140.6 Kilograms to 140.6 Miles

A Journey from Fatman to IronmanJames Wilson

Frankfurter Sparkasse Ironman European Championship

The Early Years 4

Maddy, The New Bike / France 6

End of Training / The Run Up 7

Early Start / Swim 8

T1 / Bike 9

T2 / Run 12

Post Race Musings 15

Timings & Splits 16

Thanks 17

Contents

People have asked me why I chose to do Ironman. Well it has always a question I have dodged the real answer to. It is not something that I can explain easily or quickly. The title kind of illustrates why. I have had some-thing to prove. That I can be a different person. That I can do whatever I set my mind to, even if that is a physical challenge. For those of you that were never satisfied by the dismissive answer I gave this story explains what pro-vides my motivation, and the journey, which started with no destination but found one. Of course it isn’t the final destination, I have a feeling there will always be one more ridiculous challenge. I will apologise in advance for the English. I tried to start writing this 10 weeks before the big day, but training got in the way and I never managed it. With 1 week to go the ta-per afforded me the some time to start, but it has been mostly written in one day as I find something other than swimming, biking or running to do.

The Early DaysSo rewind 13 years and you’d find a very different person. For starters I was still at school, and would be for a few more years. I’d also be pretty hard to miss as I was well, quite large. I recall having to put my weight down for the school ski trip and putting down 15 stone, and that was a little optimistic. Now I wasn’t adverse to sport, I sort of actually enjoyed it. The problem was I was rubbish, and when your rubbish you get caught in a cycle, your rubbish at running so get put in goal for football/hockey. Which means you don’t run, so sport doesn’t do much to get you fit, the warm up run before rugby/hockey leaves you feeling so tired you lose the motivation to play them. I al-ways had encouragement, my dad was keen for me to get into golf, but I was worn out after 9 holes. I found sailing one summer when I was 15, and really liked it. A boat was purchased and I carried on with sailing. Then while at sixth form the chance to spend two weeks on the Tallships 2000 race as a school trip came up. I convinced the parents I wanted to do this rather than the family holiday and I was off to America for 2 weeks of sailing up the Eastern seaboard. This cemented a love of sailing and had a significant bearing on my choice of Southampton for University. Universtity came and I joined the sailing club, except it was rather cliquey and there wasn’t much of a chance to go sail-ing. So I tried to get on some boats off my own back. But beer, pizza, and the student lifestyle weren’t helping matters and I didn’t get many second appearances on boats. Over the first 2 years things perhaps got a little out of hand and the artistic licence I applied to the title came to be true, I reached 140. Then one day in October I woke up and decided to change things.I turned over a new leaf and became a gym goer. The weight started to come off and I got a little carried away. Not something I’m proud of and won’t elaborate, but in the 12 weeks to Christmas I had lost about 20kg. I had also decided I wanted to get my day skippers ticket and in February spent 3 weekends sailing around the Solent passing the course. Things all started falling into place about this time. The new sports centre opened with a brand new pool. I plucked up the courage to plod up and down in a pair of swim shorts, and within a month or two was doing 100 lengths of breaststroke eve-ry morning. It was about this time I respond-ed to a crew request for a 44’ boat. Improved sailing skills, carrying a little less lard around, and the strength built swimming and in the gym obviously had a positive effect because I sailed more than once on that boat. In fact I have sailed quite a few times, and still do. The confidence boost from racing a whole sea-son was really good, so Andrew if your read-ing this thank you. My swimming was coming on as well. I managed to teach myself front crawl and was soon knocking out 120 lengths of crawl, nonstop every morning, and I made the step up from the slow lane to the medium lane. A summer of working at the University meant I was able to keep up with the swim-ming and the weight kept coming off. 3 weeks of holiday helped matters to, 2 weeks sailing in Turkey where I taught myself to windsurf, and a week skippering a boat with the Uni sailing club in Majorca was great. I think I managed to lose about 50kg in 9 months. I kept up with the sailing in my final year at Uni, and the swimming and the weight stayed off,

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I lost a little more, but not much. I had decided that I wanted to do a PhD, but first I wanted to qualify as a yacht master, so I had a gap year before 10 weeks of sailing. Working life got in the way of my morning swim and over the year some of the weight came back on. I got my Yachtmaster ticket and returned to do a PhD. My morning routine of swim-ming soon got the weight off though. Swimming wasn’t the same anymore though. I needed a new challenge. I returned to the gym and started building my upper body, just what I needed to work as a grinder on the winches in Sunday morning races, especially as we always seemed to sail with far too big a sail area. Weights still weren’t quite

