As my 2014 season of challenges and races has finally
finished, I sit here, cup of tea in hand, able to reflect on what has been a
difficult, eye opening and educational year for me in my obsessive hobby.
I have openly admitted to a few people that the pressure
I felt heading into 2014 was huge, given the successes I had achieved
throughout 2013, my first year of competing at multisport, most notably my
victory in the Age Group Duathlon World Championships in Ottawa, Canada. Read
my blog about that experience HERE. I was no longer an unknown quantity, people
knew me, and somewhat unfairly, expected to see me leading every event I
entered.
·
Compete in Duathlon world Champs in
Pontevedra, Spain (1st June)
·
Ironman UK, Bolton (20th July)
·
London Duathlon Ultra Distance (14 September)
My entry to April’s London Marathon was deferred to allow
me to train more specifically for the fast paced duathlon world championships
where I would aim to defend my title in the 20-24 age group.
In terms of practice races, I opted for the following
events to test myself for the big race in Spain.
·
Diss Duathlon - April 6th- 5km
Run/ 30km Bike/ 5km Run
·
Cambridge Duathlon - April 13th-
7.5km/ 40km/ 7.5km
·
VC Norwich 25mile TT- May 4th
·
Breckland 10km (Run)- May 5th
·
Quarter Master Triathlon – May 18th-
900m swim/ 44km Bike/ 10.5km Run
Diss
Duathlon
I had completed this race in 2013, managing to scrape a 3rd
place finish on the strength of my strong running performance. It was in this
race that I first encountered the big rival for 2014’s race, Sam Proctor,
racing for the event sponsors, Tri Harder. Sam had caught me toward the end of
the bike leg, but I had managed to forge clear in the second run.
2014 was to be exciting for the spectators around the
course, but dreadfully hard for two of us. We set out at a fierce pace,
shoulder to shoulder in the wake of Piers Arnold, a terrific 5km runner. We
were never more than 5 paces apart, until Sam surged ahead to enter T1 in
second place behind Piers.
It didn’t take me long to catch and pass Piers and then
Sam on the bike course, but it was impossible to create a gap bigger than the legal
drafting distance, Sam was matching my pace, at around 23mph. this theme
continued for the duration of the thirty kilometre course until once again I
was passed, entering T2 seconds in arrears. A quick change of footwear, ditch
the helmet and we were once again (literally) rubbing shoulders. When one of us
moved across the road, the other would follow, every surge in speed was
answered and my rival appeared to have a lot of support around the course.
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| Sam and I leaving T2 at Diss. photo: Sam Proctor/twitter |
On approaching the gate entrance to the venue, we were still matched stride for stride, until I managed to open only small gap, which seemed to do the trick, and the gap grew to two seconds as we sprinted to the line.
This race had certainly tested me physically, very early in the season, as I found it to be as mentally nerve wracking as I did physically taxing. All the same it was a first place finish in what is quite a prestigious early season local duathlon.
Cambridge
Duathlon
The Cambridge Duathlon, hosted by Cambridge Triathlon
Club had been my first ‘proper’ duathlon in 2013, and also served as a
qualifying race for the World Duathlon Championships in Ottawa. It therefore
had attracted a bumper field of GB hopefuls. The 2014 edition didn’t hold the same status and
therefore a much smaller field toed the line for an unusually distanced 7.5km
opening run. The ‘pointy end’ of the race was still packed with top amateur
athletes, including whippet runner Tom Crouch, cycle powerhouses Lee Piercy and
Patrick Brown and fish out of water, middle distance triathlete Karl Free.
This race was a clear indication to me that I was not running or cycling anywhere near as fast as I needed to be to be in contention to repeat my World success. I managed to hang in with Patrick Brown (Met Police) for the duration of the run, before seeing him thunder off into the distance on two wheels, setting me up for a lonely bike ride for the remaining thirty five kilometres. My position in the race remained throughout the bike. I was fifth to mount the bike, fifth to dismount the bike, and also fifth to cross the finish line. On the final gruelling loop of the playing fields leading to the finish line, I could see Patrick roughly two minutes ahead, and Karl Free (also a copper, and third place finisher the previous week at Diss) two minutes behind.
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| The photo that prompted me to ditch the sail and get a new helmet. photo: Mark Bartley |
I left this race with a bottle of wine, as 20-24 age
group winner, a little disappointment and a good idea of where my fitness lay,
which is of course the reason we have practice races, or ‘B’ races as
preparation for our ‘A’ races.
Cycling Time Trials are great. A lot of them are carried
out on dual carriageways at death o’clock in the morning, meaning you will
record fast times, and be home before 11 am on a Sunday morning.
This 25 mile time trial was planned as the beginning of a
lung busting bank holiday weekend, as I had also entered the Breckland 10k
running race for the following day, as good a chance I would have to perform a
full intensity Bike/Run brick, albeit 26 hours apart!
