Post 47 - Ironman Wales bike

The bike leaves Tenby, and is fairly flat as it heads out to the west coast of Pembrokeshire, then it heads back inland and gets very hilly. Two hills laps follow, each of which loop inland and then back down through Tenby. It’s a tough bike course and difficult to keep any kind of rhythm.

I usually put on my bike shoes in the transition tent so I can just jump on the bike and get going. A lot of people leave their bike shoes clipped into their pedals and jump on the bike first, then once they are up to speed they’ll reach down and get their feet into their shoes. I don’t like doing this as you end up not looking where you are going, weaving all over the road, and risking a crash. Immediately after I left transition I came across two riders doing exactly this: reaching down, trying to get their feet into their shoes, weaving over the road. I shouted a few times to warn them I was coming through, and got away out of town.

It’s important to take it easy in the early stages of the bike, as it gets really tough and hilly later. I got into the routine of eating and drinking, and keeping as aero as possible. I tried to breathe slowly and keep the heart rate down, and maintain a cadence of 90rpm. There is always a lot to think about on the bike.

 

Not far from transition

It was a good ride out to Angle, the most westerly part of the bike course. The roads narrow out by the coast towards Angle, and you have an opportunity to see who is in front of you, as part of the course returns via the same road it heads out on. There didn’t seem to be as many people in front of me as last year, which was a good sign. I was already making places up and feeling good. The knee was holding, and I was managing my heart rate well.

I had put on really low gears specifically for Wales. Last year I ran a compact with a 26 at the rear. This year I had a compact with a 28, and it really paid dividends. I was able to go up the hills, spinning fairly easily at reasonably high cadence, while people around me were grinding and toughing it out, pumping away at low cadence and often having to get out of the saddle. I was no slower than everyone else up the hills, but I was going up them and exerting myself less than others. It was a good choice of gearing.

Drafting is illegal in Ironman bike racing. You must keep a 10m gap to the rider in front. There are race referees who police this, and penalties range from time penalties to disqualification. I think that the professionals are quite strictly policed, but the age-groupers are less strictly policed. Drafting at the sharp end of the race, where Kona slots are at stake, needs to be more strictly policed. There was a lot of drafting going on. I’ll concede that in Bolton and Wales, some sections of road are too narrow to allow safe overtaking and there may be cases where you end up too close to the rider in front. However, there are some sections of road where it is inexcusable. On one particular section I came up behind a train of about 5 riders, all clearly drafting. I went past them all, away out to the right hand side of the road. As I was passing them, a race referee on a motorbike came past and looked at the drafting train. You could see the drafters immediately drop back, as the referee said, “Mind the gaps, boys…” There should have been penalties issued there.

The bike continued. The first half of the bike should always feel fairly easy, ensuring you leave enough for the second half and the run. It was a warm day. My support crew had cycled out to Carew. It’s such a lift to see people you know, even if only fleetingly. I kept eating and drinking. It’s a bike course that requires total concentration. You can’t just put your head down and pedal. There are some parts of the course that are verging on dangerous. There was one left-hander in particular that almost caught me out.

I was zooming downhill, and approaching a left-hander. The really tight and dangerous corners on the descents have warning signs and marshals beforehand, to give you a chance to realise you need to scrub off some speed. There was nothing before this left-hander. It was a blind left-hander than tightened up as you got into it. There was a steep grassy bank on the other side. I was leaving a good gap to the guy in front of me, and had already checked there was no-one close behind – the last thing you want is for someone else to mess up and hit you.

The guy in front had a guy in front of him, and this first guy went in too hot to the corner. He ran out of road, hit the grassy bank and went flying. He had deep-rim wheels, and his front wheel literally just folded right over on itself. Game over. The wheel was probably worth at least a thousand pounds, and the guy was probably racing to qualify for Kona. He was OK. The guy in front of me panicked and skidded and just made it round. I got on the brakes and also made it round, but it was a dodgy corner and a dodgy moment. The course demands total respect and attention.

