This is the story of my first ironman in Lanzarote in May 2005. It didn't go fully according to plan.
The Report is a bit longer than I had planned about 4400 words, and I could have added more If I wanted too. But Decided to stop.
THE REPORT IS COMPLETED AND FINISHED. (INCLUDING PARTS ONE, TWO AND THREE)
Here is part one of my Lanzarote race report, I’ve only got as far as the end on the swim so far. I’ll finish as soon as I can.
So I finished. I’m an ironman. I’m the first P’iron’ha.
I crossed the finish line in under 14.5 hours. At least that’s the official record. But to me 14.5 is just a number, almost hollow compared to what the race took out of me. My life span may be 72 hours shorter now, or more. However in some immeasurable way, I have become more than I was a week ago.
Physically it took all I had in me to walk in a straight line. I didn’t want the hassle of the judges trying to convince me to stop. I didn’t know if I could deal with it. I stopped looking at my watch, it was too much effort to lower my line of sight and raise my wrist a few inches. My heart rate dropped to an average of 93 bpm. It was by the far the toughest physical toll I have ever put upon myself. In short it hurt everywhere, throbbing feet, swollen fingers, thumping head and beyond.
Emotions had to be put to one side. Two hours prior to the end, the thought of finishing was enough to cause a tear to well in my eye. I was too weak to handle emotions. I just had to detach myself.
There was great support on the final lap, but I starred ahead blankly along the road. I didn’t smile or acknowledge the cheering grandstand as I crossed the finish line. The DJ called out my name, and said this guy needs your help. They were a distraction that I didn’t need and couldn’t deal with. I just kept walking one foot at a time in my mostly straight line towards the end. One smile or one tear and I felt it could all come crashing down. I never felt the elation of crossing. All I said was “I need help”.
Mentally it was a matter of staying focused, being pig headedly stubborn. I was determined to cross that finish line whatever the costs. I knew my determination had crossed beyond the point of good sense. I was putting my physical health on the line, and I knew I shouldn’t. In my head I mentally rehearsed telling my parents where my health insurance documents and European health card were. I mentally rehearsed telling the medical staff where my mobile phone was in case my parents weren’t at the finish line. I fully expected to end up in hospital.
I don’t consider myself a risk taker, I never have. I see myself more as the boring dependable reliable type. I’m not good at hill descents. I play the safe odds (most of the time). So what was that made keep going, made me put my health at risk, made me do what young single males are known to do? It came from within, I suppose.
This event had occupied most of my non-working thoughts since November; My weekends, my mornings, my evenings and my dreams. A wise man (Ciaran Cassidy) once pointed out to me that ironman and pregnancy are very similar. You spend long months training/preparing for the big day. The day itself is long and painful, yet somehow joyous and then you end up suffering from post race/natal depression. I hope pregnancy isn’t as bad, but I somehow suspect it is worse.
I received huge amounts of support from friends, family, club mates and fellow triathletes. Most thought I was crazy. Thankfully my parents came over for the race. My father mostly carried me home after the race. He held me up as I used the toilet and soon afterwards as I got sick on the road home. My mother looked after the food mostly and was my photographer. Both cheered me on during the entire race, telling anyone who would listen about their son who was doing the ironman.
Nervous moments and preparation were shared with other Irish triathletes during race week. Ciaran Cassidy, Brian Heffernan and Eamonn Horgan, as well as chief supporters Ray and Siobhan from Galway, all provided huge encouragement. It felt as if we were more of a team than competing against one another. During the course of the week, we had travelled most of the bike course by car. It made a huge difference to see those feared hills in advance and to feel the stiff breeze on the far side of the island.
I had only cycled the first and last 10km of the course. I had hurt my lower back 3 weeks earlier in italy training. I still didn’t feel like I was a hundred percent. I had taken it very easy during the week. I had only swum one lap of the swim course, and ran about 5km and cycled 20km, all at a slow steady race pace.
