I went to sleep last night at 11pm, was wide awake at 4am, and then finally fell asleep again at about 7am and slept until 3pm. I have been sooooo tired. The flight, from PE, to Johannesburg, to Hong Kong, to Seoul is a bit under 17 hours. But it is much longer if you add the time at the airport in PE, the 4 hours at JHB airport (without a phone), and the more than 2 hours at Hong Kong's airport, followed by the whole procedure through Incheon's massive airport. Then it's more than 24 hours of just aeroplanes and airports. Maddening, and to think I used to love flying once!
I see I have not really written in much detail about the Ironman, so will elaborate a bit here.
AwakeningThe day before I slept really late, and didn't want to get up due to diarhea. I missed the race briefing, which proved expensive as they said at the briefing that special needs bags would be disposed of, and I left quite a few expensive items in my SN bags. I also left my cellphone in one of the bags, but fortunately got that one back, but when I got the phone back, I think it got wet and hot which together with falling off the roof a taxi, must have written off the battery.
I rested and relaxed the day before, and met Xavier le Floch (3rd overall)at the pool opposite the hotel.
Managed to get to sleep early, although my peace of mind was rattled since Jenny glad said she MIGHT be coming up the next day, and that meant I MIGHT have to make a lot of arrangements with people in terms of my camera and other things. So I went to sleep not knowing if she was coming or not, and thus with a bit of uncertainty into what exactly I needed to do the next morning.
I slept well, and woke up 20 minutes before the alarm, and was actually up and about and feeling fresh: A great sign.
I left the hotel at about 6:15am, which is quite late, but I'd decided not to even warm up for the race, seeing as though I hadn't swum more than 2km in weeks, and I could use the first 1km of the event to warm up.
I walked to the Pier with some of my bike and run stuff in bags, and was joined by an Event Organiser. We had an interesting chat while the sun slowly rose, pink and precious, over the beautiful calm and silver sea. He said the toughest experience of his life, was climbing Kilimanjaro. I told him I thought I was in for my toughest experience. (In retrospect, I have to say Kilimanjaro, the last section, is very tough and mentally draining, and it's a close call between the Ironman and Kili. The Ironman wins because you are sore for a lot longer afterwards. Kili starves you of oxygen, and often makes you sick, so it's a close match).
Anyway, it was an affirming early morning walk, and he wished me well as we parted, so arrived in the transition area feeling confident and ready and integrated.
I met someone I knew almost immediately, Arno venter (Arrie), and almost gave his German wife my camera, but then spotted Mauritz and with only 20 minutes before the race, explained how to use it, and gave him a slip of paper with Jenny's and my sister's numbers.
Then I had to quickly gear up, put on my wesuit, check that the back tyre had not deflated too much overnight (as it sometimes does).
When I walked onto the beach between the 800 other athletes, I felt different to the last time I did that, on a beach in Korea. I didn't have that bizarre sense of,
what am I doing here? I had a clearer sense of:
I'm ready to do this...and if I'm not, we'll see. I also had no idea which buoys we had to swim for, since I'd missed the briefing. I knew how the swim course looked on paper. Unusually, I was content to start in the middle of everyone, and ease into the race. My goal was to swim a 1:10 (initially it was a 55), so I just needed to be back on the beach after the first lap by about 35 minutes.
The StartAt last the gun went off and I did ease into the race very gently. Some athletes might sprint into the water. Since there were so many guys in front of me, we jogged slowly forward and watched swimmers ahead of us swimming in shallow water, and waded beside them. And only gradually, after a few waves, did I eventually sink into the sea, and start moving towards the buoys.
I swam easily, knowing that this was the first time swimming this distance in probably over a month, and just trying to have a rhythm, and an even pace.
In the beginning a lot of swimmers pull at you, guys nudge you on the right, trying to go left, and on the left,
trying to go right. Sometimes you're one of them, pretty sure the buoy is more left than the guy beside you thinks it is, and he thinks its more right. My goggles also leaked a lot, but then seemed to come right.
The first swim out seemed to take an age, but after rounding the third buoy, at about 900m, that was a milestone, that was the first milestone, and then we were headed back. One thing that is great about the race is that you're always in the company of others, but also you're just with yourself, and your plan.
I swam a bit wide coming around the last buoy back to the beach, and walked the last few metres of water to the beach, then jogged round. My watch read 33 minutes, which made me feel positive. I already felt really good, knowing how little I;d trained, and that I was still able to perform. Now the same again. How would I feel after another lap?