There is only so much you can write about a cycling race
that starts in a layby, travels 12.5 miles to a roundabout and retraces its
wheel tracks on the adjacent carriageway. I do remember it being a stiff
headwind on the ‘out’ leg, resulting in a glorious tailwind on the ‘back’ leg,
producing glee as I watched the average speed rise and rise to 40.96km/h (25.45mph).
The 5 mile splits proved my suspicions about the wind,
13.00/12.36/11.58/10.48/10.36. A huge 4 minutes slower than my PB over the same
distance, but I still narrowly managed to squeeze under the hour with a time of
58.56.
The afternoon was spent enjoying the bank holiday Sunday
with my dad before rising early again on the Monday morning to compete in the second half of the weekend’s session
at the Breckland 10k near Thetford.Two years previously, this had been my first race representing the Ipswich JAFFA Running Club, so I was aware of the course layout, a long out and back, beginning with a drag up what is perhaps the only hill in the area known as “The Brecks” before coasting from the 6km point all the way to the finish. The race was a good chance to gauge my progress, and I spent the early stages leading, closely followed by fellow GB age group athlete Gordon Irvine from Ely Runners, as we would stay for the duration, being overtaken by two other runners that dangled teasingly thirty or forty metres down the road.
I came away from the race with a personal best by just
six seconds, although, as my own biggest critic, I was well aware that I had
faded around the middle section and was hanging on to the pace.
Around this time also, I had also been including some
longer runs and cycle rides into my training, aware that Ironman UK was looming
in the not so distant future. Aiming for three hour bike rides followed by a
short marathon paced run, on top of two to three swim sessions totalling 9km
per week was taking its toll.
Incidentally, the day after the Breckland 10k, I recorded
my fastest 10 Mile cycling Time Trial of the year with a 24.06 on the difficult
Crowfield TT circuit. Heavens knows where that came from but it was the hardest
I felt I had pushed myself since the end of the cross country running season in
February.
This event was fairly unique. The name refers to the
distance of the race, a quarter of an ironman. The appeal to me was twofold,
firstly, it was a triathlon, where I would be able to test my open water
swimming skills, and transition, including removing my wetsuit at speed. Secondly,
as it culminated with a 10km run, after a 44km bike, similar conditions that I
would experience in Spain ten days after, including the heat!!
I exited the water after a comfortable 14 minute swim, a
whole three minutes slower than the eventual winner, Jay Lingwood, but with
some fast transitions and a wonderfully fluid run, I was chasing hard but
eventually the end came and I crossed the line less than a minute behind.
The bike route had been interesting, with a single 44km
loop around the River Blackwater basin and across the Abberton Reservoir Dam.
Unfortunately a cycle race had been scheduled around the reservoir on the same
day, travelling in the opposite direction, resulting in some triathletes being
held at a junction whilst the race passed through. I had managed to navigate
the junction safely, only to be encountered by a huge peloton gunning towards
me, allowing me only a slither of road to pass on, and seeing the white of the
eyes of one erratic London Phoenix rider.
The race had been an enjoyable success and a good step
into triathlon ahead of what was to come in July in Bolton. Next it was time to
rest a bit, and get everything together in order to travel to Pontevedra, Spain
to defend my world title.
I won’t talk too much about this event as a full detailed
account of the World Duathlon race can be found by clicked clicking HERE.
My build up to the worlds had involved less high
intensity running and cycling than in the previous year for various reasons. My
“go to” session in the past had been a series of one kilometre intervals at
maximum effort. I usually performed these efforts around a lake close to home,
which measures exactly two kilometres around the perimeter. Unfortunately half
of this footpath was closed following the freak spring storms we had, the area
being particularly leafy and also prone to erosion.
Further to that inconvenience, I had also not immersed
myself into our local time trial events that I held paramount to my success in
Canada. Being the only athlete in my race to complete the bike course in under
one hour was the reason for my victory. This was partly down to scheduling,
some races where cancelled due to bad conditions, some I could not attend due
to other commitments.
These two reasons will sound like excuses, suggesting I
couldn’t train. They’re not, they are lessons I can learn from. Not all things
in sport, as in life can be controlled, so to quote myself (!) I need to become
better at the skill of “improvise, adapt and overcome”.
Funnily enough, whilst I had felt prior to the race that
I was running well, and a bit lacking on the bike, the opposite proved to be
true as my bike leg proved to be well above average for the race on a testing
bike course, whilst my running, particularly off the bike was a little
disappointing.
During this time, I was out in all weathers, exploring
unchartered territory on my long runs as I aimed for sessions in excess of two
hours, making the most of the long, light summer evenings. A highlight was a
dusky time approaching the Suffolk village of Baylham, emerging from a trail, I
was confronted by a badger scurrying around beside the road. I had never seen a
live badger before, only road kill, but the little tinker bolted off as I took
my phone out to capture a photo.