doing it for me and I took the plunge and decided to try my hand at running. Now at school I was never a runner, I always picked up injuries so was a bit apprehen-sive about whether it was a good idea. I did things properly and got trainers for my gait. But I missed the part about building volume 10% per week and jumped headfirst into running and managed 7 x 5K treadmill runs in my first week. The 8th wasn’t pretty and saw my first ankle sprain. I stopped running for a few weeks, but being the stubborn person I am on returning from a conference I jumped right back into running and resprained my ankle, except this time I sprained it much worse. Something that has plagued me ever since as that ankle is now a bit week and prone to sprains. After the conference I had taken a trip to Krakow with Jason (postdoc in the group), the triathlon bug was already starting to nip at me at this point and I remember parts of a conversation while walking around/up to the castle there about a friend of Jason’s that had been training for a long distance tri. Of course I said those dis-tances were stupid and I would never attempt them. Umm, I kinda unwittingly lied about that one Jason it seems. It was another year before I took the plunge and joined the university triathlon club. This is where the downward spiral from sprint to Ironman starts. I’m not going to write too much about my first years of triathlon. I started blogging at the end of my first season, if you’re interested you can read about Season 2 on http://trijames.blogspot.com. My first multisport event was the British Universities duathlon championships in November 2008 at Castle Coombe. I finished pretty much last. After a winter of training it was time for my first triathlon, Winches-ter Fast Twitch. This went a lot better, and after a tough bike I managed to finish 163/323. Not bad for a first go. 2 weeks later and I was racing again at the British Universities Sprint championships. The quality of the field was again very good, with the likes of Loughborough and Leeds fielding some amazing athletes. Need-less to say my finishing position wasn’t outstanding. Another 2 weeks and another

September 2004

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race. I really had the bug, Salisbury Fast Twitch. This race was great and I was flying finishing 115/253 with an excellent swim and bike. The season went on and the races piled up. My goal of working towards an OD in 2010 fell by the wayside when I decided I’d be fit enough to do one this season. And do it I did. After and awesome swim I lost well over 100 places on a tough bike course to be almost last going on to the run. I made up a fair few places and finished all right. I properly had the bug and was now thinking about half irons for 2010. The hills on the OD had taught me that the UK IM 70.3 was out of the question, there was no way I was getting over those hills. So, when I saw the Half Challenge Barcelona with 200m of climbing on the bike course I knew it was the race for me to target. This is where season 2 blogging starts so won’t spoil things too much, if you want to read about this check out the blog.Maddy, The New BikeMaddy has to get a mention. Like any triathlete I wasn’t happy with my bike. I’d been hoping to save up enough to upgrade bikes, but with the recession and the rising cost of living that wasn’t happening. I was convinced the bike was holding me back, I could see the frame flexing on the turbo and rides over 80km frankly hurt. I was banking on my bonus to take care of things, but it turned out to be quite paltry, so the goalposts moved to a fit and some new wheels. Having discussed all this with Dad I got a tenta-tive we’ll go and see. So at Easter I went and visited the guru of all things bike, Mike, at Bridgtown cycles. After spending most of the day there I came away with a bike that now sort of fitted temporarily, and Mike was going to look over the numbers and suggest a new bike within some budgetary limits. A new bike was pretty much guar-anteed when Dad described it as a clown bike, with the huge stem and saddle so far up. After an amazing ride the next day, which was both considerably faster and much more comfortable I was sold on the concept of a new bike. The handling of the Giant was seriously twitchy with the big stem. So a couple of days later when Mike came back with the figures Maddy was ordered, and a week and a half later I picked her up. I never really named bikes, but this one was special, being totally unoriginal, she is Maddy Madone. Well it is a name that flows of the tongue easily enough.FranceSo to France and the cluster fest that is the BCTTT training camp. The moment the camp was announced I knew I wanted to do it. It was going to be perfect to get me fit for IMDE. The other bonus was the first day was my birthday. The perfect sales pitch to secure the funding to get there. Of course being a BCTTT affair the ensuing clus-ters made it look like it wasn’t going to happen, then it was, then it wasn’t. Thankfully when we arrived in Valeuil the camp was most definitely on. It was a long trip getting there though, overnight ferry and a 7 hour drive. In true style the sun was shining and it was a gorgeous day when we arrived. After unpacking the car a quick trip to the supermarket was in order, fol-lowed by dinner. After dinner we all did the who/what/why thing, then I finally got to open my presents (of course a large portion of Maddy was a birthday present, along with the camp) have my cake, and drink champagne. France was amazing, and hopefully the next issue of Global Domination, the magazine of the BCTTT will have

