Ironman Weymouth. Where to start? “Race week” is usually
Friday to Monday, with race day on Sunday. So I suppose I’ll start on the
Friday. I had Friday off work, but wasn’t travelling down to the race venue
until Saturday, to save on accommodation costs. Weymouth is only a few hours
away, so the plan was to travel on Saturday morning. This meant I’d be tight
for time on Saturday, so I got everything ready on Friday.
I prepared my bike, sorted out my spare parts and tools,
sorted out all my gels, energy bars, and energy drinks, and attached everything
to the bike. I got my race gear all ready too – wetsuit, swimming hat, goggles,
earplugs, clothing, shoes, helmet etc. Everything was ready by Friday evening.
The weather forecast looked good for race day (Sunday), although Saturday
looked like it would be wet in the morning and then dry and sunny in the
afternoon.
I was travelling down with my brother, and he arrived on
Friday evening. It was early to bed because I wanted to be up and away early on
Saturday to avoid any heavy traffic and to get to Weymouth in good time.
Unappealing Saturday Weymouth rain,
thankfully race day was better
thankfully race day was better
Saturday morning went smoothly and the drive down was fine.
Weymouth was grey and drizzly, but the forecast said that it would soon clear
up. I went and got registered, and picked up a “perk” – a “full set” t-shirt,
for people who have done Ironman UK, Ironman Wales and the first ever Ironman
Weymouth this year. I wondered why they were giving these out before eligible
athletes had actually completed Ironman Weymouth. I threw it in the bottom of
my registration bag and thought no more about it.
My "record":
5 x Ironman UK
3 x Ironman Wales
1 x Ironman Weymouth
3 x Ironman Wales
1 x Ironman Weymouth
We drove up to Morrison’s and had lunch, and while we were
waiting for my parents to arrive from Northern Ireland, we went and drove the
final 15 miles of the bike course. I had anticipated an undulating bike course,
but the reality was that it seemed to be pretty hilly, with some steep, narrow
sections. I imagined that the bike course would be very busy on the first lap,
especially for the people at the sharper end of the full Ironman race – we’d be
exiting the swim and then overtaking a lot of half-distance athletes on the
bike course.
By now the clouds had broken and the sun was out, so it was
time to go to the transition area and rack my bike, and put my equipment bags
in the transition tents. There were almost 2000 people registered for the
half-Ironman and almost 1000 people registered for the full Ironman, and it
seemed that everyone had waited for the weather to clear before racking their
gear in transition. Car parking was chaotic, and the queues to get into
transition were crazy. The car park was a dirt/gravel surface, and it was an
absolute muck bath.
There was an entrance barrier that was just over 2m tall, so
only cars could get in. I was unloading my stuff from the car when I heard a terrible
clanging grating noise, followed by a blaring car horn. I looked around, and
saw a car with two bikes on the roof had driven into this barrier, and the
bikes had suffered. The car behind had realised that the car in front had
forgotten about the bikes on the roof and had beeped the horn in warning, but
the car had driven straight on, oblivious to the bikes on the roof.
I have never seen a look of horror like I saw on the
driver’s face. Complete and utter horror. I hope the bikes were OK. There was
nothing I could do, and I just got on with things. I got everything set up in
transition and walked through everything, so I’d know where to go in the heat
of the race the following morning.
Then we went over to the beach and had a look at the swim
course. It was basically a triangular swim course, starting on the beach, swimming
out at an angle to a buoy, then turning and swimming parallel to the shore, and
then making a final turn back to shore. Half-distance athletes would do one
lap, I’d be doing two laps. My mum and I both remarked that it looked a long,
long way. Visually, it looked a much longer swim than Ironman Wales or Ironman
UK, but I guess they are all measured at 2.4 miles…
The beach was gravelly rather than sandy, which gave me a
bit of concern – running over gravel in bare feet is not the most fun thing to
do. Neither is sea swimming – I heard the official water temperature was 17
degrees, which isn’t too hot… And I don’t like being cold… but it was what it
was, there was nothing I could do about it. It all looked quite nice in the
afternoon sun, the sea was calm, Weymouth town centre and promenade was off to
the right, and the Jurassic Coast cliffs were off to the left.