For long bike rides, I would aim to do out and back
routes, as I was aiming for time as opposed to distance. Picking an N, S, W or
E heading, I would ride one hour in one direction, turn around, and return home
before heading out in another way. This method made timed sessions easier to
manage and also kept the routes interesting. I was also surprised to note that
of all my long rides 4+ hours were completed at exactly the same average speed
of 30.5km/h (19.5mph) regardless of weather or terrain.
Two rides that stick in my memory are the two hour ride
out past Sudbury and back where it rained from the moment I left home until
five miles from the end, and also the day I managed to be out on the bike so long,
I got to experience everything BBC radio2 daytime had to offer. Being joined by
Chris Evans, Ken Bruce, Jeremy Vine, and Steve Wright.
I was enjoying the patch of training through June and the
beginning of July massively. To be able to look at my calendar, see all the
planned sessions written down was reassuring to a creature of routine. Knowing
all the sessions were planned to help me improve and achieve my iron goal only
gave me bigger incentive to complete them. With it being triathlon, the
training was varied enough to keep it interesting too.
Helpfully located at the end of June and four weeks
before IMUK was the return to Coed-y-Brenin mountain bike centre in the shadow
of Snowdon to take part in the Trail Marathon Wales event. This would be a good
test over the marathon distance, through spectacular terrain in what is one of
the best organised events I have experienced. Having taken part in the event in
2013, my friend Paul and I knew what to expect from the course, despite it
being changed significantly, once again due to those winter storms.
The first half passed without incident, we were very
relaxed and ran at a comfortable pace, stopping to pee and drink when necessary,
and generally enjoy the alpine like scenery. The gap between Paul and I
constantly yo yoed as my rangy stride set me up well for the death defying descents
down off camber single track, through woods and rock. The unusual technique of
leaning forward and “winding down the windows” allowed gravity to pull me down
rapidly whilst keeping good balance, whilst Paul teetered down carefully and we
re convened some way down the course as the route levelled out. Sometimes it
felt like I was jumping at the top and landing at the bottom, such was the
speed and finesse at which I was descending.
We finally reached a part of the course we knew well,
known aptly as the “sting in the tail” which had been the previous year’s final
mile, but this year would take us to thirteen miles. Here we bounced spritely
up the track at over a 12% gradient for about a kilometre, catching up and
passing 2013’s female winner Mary Grace Spelton.
Through halfway in a leisurely 1 hour 48, the landscape
now changed dramatically as we entered the world famous Tawr Du “Red Bull Run”,
a downhill mountain bike trail made up of slippery slate and stone. The area
was closed to cyclists on the event day and we would be tackling the course in
reverse, where they would thunder down, we would be struggling up.
As it happened though, the gradients tended to feel like
long drags where rhythm was key to reaching the top comfortably. At this point
the late morning heat was gripping us, and I found myself pulling away from
Paul and passing several runners that had been perhaps a little over zealous in
the first half. Now the landscape really opened out and was very exposed. A
water station promised at sixteen miles did not appear until a large opening at
eighteen miles, and it really felt like a mirage in the moonscape!
Trotting around passed some excited marshals, I felt a
little embarrassed wearing the orange vest of Ipswich JAFFA. Being a flatlander,
I felt cheeky catching and passing runners from Eryri Harriers and Mercia Fell
Runners, amongst others, as though they were standing still. I was getting
stronger, and moving faster and quite frankly having a blast. It was humbling
however to reach the water station at twenty miles, to hear the tannoy at the
finish area below welcoming home the second place finisher in a time a shade
over three hours.
From this point, I had in my sights a 3.30 finish time,
and also a runner from South Cheshire tantalisingly dangling in the distance.
It was mostly downhill from here, never more so than mile 24-25.5 where I
floated down the hill side in under six minutes. I also caught the runner ahead
with about a quarter of a mile to go.
My aim had been to just have fun and enjoy the scenery,
but also to finish ahead of the first lady finisher. This was definitely not a
male ego thing, but a performance goal. I narrowly missed this target as Andrea
Rowlands, of Eryri Harriers crossed the line seventy seconds ahead to claim the
ladies title. The results show that I finished 14th overall, having
been 28th fastest through halfway, the biggest improvement of the
day! Although I didn’t quite achieve my finish target, ending with a time of
3:31:16. This was very pleasing on a course with 1109 meters of elevation gain
(London Marathon has 68) and was a great confidence boost for my marathon
running ability ahead of the big one which was fast approaching.
The beginning of July was spent completing my final long
runs and rides, and also completing my longest open water swim to date. The Big
South East Swim offered a chance to swim the Ironman distance of 3.8km amongst
other swimmers, good practice for race day.
The lake in which we swam is located within a new housing
development in the shadow of the Dartford Crossing. Being entirely rainwater
fed, the water was remarkably clean. So clean that according to the organisers,
water quality testers had refused to belief that it had been taken from a lake!