At a cafe stop in France with Dad

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a full report, so I’m not going to spoil things too much and delve into what went on. There was a lot of swimming in the pool under the instruction of Sibs, and I got some pointers I needed (and still have to) work on. We had some long rides. On the big group ride things didn’t go too well for me. The problem with riding on your own all the time is you don’t pick up group skills. Skills I really needed on this ride, I didn’t drink and got seriously dehydrated. After fessing up to the fact to Conehead at some point I was sent off with Mark on the next ride day to work on my group riding skills and get comfortable with a bottle. Supposedly at the expense of a hill session. Although Mark had had other ideas and the hill session was still on for me and the girls. Four climbs, remaining seated, using a single gear, starting with the easiest gear and then next hardest and so on. A 3km long climb with 120m of as-cent. They hurt, and they hurt proper. I did the second climb with Mark at my side and saw my HR top out at 162, the highest I’ve ever had on the bike and not far off my running max. On analysis that session gave me a huge boost, the elevation wasn’t to dissimilar to the hardest IMDE climb, if anything it was harder. And I’d nailed four of them. The game was well and truly on.End of trainingSo when I left for Germany after 7 months of training I’d clocked up over 258 hours, swam 151.7km, ridden 2766km, run 778km, and burnt over 217000 kcal. Just some interesting stats. Explains why I don’t have much of a life outside work and train-ing. With 53-55 hours of training a month through June and July I don’t get much free time. The Run UpIn the weeks beforehand I was getting rather scared to be truthful. It was one thing after another. The race info came out and they had changed the nutrition from the stuff I had been training with to 2 different types. I managed to get hold of some of each and the stuff on the bike is frankly foul. It contains hydrolysed milk protein, which caused me a little panic until I relised it was so pure it shouldn’t trigger mi-graines. Then I tried it and the blood orange flavour was frankly foul. OK so new strategy, fuel on cola and water/nuun. The new stuff for the run (isoactive) was ac-tually really nice, similar to the SiS Go I like as the sweet taste has been tempered. Then there was the issue of water temperature at one point the lake got to 24°C, just 0.5° from being a non wetsuit swim. Now this shouldn’t faze me, I know I’m a strong swimmer in triathlon terms and could nail the swim just as well without a wetsuit, in many ways it may actually do me a favour. Thankfully the weather cooled and it was no longer an issue. The weather really cooled and the forecasts were pointing to a cold wet day. Leaving decisions on what to race in to the last minute I took out gear for all eventualities, that still wasn’t enough and I spent the Saturday scouring the expo with Dad for a suitable pair of thin lycra arm warmers. I came away with a pair of sun sleeves, which did the job admirably. At the race brief I was given a huge piece of good news (well to me it was), Powerbar had been unable to come up with enough of that vile Isomax, so the energy drink would be Isoactive on the bike too. The triathlon gods were looking down on me. After my shopping trip I had a little run in the park at the back of the hotel with Dad, not sure he was too fond of my sprints in the fartlek session, but I got the lace tension in the new shoes dialled in and a nice little 4K to get the blood pumping and the glycogen turning over. Racking was an experience. After a long wait for the shuttle bus out to the lake we got there. Dad held the bags while I had a quick 2k ride on the bike to check I had put it back together properly; the steering had felt loose pushing the bike about, was I just imagining it? I was it felt fine. Then it was into the queue. Pho-tographed with the bike after all the components were listed and then led to my rack. Red bag handed over, I prayed everything was in it. Helmet clipped to bars, number clipped to bars, shoes put on handlebars, cover on bike and racked. Then

blue bag hung up. Just time to go and have a look at the lake. Of course this brought new fears, Sand Ever-est was now ap-parent. I have to scale that to get into T1? Jeez. An attempt at an early dinner went badly; we seemed to pick the same Ital-ian restaurant (I was sick of meat and chips by this point, I know Americans get a bad rep for this, but the Germans seem worse) as every other athlete in Frankfurt so there was quite a wait. Then a crappy portion of spag bol turned up. So I left the others to finish their wine and strolled back to the hotel via the Hagen Daz shop. Sorted my stuff, left myself notes and then tried to turn in. Early StartAfter trying to get an early night and failing, then not sleeping much as The Fear rav-aged my mind, the alarm went off at 0300. It was as much a blessing as a nuisance. It meant I no longer had to try and sleep. So after the normal post wake up ritual it was down to reception to collect the `lunch box’ that had been ordered as breakfast wasn’t open till 0630. Got some inquisitive looks from the bouncer on the door to the hotel nightclub and the drunken revellers using the loos. Back to the room and 2 turkey sandwiches and a bottle of OJ for breakfast along with a bottle of Nuun. Put some sun-screen on, tried to get rid of excess weight, checked bag and at 0355 headed off to get the bus. Can’t say walking through a city centre full of drunks on their way home from clubs at 4am is the safest I have felt on my way to a race. Got on the first coach which sat waiting for 20 minutes. Needless to say I arrived at T1 incredibly early and now had 2.5 hours to kill until the start. Pumped tyres up, checked bottles, and checked Garmin sensors working. Joined the slowest queue for the portaloo, twice, to make sure the system was empty. Eventually after I had wasted enough time I got the wetsuit on. And headed down to the water, had a gel then with 15 minutes to go as the pros set off got in and acclimatised.Thought I was in a good place, about 10m back and 10m from the outside, except the wind induced current caused everyone to drift around a bit and before long I was in a hopeless place. Found a clearer spot nearer the centre of the pack but not too far back.SwimWe were reminded that 1 minute was the last warning we were getting, so started the Garmin on 1 minute. Fifty-four seconds later the horn went and the water became alive as the remaining 2100 or so swimmers all tried to start. What an amazing spec-tacle. Of course there was a bit of a ruck around me, but thankfully I avoided getting dunked/goggles ripped off. I couldn’t seem to find a perfect pair of feet and hopped from one set to another all the way out to the first turn, working my way from right to left ending up near the inside. Cautious of not getting trapped at the turn platform I saw a gap and accelerated into it, then off for the little leg before the turn back mark.

