Blog 8: So what happened?

In the words of Mike Reilly
"You ARE An I-Ron Man"

The Big Day - KONA

Ironman World Championship

October 12, 2013

So what happened?

Well Julie had a fantastic day. She had the good fortune of spectating with the Blatchfords, on what turned out to be such an amazing day for them. Julie walked down to the swim start with Ann. Mike, meanwhile, conscious of the fact that being an Iron Spectator is a demanding endurance event in its own right, was conserving his efforts. He reckons he can pick out Liz from more than two thousand swimmers, and from a distance of two nautical miles, so watched the swim from the comfort of their accommodation, quite close to the turnaround buoys. Having a daughter that swims at the front of the pack does make her somewhat easier to spot than most.

Spending time with the Blatchfords, Julie was able to follow what was going on at the front of the race. They had a well-founded optimism that Liz was a genuine contender, as she went on to prove with a stunning performance.

Unfortunately for Julie, and me, she had a much longer wait at the finish than Mike and Ann. More than 3 hours longer!

Yet it all started so well. The three key early morning ingredients all ticked off: porridge, beetroot juice, and a rewarding trip to the bathroom. As an added bonus, we were not sharing a house, or hotel, with fellow triathletes, who typically emit excessive nervous energy, and can't help but insist on waking everyone up around them as they consume their 3 a.m. breakfasts. So I even managed a couple of hours extra sleep.

The race did not start until 7, so the plan was to get there just before 6, on the shuttle. Except the shuttle service did not run as scheduled, and the bus that did come drove past without stopping. A 3km run/walk, in thongs, to the start area is not found in any "Performance Tips for Race Day" literature. It wasn't too bad though. There were lots of others making their way down Ali'i Drive to the start, and it was a very nice atmosphere.

A couple of weeks earlier I had watched the DVD from the previous year's race, and, in the comfort of my own home felt exceptionally nervous, particularly as they showed all the athletes getting ready in the atmospheric, pre-dawn light.

On the day though, no butterflies, and I was actually looking forward to the challenge of the notorious, legendary Kona conditions. It was helpful having absolutely zero aspirations regarding a finishing time, or age-group position. This was about enjoying the whole experience. Despite arriving in Kona with a very serious case of man flu, which had lingered somewhat and settled on my chest, I honestly believed I was fit, healthy, and ready – not for a particularly impressive time, but a solid respectable day.

The location, the anticipation, the vibe was incredible. 

Entering the ocean alongside me was Nera (Jareb), who was looking relaxed and ready to race. We wished each other well, and went our separate ways – a bit of natural selection - as she needed to be at the pointy end of the field. Nera went on to have a great race, despite a few issues, in a touch over 10 hours finishing with a classy 3'21 marathon.

The swim here is stunning. Crystal-clear water, reef, and amazing variety of vivid marine life below us. What a place to find myself: the location, the anticipation, the tension, the cannon, the carnage!

The swim starts in particular can be dangerous. Previously, competitors have had their races seriously affected, or even curtailed, as flailing arms, and feet cause damage on impact. This was a concern.

After my atrocious swim in Switzerland (1'47"!!!) I have probably worked harder on this leg than at any other time, and have managed to get lap times down to around 50 seconds. Hence, I thought it was a reasonable expectation to come in around 1'15". Wrong again.

How good is that? Why the rush?

Though I was honest and modest about "self-seeding", when the cannon eventually signalled the start, there was still more contact than I was comfortable with, and at one stage had my goggles kicked off. As a contact lens wearer this can be a problem but OK this time. I felt I had a decent swim, but with some of the unwanted contact did lose rhythm and momentum a few times. I also got in a group that was probably a bit too comfortable.

As I got back to the beach my watch indicated a disappointing, 1'23. Despite swimming reasonably straight, the Garmin had me down for a 4.3km swim.

Those extra few minutes in the water were to have a disproportionately negative effect on the bike leg later in the day, as many of the quicker athletes managed to miss the worst of the strengthening head wind on the Queen K, back into town (confirmed by Power Meter and TrainingPeaks data).