It was nice to be able to see the tips of your fingers whilst swimming for
once.
 |
| Finding open water in Dartford. photo: Michele Ostler |
The swim passed comfortably, after an initial tussle as
the event began. I quickly learnt that the best way to avoid being swum over
was to kick a bit harder as soon as another swimmer began touching your calfs.
I was out of the water in sixty four minutes and home by lunchtime.
Ironman UK had been a long time coming for me, having
entered it the previous August when entries had opened. The fascination of
Ironman triathlon had been with me since first seeing the footage of Ironman
70.3 Galway on Eurosport whilst still at school. On this programme I had seen a
young Lucy Gossage take the victory, and Boyzone’s Keith Duffy being the
featured celebrity, competing on his home turf.
Spending the weekend around Bolton, the atmosphere was
exciting but also hushed nervousness around the race HQ, Bolton Wanderer’s Macron Stadium
as Ironman was in town for the race’s tenth anniversary. Suffolk’s very own
Iron Legend Kate Stannett was there, and I bumped into her and husband Charlie
as they brought crisps and water in Tesco. Kate was one of a very select few. A
“repeat offender” as they were called in the race programme, having completed
all nine previous editions of IMUK. Charlie had started all nine but due to
various perils, hadn’t been fortunate to reach the finish as often as “her
outdoors”.
All equipment was placed in the two separate transition
areas on the Saturday prior to the race, and it had been painfully simple. Bike
in its numbered slot on the racking, all cycling equipment placed in a blue bag
and hung from a peg in the changing tent, and all running equipment deposited
into a red bag and hung in a similar fashion, but in the car park of the
football stadium nine miles away, at Transition2.
 |
| Polly Plasma checked in early on Saturday. |
All that as left was to Swim 3.8km, Bike 180km and Run
42km.
 |
| Kate and I in transition at 5am. photo: Charlie Stannett |
I was not prepared for this, and after a few strokes,
despite finding open water ahead of me, a luxury, I could not catch my breath,
and therefore was unable to submerge my face for at least the first four
hundred metres and the first turning buoy. During this period lots of unprintable
words were flooding through my head, I almost wanted to cry and wondered how on
earth I was going to complete an Ironman!? By that first turning buoy though, I
found some confidence, got my face wet and settled into a rhythm of breathing
every two strokes, and eventually, once my nerves had calmed, bilaterally,
meaning every third stroke.
My goggles had steamed up now as my body heat and the
cool air temperature clashed, the polarized lenses being too dark for this time
of day anyway, and I could only faintly make out the yellow Power Bar banners
in the distance, signifying the water exit ramp. Fortunately there were
hundreds of swimmers scattered ahead of me, whose stroking arms I could follow.
Imagine my surprise then that I had completed my first 1.9km swim lap in 32
minutes, as I ran along the shore line in the “Australian Exit” before jumping
back into the wet stuff to commence lap 2. Fortunately the swimmers had spread
out a lot now, and I settled into a steady rhythm, starting to enjoy myself and
thinking that swimming is great, and Ironman is awesome!!
The lap was over almost too quickly, and now, as I exited
the water in 66 minutes, I headed into transition to remove my wetsuit and head
out to embark on a gruelling 180km cycle ride comprising of two laps of the
rolling scenery that the north west is known for.
A lot had been said about Bolton’s bike course, through
emails pinged between friends within Ipswich Tri Club's Irongang, the advice
given by Chris Tye rang the loudest in my head. “Respect the run course, and
remember it’s all about getting calories in on the bike”. So I set about my
rehearsed feeding schedule, eat something solid every fifteen minutes. I
rotated through a bite of Clif energy bar, half a digestive biscuit and a lump
of malt loaf, interspersed with an energy gel on every hour.
The bike course initially meandered through Bolton’s
suburbs before heading north of the town and the first ascent of the infamous
Sheep House Lane.
I had heard a lot about Sheep House, and it didn’t
disappoint. After heading over the reservoir bridge at Rivington, the route
turns left and you are confronted by a winding climb at a steady gradient,
through the tree and stone walled lane before emerging into the mist as the
gradient steepened towards the top. The atmosphere was dynamite, even at seven
thirty am. Chalked message of “Ironman” “shut up legs” and “allez” were
emblazoned on the road, and the biggest memory (of the whole bike course) was
reaching the layby as the climb finally finished to be met by three excited
gents wearing nothing but speedo trunks and “Mdot” (Ironman’s logo) vests,
wearing Craig David Bo Selecta masks, and a thumping stereo system in their
van. The climb was cracked, and then followed a rapid reward for your efforts, the
descent to the skiddy corner in Belmont village, before continuing on the
rolling A675 for several miles. Not to be outdone, this road included a
spectator holding a poster of the great Eddy Mercxx whilst screaming “Eddie
says GoGoGo” and also a large pink dildo in the riding line. A few days later,
on twitter, another athlete, Laura “lazygirlrunning” Fountain exclaimed, “This
has reminded me that I saw a vibrator by the side of the road half way round
the bike course in Bolton.”