View from the top of Sand Everest

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Being over 1000m I wanted to see how I was doing, I looked and saw I was on about 18 minutes, swimming well. I was now on the inside line to the first loop exit with the whole pack to my right. Swimming comfortable and occasionally finding a good set of feet for a few minutes. My lack of long OW events was catching up with me as my drafting skills are terrible, I was all over the place and not sticking on a set of feet. After 2100m it was the quick exit. I swam until the last minute, ran up the beach, around the corner, high knees into the water then off swimming, reckoned I made up a handful of places there. OF course I completely forgot to do the one thing I needed to, readjust my swim hat, so rolled onto back and tried to fix it, it wasn’t going to fall off but now crushing my ears. Balls. Oh well I’d just have to swim quick. Found myself alone for a lot of the second loop so worked on a nice long stroke, relax the fingers and get a nice catch as Sibs had taught on the camp. The field was thinning out now. Look at the watch, a bit over 50 minutes at the top mark with about 800m left. My sub 70 swim was pretty much a guarantee now. The swim back seemed to take forever, maybe time dilated as I tried to up the pace a tad, I had been swimming quite conservatively. I seemed to be making places, and was passing a number of blue hats that had 15 minutes head start, and before long the beach was in sight. People were standing up all around me but I couldn’t feel the bottom so carried on swimming then I felt sand between my fingers. Up and out, felt alright, my hard kicking had obviously worked. Now time to scale Sand Everest. A nice hill of sand. T1Trying to remove my wetsuit at the same time wasn’t the best idea. I couldn’t seem to get the zip started. Then I’d forgotten to hook it over the Garmin, so not my best wetsuit strip. Then having scaled Sand Everest I realised I hadn’t advanced the Garmin 150m/90 seconds (Sand Everest was that bad) extra on the swim then. Pick blue bag up and into the changing tent. Space was at a premium but I found a spot and got the rest of the suit off. Big towel out and dry off, bike shorts on, Garmin off to , `sun sleeves’ on, jersey on, sit down, dry feet off and get sand out from toes before putting socks on, bag in respective jersey pockets (bag of CO2/tubes for one pocket & nutrition for another, worked really well so impressed with that as an idea) rain cape in. Do I take the gilet? I guess so, in the pocket too then. Sunnies on. Repack blue bag. Run out of tent, damn it’s raining. Arrive at bike with wet feet. Number on, helmet on, shoes on, gilet out of pocket and on. Blue bag in box, bike off rack and go. I guess the problem with IM transitions is they are soooo big, T1 had about 600m of running in it, so in hindsight taking over 10 minutes isn’t too bad.BikeThe bike was going to be my making or my undoing. I knew I could do the dis-tance, hell I knew I could do an extra 20% on the bike if I had to. The start was well, quick. Having navigated the narrow road out from the lake and onto the dual car-riageway into Frankfurt it became clear the weather wasn’t going to be nice. With so many people coming out of T1 I was hoping the referees were going to appreci-ate that is was impossible to keep 10m from the bike in front as we all jostled for position on the increasingly damp roads. The tarmac was gorgeous though, so smooth and so quick. I was seeing 35+ kph on the flat and it was comfortable as anything. When we reached Frankfurt the roads weren’t as nice, they got a bit nar-rower as only one half was closed off and there were a few more potholes and some tram lines. Some bridges to navigated and a few sharp corners and we were through. Saw a guy being patched up on one, he obviously hadn’t heeded the slow down warning and lost it on the corner. Before long we were out in the vil-lages outside Frankfurt. This of course meant the first of the hills, “The Beast” at Bergen-Enkheim. Didn’t seem too bad with everyone around, just dropped into an

