Job Done!!

The Ironman had arrived. What was once a mere concept, at other times a improbable notion, was actually happening. We were up at 3am, with a 1 hour drive before the 6.30am start.
It is without bravado that I can honestly say that I felt no nerves at all. For once, finishing was the sole aim, there was no time to beat, no positions in mind. Whilst I had set myself a benchmark of 12 and a half hours, that is all it was, a benchmark. I also knew I had the training in the bank, and was as ready as I am ever likely to be for the challenge ahead.
In the bike park, I ignored all the expensive bikes which seemed to be everywhere, and for the swim I positioned myself in the 1:24+ pen, aiming to start conservatively, having read several horror stories about the carange the start involves. The sky was clear and the air was cool. For now, the Mediterranean was calm. I told myself to enjoy the moment, and looked about at the other 2700 people who were about to swim. There was an air of excited energy. The gun went, and I was almost straight into the sea. The first few strokes were fine, but as more and more people began to crawl, space became limited. It became impossible to practice breathing every three strokes, something it had taken me the full 4 years to perfect. This was a blow, though not entirely unexpected really. I tried my best to stay focused and keep moving, but it was very difficult not to get annoyed as people grappled with your feet, clipped your head or simply barged past you. But I told myself they probably saw me in the same light. Struggling to get a pattern going was not helped by the incredibly chlostrophobic feeling I obtained when looking down into the water, I was virtually blind, and combined with the physical prescence of other athletes, my breathing was irregular and seized up. I consoled myself with the thought that my regular turns above the water kept me on a fairly good course for bhoy number one, which was about 1.1km out to sea. A very long way! I tried to maintain pace with some of the athletes around me, which helped me gain some forward momentum. Eventually we reached the first bhoy, where more chaos reigned as we all swung 90 degrees right. I could tell I was slipping backwards but this didn’t concern me that much, in fact I was gaining some more space, but still there were swimmers crossing my bows every so often. One corrective motion I made was to concentrate on my arm action, using my legs too much would cost me later for sure, and this was something I wanted to avoid. I still wasn’t swimming with great motion, but was going forwards. I wasn’t really enjoying this first lap, but I reminded myself that this was the smallest section of the Ironman myself and also I couldn’t swim properly when I started training, so just doing 2.4 miles is a achievement. The shoreline got closer and closer, eventually, with the sun finally rising above the hills of Nice, we reached the shore, and were helped out onto the beach as I staggered on the rocky beach. We then ran 15 yards up, along, and back into the sea for the second lap. As I got back into the water, something clicked, and my breathing became looser, free, and calmer. I was able to breathe every two strokes, and sometimes every four, with a good rhytym. For the first time, I felt swift, and confident. I was noe enjoying the swim. I suspect this was because I had the confidence of having the worst part out of the way, and also the swimmers around me had also got used to the conditions, and most of the people I was swimming with were of a similar pace, so there was less chance of collision. As we rounded the two bhoys that formed the outer part of the second lap, the sun reflected from the surface, and we headed for the shore for the last time. I realy streched out on this final 600m and powered home, looking forward to the bike, but also knowing that I could obtain a decent time. Keeping my legs loose, and reaching ahead with my arms, the Ironman bhoys came closer and closer, and soon I was once more being helped out onto the blue mats, doing my best to fall over as the transition from horizontal to vertical proved problematic again. Over the timing mat, I was amazed to see the clock say 1:21. Not in my wildest dreams 4 years ago could I have contemplated such a time, and even 3 months ago, 1:30 looked a big ask. This was a great start to the Ironman, and gave me a real boost going into the bike. Probably the last time you’ll find me 1100m out to sea by myself though!