There was nothing left to do in Weymouth, so we headed off.
We were staying in Poole, about 30 miles away – accommodation was more
available and much cheaper there. I drove with my dad along the first 20 miles
of the bike course and again it seemed that “undulating” was too soft a word –
it was downright hilly and was not going to be easy – you’d need your wits
about you and you’d continually be going uphill, downhill, round corners,
changing direction, keeping busy. It didn’t seem a particularly “open” course.
It would be interesting.
Rather than see the entire bike course, we missed out the
middle third of the lap to get to the hotel in good time, get dinner in good
time and get to bed in good time. I was a bit worried about staying at the
Travelodge – I hoped it would be quiet and in a decent part of town. It turned
out really well. My brother worked as a lifeguard for the RNLI for a number of
summers, and the RNLI’s headquarters were literally just around the corner. My
brother knew the area well. The RNLI headquarters has a lot of training
facilities, but also a restaurant, bar, shop and accommodation. They even had a
piano and a guitar in the bar for anyone to play. I managed a few chords.
Awesome!
So we went and ate dinner there and the staff were happy to
microwave my pasta for me. The view from the restaurant and bar was really
cool, overlooking a nice sunset on Holes Bay, with a number of lifeboats and
other vessels moored just outside. We got chatting to a South African guy who
was doing the half Ironman – he comes to the UK every summer to work for the
RNLI, and was staying in the RNLI headquarters accommodation.
View from the RNLI restaurant/bar
This picture was taken in the late 80s/early 90s of the lifeboat leaving
Portrush harbour in a storm. Respect to the RNLI
Having unloaded the car and taken everything up to the hotel
room, I realised I had forgotten my bagels. I had decided against porridge for
my race morning breakfast, thinking that a bagel with peanut butter and a
banana would be easier on the stomach. But I had forgotten my bagels. This was
a minor emergency. It was after 9pm. There was a big supermarket just across
the road. But it was closed. If it was closed, it was unlikely anywhere else
would be open and I didn’t want to traipse around town trying to find
somewhere, I just wanted to go to bed. But there was a Subway sandwich place
right beside the hotel, so I went in there and paid nearly £4 for a plain roll
with absolutely nothing else. I got a funny look from the girl who served me,
but I didn’t care, I had breakfast back on track again.
Usually I don’t need the toilet in the evenings, and
especially at an Ironman it’s good to go first thing in the morning to clear
out your guts, but I had to go in the evening. Hopefully not a bad sign… I
slept reasonably well, and woke up just before my alarm went off at 4am. 3
hours until the start… I had got everything ready and laid out the night
before, and I planned to eat breakfast in the car on the way to Weymouth, so it
was literally out of bed, and into the car via the toilet. Hopefully that would
be my guts clear for the day.
I ate the bread roll and peanut butter with a banana, half
an avocado and some water on the way to Weymouth. It was dark and cold. We were
very early to Weymouth, about 5am. But the car park by transition was almost
full, and had we been much later we wouldn’t have got parked. I went and pumped
up my tyres and got ready, then I thought I needed to toilet again. Worrying… I
thought about just ignoring it, but experience has taught me it’s best not to
do this. So I joined the massive queues for the port-a-loos. After a long, long
wait, during which I again debated not going, I finally made it into the
promised land of a smelly port-a-loo. There were still massive toilet queues by
this stage and it was obvious that the people in the queues were going to be
late for the start.
I got into my wetsuit just as it was starting to get bright,
but it was cold. I was starting to get cold. I didn’t want to be getting into a
cold sea in a cold state. I headed for the starting queue on the beach, but
access was really congested. In the congestion, the body heat of everyone else
warmed me up slightly, which was good, and I finally got into position, right
at the front.
It was some sight. The sun hadn’t yet risen out ahead of us.
The sky was clear. The sea was a flat, milky calm, reflecting the orange sky.