On the last section of the lap, passing through Saundersfoot and on the road into Tenby, there are some particularly savage hills, which reach over 20% gradient. One of these hills has been dubbed “Heartbreak Hill”. They are tough enough on the first pass, but on the second lap you hit them after over 100 miles of riding, so you need to make sure you judge the bike pace well.

A good way to get up the hills is to hit the bottom of them as fast as possible, and let your speed take you up. So I was hammering through Saundersfoot, a couple of hundred metres before Heartbreak Hill, and the crowd were going mad for everyone who passed. It really is an amazingly well-supported race. A Tour de France atmosphere. Then all of a sudden a little kid was running onto the road in front of me. I don’t know how he managed this, because there were safety railings keeping the crowd off the road. I barely had time to react when his dad ran into the road and snatched him away. I dread to think if I’d hit him…

Then I rounded the corner and hit Heartbreak Hill. It’s only maybe a couple of minutes to ride up, but there must have been thousands and thousands of people on the hill. Screaming, yelling, cheering. Brilliant. I was comfortable at this point and had low gears, so I was able to spin up the hill and enjoy it. It was literally like Alpe d’Huez during the Tour de France. Crowds and crowds of people. Unreal. Heartbreak Hill was the first time in 70 miles of riding that my heart rate went above 170bpm, which was good, I'd been pacing well and the hills hadn’t been destroying me.

You couldn't help but smile going up Heartbreak Hill - a gauntlet of noise

A couple more hills later and I was zooming through Tenby, again through awesome crowds of people, and then out onto the second lap. After the previous 20 minutes where there were so many spectators, it became quiet and almost lonely again. It was at this point last year that I began to struggle on the bike.  To try to avoid this, I took on a bit more food than usual in the next 30 minutes. Maybe this was an error. At this point, the bottle of energy drink that I was drinking from was also far too concentrated, and it left me doing burps that I felt could turn pukey. I was feeling a little bloated and I was craving some water, but the next aid station was some way away, so I was forced to keep drinking the concentrated stuff. It wasn’t ideal, but it didn’t feel disastrous.

 

 

Passing through Tenby, lap 1

 

I still felt OK, and I knew from my average speed that I was on for a reasonably good bike split, and definitely faster than my 5:53 from last year. Finally I reached the next aid station, ditched the horrible drink and got a nice bottle of water. Such a difference. The energy drink was so acidic. Like drinking sulphuric acid. The water was benign and neutral. Nice. I kept pedalling, tried to keep my concentration, and it was good to see the support crew again in Carew. I started feeling better. You hit bad patches, and you just have to manage them and get through them. I tried to keep as aero as possible. On this course you constantly are getting up from the aero position on the aero bars: to go up the hills, or to tackle a fast and twisty descent, or to get on the brakes, or to eat, or refill the bottles. It’s important to force yourself back down into the aero position as soon as possible.

Hitting the final section of the lap, I knew the final hills would be tough and the descents would require care, especially now that I was lapping people. I got over the hills, and cruised down the final gradual downhill into Tenby. I loosened my shoes, took a final drink, had a final gel, and then reached Tenby. I climbed up the last climb into town and then into T2.

I had biked 5:43. This was 10 minutes faster than last year. However, again I was slightly disappointed by this. Earlier in the year, before I went to hospital, I had done a 100 mile time trial 15 minutes faster than the same time trial the year before. So I thought than in a 112 mile Ironman bike, I would be over 15 minutes faster than last year. It reconfirmed that despite my best efforts after hospital, I hadn’t quite reached the peak that I was at in June this year.

I racked my bike, went into the transition tent, took off my helmet, shoes and top, put on a new top and new socks, and grabbed a small plastic bag containing the things I’d need on the run. Then I started the run. The knee had done OK up to now. My times so far were solid if not quite spectacular.

Regarding Kona qualification, my times at this point didn’t leave me thinking “Yes I am in a really good position to do this”, but neither was I thinking, “No chance”. It would all come down to the marathon, and how well my knee would hold up, and how well I would run. I had done a 3:34 marathon at Wales last year, and deemed this to be a poor marathon. I wasn’t fresh getting off the bike last year. I hadn’t paced the bike well and as a result, my marathon had been poor. This time round, I felt much better getting off the bike. My overall race time when I started the marathon was 7 hours. I thought that if my knee held, my worst-case marathon would be 3:30. This would give me 10:30 overall. I thought I needed 10:15 to be in the top 5 and to qualify. So I felt that anything better than 3:30 would give me half a chance. The question was, how much better than 3:30 would I be?