After bumping into Steve in transition, we had a quick chat, and I said I’d see him in a bit, before slapping on the sun cream, the helmet, and the cycle kit, and off to get my bike. At this point I was convinced I was last of the six of us. Turns out I was 4th. Still I wasn’t panicking, and set of down the Promenade de Anglais determined to enjoy it, and with 112 miles to cover, to take it easy to begin with.
There were riders everywhere and I was right in the thick of it, everyone seemed very focused. At this point it wasn’t too warm but I had a gel straight away and a fair bit of water. After hanging a right at the airport, we headed out of Nice through some industrial estate, which was a bit grotty, but I caught Steve and so we cycled together chatting until the first water stop, where I had a bit of trouble taking on a bottle of Infinit energy, while Steve dropped me having taken his on the move. The Infinit tasted horrible. But it had to be drunk. After about another 1k we turned left and up a very short, sharp hill. It was about 300m long but people were weaving all over the place, some were walking. Luckily a passage was clear on the left for me to get out of the saddle and reach the top. Here I retook Steve, but there was no time for chat, and that was the last of the team I saw until the run. The next 20-30k was steadily uphill, nothing serious but you aware of the gradient. It was time to get into a rhythm and start working a bit. Luckily most of this section was sheltered as I could feel myself getting warmer. There were good crowds on the side of the road, especially when passing through villages. Everyone had their name and age category on their number, and it was impressive to note the number of veteran competitors maintaining a fair old pace, especially on the female side. Soon the climb got a bit steeper and in one village we rounded a hairpin in front of the biggest crowd yet. It was then I looked up to see the road rising a sweeping left, with many cyclists in few. This ladies and gentlemen, was the feared Col D’Ecre – 14k of climbing with a 650m ascent. At first I was climbing well, but the road soon widened as it clung to the mountain side, and the tree cover disappeared. This was the first time I felt the heat of the mid morning sun, and the climb became steadily more difficult. The climb was also visible for a long way ahead, so it became clear it was really time to dig in. Round one of the many corners came the latest drinks stop, which was absolute carnage as the full width of the road was taken up by riders refuelling. You had to stop whether you liked it or not. The 130km to go so was an unwelcome thought. The final stretches were the most difficult, as the riders about 1km up the road where virtually above us, meaning we had some big climbing to do to reach that level, which we did via a couple more hairpins. Soon the summit finally arrived, and I relaxed in anticipation of a nice long downhill.

Unfortunately, we only dropped from 1150 to 1050m before reaching a wide sweeping plateau, something we are not accustomed to in England. This was a bit of a blow, and my legs were hurting from the climb, so I took it easy for a bit and took on more fuel. Some 10k later we finally hit a long gradual downhill. Some of the more streamlined bikes came flying past, but I took comfort in the fact I was ahead of them anyway. The half way point came and I briefly wondered how the rest of the team were doing. My legs began to feel better and so I picked up speed on the remaining descent, before we kicked up again, but I was able to maintain a decent pace on this climb. Then came the flattest bit since Nice, on a 5k out and back section, and with the road being cut in half, it was possible to get a good slipstream from the riders around me. Then came what was the final climb, which again included a number of hairpins, and was a real grind. Luckily we were back in the shade for this one, and the feed station was again very useful, but the Blackcurrant power gel was pretty horrible. The signs at the side of the road indicated we had again broken 1000m in height, and with only 50k to go, I knew some good downhills were ahead, with the last 20k being flat.
And so it proved. I took a few good lines on the way down, knowing the roads were closed, and it was great fun rounding the hairpins, breaking late and powering out of the corners. I overtook quite a few riders who were a bit more cautious and there weren’t many who went past me. I also became aware I would be well on course for finishing inside 7 hours. The last section was the reverse of the first, back through the industrial area, which wasn’t very pleasant as there was a headwind, and the legs were beginning to hurt again. Some cheeky slipstreaming was going on ahead, so a French marshall came and blew his whistle a lot, which seemed to solve the problem. I decided that when I reached the airport I would really take the foot of the pedal and get ready for the run. This I did, and I saw the future horror that awaited me for the first time. I knew it was a marathon and I knew it would be painful, but there seemed to be a lot of people waddling/walking at this early stage.
Finally, I saw a fellow team member, this being Martin at the first drinks station on the run, as I headed in on the bike. The sun was really baking the athletes now, and I told myself to take my time in transitions, to have a breather, and to get ready for the run. I crossed the bike finish having done the 112 miles in 6 hours 35, average speed of 17mph. Like the swim, this was very pleasing and ahead of what I expected.

I entered the transition tent and changed into proper running kit of vest shorts and cap, put a bit more sunscreen on, and my sunglasses. One more drink and one more gel and I stepped out onto the run course…