Not a ripple, and not a breath of wind. It almost looked like the
Mediterranean. It almost looked appealing. But I still thought it would be a
cold swim. In previous Ironman swims, particularly sea swims, there’s usually
an initial shock on getting in, but you’ve no time to dwell on it because the
race is on. After a cold first 5-10 minutes, I usually reach an equilibrium,
and then get through the first lap OK. It’s when I get out after the first lap,
run over timing mats on the beach, and get back into the water that the
equilibrium is broken and then the second lap is usually a cold and miserable
affair.
There was a very narrow funnel down to the water which meant
only a couple of athletes were released at a time. It would take a good while
to get 3000 people into the water. I gingerly staggered over the gravelly
beach, into the water, and took the plunge, just as the sun was rising. It was
spectacular. The water wasn’t deep, and as I swam out further, it didn’t ever
get very deep. It wasn’t cold, it was nice and clear, and I couldn’t see any
nasties either – no aquatic life of any description. I hoped it would stay like
that!
The first lap was a pretty civilised affair, with only a few
other swimmers in close proximity. Sighting was difficult due to swimming
straight into the sun, but I was enjoying the swim and I felt like I was going
well. I reached the first turn and then the course was parallel to the shore. I
was able to see that athletes were streaming towards the first buoy, it was
looking quite congested a bit further back. I was happy where I was, off at the
front. After another turn, I was swimming back towards the crowds on the shore.
And the first lap passed. No bother really. I ran up onto the beach, through
the crowds, over the mats, and before I had a chance to properly adjust my
goggles, I was back in the water. I hadn’t even had a chance to check my watch.
The sun was slightly higher by now, and my poorly-adjusted goggles were leaking
a bit, so I ended up swimming a bit off course for the first few hundred
metres.
Some sight
I got back on track and before I joined the peloton of
swimmers (don’t know what the right word for a group of swimmers is – pod?
Swarm? School? Peloton?) I stopped to tread water for a few seconds to drain my
goggles and adjust them. The second lap was much busier as I was lapping the
slower half-distance and full-distance athletes who may not have entered the
water until maybe 20 minutes after me. Lots of them were doing breaststroke,
and I had to do a lot of sighting and weaving to make sure that I didn’t take a
mule kick to the face.
At the turning buoy, I ended up behind a swimmer who was
kicking hard. I decided I’d just tag onto his draft and follow him – you
couldn’t miss the splashing he was making, so all I had to do was follow in his
white-water wake. I imagined he’d clear a path through the slower swimmers and
I’d just get a free passage. Drafting in open water triathlon swims is a skill
I haven’t really mastered, but I got a good draft for the entire parallel
section, then at the final turn, among all the tightly-packed action around the
buoy, I lost him.
I sighted the shore and set my course, but the water ahead
was looking like a bubbling cauldron of swimmers. It would be a busy section
and I focused on trying to keep a good rhythm while not running into the back
of any slower swimmers. I wasn’t cold at all and would happily have done
another lap or two, I was actually quite enjoying the swim.
I exited the water in just under an hour, which was decent,
caught sight of the parents on the run into transition, and the brother just at
the transition entrance, and I got into the transition tent and did what I had
to do. Wetsuit off, socks and shoes on, top on, arm warmers and gloves on
(Wimpish? Maybe. Sensible? Probably. I didn’t want to get cold on the bike, nor
did I want sun beating on my bare arms all day long either). Because of this,
my transition was a bit slow, but it’s important to be comfortable on an
Ironman bike.
I got my bike, got to the mount line, and got going. It was
pretty congested with cyclists so I had to be really careful – after an Ironman
swim it’s usual to be a bit unsteady on your feet and a bit out of breath and
uncoordinated, and trying to mount a bike and then clip into pedals isn’t the
easiest thing in the world to do. I saw a number of people nearly crash, as
they were weaving into the paths of other riders. I got through it and got
away. I felt decent.