easy gear and kept spinning until I was at the top, through the aid station. I thought it was the bottle stop, but it was the real aid station, thankfully I didn’t need anything. Onto the nice downhill and I was flying again for the next 5k be-fore the “The Hell”. In reality it isn’t too bad a hill, in most situations you wouldn’t even think it a hill. With the rain and a sharp 90 degree turn as you get onto the cobbles, yes it is a cobbled street, the hay bale crash barriers looked like they might be earning their keep today. My normal strategy for inclines is to stay seated and spin, but my good does that hurt, so a combination of in/out of the saddle was needed. The atmosphere was great, especially as it was only about 9am on a Sunday, the streets were lined with spectators, there was a DJ/MC half-way up the street and a real party atmos-phere, I was loving it, and managed to hold a decent pace as a result. After a few kilometres downhill respite, and the actual bottle station, it was the next in-cline, 100m climb over about 3km, not too steep, but a bit of a drag. It was also out in the sticks, that didn’t stop specta-tors though, there were still some. This hill can’t have been too bad, as other than visualising the climb I don’t remember any-thing other than the summit. Following it there was an excellent descent. The pelotons were still coming past though so I couldn’t completely hammer it, but I still clocked up 60 km/h on the slightly twisty descent. Now I was on the flatlands, riding through the countryside, and the effect of the wind was becoming apparent, there was a bit of crosstail wind going on and the bike was twitchy at times. I could see some of the pointy hat wizards with their deep section weaving over the road. People on TTs were passing all the time, but I didn’t care, I was on track for an awesome bike split and was probably going too hard anyway. Through the villages there were some sharp corners, but the bars at the roadside were packed with people partying and making lots of noise. Surprising how many locals were out watching given the weather. Finally I reached the top of the course at Bad Nauheim, there was another party going on here with a DJ/MC, grandstand and lots of people shouting. 61.2 km in and just over 2 hours gone. Man I was flying, well on track for a 6 hour bike split. The weather wasn’t so bad now either. Bladder was announcing it was full though. I may have been a little damp, but this was no time to try and save a bit of time and pee on the bike, I still had an-other 4 hours to go after all. So after picking up a bottle at Freidburg I stopped at the top of the hill at the portaloo. Man that felt better, it also explains why split 6 is a bit slower. Since the weather was a bit brighter I also used the opportunity to take off my gilet as it was getting a bit warmer. Once through the towns it became apparent why things had been so easy, I was now doing battle with a tasty head/cross wind. 15km later and entered Bad Vilbel, and it was time for “Heartbreak Hill”. It seems every IM course has a Heartbreak hill, I guess it is a feature of the route planning, `What hill can we choose to break the riders physically and mentally?’ Well the atmosphere kept me pumped up on this one, it is a proper Tour de France atmosphere, crowds both side right in your face so you can barely overtake making tonnes of noise, with the now

The Hell

obligatory DJ/MC keeping the crowds pumped. As a hill it hurt, but half of that was my own doing, I was soaking the atmosphere up so much I forgot I was doing a 180km bike ride and went for it, averaging 18.3 km/h over the 2.5k/100m climb I gained a fair few places as well. Once over the hill the only thing between me and the next lap was a nice downhill ride all the way back past T2, of course now the roads were wet, they had narrowed as we were on half of a coned off carriageway, and there were the odd tram line bi-secting the road. Once back in Frank-furt though I was running of the at-mosphere, it felt great bombing along the city roads with people cheering on either side. The only ob-stacle before lap 2 was the tunnel. A dark tunnel wearing sunglasses at 30+ km/h, I can think of places I’d rather be riding. Out of the tunnel, a slight telling off as I was in the com-pletely wrong gear, big ring and steep slope is a bit of a no no, so a hard out of saddle effort, a couple of sharp turns then onto the main drag,

under the banner, I heard a cheer from Dad from behind, now for all the little sap-ping climbs out of the city. This was a lot harder without the buzz of the pelotons around me. I drifted off at one point and had a bit of an Oh F***! moment as I hit a pothole, Wake up James. Up the ramps, round the sharp corners and back onto The Beast. I realised on The Beast I had overcooked the first lap. It hurt and it hurt good. Spectators were either shouting things in German at me, or calling my name as I passed, spurring me on and I did it. Got some Iso at the aid station and settled in preparing for “The Hell”. The cobbles hurt more second time around. At least they were dry though, and in the official race pics I look like I’m enjoying myself. I don’t know how that hap-pened. A seconded pee break at the aid station, then it was on to “Huhn-erberg”. This was the hill I didn’t really feel on the first lap. I felt it now though, and was consid-erably slower. Still, I re-membered the descent afterwards, hopefully with fewer riders around and in the dry I could nail it this time. And nail it I did, clocking up over 65 km/h on the descent, of course there was a 90 de-