I had imagined something around 4 hours was realistic for the run, so I had settled for 1 hour per 10k given my time on starting the run. The course was incredibly dull, especially in comparision to the bike, consisting of 4 out and back laps down the promenade de Anglais to the airport and back.
Obviously I wasn’t feeling fresh when I started, but I didn’t feel too bad, and completed the first 5k going as slow as I felt was necessary, in 25 mins. I passed Martin going the other way, and we gave each other support. On the way back, the first cramp kicked in, and I had to stop and stretch, at which point Andy breezed past, on his final 5k, looking probably as tired as I have ever seen him. With just cause! Anyway, back trotting, I completed the 2nd 5k in 28mins and was still on course. My insides were now causing issues, I had over done the gels and felt pretty sick really, so limited myself to water for the next few stops. Just about managed the 3rd 5k in 30 mins, as the stops to shake off the cramp became more regular. However, given the heat, and number of casualties at the side of the road, the heat wasn’t proving a problem mentally at least. Also I made sure I didn’t run through the showers as I remembered stories of horribly blistered feet from last years race. In fact you could hear the squelch from some runners who had over done it. I settled for pouring water into my cap and over my head. At the end of the 4th 5k, my calves were really seizing up. However, at the end of 5k #4 I caught Martin, who was having a bad spell, with chest pains. We gave each other some encouragement as we crossed half way, walking, before Martin wisely took shelter in the shade for a few minutes.
I ploughed on, but was now spending more time walking than running. I took on some salt to try and stop the cramps, but it was no good, and near the end of the now never ending 5th 5k, a toilet stop was in order as I threw up some excess gels. I wasn’t feeling good. When I left the toilet, the familiar Nottingham green vest was 25m up the road, as Matt had passed me, running well in a steady shuffle. I told myself to simply keep moving forwards and the finish would get closer, but mentally this was just as much a battle as physically as the dullness of the run kicked in. Running stopped as soon as it started as my calves froze. Soon, a refreshed Martin came past, and we stuck together in comedic fashion for about 2k as we stumbled forwards for about a minute at a time, before reverting to a walk. As we neared the end of the third lap, Martin managed to push into a steady trot which was simply too much for my legs, and he disappeared off at the start of the final lap. I got into a walk as fast as I could, knowing I would finish no matter what, and I would do it as fast as I could. All the while as we crossed each other, we shouted each other, Steve and Rich being especially vocal. In fact, it wasn’t long after Martin left me, that Rich overtook me with a friendly slap on the back, and I smiled at the thought of how close Matt, Martin and Rich would be at the finish, in true 14AC tradition! And looked forward to them passing me on their final 5k. I kept walking, and was surprised to be able manage 5k in about 46 mins, I had thought it would take nearer an hour. Entering the final 5k I tried once more to break into a trot, but it wasn’t happening. I debated when to start my ‘run’ to the finish line, as there was no way I was walking over the finish line, no matter how much pain it would cause. Having visualised a bed, a drink and all sorts of carrots, I finally passed the last aid station with less that 1k to go and tried to break into a shuffle. It was too early, and had to wait a bit longer. I felt incredibly sorry for the couple of athletes who were slumped at the side of the course knowing they would not finish in the required 16 hours, but it then became my turn to enter the blue matting with 200m to go, to realise the dream, and to become an Ironman. I hobbled, picked my legs up, and broke into a jog. Pain rushed down my legs, but I ignored it, and looked forwards and up. The finish was there within my reach at last. Amidst all the crowd, cheers rang out, and I crossed under the clock in 13:34:54, I was now an IRONMAN.
The relief and the feeling of accomplishment was amazing.
We did it!

SWIM
BIKE
RUN
OVERALL
RANK
DIV.POS.
SWIM 2.4 miles 1:21:26
BIKE 112 miles 6:36:47
RUN 26.2miles 5:14:10
TOTAL 13:34:54
POSITION 1750
M25-29 160

140.6 miles done!

The day of the Nice Ironman finally came around after 5 years of build up, including: training weeks in the Lake District and Dorset, memorable cycles from Kings Lynn to Winchester and round the Isle of Wight, numerous triathlons dotted around the country, and hours of hours of swimming, running and (slightly less) cycling.

The day before, we racked tour bikes and handed in our ‘run’ and ‘bike’ bags. This meant that on the day itself all we had to do on the day was to get to the start line for 6:30. Easy when you are staying best part of an hours drive away! Having carbo loaded on the Saturday and got an early night, it was up at 3 am to make sure we would get too Nice with plenty of time.

There was a hive of activity when we arrived. Still under moonlight, it was possible to just about make out the buoys on the swim course, about 1 km directly out to sea from Nice. At the bike park, we made any final adjustments to the bikes and got kitted out for the swim. As per most triathlons I’ve ever been to, the quality of the kit was unbelievable and, despite having up graded my bike, it was still dwarfed by the quality of the majority of the other bikes. However, my feeling is that “its not about the bike” though, its all about the rider. I worked out that there must have been about £4-5 million worth of kit in that bike park. Rich psyched himself up in his customary fashion (on a completely superior level to that witnessed at Notts 10!), while everyone just stepped into their wetsuits and pondered the enormity of the challenge that lay ahead.