Heading out on the bike
I’d planned to ride at around 215-220 watts, and hopefully
my heart rate wouldn’t be too much over 140bpm for this power output. I’d
pushed 230 watts for the first couple of hours at Ironman UK, and this was a
bit much, so 215-220 watts seemed reasonable. There was a big long uphill drag
out of town and I took care to keep my power down, spinning up nice and easily.
A glance over my right shoulder saw a great view of Weymouth Bay below, with
people no doubt still in the water.
The bike course was very busy, with a lot of care needed. It
was like riding in a continuous peloton. Riders had race numbers on their backs
– green numbers meant they were half-distance people. Red and black were full
distance people. I was continually passing the slower half distance athletes,
and often having to shout a warning that I was coming through – in places
riders were 4 abreast. I reckoned I’d had a good swim and was well placed. I
later found out that I was third in my age group out of the water. I needed to
be in the top 3 to qualify. In previous Ironmans, I’ve usually made up
positions on the bike after the swim. So I was indeed well placed.
I paid particular attention to anyone who overtook me who
was in the full distance race. On a race number is also printed the
competitor’s nationality and age group. Within the first 20-30 miles, a number
of continental Europeans (Italians, Germans, Norwegians, Spaniards, Dutch,
French etc) had steamed past me. Literally steamed past me, like steam trains,
puffing and blowing and disc wheels ripping through the air like helicopter
rotors. I wasn’t in the same league. These were uber bikers who obviously had
thought that Weymouth might be an easier qualifying race, given that it had
only been announced some way into 2016, when many aspiring Kona qualifiers
would have already planned and set their racing schedules.
I had to let these guys go. Trying to stay with them would
have been absolutely suicidal. I had to ride my own race, and then run my own
race. One guy in particular, a Norwegian who ended up coming third overall,
came absolutely flying past me on an uphill stretch. I was sitting up, spinning
the pedals and trying to keep things nice and steady, maxing out at maybe 250
watts on this hill. This Norwegian guy came tanking past, in the aero position,
he must have been churning out 400-500 watts. Crazy. Way beyond me.
There was one section in particular that was a bit hairy –
an out-and-back section along a narrow road. Riders were marshalled to ride out
on the right hand side of the road (which caused some confusion as to how to
overtake, as at UK races you’d usually overtake to the right of another rider
if you are riding on the left hand side of the road). We rode this section out
to a turning point, and then back along the opposite side of the road. The
whole section was a bit of a bottleneck, as it was often dangerous to try and
overtake on the narrow road, with cyclists on the other side of the road also
trying to do the same, with a speed differential of maybe 50mph in places.
There was a lot of aggressive shouting and swearing going on. And the
organisers had put a feed station along this section as well! Madness!
I survived this section and settled in at just under 220
watts at around 140bpm. Pretty much what I wanted to be doing. I knew the first
third of the lap from having driven it the day before. The middle third of the
lap was much more open but again there were riders as far as the eye could see.
The race that I was involved with had settled down. Not many more people were
passing me, but I was still passing hundreds of half-distance athletes. Towards
the top end of the course, there was a super-fast descent, I must have hit
close to 60mph and I remember thinking that if something went wrong here – a
blown tyre, or a rider in front having a wobble or something – then it wouldn’t
be a pretty crash. Again I got through it and turned at the top of the course,
heading back through Dorchester to Weymouth.
I had thought from course maps that the bike course would
lead right back down to transition, where the half athletes would pull off into
transition and the full athletes would do a U-turn and start another lap. I was
looking forward to seeing my supporters – even one fleeting glimpse in over 5
hours makes such a huge difference. But as it was, the full distance athletes
were directed onto the second lap almost 2 miles up the road from transition.
And it was a horrible contrast. There was no-one in sight. Literally no-one. I
had gone from seeing hundreds of riders around me, and having my mind well
occupied by everything – don’t crash, keep your distance, give everyone a wide
berth, check out who is overtaking me, maintain the power, keep eating and
drinking – to being very, very alone. What a contrast. I must have seen only 3
or 4 people for the whole second lap.