Heartbreak Hill

The Flatlands

gree left turn not long after so had to scrub the speed off. Onto the flatlands again and now it was just getting to be a case of turning the pedals over, and remembering to drink and eat. The wind was clearing getting stronger now, the ride back wasn’t going to be nice. At some point I decided to change the odomemter to cadence and take distance off the Garmin to give me new focus. Turns out this was to prove a stupid idea. Out through Bad Nauheim, I heard my name called out by the DJ, onto Freidburg and the aid station. After the aid station I could see the clouds building, rain was in the offing so time to get the gilet back on. Just in time for the rain which came as expect-ed, bringing a nice headwind with it. All I had left was Heartbreak Hill according to the Garmin I was at 164km, it should be any minute and I could go sub 6:30, but it didn’t come. WTF? Changed cadence back to ODO on bike computer, there was an 8km dis-crepancy between them. How the hell did that happen? If the Garmin loses GPS lock it should take speed/distance of the sensor the bike computer uses, but that hadn’t dropped out as I was watching my speed all the time. This went round and round in my head for the rest of the bike leg. I didn’t know how long I had to go, my mind was now my worst enemy. I knew there were about 12km left after Bad Vilbel. I just had to get there. It came eventually. I was now seriously pissed though and took my anger out on Heartbreak Hill. I was marginally slower this time round, the pain in my face was in-tense, people were falling back all around me, I was nailing this. I may not have been as fast at the first time, but I was stronger than everyone around me. I had enough fluids so bypassed the aid station. Now for the run back into town, the wind was hor-rible and holding me back, that is probably why the splits are a bit slower, but I was now on a mission and was not going to let anything hold me back (while bearing in mind the run I still had to do) I was reeling people in, the roads were damp and I wasn’t going to take excessive risks, watching out for pedestrians, through the tunnel, sun-nies on the end of my nose, school teacher style, correct gearing out the tunnel and sunnies on properly, watch the last few corners and smash it round into T2. Come on brakes stop me. Dismount, hand the bike over and run for the bags. T2Well, T2, I actually remember this one. Mum doesn’t like the fact I still to this day have no recollection of T2 in Barcelona, and the conversation I had with them as I started the run. Well I hadn’t raced as hard, my nutrition had worked (well I hadn’t vomited yet). Picked the bag up and went and looked for a spot in the tent. Balls, it’s not a seg-regated tent. And there are women (athletes and helpers all around). Changing into run compressions shorts isn’t really an option them. Well I hope the endurance pad in these Blueseventy shorts isn’t going to do too much damage then. Cycle kit off, singlet on, shorts on, socks. Socks won’t go. Towel feet. Talc! Talc feet, everyone coughs and splutters as my attempt at talking one foot goes horrible wrong and fills the atmos-phere with magnesium silicate (OK, feel the need to be geeky). Try and get the sock on, it still won’t go. Maybe a brand new pair of socks was a bad idea. Should have worn them once before. Eventually I get it on. Shoe on, now other foot. Struggle again, but have the towel/talc/sock method under control. Repack bag, decided against wearing hat, and off out onto the run. I completely omitted one stage of T2 in this all though.RunWell, an Ironman marathon. Hard, painful, long, draining. All words that can be used in abundance to describe the hurt involved. I had deliberately not run a marathon be-fore IM as I didn’t want to know how much it was going to hurt. My 20+ mile runs hurt a hell of a lot and that was enough. For some reason I had decided to target a 4 hour marathon. That was a foolish target, and one I’d realise early on I’d miss. The first leg started out of T2 down the red carpet, over the cobbled tram track. Can’t say it was a nice surface to run on, it was ankle breaking. 500m as I ran through the first aid station I realised I’d made a foolish mistake in T2. My laces were slapping about on

my feet, I looked down and realised I hadn’t done them up. What an idiot. Cue me stopping to do them up on a bench. It was looking like I’d done good on the bike as I was running strong. The first split looks bad due to the lace stop, but I was running strong at ~11 km/h, running. The weather was nice on the first lap, there was some sunshine in breaks in the clouds and it was looking like it would be a great run. The kilometres were flying by as I went through the aid stations, taking on board coke as I went through, it wasn’t flat, but to be honest I quite liked that. The fizzy, sugary taste was just what I wanted. The atmosphere was great on the run, being right in the city along the banks of the river there were sup-porters everywhere. Going over the bridge after the second aid station I got passed by Zelenkova on her third or fourth lap, the pace didn’t seem too bad, but she was soon in the distance. I got my first (green) armband at the 7.7km checkpoint just after being passed by the third placed female, there was some gap