Running through T1 was when my body first announced that it wasn’t entirely happy about doing an Ironman today. My hamstrings and calves were too tight. It felt like I had to walk/stride, rather than run to prevent pulling a calf. And my chest felt as tight as my calves, as I had a couple of coughing attacks.

Still, in my head I was good to go, as having a few issues is normal. I knew what I had to do, and was ready to do it. I felt relaxed and, for now, it felt easy. But, even relaxed, the tension was building through my lower back. Of all my bikes the TT bike is usually the most sympathetic to my back, though the aggressive aero position can aggravate a neck problem. Even the comfy leather seats of the Volvo or Saab can trigger lower back spasms at times. On any bike, even my motorbike, I can be compromised to some degree, but not usually so early in proceedings. This was not a good sign.

Inevitably, I picked up a few injuries from my speedway riding days. It was an accident at Belle Vue speedway, back in 1983, that was, once again, coming back to haunt me. Since then there have been occasions when I do have difficulty getting dressed in a morning. Usually though, it is generally manageable by being pro-active - thanks to Freddie Cappon (Chiro), Matt Tribble (Next Move Physio), and Eve O'Hare (massage), but sometimes, without warning, or for any obvious reason, it flares up. Being on a different part of the planet than the aforementioned three obviously doesn't help.

Nice fast bike - shame about the rider. Through
the lava fields on the Queen K

It was an easy ride along the Queen K through the lava fields, soft-pedalling with a tail-wind. Surely, on the long steady climb to Hawi the cross-winds would come and test us. Yet, even here, nothing. At this stage it was looking like a relatively easy low 5 hour bike ride.

Watching the pros come down from Hawi was interesting. They looked quick and appropriately spaced out. Luke McKenzie was one of the more noticeable in his distinctive kit. He looked fantastic on the bike. We had seen him a few times out on the Queen K during the previous week or so, training, absolutely flying, millimetres behind a motor-bike, being paced, at average speeds up to 60kph. He was rewarded with a podium finish today.

And now for the grumpy old man bit, the most disillusioning discovery on Kona . . .

A few kms after the pros, the elite age-groupers started coming through. Now, you can accuse me of being bitter, or perhaps it was a serious case of peleton envy, but . . . I appreciate that due to the benign conditions, and such high numbers of athletes at a relatively similar level all starting the bike leg around the same time, it is almost impossible to avoid being in that draft zone, and many are trying to do the right thing – BUT – far too many were in the draft zone, closer to 7 inches than 7 metres. I have never seen as many riders protected from the elements, in the cocoon of a peleton, in a (supposedly) none-drafting triathlon before. Any cost benefit analyses would surely evaluate that all that saved energy would far outweigh the impact of a 4-minute sin bin penalty. What kind of deterrent is that? Especially when looking back after the race, and Strava confirmed that many who had much better bike splits than me, had averaged watts less than me.

A week or so previously, following a flying Liz Blatchford and her partner Glen, we experienced the full force of the Hawi winds. Kona regulars Dave and Michelle Boyes were also out there, and later described it as a one of the toughest days they had experienced, so it was a relief to have a less challenging day now. The problem was, that despite pushing watts well below threshold, this ride was degenerating into one of the most difficult and most painful I have ever done. The tightening in my back was getting worse, and even maintaining this less than modest effort was proving too much.

Not much fun now!
Why did I not stop and move
that seat back up?

In fact the pain was getting so bad that I made a silly decision. Probably the worst decision I have made in a race. At the Hawi turnaround I decided to stop and utilise the tools they had available at the aid stations to lower my seat. I was hoping that if I varied my position, the spasms in my back might become more manageable. The plan was to drop just less than one centimetre. Unfortunately, just as I had loosened the bolts I had a bit of a coughing fit and lost the mark on the seat post. It turned out that I ended up dropping it around 3cm (but did not know this until I came to pack my bike in its box to come home). The result. Well my back was no better, but now my knees were also complaining. I wasn't stopping again though - another mistake.

Despite my difficulties, I was encouraged by the fact that I have struggled many times before with similar issues on the bike, sometimes struggling to bend and reach my feet to change shoes in T2, yet have usually loosened up after a km or so on the run to finish strongly. I was still foolishly optimistic that a 4-hour marathon might be possible.