There was no way of knowing at this point that a conservative 3:30 marathon would have been enough to qualify. But a look at the results after the race told me that 3:30 was all I needed. I would have bitten your hand off (and I’d have bitten off plenty else too) to be told that a 3:30 marathon would be good enough to qualify. But I didn’t and couldn’t know this on leaving T2. I figured I had to run 3:20 or better to have any chance.

And so I started the run…

Post 46 - Ironman Wales swim

By now, we were penned in on the beach. In position. No chance to change anything now. We were ready to go. Everyone was highly strung, particularly those at the front, with aspirations of doing well. You could have bottled the tension and atmosphere and sold it for millions. At 6:58 we knew it was close. 6:59. Come on dammit. 6:59:30. The starter was right beside me, to the left, but was waiting for the signal via race radio. So there was no countdown. Then all of a sudden the klaxon blared. We were off…

I knew the first 30 seconds were critical. I had to get to that buoy first, and get around it, and get away to the left, and I had to do this before 2100 athletes swallowed me up, beat me up, and ruined my race. So I sprinted like I’ve never sprinted before, and fought through the waves and the sea, and hit that buoy, and took a left, and I knew I was clear. I carried on wading, it was faster than trying to swim through the waves. Finally it got too deep and I started swimming. I was pretty much alone. It was a great feeling. No dogfight. It was rough. It was very rough. The waves and swell were coming in from the right, so I was breathing to the left. It was like a rollercoaster. Waves were smashing me. Slamming me. There is nothing to do except battle on. Sighting was so difficult. Breathing was so difficult. It continued.

 

 

I am at the extreme bottom left of this picture...

A few swimmers started coming past on the right, which was reassuring. Safety in numbers… after all, there were killer jellyfish in the water... There was a photo doing the rounds on Twitter of a 4-foot jellyfish washed up on the beach on Friday morning. It looked horrifying. But I had to keep swimming and try not to think about jellyfish. It was difficult to see the buoy, and there was nothing but horizon beyond it, so it was difficult to make sure I was swimming in a straight line. Finally I hit the turn, and it was a sharp right. Now I was swimming out in the bay, parallel to the shore, and towards the lifeboat station. Sighting was a bit easier on the way across, as we had the lifeboat station to aim at and we could see it above the waves, which were now coming across from our left.

Heading out to sea - it was rougher than it looks...

I had settled into the swim by now. There was still no argy-bargy, so I had obviously got away well. But it was still tough. Then I got a kick in the face, literally. Visibility in the sea is quite low. Sometimes you can be swimming along, and you stretch out an arm in front of you to make a stroke, and instead of reaching into the water, you’ll reach onto someone’s feet. When people are swimming frontcrawl, they flutter their feet behind them, so if you swim into someone’s feet, not much will happen. However, I happened to swim into someone who had decided to swim breaststroke for a bit. Maybe he needed a break or was trying to catch his breath or whatever. Either way, I saw a breaststroke mule kick coming straight for my face and before I could do anything about it, bang, I got kicked. It hurt. I had a quick feel with my tongue to make sure all my teeth were still intact, and then there was nothing else for it but to carry on. I hoped I wasn’t bleeding. Killer jellyfish might like blood…

I kept going. There were boats and canoes close by, which was reassuring. Unlike last year, the field seemed quite well spread-out. I wasn’t complaining about this. I hit the next turn, and took another sharp right, back to the shore. Finally, the conditions relented a bit as the waves were now coming in from directly behind, and pushing us towards the shore. I made it to shore, and exited the water. We ran up the beach, over a timing mat and back into the sea. The tide was on its way in so we had a bit further to go on the second lap. I had done a 31-minute first lap. Not bad in the conditions.

