Ironwoman Part 3
I felt fit, but my lungs had other ideas.
The lady marshall held her arms out to create a barrier for my group of 6. Every time an athlete ran into the water her shoulders got hit as they barged past her. She just smiled and propped herself back up for the next 6.
I mouthed ‘Thank you’ – these volunteers do an amazing job and have a very long day. She smiled and gave me a fist bump before the count down.
3…2…1…
She lowered her arms and I trotted off down the sandy beach into the sea. As soon as it got to hip height, I started to swim.
The water thankfully wasn’t cold enough to take your breath away and I settled in steadily towards the first buoy.
Well, I was off.
I tried to find a reliable strong swimmer to draft but honestly, it was carnage. Most people in my pen couldn’t actually swim very well. One guy was doing backstroke which apparently is legal – but because he couldn’t see where he was going, he zigzagged all over the place, going just fast enough that I couldn’t get past him.
Another woman kept stopping every couple of minutes to ‘meerkat’ and doggy paddle then set off again, carving everyone else behind her up. As the swimmers got more strung out, I found some feet to follow but they didn’t stay straight, and it was more of a hindrance than a help.
I decided to stay wide at the final few buoys as the ones who couldn’t swim decided to use the buoys as a safety float and there was some significant congestion to go around.
Despite this, I found some free water and concentrated on having a clean exit.
The guys at Channel Events who had got me started in sea swimming, advised that as soon as your fingers touch the sand, it’s time to stand up.
I waited for that first touch of the sand then got up to waddle out of the sea. 44 minutes. Considering I was trying not to get out of breath and start coughing, I was happy with that. I was well inside the swim cut off too.
Swim exit. One job done.
Deciding that playing it safe was the order of the day, I walked to transition as did many others. I took off my goggles, swim hat, ear plugs and unzipped my wetsuit as I went.
So far so good.
I went straight to my blue bag and kicked off my wetsuit. Grabbing a towel I tried to dab my feet dry and pulled on my cycling socks, pre-loaded with talcum powder to make them easier to get on.
Cycling gear on, I stuffed my swimming gear back into the blue bag and shovelled down half a sandwich and stuffed some goodies in my jersey pocket. I trotted off to find my bike.
“Lane C, just past the parking sign on the right”. I found Orro and popped my bike computer on before wheeling her to the mount line. I was delighted to see others taking their time and not running. I’d learned my lesson about getting out of breath in T1 at the start of the bike. I wouldn’t let that happen again.
I hopped onto Orro and set off, starting the eating and drinking early. My plan was a 3-hour bike. This would leave me lots of time in the bank for the run, which I already knew would be a disaster.
I tried to reach 30kmph without getting out of breath and trying to keep my heart rate down. I rested on my tri bars and tried to settle down. The first 3rd went well and was quite quick. I soon found that any time I tried to put any power down my lungs protested.
As the bike went on, I just felt weaker and weaker as whatever I had started to really get hold of me.
Despite this, I didn’t stop until my planned wee stop at the final aid station which had porta loos likely to be less busy than transition.
I pulled in and the marshalls held my bike while I sorted myself out. My legs felt like jelly and I still had 20km of cycling and a half marathon to go!
I had timed my fluids so that I had just one small water bottle remaining. This was to save some weight in the last 20km. When I came out of the porta loo, a young volunteer with a big grin informed me he’d filled all my water bottles.
Bless him.
I thanked him, got back on the bike and when I was out of sight, poured 3 of them away. He meant well.
The last 20km was on rough tarmac and into a headwind. Drafting isn’t allowed on the bike part of a triathlon and getting too close to another competitor can lead to a disqualification. So, we sat and suffered, taking the full brunt of the wind. I started to flag but kept the peddles turning and concentrated on saving my legs as much as I could for the run.
I got off Orro at the dismount line and thanks to my recent loo stop, my legs weren’t too bad. My 3-hour bike was 3 hours 38. It was a 90km personal best for me, but I was fuming. On any other day I’d have smashed 3 hours.
I racked Orro in disgust and set off to my red bag. Helmet off, jersey off, cycling shoes off. I changed into running socks which was a good plan as I didn’t have a single blister afterwards. Trainers on, sun visor on, shades back on. I always leave my cycling gloves on to make wiping my nose easier!