Though feeling far from my best it was a nice, but very slow, run out of T2 into town. So many people, such a great atmosphere. The conditions were humid and warm, but for Kona, actually quite good, and not really a concern at all.

(After having so many people over the past couple of weeks telling me how "easy" Kona was this year, I feel the need to put this into context. An "easy" Kona still had an average temperature of 32.9C, with a maximum of 36C, combined with oppressive humidity; and though the cross winds were largely absent there were strong headwinds later in the day. It took nearly 2 hours, pushing almost 200 watts, to do the last 45km).

Doing it tough on Ali'i Drive

Despite being able to enjoy and appreciate being at Kona, and running alongside the Pacific Ocean on Ali'i Drive; rather than loosening up, things were actually going from bad to worse. I was getting even tighter, and slower. 

I could not help but recall the words of Matt Burton, commentating at last year's Mandurah Half IM: "Illingworth runs like a man who has just been shot in the back."

It was an amusing analogy then (though not for Matt Illingworth), but not now. This summed up how I was feeling perfectly.

For years I found that all I had to do was just keep running, and I would do a sub-4 hour marathon. This is no longer true. However, I still believed all I had to do was run all the way and I would finish the run under 4 and a half, and this would bring me home in just under 12 hours. That’ll do. 

Not today! I couldn't even do that. Yes, I was still running, but I am not sure how much I was challenging the definition of the word run. Shuffle would perhaps be a more accurate description.

Apart from the occasional aid station, and toilet stops/issues, I have not previously walked in Ironman races, and feel this is quite an achievement. The infamous Natural Energy Lab would test this resolve. 

It takes forever to get there, and then you know you have got to run all that way back the last 14 kms or so. By now I was in agony with back spasms. Thankfully, it was here I met my Angel of Mercy, Nathalie Laurendau. She had been well in front of me all day. A good swimmer, elite cyclist and strong runner – normally. But Nat has had a plantar fasciitis injury for the past few weeks and unable to run. She managed almost half the run until, inevitably, it flared again. She was walking. For someone of her ability and competitive nature this was emotional, and challenging, but she was determined to get to the end. When I eventually caught and overtook Nat I had not recognised her and she shouted to me. We had a quick chat, got the violins out, and shared sob stories.

The Ironman was not the only reason Nat was in Kona. As a Chiropractor, she had also been to a Professional Development Conference on soft tissue injuries, with a focus on trigger release techniques. Luckily for me, Nat suggested she could apply her new skills to my deteriorating situation. This was an amazing gesture, but very painful. Most people in the extended vicinity realised this from the noises I was making.

Slowly things eased. Nat got me to bend forward from the waist. I was genuinely concerned I would not be able to straighten up again. As I leaned forward, with Nat standing behind me, she worked on the trigger points, in my lower back, gluteus and hips. This prompted more involuntary grunts and groans.

If there was a gender reversal in our respective positions, we could very well have been arrested. As it was we were attracting inquisitive stares, and even witty comments from fellow athletes about inappropriate social activity.

The result was quite remarkable as eventually, the intolerable pain was transferred into ecstatic relief. What involuntary noises was I supposed to make? Was I still sore and tight?  Of course I was. But what had been unbearable and excruciating, was now manageable. 

Got there - eventually

Importantly, I could now run without feeling that a calf or hamstring or disc was going to explode at any second. I will be forever grateful to Natalie for those moments, her skills, and time, which enabled me to savour and enjoy the end of this iconic race, and special place.

For the last few miles I was running with a glowing ring.

Thankfully, unlike Ironman France, back in June, this was not due to an upset stomach and excessive use of harsh toilet paper.

On this occasion the glowing ring was issued when it started to get dark, to keep us visible, and safe, on the suddenly pitch-black Queen K, heading back towards town.

Running towards the finish, the atmosphere and crowd were amazing. I just wish, that after emerging from the dark, my eyes had adjusted to the very bright lights, and I had been able to spot Julie in the crowd, to share this magical, emotional experience with her, as I ran into the finishing chute.