A lot of cyclists passed me on the bike, and I did not
make an effort to chase and hang onto them (whilst upholding the rules of
drafting). I was comfortably ticking off the miles, without any undue over
exertion. I felt I was eating and drinking well, and maintaining a good average
speed, not taxing my legs too much as the roads got harder, finding no shame in
dropping to the smaller chain ring when the route got a little bit “grippy”.
The route got especially grippy as the arrows directed riders in the direction
of a new feature to Bolton’s bike course, Hunter’s Hill. You know a road will
be steep when it has a handrail for pedestrians, and this one didn’t
disappoint. It had become a hotspot for supporters and the theme of Sheep House
Lane continued, as the chalk messages encouraged us upwards and cowbells were
rung gleefully by adults and children alike.
A helpful wind had been pushing me along as the course
meandered through quiet country lanes before reaching the amusingly named
Babylon Lane, which had now been frequented by hordes of supporters that had
arrived from their viewing duties at the swim, before embarking on a second
ascent of Sheephouse Lane. A special mention must go to members of City of
Lancaster Triathlon (COLT) who now famously forms COLT alley, and drum, scream
and whistle as they part to allow riders through the narrow street, much like
you will see in the mountain stages of the Tour de France.
Through COLT alley, I had somehow been caught by Amy
Forshaw, a female pro. I say somehow as I have no idea how I had stayed in
front of her, she is a strong cyclist, for so long. A whole lap! We would ride
side by side as I managed to catch up to her whilst ascending Sheephouse Lane,
now even busier, before she disappeared to become a little orange and pink dot
in the distance on the dildo road.
Continuing through some of the more technical sections
within small Lancashire hamlets, my thoughts began to turn to the marathon
which would follow. I was still feeling pretty comfortable, eating and drinking
regularly and was doing the maths in my head to work out my ETA to transition
2, at my current speed, to commence my run.
Conquering Hunter’s Hill a second time, I knew this
signified being very close to the finish of the bike leg. This was around the 5
hours 30 point of the bike ride, and as I had found upon reaching this point during
training rides, my stomach began to churn and I felt a little nauseous. I knew
it was coming, and I couldn’t stop it, and it was a major relief to finally
expel whatever had been bubbling in my stomach. I had skilfully avoided
covering myself, by vomiting a wave of fluid beneath my armpit. It had felt
like a “tactical sick” during a night on the piss, giving me a new lease of
life! I think the rider that passed me
moments later was not as impressed with my sicky aim as I was, although he
should have been out of the firing line provided he was staying the necessary
ten metres behind.
 |
| The second ascent of Hunters Hill. photo: unknown/facebook |
Onwards through
the feed station at Rivington it was now a relief to be heading away from the
looped course and seemingly motoring towards the football stadium and T2. It was
a thrill to see my bike computer tick over to 175km, just 3 miles and I would
have survived the bike leg, without any mechanicals, punctures and relatively
unscathed. The road became more familiar and I navigated a small housing
estate, enviously watching the runners heading towards me that were commencing
their run, knowing I would soon be joining them. Into the thrilling array of
colours in transition, under another Power Bar inflatable banner, I dismounted
my bike, feeling beautifully bouncy, I handed off my reliable Polly Plasma to a
volunteer and headed for the change tent to retrieve my red bag, and slide my
feet into fresh socks and yellow dancing shoes.
Since leaving the hotel at 4am, I had encountered mum and
dad twice. Firstly a cheer and a wave as the bike course past our hotel, en
route from Pennington Flash to Rivington, and secondly as I commenced the climb
of Sheep House Lane for a second time. Coming out of T2 it was a relief to see them
both at a slower pace, conveying that I was still ok, managing to give mum a smile and a wave and a thumbs up
and high five to dad a little further down the road. Leaving them behind now,
the first enforced walk of the day came up a steep climb out of the housing
estate beside the football stadium.
The run course then immediately met a water station, where
I gratefully accepted a cup of water from whom I thought was the Mayor of
Bolton, but who was actually the chairman of the local rotary club. Taking a
healthy mouthful and splashing some over my head, and continuing along the
Chorley New Road, excitedly watching other runners come back the other way, before
heading towards a canal towpath, the most tranquil moment of the day. At this
point, I was running smooth and happy and picking off the landmarks until
suddenly I was in town, and beginning the first of three loops meandering
through the town square and surrounding areas.
Ironman events operate run courses consisting of multiple
loops. Upon completing each lap you gratefully receive a scrunchy hairband of
either yellow, red or blue, denoting your amount of loops completed. Once you
have collected the final, elusive band you are free to enter the finish chute
and hear the immortal words, “YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!” Progressing along the
course, at the time that I had reached town, there were only a select few,
moving swiftly who possessed even the first, yellow band. At this point you
have been running about ten miles, and get serious cases of band envy, as you
pass through the town square and back out of the town centre until you can
finally collect your own.