between them! A long drag up and over the bridge and back passed T2. A strong run through the grandstand then the gut ache hit me. I couldn’t face anything from the aid station, and it was only the people cheering me on that kept me run-ning. It is great having spectators everywhere, but it makes it damn hard to take a walking break, it looks like you are quitting. By the second aid station I knew a pre-emptive strike was required to quell the gut issues. Into the portaloo and well, I’ll just say things were sorted. But after an hour of running my body decided it had had enough and was starting to give up. The cut my athlete wrist band had made during the swim was now starting to hurt as the sweat ran into it, and it was rub-bing more. All I could think about was the pain. So third aid station started with a trip to the red cross tent to get some tape put on it. That felt much better. I was run/walking now, primarily walking the aid stations and running between. My feet were taking a battering. Run tall, high knees, run strong. This was my focus every time I felt myself drifting off, just like Mr C had said to avoid the Ironman Shuffle. Sometimes it worked, but it wasn’t my legs giving out, it was my feet. I got my white band and proceeded back towards the finish area, running past and onto lap 3. Horrible. That is the word I’d use to describe lap 3. Pure unadulterated hell, only not as hot. The penultimate lap has got to be the worst. Gut was playing up again so at the second aid station I planned to stop again. Timed my walk breaks to account for a sit down. First portaloo, open door, no paper. Second portaloo, open door, no paper. Third portaloo, open door, you guessed it no paper. My sit break wasn’t happening so run on to the next aid station, only another mile right. As I ran along the top street I could see the portaloos below and saw someone having the same paper issue, but I spotted them taking a loo roll they found into one. My eyes were on that portaloo as I ran along the top level before doubling back and down to the river. A little detour first though to get the tape replaced at

Running strong out of T2

the red cross tent, before my little sit break. Feeling a bit better I set off again, but it was getting dark. What time was it, sure sundown shouldn’t be for a while. It wasn’t, it was a nice rain cloud that had decided to come and dump a shed load of water on everyone still out running. It rained, and rained, and then rained some more. My nice loose running singlet was now stuck to me, wet skin on wet skin was chaffing. My strategy was now to run in the rain and take a nice slow walk through any shel-ter there was (under all the bridges). I’d wanted to ditch my sunnies on the second lap but hadn’t seen the family, so carried on, but with the weather as it was I was willing them to be there on this lap, they were, it was nice to running without them now. I was now cold, wet, as well as hurting. I wondered if any of people running passed wanted to run and extra lap and would give me their purple armband? Hmm, could I find a purple armband anywhere. F*** it

I’m no cheat, this is what makes you an Ironman. Fifth aid station, gut was unhappy so not taking stuff on board at all of them, Helper: “Wet Sponge?” Me: “A dry sponge would be nice!”, chuckle. Coming up to the sixth aid station I could see people making coffee in the Red Cross tent. Mmm, warm coffee. That would be sooo much nicer than cold coke at this point. I could also see people running with space blankets as pon-chos. Now that is a good idea, maybe I should stop and get one. Well I got my purple armband and carried on, it would have wasted too much time, I’d have to admit how cold I was and they might not let me carry on. No, I’d tough it and prove I’m made of Iron, stainless steel would have been better, that way I wouldn’t have been rusting away in the rain. The rain abated as I finished the lap. The red carpet was now horrible and squelchy under foot, just willing me to slip over and end my race. The next few kilometres were hell, the field was thinning and the spectators going with them. I was coming up on 12 hours, there was no way I was going sub 12, or sub 12:30. There was a glimmer of hope for a sub 12:45, but it was going to require some work. I was counting down the kilometres. My walk breaks became more focussed and I concentrated on running strong. 4 kilometres to go and I saw I had about 25 minutes to go sub 12:45. I can do this! I can! The aid stations were now a focussed effort. Some coke, some apple, some water and run. I got my yellow armband and visualised my walk breaks. Run the stretch to the ramp up. Walk the ramp and onto the cinder. Run to the bridge, walk to the apex. Run to the aid station, run through aid station. I was starting to run strong now as the finish was only 1k away. Onto the red carpet, passed the bike racking, peo-ple clapping and cheering then towards the finish funnel, people are calling my name now. I can feel the huge smile taking over my face. It’s nearly over. Damn, I’m closing in to the guy in front, he’s stopped! Ok now I’m closing the next guy in front. See the clock is 12:44:42 Good photo or good time? Got to be a good time. Crossed the line on 12:44:49, with the 5 seconds extra of the gun start that meant a 12:44:54. The longest, hardest day of my life is over.

Take my sunnies please

Mentally and physically drained I was presented with my medal, given a towel, wrapped in a foil blanket and led away for post race photo, shower, massage and food. I’d done it, I was an Ironman.Post Race MusingsWell I am now an Ironman. It has to be one of the most special achievements for me. As I sit here and write this having framed my photos and medal and hung it above this desk a smile is drawn to my face every I look at it. Who would have thought 8 years ago, as I tipped the scales at 140kg, that one day I would swim bike and run 140 miles, that is 226 km in new money, or the distance from London to Sheffield. And I covered it in 12 hours 45 minutes. The weather may have been terrible, the worst in the 10 years of IMDE supposedly, but the quality of the roads,

It is all over now

It’s All O

ver

the number of marshals and police on the course and the atmosphere from the spec-tators may it a truly spectacular day. Some people do Ironman and think never again. I haven’t, I may have a different challenge next year, and I’m torn. I really want to do that, but I really want to do another Ironman. Now I have built up the mileage training for the next one should be easier.