At half distance, I was on target for a sub 5:30 bike, and I
started thinking that if I could run a sub 3:30 marathon off that, then I’d be
in with a chance of a sub-10 overall time, which would have been great. But there’s
no doubt I found the second lap tougher. I had driven some of the course the
day before, but the only way to properly learn a course is to ride it. From
various course descriptions, I hadn’t anticipated that it would be so tough.
The course had been described as “rolling” and “undulating” but those words are
too soft in my opinion. So my output dropped slightly in the second lap. It was
a long second lap.
I was pleased to catch and overtake someone, but it turned
out he had been in fifth overall and had suffered two broken spokes and so he
was coasting into transition. I asked how many were ahead. I figured maybe 20
or 30. He said maybe 30. Hmmmm. On that basis, Kona didn’t seem likely. But it
didn’t matter, I was going to do this as hard as I could and get to the finish
as fast as I could, regardless of Kona or not. Assuming my knee allowed me to
run a marathon… Maybe the uber bikers would blow up on the run…
So I kept slogging on the bike, and kept eating and drinking
and kept going. There’s nothing else for it. But hitting the hills in the
second half of the second lap was not fun. You just see this hill rearing up
like a wall, and you’d really rather not ride up it, but you’ve no choice, you
just have to keep pumping the pedals and gritting your teeth and eventually
you’ll get up it. And then you’ll have another one, and another one…
I was glad to reach the final downhill into town, and glad
to be on the home straight towards transition in the final mile or two on a
long, straight, flat road. The marathon course ran parallel to this, and I
could see people running. I brought the bike home to transition, got a shout
from the folks, and racked it back on the railings. It had done well. No
punctures, no mechanical problems. Now it was all down to me and the marathon.
Coming in off the bike, hills behind me
I took off my bike shoes and socks which by now stank of
urine (I’m not stopping to go!), Vaselined up my toes (Vaseline is great stuff
– no blisters), put on new socks, running shoes, ditched my arm warmers and
gloves, and put on arm coolers instead – it was by now very warm and you don’t
get the same cooling breeze while running as you do when you are cycling. I
grabbed my visor and Garmin watch, and got going. A guy I had been in
transition with wished me luck on the run and he took off like a flying
machine. Good luck to you too at that pace! My first mile was done in 7:30
which was probably too fast, so he must have done a 6:30 first mile.
Off on the run
I had no idea how I’d feel on the run. My legs had tired in
the second half of the bike. I had no idea if my knee would hold. I really,
really wanted to finish, and not to have to walk or limp most of the run. I
wanted to run the run, well. As it turned out, I actually felt very good in the
first half of the run. I was churning out the miles, between 7:30 and 7:50. I
was quite comfortable, not overheating, it seemed I had fuelled and hydrated
well as I didn’t feel any need to make a toilet pit stop, and the run course
was interesting enough to keep the mind occupied.
It was a 4-and-a-half lap course, along the seafront north
of the town centre, along the beach where we had swam, up out of town to the
top of the seafront, around a turning point, and back down into town where we
looped round the pier and harbour area, and all around the middle of Weymouth,
before hitting the promenade again and heading back up along the front. The
support was great in town, the run course was busy, and although it was quieter
up along the front out of town, it was still good running. There was a light
wind coming off the sea and conditions were good. I just needed my knee to hold
out and to keep running well.
Up at the top of the course, athletes picked up wristbands
according to how many laps of the course they had run. Just after the turn, I
used the aid station on every lap, and stuck to gels and water for most of the
marathon. Then with the aid station behind, it was a southbound run down into
town, along the seafront. You could see the pier away in the distance, a few
miles away, where you had to run to. It looked a long way. They had already
tidied up the swim course, taken the buoys out, and stacked all the railings.
Over on the main road, athletes were still coming in off their bikes. Some
would be on the go for almost 17 hours. There was a bit of a breeze coming off
the sea, and heading down towards town, the crowds got busier, the course got
busier and there were people everywhere.
