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…