TimingsSWIM BIKE RUN OVERALL RANK DIV.POS. 1:06:27 6:37:08 4:42:16 12:44:54 1715 132

Splits [Distance in sport, distance since last split, (mm:ss), pace/speed]SWIM SPLIT 1: 2.1 km 2.1 km (35:55) 1:42/100m SWIM SPLIT 2: 3.8 km 1.7 km (30:32) 1:47/100m TOTAL SWIM 3.8 km (1:06:27) 1:44/100m 683 58 BIKE SPLIT 1: 12.9 km 12.9 km (23:11) 33.39 km/h BIKE SPLIT 2: 24.3 km 11.4 km (22:54) 29.87 km/h BIKE SPLIT 3: 30.3 km 6 km (10:19) 34.89 km/h BIKE SPLIT 4: 44.6 km 14.3 km (29:30) 29.08 km/h BIKE SPLIT 5: 61.2 km 16.6 km (34:43) 28.69 km/h BIKE SPLIT 6: 86.1 km 24.9 km (55:14) 27.05 km/h BIKE SPLIT 7: 97.2 km 11.1 km (22:21) 29.80 km/h BIKE SPLIT 8: 108.6 km 11.4 km (27:21) 25.01 km/h BIKE SPLIT 9: 114.7 km 6.1 km (13:07) 27.90 km/h BIKE SPLIT 10: 129 km 14.3 km (33:16) 25.79 km/h BIKE SPLIT 11: 145.6 km 16.6 km (37:26) 26.61 km/h BIKE SPLIT 12: 170.7 km 25.1 km (1:02:43) 24.01 km/h BIKE SPLIT 13: 179.5 km 8.8 km (24:00) 22.00 km/h BIKE SPLIT 14: 180 km 0.5 km (1:03) 28.57 km/h TOTAL BIKE 180 km (6:37:08) 27.19 km/h 1775 132 RUN SPLIT 1: 1.7 km 1.7 km (11:18) 6:38/km RUN SPLIT 2: 3.0 km 1.3 km (7:16) 5:35/km RUN SPLIT 3: 6.0 km 3 km (16:48) 5:36/km RUN SPLIT 4: 7.7 km 1.7 km (9:27) 5:33/km RUN SPLIT 5: 12.2 km 4.5 km (25:42) 5:42/km RUN SPLIT 6: 13.5 km 1.3 km (9:32) 7:19/km RUN SPLIT 7: 16.5 km 3 km (20:12) 6:44/km RUN SPLIT 8: 18.2 km 1.7 km (11:40) 6:51/km RUN SPLIT 9: 22.7 km 4.5 km (32:03) 7:07/km RUN SPLIT 10: 24.0 km 1.3 km (9:18) 7:09/km RUN SPLIT 11: 27.0 km 3 km (22:01) 7:20/km RUN SPLIT 12: 28.7 km 1.7 km (11:45) 6:54/km RUN SPLIT 13: 33.2 km 4.5 km (34:36) 7:41/km RUN SPLIT 14: 34.5 km 1.3 km (9:25) 7:14/km RUN SPLIT 15: 37.5 km 3 km (21:10) 7:03/km RUN SPLIT 16: 39.2 km 1.7 km (10:41) 6:17/km RUN SPLIT 17: 42.2 km 3 km (19:22) 6:27/km TOTAL RUN 42.2 km (4:42:16) 6:41/km 1715 132     T1: SWIM-TO-BIKE 10:39 T2: BIKE-TO-RUN 8:24

ThanksSo I have many people to thank for making this Ironman Ma-larky possible. Biggest thanks has to go to Dad, who helped bankroll my attempt as times became hard. Similarly Mum/Sis etc. for coming out and supporting. Mike the Bike also gets a huge slap on the back for fitting me with a steed that catapulted me to the marathon feeling good enough to propel me through the first quarter of a marathon in under an hour. Conehead for the besting in France and tips over the years. Mark and Sibs at Les Stables for their coaching. I had focus in the swim and Mark’s hill rep session gave me confidence I sorely need to tackle the hills on the bike. And if you are reading this you probably deserve a thanks too as the support of BCTTT and friends has kept me focussed, and it was thought of what was being written on the forum that got me through the dark spots on the run.

Thanks must also go to the organisers of Ironman Germany. They put on a great race that really lived up to expectations and I’m eager to get back then and race it again.

Photo CreditsOf course whilst racing you can’t take photos of yourself. So I must cheekly thank the people that took the photos. FinisherPix for most of the IMDE photos. Sis for other race photos. And MArk for the shot of Dad and I in France