Cycling gear got stuffed back into the blue bag and I put on my camelback which had some nutrition and was part filled with water.
This turned out to be a godsend. The sun was out and it was getting quite hot. The aid stations only offered small cups of water and cola. The ability to swig off my camelback whenever I wanted was a huge comfort.
My plan of running 07:30 minutes, walk 03:30 minutes went out of the window pretty early on. My lungs and throat were audibly wheezing and if I even began to get out of breath, the coughing started.
This was damage limitation now. My 7 hours was gone. I just had to finish and even that was looking necky at one stage.
I jogged when I could and walked when I couldn’t.
The run was three laps and psychologically this was awful. As time went on, more and more people finished and just assumed I was on my final lap. One guy shouted “Come on, only 2km to go”. Bless him. He was completely unaware that I actually had another 9km to go!!
The assumption must have been that I was just fat and slow. Nobody knew I was sick as well!
It was the worst feeling in the world.
As I passed the car park for the final time with 7km remaining ahead of me, I did consider just walking to the car and driving home in disgust.
It took all the strength I had to keep going in just an attempt to finish. I jogged when I could and walked when I couldn’t – and repeat.
I kept an eye on the clock and made sure I was always in a position to finish within the cut off time of 8 hours 30 minutes. Beyond that, I would be listed as ‘DNF’ or ‘Did Not Finish’.
Over my dead body was I going to do all that, only to be listed as not finishing!
I jogged when I could, walked when I couldn’t….
I was really starting to feel quite ill.
Pain is only temporary.
You only have to do this once.
I started to worry about getting back to the car and the hotel. I didn’t think I’d be able to collect my bike. Would they sell it if I didn’t go and get it? Could I afford another Orro if I just left it there? It would save packing it for the flight home…
If only my ‘friend’ who said she’d come and support me had actually turned up. If only my family cared. If only my Uncle was still here…
Thoughts whirred around in my head and I tried to block out the comments from people as I passed them. They had no clue.
The finish was in sight. I was going to make it, albeit my aim to have a 7 in front of my finish time had gone. But only just.
As I turned into the red carpet, I managed a jog. The finish line marshalls were amazing and I ran through a Mexican wave of arms and lots of cheering.
The tears came immediately, and they kindly waited for me to gather myself before presenting me with my medal.
People I didn’t even know came up to say well done and all the way back, during my VERY slow walk back to transition to collect Orro, people high fived and clapped.
Now I was barely able to speak. My voice was hoarse and my cough worsened.
I loaded the car which was trashed and drove the 10 minutes back to the hotel.
On arrival they had already reserved me a table and I feasted on all my favourite things hurriedly, before I could no longer taste them.
Scallops, steak and champagne later, I was ready to turn in.
The next morning was like the black death in my room. I wouldn’t let the cleaner in in case she caught whatever I had, so she just posted boxes of tissues through the door and said to call if I needed anything.
Hotel Atlantico, Jesolo are just the best.
I desperately wanted to look round Venice so after some rest and when my cough had cleared up, I headed to the water taxi stop.
Venice was even more incredible than I imagined, and I couldn’t have picked a better venue for my first Ironman.
Almost 3 weeks on, I’m back into training but my lungs are still struggling and I feel weak. With Annecy Olympic distance triathlon (half a half Ironman) looming, I’m desperate to maintain and even increase my fitness, but it will be one day at a time.
I cannot thank those people – they know who they are – for taking time out of their personal lives to support me, coach me teach me, advise me and inspire me.
I apologise now to anyone I have forgotten.
In alphabetical order…
Adam Raines Sports Massage
Andy Sparrow
Caroline Bramwell
Caroline Lance Sports Massage
Cath Pendleton
Dan Brice & the Channel Events volunteers
Ed Collins
Hotel Atlantico
Jason PDQ cycling
Jayme Fraioli Harper
Joan Woodward
Kelli Coxhead
Lisa Page
Louise Minchin
Mark Julier
Maxine Bateman
Mendip Cycling Club
Michele Reed
Mint Cycle Works, Priddy
Nienke Hensbroek
Paul Duckworth
Redd Rises
Russel Carter
Sheena Warman
Steph Dwyer
West Country Triathletes
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