The run course at IMUK demands a lot of respect. The
course rolls gradually throughout, and the sensation is that you are constantly
either running on a positive or negative gradient. Heading away from town is
where you meet the steepest of these bumps, and you can instantly deem anybody
capable of running up it as a hero or a fool. I was feeling no shame in walking
quickly up the slope until rounding the corner at the top, to commence another
long slog out and back along the Chorley New Road. Having collected my yellow
band, and reaching the turning point on the course to head back in towards
town, I was eagerly awaiting the appearance of Lowestoft’s own pro Ironman, Joe
Skipper. An athlete I have competed alongside in local cycling time trials, and
whose preparation for IMUK was, judging by his strava feed, leading to a
fabulous result. Charging towards me from the opposite direction, accompanied
by an official’s bicycle, I was able to deduce that he was lying in second
position, moving impressively fast with a focussed look in his eye. As it turns
out, Joe finished second, having simply run out of road during his marathon
effort of 2hrs48, chasing down a deficit of over fifteen minutes to eventual
winner Cyril Viennot.
By this point, a grumbling uncertainty had begun again in
the top of my stomach, and the walking breaks became prolonged. I was allowing
walking breaks every so often, but not on the down slopes, and would simply
run/walk between different street furniture such as traffic lights and water
station. The running was still more frequent than the walking though. I was
determined to still be running as I passed through the town square, where mum
and dad where spectating, which I managed, before embarking again on the nasty
climb away from town. It was just prior to this, through a water station that I
was shocked to catch up to and pass a UK ironman champion, with “SCOTTY” in
large white lettering across his backside. This was Scott Neyedli, 2013 Ironman
Wales Champion and 2007 IMUK Champ. He was walking, threw a power bar water cup
lazily and dejectedly to the ground. He was not having a good day, but would
later re discover his running legs, and came charging past me on a descent a
little further along the road.
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| Moving slowly but still moving through town, photo: Tim Ostler |
Continuing to plug along, not feeling particularly
spritely, the stomach trouble became too much, and I dipped off the course to a
waist high flower bed of a local resident, and proceeded to vomit litres of
fluid into the petunias. I felt refreshed after it, but did make sure to
apologise to a couple of teenage girls standing nearby with a smiley “sorry you
had to see that!” This expulsion did make me feel better and I was able to
begin running again. I use the term running loosely. The euphoria didn’t last
long though and I soon found my speed slowing and the walking breaks becoming
more frequent. I was admittedly struggling a lot now, but maintain that I was
never in doubt that the finish would come. Perhaps my lack of fuelling whilst I
still felt good on the run was now coming to haunt me, and my energy levels
dipped. I was sure that my eating habits had been good, but as it turns out,
and I have researched this subject extensively since, I suspect that the
problems I was experiencing was a case of “hypernatremia” or over hydration.
Basically, I had flooded my system, and the concentration of salts and electrolytes
was hugely diluted. A symptom of this condition is the craving of salty snacks,
which is very true, and understood as the Army cadets at the multiple feed
stations were equipped with trays full of salty pretzels, which I duefully accepted
and endeavoured to chew and swallow. The penultimate ascent out of town, and my
speed had become that of the trademark “ironman drunk stagger”. A friendly
local, I imagine he completed the elevation of Everest during the day due to
his actions, walked alongside me, speaking calming and reassuring words. All I
remember is me looking him dizzily in the eye and emotionally saying “it’s all
got a bit hard now mate!”
By now the run course had become more and more populated
as increasing numbers of athletes had reached town on their marathon to
complete the laps of doom. Being a triathlon fan boy, the run route had now
become a who’s who of pro and amateur triathlon. There went Amy Forshaw, now
moving swiftly after her swim to bike woes, severe cramps around the glutes, as
it happens. There went Vicky Gill, an elite age grouper, who you are never sure
is grimacing or smiling as she bounds along. There went Richard Sheppard, a
powerhouse whose strength I had experienced in Spain in May, on his way to a
sub 10hour finish. This period was my slowest of the race, and my timing splits
show me as completing a 3.5km section, before heading to the finish in a
staggering 47 minutes. Perhaps I was just enjoying the spectacle.
A short time after collecting my final scrunchy band, a
moment that had seemed a lifetime away, came what is unfortunately one of my
biggest memories of the Bolton marathon. Bending over with a council dustbin as
support, and discharging a torrent of clear fluid, pure water. A kind gentleman
spectator jogged over to me, congratulated me on what was a gargantuan amount
of vomit, and offered me a sip of his water, which I accepted, whilst being
careful to only pour the water on my face, and not make contact with the
mouthpiece with my sicky lips!