There was an aid station just coming
into the main centre of town, where the beach changed from pebbles to sand. I
took a small drink of electrolyte each time I passed this aid station, as it
was warm and I was sweating, and wanted to keep up my salt levels to avoid
getting cramps.
It was great running through town, out along the pier and
round the back of the town, past the finish line, up through the central
streets, with the course passing along the same road several times. Then it was
back northbound, with the crowds thinning out, up away from the town and
towards the top turn again. One lap was about 6 miles. I continued to feel good
until about half way through the marathon, then my legs started feeling it. I
kept up the pace as best I could, but my times started to slip into 8:30, 8:40
and 8:50 per mile. A few miles were even slower than 9 minutes. I took one
quick toilet stop, thankfully only for a pee. My guts and stomach were still
feeling good. The flat run course was suiting me and there was never any point
where I had to stop or walk, except for the aid stations.
No idea what the problem was here
And the miles passed. I saw lots of my brother and parents. The
run course in particular was very spectator-friendly. They knew things weren’t
going badly – I hadn’t had to pull out, my knee was holding, I was getting
through it, but they probably also knew (as did I) that Kona wasn’t going to
happen. Still, I was going to finish. With an hour or so left, I realised I
could break 10:30 overall and 3:40 for the marathon if I pushed on. So in the
final few miles I lifted it as best I could, and with a couple of miles left, I
realised that the run course was going to be a bit long. I remember running
round the pier on the approach to the finish having completed mile 26 in 8:01
and I remember being peeved that I hadn’t done it in under 8 minutes. The
marathon should be 26.2 miles, but 0.33 miles later, I was turning into the
finishing straight.
I high-fived my supporters, high-fived everyone else, and
crossed the line. It was over. I even heard he announcer say “you are an
Ironman..." They say this at every race, to every finisher, but I have never ever
heard them – I don’t know what the equivalent of tunnel vision is for hearing,
but I must have had it at all the previous Ironmans I’ve finished. I got my
medal, and some water. The water was awesome – no more sugary, gloopy energy
drink or gels to take.
I went into the athlete area and got chatting to a few
people. I couldn’t stomach the pizza on offer, nor could I even look at the
cake. I managed to eat a banana and had some more water, and then I went for a
massage. After the massage I was freezing so I got a space blanket and put on
some warmer clothes. And that was that.
I met up with the parents and brother, and we headed back
through the town and along the promenade to the transition area where I picked
up my bike and other gear. I learned that I was 36th overall, and 14th in my
age group. It seemed that my age group was particularly competitive, with a
range of different nationalities. I did a 59:03 swim (3rd fastest in my age
group), then a 5:38 bike (13th in my age group), and finished with a 3:38 run
(14th in my age group), for an overall 10:26 finishing time. That’s an Ironman
PB (personal best) for me, although I’d say that overall, the Weymouth course
was “easier” than either Ironman UK or Ironman Wales.
Weymouth's famous clock, incorporated in the Ironman Weymouth logo
We headed back to Poole, where the RNLI restaurant was
waiting – I had a burger, fish and chips, and a nice pint, and dessert as well.
Then I had a long shower and cleaned off my wetsuit and other gear in the
shower. Then to bed. The next morning, I went a bit mad at the all-you-can-eat
breakfast buffet and it was delicious, I just kept eating and eating and
eating. I was tired and sore and hungry, but the all-you-can-eat took care of
the hunger for an hour or two anyway. I gave the "full set" t-shirt to my mum - she has been to the "full set", and then some...
I think if that’s my last Ironman (which it probably is)
then at least I am leaving it with good memories – it was a good weekend in
Weymouth, I did the best I could on the day, I didn’t have any disasters like
previous races, and I am leaving it on my own terms. Which is good.
Now, one last Ironman thing to do is to go to Ironman Wales
next week and support Matt/eat junk food/drink beer. I wish I was competing in
Ironman Wales, it’s a great event, but at the same time I’m very glad I’m not doing
it, as it’s a brutal, brutal event! I’ll write about that in due course…