By 6 am, we were being ushered down towards the sea and lined up in the swim pen depending upon your expected swim time. I put myself in the 1:06 pen, thinking that was in line with the pace I swim in training, and started to prepare myself for the sound of the start gun. At this point, I was thinking about my 3 major concerns I had going into the race: one being hit in the face on the swim, two getting a puncture on the bike, and three total mechanical failure on the bike. I was also contemplating further the sheer magnitude of the event, and how my body would cope with pushing itself to the limit for at least the next 10-11 hours.

With the ‘Black-eyed-peas’ song ‘I gotta feeling’ being belted out in the background (that clearly seemed to be the song of the race), the start gun went and there was a mass movement into the sea. Utter carnage. I was trying very hard to get a clear swim line, but the sheer number of people meant constantly swimming over people, hitting people’s feet and generally finding it very hard to maintain any sort of rhythm in those early stages. It was great swimming a vast distance from the coast, something that I would never have the nerve to do on my own, and the further into the swim we got, the more spread out the field got. That was until the first buoy, when the carnage ensued and the pack was brought close together once again. After rounding one more buoy, it was time to return to the shore to complete the first 2.4 km lap. I had little sense of direction on this part of the swim, as the sun was immediately east and, every time I went to take a breath, I was badly affected by the glare. Needless to say, I had a very ‘zigzag’ swim line into shore but, having got out of the water briefly, lap 2 was under way and I knew that I had broken the back of the swim.

While I felt comfortable on the swim, I was concerned that perhaps I had pushed it too hard on this discipline and that it may have an impact later. Given that I was a good 30 minutes in to the swim, there was little I could do about this now, and so I just cracked on at the current pace. By this stage, it was nice to be able to swim in a relatively clear line and relax a little before heading into the cycle.

I emerged from the water to find the clock showing 1:03:48, more or less on track with what I had planned, and raced towards the bike park. After a quick towel down, change of kit, and a couple of energy bars, it was time to pick up the bike and embark on the 112 mile cycle. My plan was to average at least 17 mph: this way I would keep up a relatively fast pace but hopefully retain a good level of energy to take in to the run. The bike course took us out towards Nice Airport along the Promenade Anglais and immediately I was being passed by a considerable number of cyclists – this was despite doing 22 mph myself! The early stages on the cycle passed through some grotty industrial estates and followed the river up towards Gattieres. This was the point for the first climb, a short, sharp 500 metre hill with a gradient of 10%. The whole field bunched up together and I was surprised to see just how hard some of the other cyclists were finding this. I presume that, while these other cyclists found the hills tricky, their power and weight make them very good on the flat and downhill – this seems the complete opposite approach that I to have to cycling.

While there were brief respites from the hills, there was a clear theme to the ride so far that we were heading upwards and into the ‘Montagne du Cheiro’. We were greeted with cheers as we passed through each of the 17 villages en route, and the ‘kilometres to go’ signs were gradually ticking down. I say ticking down, they were showing 130, 120, 110 kilometres to go which is still a huge distance to cover! Up to this point, I was heading backwards in the field, and the only time I ever made up places was on the hills – bring on Col de l’Ecre and see what damage I can do here! This 21km climb was spectacular. The road wound around the side of the mountain, and it was possible to get a good idea of just how high we had climbed already. Some of the cliffs above and below us were so impressive, and there were parts where you could look back down the mountain and see the long snake of riders gradually winding their way up the ascent (also it was comforting to see quite a large number of people behind!)

The aid stations on the course were essential and an excellent way to make sure that you took on all of the necessary fluids and energy required to get round. The set up of each aid station was simple: first there was the bottle and rubbish drop to get rid of any empty containers, then people handed out bottles of water, coke, isotonic drinks, gels, bananas and power bars, and finally there was one more bottle drop. At every aid station I made sure that I took on fresh water and coke/isotonic drink, and either a power bar or, towards the end of the cycle, gels. Keeping hydrated was key and I estimate that I took on a good 6-8 litres of fluids on the bike, along with 3-4 power bars, 6-8 gels, half a malt loaf and a couple of bananas. However at about 40 miles to go, I stopped taking on ‘solid’ fuel, as I didn’t want any stomach problems on the run.

At the top of the Col de l’Ecre, I thought it was sensible to ease off the pace and recoup some of the energy exerted on the climb. I was happy to freewheel and pedal easy for the next few miles and prepare for the remaining 110km. In fact, over the next 40km there was only about 5km of uphill, so by the time I reached Greolieres, I was ready for the next climb up to Coursegoules, via the ‘out and back’ loop to the Col de Vence.

