massive global business like Ironman (and it has become a corporate monster) couldn’t put on races for its customers (who pay a fortune in entry fees) without the goodwill and essentially free labour of countless tens of thousands of volunteers… and the volunteers truly are fantastic, right down to the elderly lady who was holding a model of a left ankle with a timing chip on it and telling everyone to put their timing chip on like so, on their left ankle. She must have been 90-odd but had a wonderful youthful exuberace about her.

I signed lots of forms, was glad I had medical insurance, got my bagful of race kit and freebies, and the registration process concluded by being funneled into the merchandise tent, where all manner of Ironman branded stuff was on sale. Some of it was really nice stuff, but not at those extortionate prices. I’d see what I ended up with in terms of race kit, finisher’s kit, and freebies, and then possibly make a trip to buy a couple of official bits and pieces.

One had recently been to Edinburgh - small world

I walked up the steep Palani hill in scorching heat to meet the others. My neck was sore. I couldn’t lift by head or look around. I found the others and was then raging to realise I had forgotten to pick up the pre and post-race banquet tickets. Mine were free but I’d bought tickets for the others at $55 a pop. The pre-race banquet was tonight. I had to go back. I was raging that I’d forgotten. What I really wanted to do was chill the f*ck out, not have a sore neck, and stop running round Kona like a headless chicken. I was getting stressed. Things were catching up with me. I needed a break. I got the tickets. Then went to Starbucks so the others could get their fix of coffee. Then to the post office to buy stamps for a few postcards.

Then back to the condo. The others had bought so much food and drink. Would we ever actually get through it all (we did). There were two doors into the condo – a first screen door, and then a main door. The screen door sprang back on me. I booted it in a rage. Not like me. I needed to calm down and de-stress. I went into my room, shut the door, lay down, put my headphones in, shut my eyes, and lay there for about 40 minutes. Yesterday had been good, but too much. All that driving. Getting back late. Why did I ever half-doze in the car, how stupid was that? Why did I leave the fan on in my room last night? Damn this neck. I couldn’t lift my head off the bed.

I had to go for a run and somehow dissipate all this red mist. But I doubted I could run properly. I had to do something. I ran south on Ali’i drive in a thunderous mood. My neck was really, really bad. Every step was agony. Less than two days from the biggest race of my life. It was what it was, I couldn’t change it. I got back and had another massage. To her credit, Deirdre did everything she could. I kept telling her to go harder on my neck. This wasn’t a time for softly-softly, it needed serious work to de-seize it. It was probably harder for her than it was for me. I was on the anti-inflammatories. Bah. If this was how it would be in race day, it would be a painful 26.2 miles. But I would do it, somehow. And I still had time. It would still improve. Hopefully.

The pre-race "E Komo Mai" (welcome) banquet was on this evening. So back into the wagon, back along to the car park – we had established by now there were two options – a low car park at the junction of Hualalai and Ali’i, which left a little bit of a walk to the pier and King K hotel, or a high car park near the junction of Kuakini and Palani, which was a little closer. We were getting to know this place... At $55 per ticket I hoped it would be good. South Africa’s welcome banquet last year was fantastic. I hoped this would measure up. It should do, this was Kona…!

It did indeed measure up. It was packed. The main pre-race briefing was on as part of the banquet, which was said to be mandatory, so most people had turned up. If nothing else, it was a free meal for athletes. Beer and dessert were on offer – you’ think after 41 years of Ironman, they would learn that 36 hours before the world championships, we don’t want beer and dessert… the rest of it was great though, a great choice of food, vegetarians catered for, as much as you could eat. Which was dangerous. I had to be careful not to over-eat. I was at the stage now, being so close to the race, where everything I ate would now directly affect the race.

No words needed here other than "soon!"

I saw a photo of the coffee boat we never made it to. 

Swim 750m out to it, get a coffee, drink while hanging on, swim back

They had more traditional Hawaiian dancing, music and fire shows. Lots of speeches. Mike Reilly was there, the voice of Ironman. There was a native Hawaiian who was an unbelievably smooth talker. You could close your eyes and listen to him all night. He talked a lot about “Ohana” – the main “theme” of this year’s race. Ohana is a Hawaiian word used to mean family and friends and community, Quite appropriate for Ironman – behind every Ironman athlete is their Ohana, whether present on the island or not. I’m grateful for my Ohana. I went to find June to wish her luck and give her a couple of shamrock stickers for her bike.

Quite a bit was made of what Ironman means. I’ll maybe get into this in more detail in a later post. There’s no doubt that the Kona Ironman is historical and special. The challenge is awesome. The Kona ironman is above and beyond the ironman corporation. I’d love to know the stories of each and every one of the competitors.

“What does Ironman mean?” asked Steve. “It means you’re skint…” he quipped. I couldn’t argue. This reminded me of the following race finisher t-shirt description, entitled "What does your race finisher's t-shirt say about you?":

Any T-shirt from a 5k, 10k or half-marathon race

What you think it says: I am a superb runner 

What it really says: I haven't done a triathlon

Finisher's T-shirt from a sprint triathlon

What you think it says: I am a triathlete

What it really says: I am a novice

Marathon finisher's race T-shirt

What you think it says: I am an endurance athlete

What it really says: I am a crap cyclist

Olympic tri finisher's T-shirt 

What you think it says: I am a better triathlete than everyone wearing a sprint tri t-shirt

What it really says: I am either too young or too old to do anything longer than 2.5 hours

Ironman 70.3/middle distance finisher's T-shirt

What you think it says: I am a proper endurance athlete

What it really says: I haven't done an Ironman

Something wacky or adventurous like Xterra, Channel swim, Lands' End to John O'Groats...

What you think it says: I am the real deal

What it really says: I haven't done an Ironman

Non-Ironman Ironman T-shirt from Outlaw, Challenge series...

What you think it says: I have definitely done an Ironman

What it really says: I still haven't done an Ironman

Ironman T-shirt

What you think it says: I AM AN IRONMAN

What it really says: I haven't been to Kona

Double Iron

What you think it says: Ironman is for wimps

What it really says: I have given up trying to get to Kona

Kona finisher's t-shirt

What you think it says: Top this you b*****ds

What it really says: This race cost me so much money I may have to fake my own death and move to Venezuela

I can’t argue with this either... After a couple of hours, we were fed and watered and the speeches were starting to drag on. So we decided to bail out, beat the crowds, beat the traffic, get home, get my neck some hard treatment, and get to bed early. The race was looming. Tomorrow would be about doing a short bike ride (or rather making sure that I could hold an aero position with my sore neck), working on my neck to loosen it, getting all my gear together, racking everything, and trying to relax.