The second lap passed much the same as the first. Unlike last year, I didn’t get cold. I think the sea was maybe a degree warmer than last year, and I had a new wetsuit this year too, which sealed really well. I felt like I was swimming reasonably well. I would even go as far to say I had properly settled into it, had got used to the conditions, and was almost enjoying it. Don’t get me wrong, it was still tough. I started to lap people during my second lap, which was indicative that everyone was finding it tough. The waves didn’t relent. I still hadn’t seen any jellyfish. By the time I was heading back towards the swim exit, I was happy that I was going to get through the swim. My thoughts started to turn to what I had to do to get up to T1, and whether or not my knee would allow me to run up the steep cliff path and through the town to T1. Finally I exited the water and my watch said 64 minutes. My official time was 65 minutes, by the time I had run over the timing mat on the beach.

65 minutes is my worst Ironman swim by a long way, and I was a bit disappointed with 65. Conditions made it difficult to draw comparisons with my previous swims, but there’s no doubt I was a bit disappointed. I couldn’t help but steal a backward glance to see everyone who was still out there. The sea looked busy to say the least. And then I was off up the cliff path, ripping the top half of my wetsuit off. The bottom half would wait until the T1 tent. And my knee felt OK. I grabbed my purple bag, and straight away I took out a bottle of water, and rinsed the sand off my feet. A small thing to do, but a significant thing. I would have no sand in my socks and shoes all day. It took all of 10 seconds to rinse the sand off. 10 seconds well spent, I’d say. Then I pulled on an old pair of shoes, and set off up the zig-zag path and through the town to T1.

En route, I had a few swigs of flat Coke from another bottle I had stashed in my purple bag. The caffeine would give me a bit of a kick, and the Coke would help to rinse out and kill off any bugs or germs in my mouth following the swim. Again, a small thing, but worth doing. I also had an energy gel (not an energy bar, as I learned last year these are easy to choke on when you’re out of breath). Finally I whipped on a pair of arm warmers, not because it was cold but because I didn’t want to get sunburned and also because it’s easier to pull on my tight aero bike jersey over a pair of arm warmers rather than over a pair of wet, salty arms.

The route up to T1 was packed with spectators. Such an atmosphere. I managed to glimpse my parents when I was swilling my mouth out with Coke. I think I gave them a nod – I had no free hands to wave, and I couldn’t give them a shout as I had a mouth full of Coke.

 

 

I got into T1 and had a fairly smooth transition. There’s a lot to remember. Wetsuit off. Towel down. Towel folded over feet. Heart rate monitor strap on. Race number on. Sit down. Socks on. Shoes on. Jersey on. Grab helmet and sunglasses. Put everything else into the bag. Hand the bag to a volunteer. Run to the bike. Put on the helmet and sunglasses on the way to the bike. I ran right underneath our B&B and got a big shout from the terrific Lee and Laura (the B&B staff), who were watching from one of the rooms.

There were loads of bikes still in T1. I started to think I’d had a better swim than I thought. I heard the announcer say that the first female pro was on her way into T1. Usually I catch the female pros on the bike. This time, I’d beaten them on the swim. So I felt I was reasonably well-placed. I learned after the race that the organisers were thinking of cancelling or shortening the swim due to the conditions. I also learned that they’d had to pull 70 people out of the water, who were struggling. I also learned that most people were exiting the water in a dazed state, staggering and stumbling their way off the beach. I’d done OK in the water, all things considered. Now to see how the bike felt…

Post 45 - Ironman Wales race morning

Ironman Wales in Tenby, Pembrokeshire, began with a 5am alarm. 5am is early compared with the 3:30am alarm required at Ironman UK in Bolton. Ironman UK starts at 6am and is a bit of a logistical nightmare. Ironman Wales starts at 7am and is a logistical breeze. I went straight down and got my porridge, honey, raisins, toast and peanut butter. Our B&B were absolutely brilliant – they couldn’t have been more helpful in terms of allowing me access to the kitchen’s fridge for storing my food, and allowing me access to the microwave and toaster. One less thing to worry about. Breakfast was a quick affair, polished off with a calcium tablet to help my muscles later in the day.

I still had huge doubts about my knee. I’d developed a sore right knee earlier in the week. It was the old problem of pain when trying to put weight on it when it was bent. Usually this problem was specific to my left knee, but my right knee had flared up this time, unbelievably just a few days before race day.