The route took us straight through a very narrow street in the middle of Coursegoules and, once again, it was time for another long descent. Just as I hit about 74 miles, I felt as through my front wheel was losing some pressure. Disaster! Still, I carried on and continued for a couple for miles before catastrophe struck, and the front wheel was well and truly punctured. Team BMC did a great tyre change and I was up on the bike again within about 5 minutes, however the mechanics failed to notice that the speedo sensor was on the wrong side. A very quick pit stop 200m down the road ensued, and I was back rolling again. Despite checking the inside of the tyre rim for the sharp object before setting off, I was concerned that it may puncture again. Fingers crossed it would not. In fact, the tyre change may have been a slight blessing in disguise, as it allowed me to have a short break, toilet stop and take on a little more food.

On closer inspection of the tyre following the race, I noticed 2 very small shards of glass lodged in the tyre itself, one of which must have been responsible for the puncture during the race. I do not know when I got this glass in my tyre, however I was annoyed with myself for not checking the actual tyre itself before starting the race. I guess this is one further thing that I learnt as a result of the event.

With 40km to go, it was possible to see that we still had a considerable amount of height to loose before returning to Nice and the possibility of a sub 6 hour cycle was still on the cards. Finally, having completed the mountain section of the course, we returned to the flat section and the industrial estates, and continued back towards Nice. The other riders continued to come streaming past, but I knew I would take this lot on the run. The final 2-3 miles back to the finish were great because we had been funnelled into a narrow ‘coned-off’ section and drafting was the only option, thus allowing me to maintain a a good 22-23mph with very little effort.

And so after 112 miles, I was back in the bike park and picking up my ‘run’ bag. I decided to go for a complete change of kit and emerged from the tent almost bang on 7 hours, ready for the 4 laps and 26 miles along the Nice promenade.

The first 10 km felt easy. My legs were fresh to running and the sub 3 marathon was certainly a possibility. A rather satisfying moment came on the first lap when I cruised past both the men’s and women’s leaders, however I was making a very big mistake here, as the quick early pace would cause problems later on. Overall, the run was fairly uninspiring: there were the occasional cheers for ‘Winchester’ (as a result of my vest), some recognition from the other members of team MMX, (although none of us could really muster much energy for a ‘high-five’) and lap after lap of trudging along Nice seafront getting ever closer to the finish.

Having reached half way in about 1:20, I already knew that I had gone out too hard too early. My legs ached, I was depleted of energy, I struggled to take on enough water let alone any form of energy, the temperature was in to the thirties and I was completely soaked having run through just about every shower on the course to cool down. Although this paints a rather grim picture of the run, the thought of crossing the finish line was a great way of keeping me going, and of course it was getting ever closer. I knew I was going to be able to finish, and in a respectable time, and I was still overtaking a number of people, so at least everyone else must have been feeling in an equally tiring state.

By the third lap, my pace had dropped considerably, and by the time of the fourth, I realised that only a miracle would bring me in less than 10 hours. Therefore I decided to try and enjoy the last lap as much as I good, and prepare myself for heading up the final runway. When I crossed the 40km marker, I knew it was just about 10 minutes more of running to do and, shortly after, I was onto the blue carpet and fast approaching the finish.

Going up the finish straight was an amazing feeling. With my arms firmly in the air, and the pace having been lifted considerably, I ran up the ramp and literally jumped through the finish line in 10:09:20. While mentally the jump seemed the best thing to do, I hadn’t really considered the physical impact and landed up cramping all down one leg! However, what did it matter at this point? I was just elated to have completed the 140.6 miles, to have the medal round my neck and was now happily lying in a heap, drained of every last bit of energy in my body. It was no great shock that within 10 minutes I was in the medical tent, rigged up to a salt/sugar drip (along with rows of other athletes), but once I had taken down that, along with some food, I went out on the course to watch the other competitors.

I got myself to the finish grandstand and was fascinated to watch all the other runners coming in and completing their goal. There were those who picked their kids at the start of the finish straight and ran in with them, there were those who ‘high-fived’ every single person in the front row of the grandstand, there were those who came in hand in hand with other competitors, and there were those who were so drained of energy that only the finish line was on their mind. I stayed to watch Matt, Martin and Rich come in quick succession of one another and, while congratulating each other and gradually recovering at the finish, Leon and Steve finished the race.

It was great that all six of us completed the challenge and fulfilled each of our personal goals. The immediate consensus was ‘NEVER AGAIN’, however I don’t think that I’ll rule another Ironman out completely just yet!

SWIM: 01:03:57

T1 SWIM-TO-BIKE: 00:04:59

BIKE: 05:48:10

T2 BIKE-TO-RUN: 00:03:34

RUN: 03:08:40

TOTAL TIME: 10:09:20

RANK: 106

DIV.POS: 12