Credit should go to the supporters at IMUK. Particularly
on the run course, the support is constant, with the streets lined
unrelentingly by groups cheering, clapping and cow belling as they waved their
banners exclaiming “Go IronDad” or “was this a good idea at Christmas!!??” The
local people of Bolton seem to really embrace the event too, there were lots of
local accents giving encouragement, urging you onwards with an acknowledgement
of your name, printed on your race number.
I mentioned earlier that finishing was never in doubt. I
had arrived in town with lots of time to complete the marathon distance, even
should it be at a crawl. In my mind, I was reminding myself that there were
lots of people having a much harder day, with much less athletic ability than
myself. They were getting on with it and so should I. A DNF was unthinkable.
For one, it would have been a complete waste of time to my mum and dad who had
given up their weekend to accompany me and support me, whilst enjoying the spectacle.
I was also well aware of the countless friends at home in Ipswich, tracking my
progress via ironman.com. The tracking system is remarkably thorough, and was
giving time splits for every 4.5 km section of the course. Imagine the sadness
they would feel at my flunking, they would have wasted their Sunday staring at
their computer screen, constantly clicking refresh, waiting tentatively for the
next update.
Sheer stubbornness and a strong will got me to the finish
line, as I ran to the hallowed red carpet to receive the greeting of “YOU ARE
AN IRONMAN” the relief was overwhelming, I walked the final fifty metres, not
to milk the occasion, rather because my legs knew that they were there, and
could finally slow down, although they hadn’t been going that fast anyway!
I crossed under the finish gantry in a haze in a time of
12hrs 22mins 10secs, in search only of somewhere to lay.
A French finisher gave me annoyed instruction to not lay
down on the marble slab bench in the finish area. He was totally right that the
cold stone would completely suck any remaining body heat away from me but quite
frankly, I was more than happy to be horizontal as a medic hurried to provide
me with a silver space blanket. Mum has since recounted the story that they
looked on through the mesh fence, ensuring that my chest was still moving, as
all other body movements had settled and ceased. I was welcomed by Charlie
Stannett as he found me sat on a chair once I had mustered the energy to
collect my baggage to retrieve my hoody, which I wore over the warming silver
blanket! Charlie had unfortunately been pulled from the race at “the Mayors”
water station as he “wasn’t looking too clever”. In the athlete area we sat,
discussing our day, drinking tea and eating jalapeno pizza which was constantly
supplied by Domino’s Pizza as we awaited the arrival of Mrs Stannett to record
her place in the IMUK history books.
 |
| Looking a bit pale with pizza and a finisher medal. photo: Charlie Stannett |
I was disappointed with my finishing time. I think I can
do better than that. Completion was a milestone in my athletic development
though. On the shuttle bus away from the finish area back to the Macron
Stadium, I listened intently to a chap, in his sixties, who has just completed
his thirtieth ironman, finishing first in his age group and winning a
qualifying slot for the world championship in Kona, Hawaii. “It’s all about the
run really, just arriving in T2 ready to run a good run” I think he was right.
I had high expectations of my debut ironman, and I feel
that I did respect the distance, but I just underestimated quite how hard it
gets at the end of the day. By 4pm, I had already been awake for thirteen
hours, moving for ten and still had two to go. As much as I was feeling physically
tired, I was getting sleepy too.
Strangely enough, I never felt any muscle soreness in the
weeks following IMUK. Every day I woke up feeling ok, I was anticipating it
hitting me hard the next, but it never did. My only theory here is that I was
moving so slowly in the final third at Bolton that I had begun recovering
before I had even finished the event!
The days now seemed to have more hours than in the months
prior. My main goal was complete for the year, and all of a sudden, I would
have four or five hours after finishing work before sleeping. How on earth do
you fill these gaps!? What do normal people do with their time!? I was just
wasting time away, I had brought a ukulele and familiarised myself with a few
chords and learnt a few tunes, which was fun. I was able to spend more time
with my family, and also volunteered at a couple of local athletic events,
marshalling on a run course and helping record results at the annual Ipswich
Triathlon Club event. After a couple of weeks of not really doing anything
constructive, I was back out cycling and doing some easy running, wondering
what would I do now. I can’t stress enough how much of a hole in your daily
life the training level required to complete an ironman leaves once the event
is complete.