A few swimmers turned back into the sea early, and I was tempted to do the same, but then saw that they were swimming along the
longest side of the triangle, the hypotenuse, and if I ran another 20 metres along the beach (a few others were thinking along the same lines) then it was a straight swim to the buoy.
In almost every case I went on the inside of the massive buoys. So big that when the wind blows them, and you're under them, they roll a bit, and squash your head under them, back into the water. So make sure you get around them quickly!
I felt good going out, got into a rhythm, but inexplicably, got sardined between two guys, both wanting to climb over me to get to the sea on the other side. I just accerated hard and then said to myself:
caution, don't do that again. Don't go into intense movement in this race.The swim to the far out buoy took an age, but once around it, I felt like the swim was a snitch, and sure enough, the rest of the swim went by quickly. It didn't feel like being in the water for an hour. It felt like half the time.
Plenty of time to think and to observe and to feel how I was feeling.
I stretched my right arm, and tried to stroke the water nicely, but without using up much effort.
This time I rounded the last buoy very tight, and felt very fresh and strong, so just swam a bit faster towards the beach and caught a big wave that dropped me in shallow water when it withdrew. Great!
Ran onto the beach and looked at my time: 1:08. Goal achieved. No rush.
I was 57th in the swim (in my age group, out of 180), and did my first 1.9km in about 33 minutes, and my second lap in about the same (excluding the short runs on the beach).
Ran up the beach and through the showers where I took off my wetsuit. I didn't feel winded from the swim, in fact I couldn't believe after swimming so far, I felt so fresh, but I did feel: Oh my God.
Now I have to cycle 180km. Is that something I have to do on the same day. Can't I do that tomorrow.
Once in the transition tent I was suprised to see guys standing around and applying sunblock, apparently in no hurry. I took my cue from them. But my shoulders went into a cramp and this worried me a lot. I haven't even started the cycle and my body is cramping up.
I applied sunblock (not enough behind my arms as it turned out, still OW), and then went off to get my bike.
Once there I hit the red START button on my heart rate monitor. Goal: Go under 6 hours, and average 30km/h, if you can.
The CycleJean and Joggie passed me on the long climb on the cycle, which I took really easily. My heart rate was between 150-160, which wasn;t ideal, but much lower than in the Argus, and I felt fresh.
I felt very encouraged that even though I held back so much on the swim, I was still ahead of those two guys who were training full steam.
I passed Joggie on the downhill, and chatted to quite a few guys en route. I enjoyed the fact that people were around me, and the pace was reasonable.
I had ridden this course once before, but only about 50km of the 60km distance. Those 10km proved to be quite nice - fairly straight, and undulating enough to be interesting. When we turned, the wind pushed us back, and after Sardinia Bay I kicked the Zipps into action and reeled in about 30 guys. At one point, I passed a little boy on the bike who was going: "A hundred and sixty six..." I was 167. I passed a tortoise on the bike and then again, and it seemed a necessary remember to me to take it slow. My average climbed from 26km/h before the turnaround to 31.5km/h at the end of the first lap.
The second lap, the climb, felt tough, and it was my worst moment in the whole race. I felt despondent and slow. But I just let myself go easy, and reminded myself of a good swim, and so far, a very good cycle. My average slipped to 29km/h but I wasn't even watching it that carefully.
Once passed the MTN crew on the top of the long climb, I began to enjoy it again. On the second lap I hit
100km in 2:38 and realised I was doing a much faster Ironman than the Argus, and also that I had already passed my performance in the Korea Ironman, where I quit at 99.9km (before a big climb). Now I was in uncharted territory, but it felt good.
More tortoises -
take it easy.
After the second lap I called for Special Needs (at about 120km) and changed waterbottles, and at the last moment, yanked my tubbie and tools out of a bottle holder behind my saddle to lighten the load. In retrospect, I should have left it in, and not added the second salt bottle, but it does show I was in ALERT MODE, not as in Danger Alert, but as in
I AM PAYING ATTENTION.
Obviously it was a gamble - that I might get a flat tyre, but my tyres are special ZIPP anti-puncture, and the road was just pretty pebble and debris free, so my focus was more on electrolytes, my body breaking. I basically feel that getting punctures is seldom accidental, and very preventable. I basically got over 1000km without punctures, and when I do get them it is because the tyres are worn out or I;ve allowed the tyres to deflate too much.