I’d been taking anti-inflammatories and icing it during the week. Yesterday at the Ironman Expo in Tenby I’d had both knees taped up. I figured it wouldn’t do any harm. Anyway, at this stage there was nothing more I could do. One of several things would happen: I’d get through the swim and then wouldn’t make it through T1 if my knee gave up. Or I’d get a few miles into the bike, or maybe halfway through, and my knee would give up. Or I’d make it through the bike and then wouldn’t be able to run. Or I’d have to abandon the run halfway through. Or I might finish. I might even still finish well enough to qualify for Kona. I had no idea. It’s a terrible way to go into a race, with no confidence in your body. You want to go in feeling good and positive. You don’t want to have any doubts.

Before the race I had been putting together best-case and worst-case finish times, assuming my knee held out and allowed me to finish. I thought 10:15 would qualify for Kona. I thought my worst-case times were 1:05 for the swim, 10 minute for T1, 5:50 for the bike, 5 minutes for T2, and 3:30 for the marathon. This would give me a 10:40 finish. But I knew that these worst-case times were fairly conservative. I thought if I was somehow able to do it and qualify for Kona, it would be brilliant. Wales is the first qualifying race for Kona in October 2015, so it would give me a whole year to prepare. I could book the flights early, have my pick of accommodation on Hawaii, get everything sorted, and focus my entire 2015 on Kona.

Then I told myself to shut up, that Ironman Wales was the toughest Ironman in the world, and that I had to get through it first, and to get through it really well, before I could even start to think about Kona.

After breakfast, it was straight down to T1 to put my drinks and Garmin computer on the bike, as well as give the tyres a last blast of air. T1 was literally a stone’s throw from the B&B. We had the most amazing view over the T1 tents and bike racks. All day on the Saturday we watched as the bike racks filled up. Despite the good weather, most people made use of the supplied yellow waterproof bike “pyjamas” overnight, so T1 was a sea of yellow. The pictures below show how T1 changes during race weekend...

 

 

 

 

I had no last-minute dramas at the bike, then went back to the B&B to get my wetsuit on. I decided I’d only put the bottom half on, and then make the 10-minute walk down to the beach, where I’d get the top half on. The wetsuit is tight and restrictive on land, but when in the water, it is magic. Like a massively buoyant torpedo.

There was an athlete’s parade down through the town and onto the beach, but I didn’t concern myself with that and made my own way down, support crew in tow. I didn’t want to get stuck behind 2000 nervous, slow-moving, wetsuit-clad triathletes. I wanted to be on the beach in good time. Just before the beach, I got the top half of my wetsuit on. These wetsuits are a nightmare to put on. They take ages, and you end up burning energy, sweating, and getting sore arms from pulling them on. Putting the bottom half on, and then putting the top half on some time later, helped to keep me fresh.

I walked down the zig-zag cliff path to the beach, and racked my purple bag. The purple bag contained a pair of shoes to get me through the 2km run from the beach to T1. This 2km run sounds ridiculous given that most races have their T1 right beside the swim exit, but this extended run to T1 is a unique feature of Wales. There must be thousands of spectators lining the roads from the beach to T1.

Anyway, I got on the beach and had a half-hearted splash in the water to get used to it. No point in getting excessively cold. I did an on-shore warm-up, windmilling my arms and stretching them behind me. There was an awesome sunrise. The sky was somewhere between pink and purple as the sun came up over the horizon, and the sea reflected this. It was awesome. Truly awesome. A favourable sign for a good day ahead, weather-wise at least…

 

 Swim warm-up in purple sea under an awesome sunrise

 

The music was blaring over the PA system, and the announcer was doing his thing, stirring up the excitement and calling the athletes into position on the beach. All manner of boats, canoes, jetskis and even the Tenby lifeboat were bobbing offshore. The cliff path was packed with spectators. The beach was busy. The sea was actually quite rough, with an onshore breeze whipping up a bit of a swell. We start in a pen on the beach, and when the gun goes, there is bedlam. Everyone sprints for the first buoy, about 20m offshore. Then you must round this buoy and make a 45-degree left turn, and then head out to the second turning buoy, about 500m away.