Swimming in a local open water swimming hotspot made me
extremely ill, with a mild case of lepto sperosis. The event was very enjoyable
however, swimming the 2km along the river Stour between the picturesque
villages of Dedham and Flatford in the Constable country of the Suffolk and
Essex border, followed by tea and scones at the National Trust cafe. I soon
found myself after the Le Mans start swimming close to the front of the pack,
alongside one of the area’s top swimmers, Katie Holmes. It must be said though,
that she was the only non-wetsuit swimmer, and was only recently back in the
country following a channel relays swim five days previous, so she was probably
a little tired! The illness that followed really hit me for six, to the extent
that I was forced to take a day off work. Unthinkable for me
With the London Duathlon looming in just five weeks’
time, I was really struggling to find any interest or enthusiasm to train or
compete, and everything felt like a continuous spiral of sleep, commute, work,
commute, eat, sleep, repeat. Two local races, the Framlingham 10k and Clacton
Olympic Triathlon were entered as intermediate targets to look forward to. Constantly I was blaming my “easy” period on
the Ironman fallout, and my interest dwindled so much that I considered
withdrawing from my commitment to race at the London Duathlon, wondering quite
how I was going to last the duration of the first run, let alone the entire
race.
Framlingham came and went, having cycled the twenty miles
to the event, I ran a comfortable race, not feeling a great turn of speed, but
trying to shock my body into enjoying itself again. It was pleasant to be
involved with my local running club again, this being only my fourth standalone
running race of the year. The following week at Clacton held more excitement
for me, and by this point, I had managed to encourage myself to begin upping my
running mileage again, and beginning again to embrace the Wednesday night long
run. I was mostly circumnavigating Ipswich and the surrounding suburbs, partly
because I thought it would look like a huge journey on the Garmin map. In
actual fact, I learnt that Ipswich is remarkably small, and only about nine
miles in circumference. Whatever inspires you though, I suppose. it was also
now time to get riding my reliable time trail bike, Polly Plasma. It had taken
a couple of weeks to even put the bike back together after Bolton, and a whole
month post ironman to take the first tentative pedal revolutions out to my old
familiar roads for a pre work blast.
Clacton’s Olympic triathlon involved the usual early
start, and a warm foggy morning greeted us to Holland on Sea on the Essex
peninsula. The race start was delayed by around ninety minute for safety
reasons, the Thames coastguard giving the organisers regular updates on the fog
movement. The safety issue was not with the swim, but with the low lying roads
within the marshland that made the 20km bike route, of which we would complete
two circuits.
Having finally being set off in the second wave, well before
the top swimmers in the event, I found myself swimming alone, in sight of the
top two swimmers within my start wave. We soon began catching earlier starters
as we enjoyed the calm sea conditions, and the slightly tide assisted swim.
Eventually it became time to turn and swim in the direction of the swim exit,
and after a few strokes and sights towards the marshals helping swimmers out of
the water onto the boat launch, I got the hang of effectively swimming sideways
in order to reach the exit point for which I was aiming.
A long run to transition, calmly removing my wetsuit and leaving
my area neatly, I began the first of two laps on the bike, finding particular
toil on a westerly section of the course, before turning into shelter to see
the speed increase back to where it needed to be. Taking on adequate amounts of
energy food, and steering clear of excessive water, I felt comfortable on the
bike. A slightly frustrating section followed as the bike course traced its way
through a small town, encountering some Sunday morning traffic before being
released back towards the race HQ, ready to commence the second 20km lap. An
hour passed quickly and again I was safely through Holland on Sea to return
into transition to find myself second off the bike from my starting wave, as I
transitioned from bike to run alongside Simon Day, of Harwich Runners and the
Royal Navy, with whom I had exchanged pleasantries as things got darker in
Bolton.
I was now running on a fairy lonely section of the
course, with a pair of bright yellow running shoes creating my target in the
distance to keep moving at a strong pace. Running passed one of the many ice
cream and tea huts scattered along the prom, I was greeted by a cheer of “Go on
Ryan!” from a tea drinker, who was none other than Ipswich JAFFA’s ultra-legend
Mick Gilbert, enjoying a day out at the seaside.
The line of sight along the prom allowed me to keep the
runners ahead in sight as I was stared at by fisherman and families enjoying a
newspaper and tea from their beach huts. I was moving quicker than the runner
in ahead, and eventually caught and confidently passed him at around the eight
kilometre mark, before making the short climb back to the upper prom, and the
finish line, to be the second athlete to finish the race.
The time waiting for the later waves to finish passed in
a very relaxed manner, enjoying the company of other Ipswich Tri Club members
awaiting the return of their runner as part of a relay team. As it turned out,
two athletes from the final starting wave finished in a quicker time than myself,
one of them a staggering seven minutes! This meant I had missed third place by
around ninety seconds.
I was relatively non plussed by this result, another fourth
(!) and had just enjoyed the environment of the race, my first sea swim, and the fact that I had
re discovered my enthusiasm for competing and pushing the boundaries. The race
had served as a useful bike-run brick session with London Duathlon only a week
away.
As much as I had been experiencing doubts about my
interest, health and fitness in the weeks following my return to training, I was
now pleased to be back in the swing of things, and ready to travel to Richmond
Park to race the Ultra distance of 20km run/ 77km bike/ 10km run.
 |
| A relieved punch of the air as I spotted pizza and cake in the recovery tent. |
Read on…..
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