The third lap felt better than the second, my average was 30.5km/h and I'd determined to try to make sure it didn't get to below 30km/h in the last few km's. But I did take the last 14km uphill climb easily, and there I felt pretty tired, especially since the wind picked up. Just before the MTN crew on the summit I was really hurting, and going slow. But after that I felt a lot better, and was loving the stuff the crews provided. Cold Powerade, cool water, lots of food to choose from. Great job.
I really flew back but my averaged speed had to be lifted from 28.8km/h at the turnaround, and by the last km it was
29.6km/h average. I was on time though. I reached the transition area within 6 hours, and officially, including my stopover for special needs, my time was: 6:00:27 (average 29.96km/h).
That's not accurate because the cycle was only 177.2km, shortened because the road just beyond the turnaround was too narrow.
I got off my bike very slowly, to avoid a muscle going into spasm, and wouldn't let someone take my bike away - I needed to remove my heart rate monitor. Then I ran slowly through the transition area, kind've surprised my legs felt really OK.
When I entered the transition tent, a girl immediately took my hand and started sorting me out. Ice on my lower back,
rubbing sunblock onto my legs.
Guys were pulling off their cycling pants while girls walked between us.
"Don't look," I said to Danni, and then got undressed myself.
A few more cramps in my calves, and chatted more to Danni, and said, "It's so good to be talking to you. It was a really long, lonely, six hours."
I meant it.
"Am I supposed to run now?"
She was very
encouraging, said I'd fine, and showed me where to put my bag.
I got up and ran and by golly, my legs felt fresh. No backache, no dizzy legs. They felt fresher than in the Half Ironman last year. Whoah.
The Run I had one goal with the run: Survive. No time. Obviously I had worked out that with a decent swim and cycle, and I just mean fairly decent, say 7-8 hours, I'd have plenty of time for the run. For walking. My fear was that my legs would simply be too tired, full of cramps, would simply seize up and I'd be
unable to run.
This would have been the case, almost certainly, had I gone much faster.
The first 2km were
agonising. I couldn't believe, after running for such a long time, that I'd only done 1km, then only 2km. At 2km I ate a potato and went to the toilet. What came out was almost brown, and thick. It didn't spurt out, it kind of just trickled weakly out.
A lot of the way on the bike, i felt very
bloated, but was trying to prevent, at all costs, the opposite - going into reserves, basically running up huge credits that would be hard to wipe out given my bodies poor conditioning and low (sickness reduced) recources. But I was feeling good, because I had swum according to plan, and cycled according to plan, and though tired, my legs were still working.
The questionw as, how much further would they let me go, how quickly would they deteriorate. Another question, even worse, was this:
how do I eat now? what do I need to eat and drink to keep me going for the next 5 or 6 or 7 hours?The support on the side of the road was awesome. People even called out my name, and when I looked up, in shock, I saw they'd sourced my number and looked it up in the Race Booklet. That made me smile. Some people would be like:
"Come on Nick. You can do it." That's quite personal you know.
A few times when I was walking someone would say that, and I'd immediately run again. I tried to run at least 1km and then walk a bit, and then repeat. Sometimes the inner muscles, stabilisers, would threaten to go into spasm and cramp, especially on uphills, and when I ignored them they'd suddenly flare up.
Listen to your body.I did.
I also took a
gamble. After the first lap, after about 15km, I started drinking Coke. I mostly avoided Powerade on the cycle, letting my body use mostly fat reserves. Now I was switching to sugar, and asking the caffeine to kick me as well.
The beginning of lap two, and my legs were starting to feel
damaged. I sometimes felt cold, and I was wondering whether I'd started with Coke too early. I ate two potatoes every time they were offered. (I ate lots of bananas on the cycle).
At about 17km I felt tired and gloomy, and my thoughts turned to Jenny. I really hoped she was here. I really needed some encouragement.
I started to wish that I would see her soon. I said to myself: I believe she is here and that I'll see her near the bridge." I tried to
actually believe that, and made my way, in my mind, to a place where that seemed to make sense. About 5 minutes later, at the top of the hill, I suddenly saw her.
I gave her a hug, and spoke to her, asked her how her trip was, whether Mauritz got hold of her and gave her another hug (I thought I might not see her again) and a kiss and then ran off, feeling much better, restored emotionally and psychologically, and with a spring in my step. That helped me a lot.