Penned in on the beach

 

Last year I started right in the middle, at the front, and I got absolutely beaten to a pulp in the first 20 minutes of the swim. You could hardly even call it a swim, it was more a fight for survival. I took on a lot of salt water last year and was retching and gasping for air. It was tough. I didn’t want a similar experience this year. Last year the first 45-degree turn was further offshore, and you had to swim to it. This year it was only 20m offshore, and you could wade to it. So my plan was to place myself at the very front of the pen of athletes on the beach, as far to the left as possible. Then I would sprint/wade/fight my way to the buoy, take a 90 degree left, continue to wade parallel to the shore for another 30-40m, and then start my swim, away off to the left of the main group and out of trouble. I also reasoned that being shore-side of the main group would give me some shelter from the waves.

By now, we were almost at 7am. Almost time for the race to start...

Post 44 - Kona is elusive

2014 is over, from a triathlon point of view anyway. I didn't qualify. I thought I had a sniff after 10 miles of the marathon but then I had serious stomach cramps, lots of toilet pit stops, and a sore and restrictive knee. So I couldn't run like I wanted to for the second half of the marathon. It was an ugly, painful final 14 miles. Sport at its worst. I think a 9 month intense season is too long. I hit a seriously good fitness peak in June after 5 months of tough training, and I think I went into Wales perhaps a bit over-trained, and certainly not as fit as I was pre-hospital. Some time off will follow now, and a bit of thought will go into 2015 plans. And a race report and photos will also follow soon. Apart from the disappointment, it was actually a really good weekend. The support in Tenby and Pembrokeshire is awesome. And the weather was great too. I just didn't get the damn elusive Kona slot...

Post 43 - The night before Ironman Wales

And so this is it. The night before the triathlon season ends. In 23 hours, one way or another, I'll be done with Ironman Wales 2014. I'm number 533, you can follow me on Ironman Live Athlete Tracking (look it up on google).

I am not in bad shape, fitness-wise. The weather forecast is good. Everything is set up and ready. But I have no idea how this knee is going to hold up. There is a 2km run from the swim exit on the beach, up the cliff path, through the town and to the main transition area. I might get out of the swim and not even be able to run up the cliff path. I might not be able to pedal the bike. It might really flare up halfway through the bike. I might do a decent bike and be unable to run the marathon. Or I might finish well and even qualify for Kona. I have no idea. I'm totally winging it.

I've rested and iced and nurofenned my knee as much as possible this week. I went and had it taped up today. And for good measure, I had both of them taped. I thought it would be my left knee, not my right knee that gave me problems. It's a terrible feeling to have zero confidence in my body. Everyone is saying "you can do it", "think of that finish line", "think positive", but realistically, with the best will in the world, if I physically cannot pedal or run, then no amount of strong willpower or positive thinking can help.

As shown in the photographs below, there are scary jellyfish to contend with. There are rumours of a protest. There are dodgy knees with rainbow tape. Also, there is a tough, tough course. I've no idea how it is going to go. I will do the best that my body allows me to do. And let's see.

Also below is the awesome view from the hotel room, overlooking the transition area.

 

 

 

Post 42 - Race week

At the start of this week, I was feeling quite positive about Wales. I'd had a good rest/recovery week, had a good massage, I'd had my painful ice bath. I'd been eating well. Foam rolling. Drinking the beetroot juice. All the training had been done.

My targets for Wales were the same as they would have been for Bolton: Qualify for Kona. I'd take that, however I get it. I'd rather not rely on the roll-down at the awards ceremony - I've experienced this last year and it's a terrible experience. I'd like to cross the finish line knowing I've done it, and not have any uncertainty. Ideally I'd like to challenge to win my age group, although this is a big ask. It would be great to get a podium in my age group and finish in the top 3. This would get me an Ironman trophy, which would be nice. Top 5 in my age group would get me a Kona slot. The weather looks good for the weekend, which is one less thing to worry about.