I also felt guilty at abandoning Natalie at the Natural Energy Lab. It was a special moment to meet Nat just after she finished, express my gratitude for what she had done, and share in our achievement of getting to one of the most iconic finish lines in global sport, after we both endured such adversity to get there.

It was a hard day, much harder than it should have been given the conditions for most of the day. It was  frustrating having to take so long (12'27"), and do my worst ever marathon by far, which took almost 5 hours. But then, the time was never really supposed to be factor. I just wish I could have got round without as much pain and discomfort. Having said that, I suppose overcoming adversity is a key aspect of getting fulfilment from dong an Ironman.

Massive waterfalls and
hidden valleys from a
Big Island helicopter

The following day I was not feeling fantastic. My back had eased somewhat, but I had been kidding myself about not being sick. After most Ironman races I would consider myself to be a genuine contender for the following day's Beer Mile. Not this time! It felt like an invisible elephant had settled on my chest. However, we were booked for one of the sensational tourist helicopter rides around the Big Island - over volcanoes, lava, massive cliffs, and in valleys of towering waterfalls. This was another once in a lifetime experience.

Upon returning back to the apartment we were then treated to another magical moment. We had a knock on the door from Mike and Ann Blatchford, with beers in hand, still up in the clouds, to share their joy of Liz's truly remarkable performance. A very special memory indeed. If ever something was so richly deserved, this was it.

For a family that has contributed so much, for so long, to the remarkable success of the WA Triathlon community, this is fantastic. It has been uplifting to see their recent rewards: Ann with her World Championship Bronze in London; and now Liz, forcing her way onto the podium of THE most prestigious, one-day, iconic endurance event on the planet. Brilliant!

Julie got fed up with
me being sick so went
to Five 0 HQ in search
 of Alex O'Loughlin

The next couple of days were not good for me. The elephant on my chest seemed to be joined by its mother. And despite the perfect tropical temperature on Hawaii, I was either freezing, or roasting. This was supposed to be when we got to relax, unwind and celebrate, but Julie had to leave me in the room whilst she explored our magnificent new surroundings close to Waikiki Beach. Still, I did get a couple of days well enough to appreciate this new slice of Hawaiian paradise.

So what's next? Prior to Kona I was already entered in the Cape to Cape 4-day Mountain Bike race. I was hoping to do this as recovery and just enjoy the SW. It is a fantastic event, spectacular location, with some of the world's best riders at the pointy end of the field, and some raw, not particularly fit novices at the other. Most of the tracks they use are not too challenging and really enjoyable, with every day being quite different in character. The race is as hard, or easy as you want to make it. The relatively short stages also leave plenty of time to enjoy what the region has to offer - last year over the 4-day stage race I put on 3kg. Definitely a highlight on the WA sporting calendar.

However, daughter Rebecca has booked her one-way flight to Canada this weekend, as she embarks on her six-month working stint at the Whistler Ski resort, so have decided to stay at home, not do any of the stages, and forfeit yet another significant entry fee. This probably works out for the best for my back, and health wise, as this bronchial thing is still around, so probably shouldn't be riding anyway.

Waikiki Beach

Hopefully, over the next few days I can start a bit of gentle training again. It is only a couple of weeks until the Mandurah Half, and 4 weeks after that Busselton IM, both of which I am entered in.

At this stage, the plan is to start both races, but, if there are any issues in either, I hope to be mentally strong enough to pull the pin, and save it for another day.

It would be nice to do at least one race this year at a level somewhere close to what I feel I am capable, which I believe is a low 5-hour bike ride followed by sub-4 hour marathon.

I have failed to hit any of my targets this year. Might as well aim for another two.

And next year?

The focal point in the diary for 2014, in November, is to do the New York Marathon alongside Julie, for which we have already got confirmed entries. This has been Julie's long-time ambition, to coincide her marathon debut and 50th birthday. It will be my first pure marathon since 1982, when the orthopaedic surgeon, mending my broken leg (another speedway accident), informed me that I would not be doing the following year's London Marathon, for which I had just got an elusive entry, nor was it likely that I would be able to do any others in the future.

As for Ironman, won't be entering any next year. Would like to do a few halves though.