Now I had an unshakeable belief that I would finish, and I started planning how. I made a rough estimate that I was doing each lap under 2 hours, so that meant I should try to
finish under 13 hours. So that became my goal. For the first time that day, and very late in the day, I set myself a time goal for the entire event. I knew how hard I wanted to go on the swim, and the cycle, now I had that same certainty for the run. That was a great feeling.
I saw Jenny 3 or 4 more times, and she commented on how fresh I looked. Sometimes we walked a short distance together. I had felt lots of salt, granular and sharp on my sideburns. I thought I must look like a kid who has been sleeping after eating icecreams and sweets all day.
Then the
last lap. I kept catching and releasing two guys who would run and walk, one with a slight limp. Finally I caught them and passed them, and never saw them again. Now I was running by people, and running about 1.5km at a time. I was actually running faster than the first lap.
Then the darkness fell, and the rain fell on us, and as I came down to the road with the 39km sign, lightning flashed and blitzed across the sky, turning everything electric blue white, and deafening us with roars and booms and shots.
What a celebration for me!
The black road, green bushes, white lines, and those of us running. And that was it. Flashes of lightning in the dark, nature's growls of pleasure, and ecstatic bursts of delight. And now it bloomed all over me, the accomplishment, the power, the pain.
I
dreamed of the finish, that I wanted to shout: I DID IT.
I wanted to run all the way to the finish, but the muscles on the inside of my legs wouldn't let me. I walked with 1.2km to go. And then I ran one more time.
I acclerated, felt my muscles twitch and spasm in my legs, ignored them, felt them clench, so relingquished speed. The spotlights fell on me, I saw myself on the big screen. I wanted to smile, but my mind was telling me to be careful, and I'd listened to my body all day. Here, I pushed harder than my body would let me, slower than my spirit demanded. My mind hung in the balance. My legs
burned, muscles started reeling. As I crossed the line I threw my hand up, three fingers in the air.
Third Time Lucky. I think I shouted "Yes," or something, but it was a private moment that I didn't expect so many to see, and I wasn't in display mode.
Jenny was there, at the finish, and took a picture. I'd like to see it.
I was wrapped in a foil blanket, given a medal, asked, "Do you need medical treatment?'
"No, I think I'm alright. Thanks."
I went to the medical tent and Jenny was waiting at the fence. I gave her a hug and was just delighted to be able to share how I felt, and have someone to congratulate me.
When I walked to the went I realised how much I'd put my legs through. I could barely walk, and my left ankle was screaming and swollen.
After the massage I went out the wrong way (which is why I had to run around afterwards to get my finisher's shirt) and met Jenny in the next tent. I was only a bit peckish, after eating bits and pieces for over 12 hours. Finally she went to buy a hotdog and I suddenly felt very dizzy and weak, and so I quickly
lay down on the ground and felt better.
Very soon someone came to ask how I was, whether I needed a drip. I said I was fine, just hungry, and within a minute he'd given me a piece of pizza. I chewed on it slowly. My body felt too tired for a big meal, but needing to consume something nonetheless.
I had to walk back to the hotel with my bike and stuff after that, and then at 11:30pm went to collect my Special Needs bag (an agonising thing to do) and it had already been taken away and dumped somewhere. There were still one or two athletes left on the road, who would finish in about 16hours, 40 minutes. I greeted the last of them, and said, "Keep going, good stuff." I got a smile, and "Thanks."
I saw the firewalks flash over the sea while I cycled quietly downhill in the dark to my hotel.
I didn't sleep much because of the pain in my legs, especially my left ankle. I tried to eat, and had to make several trips to the bathroom. During the flight here I realised to what extent that race cleaned out my system. If I drink something now, it seems to take just an hour, not more than two, to
flush right through. And despite eating countless bananas, energy bars, glucose sachets and potaotoes, my body absorbed it all. None of it came out in the 12 hours I was running, and I didn't feel it needed to either. I just had a bit of excess water.
ConclusionI am very happy to have pulled off this race, particularly given what seemed like a very small window of opportunity left to me. The sickness that started the day after I entered the race, and persisted to about 3-4 days from the actual event, was more a test of mettle and mind in the end than anything else.
The mantra of Ironman is
ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.
It is. But that each of us has to prove to ourselves. The important thing, despite the odds, despite what others say, despite our own limiting beliefs, is simply to give ourselves permission to try ro do what we're not sure we can. We can do anything we believe we can, whether there is evidence to prove it is possible, or not.