I've made an educated guess based on past results that I need something like 10 hours and 10 minutes to qualify. I think this is do-able, but far from easy. It could turn out that 9:55 might not be good enough to qualify, or it could turn out that a 10:25 would qualify. You just don't know.

I need to swim 60 minutes. I'll allow myself 10 minutes for the long first transition. I biked 5:53 last year and wasn't too pleased with that. I'd need to do something like 5:35 - 5:40 this year. I give myself 5 minutes for the second transition. I ran 3:34 last year and again wasn't happy with this at all. I need to do 3:20 or so this year. That gives 10:10 in total. Which I think would be there or thereabouts, and which I think I am capable of doing if everything goes well.

Buuuuuuuut, in keeping with my "tradition" of not having great fortune in my Ironman races, I have developed a sore knee in the last couple of days. I wouldn't have been too surprised if it had been my dodgy left knee, but it was my right knee this time. It just got sore, and it just hurts to put weight on it when it is bent. Stairs are hard work. It's not a great situation. I don't really know why it got sore. I did a couple of things that weren't "routine" for me in the last week, but they weren't risky. I rode my road bike on Tuesday night rather than my triathlon bike, as my triathlon bike was getting serviced. I slept a bit awkwardly one night. I stretched with a pillow rather than a cushion on Monday night. Small things. I did much "worse" in France, lifting and carrying stuff, sleeping on a hard camping mat, battering up long mountain roads...

But for whatever reason, my damn right knee is sore. I've been icing it and taking anti-inflammatories. I tried an easy 20 minute bike earlier this evening and I seemed to get away with it, but an easy 20 minute bike is hardly a tough 10-hour Ironman. It doesn't inspire great confidence, going into an Ironman with a knee that I have no idea will hold out. Saying that, at least it wasn't painful during the 20-minute bike earlier today.

There isn't much I can do at this stage other than to rest it, ice it, take some anti-inflammatories, and hope for the best. It might be absolutely fine, and give me no problems. Or I might not even make 3 miles on the bike. Or it might give up halfway round the bike. Or I might get through the bike and then just not be able to run. I have no idea.

Argh. Again.

 Pain bath



Offending knee

Post 41 - Recovery/tapering

Training done this week:

Monday 1^st September 2014: Rest
Tuesday 2^nd September 2014: Rest
Wed 3^rd September 2014: 40 minute turbo, 20 minute run
Thurs 4^th September 2014: Swim 1.5km
Friday 5^th September 2014: Rest
Saturday 6^th September 2014: 1 hour turbo, 20 minute run
Sunday 7^th September 2014: Swim 2.5km

Totals: Swim 4km, Bike 36 miles, Run 6 miles

This was intended to be my first week of tapering, but in reality it was more of a recovery week. The previous few weeks had been really tough, and for most of this week I felt very fatigued and listless, with low energy levels. The toning down of training has meant that I’ve been able to get to bed early every night this week (some nights as early as 9pm), which has been a benefit, although I haven’t been sleeping quite as well as I’d like. I’ve been doing a lot of foam rolling to try to iron out my muscles. With training less, eating well and being in bed for longer, my body has been recovering.

Towards the end of the week I felt some energy coming back. I had a couple of tough, painful sports massages. My back and legs were really tight and painful to poke and prod, so these massages were painful but necessary evils. I’ve learned lessons from the last time, so the leg massages were much shorter in duration, avoiding the prolonged hair follicle irritation and hospital stay that followed my last massage. Maybe if I continue into next season I’ll shave my legs. We’ll see. I have to say, my legs and back do feel a bit looser and fresher than they did at the start of the week.

I hope that next week will be a good week, in terms of feeling good, rested and fresh. I hope there are no unexpected problems. I’ll be heading down to Wales on Friday morning. I’m keeping a close eye on the weather forecast, although it is difficult to predict what the weather will do as we are still a week away. The weather for the next few days in Tenby looks good, but the forecasters seem to be hedging their bets for Sunday next week – there is a little cloud symbol, with some raindrops, and a sun peeking out. 4 seasons in one day. It wouldn’t surprise me, we had scorching sun, wind, cold and rain last year. I hope it’s nice this time around.

I’ve made a few more purchases this week. Loads of energy gels and bars, some waterproof clothing, new swimming goggles, and a new wetsuit. In France a few weeks ago my wetsuit seemed to be letting in a bit more water than usual. It’s a Blue Seventy Helix, a really good wetsuit, very fast and buoyant. But the better (and more expensive) the wetsuit, the more fragile, and the time has come to replace it. I don't want to be puling it on an hour before the race in Wales, and have it rip or something. I want to keep as warm as possible in the swim, and have as fast a swim as possible. So I need a new one... I got another Helix, but a 2012 model rather than a 2014 model. For this reason, I got a 40% discount, which was a bit of bargain, but still an expensive purchase. Hopefully it will seal really well, keep the cold water out, and help me to a decent swim time next week, leaving me in good shape to get on the bike.

 

I’ll also try to put on some lower gears on the bike (a compact with a 28 rather than a compact with a 26). Last year I went with a compact/26 and it was a tough push up some of the later hills. I’d rather spin easily up the hills and keep my heart rate as low as possible. It is a hilly bike course, and I know this year to make sure I don’t expend too much effort too soon. I need good legs on the final 30 miles of the bike, and I need to get off the bike with a bit left for the marathon. And it’s a tough marathon too.

 

There isn’t much flat anywhere on the bike course. Parts of it are really exposed and windy. Parts of it are narrow and twisty. Some of the road surfaces aren’t great. Some of the descents are dangerous, especially if it’s wet. Suffice to say, it’s a challenging bike course. The run course isn’t much better:

 

Basically, the run course involves running up a hill for about 5km, running back down the hill, and then touring almost every street in Tenby, before heading back to the hill and doing it all a second time. And then again for a third time. And finally for a fourth time. Then you can cross the finish line, where there may or may not be a Kona slot waiting…

I’m due to talk to the cardiologist tomorrow about the results of my 48-hour heart monitor, but I don’t expect anything other than, “You’re fine, carry on.” The bike will be serviced again. I’ll be foam rolling and stretching. I’ve got 8 bags of ice on order from Asda Home Delivery, so I’ll be having an ice bath. There is a pond out the back of the house, so I’ll be donning my new wetsuit and getting in the pond to splash around. I need to wear it in the water to break it in. Ideally I’d go to swim in it, but I don’t have time to take it to a lido or to the sea. So the pond will have to do. I’ll be sleeping as much as I can, and doing a few training sessions. In 7 days, triathlon will be all over for 2014.

During this week, I rediscovered a brilliant song. There used to be a sports programme on TV that I watched when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. 22 years ago! This particular song featured on the opening and closing sequences. Despite the fact that I was just a youngster, I remember that it was quite an inspirational and evocative song, even though I could never make out the lyrics. It wasn’t particularly mainstream, and I haven’t heard it since. But in over 20 years, the tune has never left my head, and I’ve often wondered what on earth the song was.

It turns out that it’s a song by Enya called “Book of Days”. The Book of Days is a history/science book, first written in the late 19^th century. I put modern technology to good use and found out the song lyrics. They are no less inspirational and evocative than the tune was. It’s a great song. I don’t think, in my current situation, that anyone could possibly have written me a better song. Needless to say, it’s been on an endless repeating loop all weekend. The lyrics, and the song, are below:

Book of Days:

One day, one night, one moment
My dreams could be tomorrow
One step, one fall, one falter
East or west
Over earth or by ocean
One way to be my journey
This way could be my Book of Days

 

An Irish interlude:

Ó lá go lá, mo thuras, An bealach fada romham. Ó oíche go hoíche, mo thuras, na scéalta nach mbeidh a choích'.

From day to day, my journey, The long pilgrimage before me. From night to night, my journey, The stories that will never be again.

No day, no night, no moment
Can hold me back from trying
I'll fly (or “flag”, both work), I'll fall, I'll falter
I'll find my day may be Far and Away
Far and Away

Instrumental

One day, one night, one moment
With a dream to believe in (or “be leaving”, either/both work)
One step, one fall, one falter
And a new earth across a wide ocean
This way became my journey
This day ends together, Far and Away

This day ends together, Far and Away
Far and Away