At race registration I had been afraid to buy an ironman Lanzarote cycling jersey. If I didn’t finish the race, I didn’t feel as if I would have the right to wear it. And lets say I wasn’t over confident about the race. My back was my primary fear, but also I had not been able to train from Christmas until the end of February with an Achilles tendon problem. And of course, there was the fear of the unknown.
Friday was bike check in day. The first time all 800 competitors gathered together, with bikes of all shapes, sizes and colour. Dozens of languages and plenty of egos; one woman for every fifteen men. Each competitor was given a blue bag with which to put every thing for the bike transition and red bag for the run transition, as well as a white bag that you could hand in the morning of the race prior to the swim that would hold your pre/post race gear.
That evening I prepared all my food and drinks. A pre swim drink; Two drinks to bring on the bike; One drink to get at the bike special needs station; and a drink for run transition. Bars/bananas for the start of the bike; bars for the bike special needs station, and gels for the run. The food and drink for the special needs was put in the deep freeze for the night. Everything else went into the fridge.
I headed to bed around 10pm that night, which was far later than normal. I had been practicing going to bed and getting up early during the week. But to-night I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I was tired so I kind of slept until 2am, when my first alarm went off. I ate three ambrosia cream rice portions and back to bed. Then at 4am the alarm clock went off again.
For breakfast, I ate a huge bowl of mixed fruit, a monster Spanish omelette with 4 eggs, about 4 boiled potatoes, 3 tomatoes and 2 avocados along with a breast of chicken and extra salt. That was all washed down with a litre of rice milk. And to finish it all off I had a large bowl of muesli. By 5am I was stuffed to the rafters. By 5:30 I was down at the race start, Frank Sinatra cooing in my ears via my MP3 player. I was making my final preparations, when I realised I had left my two bike bottles back in the fridge. Fortunately I was staying close by, and remedied the situation easily.
It still hadn’t sunk in what lay ahead that morning. I shared some nervous energy with Eamonn Horgan. We both agreed the swim was not important as we lined up towards the back of the pack at the waters edge. A little after the 7am the hooter sounded. Some of the leaders got black eyes and bloodied ears in the race to the first buoy. The swim is not important I repeated to myself as I waded in slowly. I focused on a long relaxed strokes, hip rotation and keeping legs rested for the day ahead.
The water calm, still and warm; perfect swimming conditions. Sighting, making sure I was swimming in the right direction, was easy. I mostly stayed out of trouble for the first lap. My watch read 37:30. Perfect pace for me. I saw an Irish flag being shaked in the crowd. “Up Ireland”, I roared. This was going to be a great day.
Back in the water for a second lap, about half way round I felt I was loosing focus. I noticed the seagulls hovering above the swimmers. I wondered what they were thinking. As I rounded one of the buoys, a pretty girl sat on a surf board making sure we all behaving ourselves. I felt as if I smiled at her, and I felt as if she smiled back. The monotony was getting to me. I noticed a 20 cent coin in the sand below, and little fish swam close to the sand. I had never actually swam 3.8km before without stopping.
As I approached the end of the swim the monotony faded. I could hear the crowd roar in the distance. I visualised what I had to do in T1 a few times. And then there was no more water left for swimming. “A third of the way there”, I said to myself sarcastically. It wasn’t the last sarcastic comment I made to myself. Little did I know that I had over 13 hours to make jokes with myself and myself alone.
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T1 was a tad chaotic. I took advantage of nudity being allowed and changed my clothes from head to toe, making sure to get my feet very clean. The bars and bananas in the back pocket of my cycling top went flying at the same time as one of the sun-cream girls was lathering sun-cream on to my legs and arms. This caused the sun-cream to go flying and land on one of my pre-cleaned feet. I lost at least 7 seconds cleaning my foot again. I was disgusted. A quick trip to the toilet and I was off. Mam and Dad had positioned themselves near my bike in transition and seemed happier than I was.
It felt good to be on the road. It was pleasantly warm and I felt good. My heart rate settled to a normal 130-140 within about 5 minutes. I drank lots of water to wash the taste of salt out of my mouth. Then after 20 minutes the feasting began. Half a sports bar,
a banana, or a breakfast bar every 15 minutes. I had all my bars packed with me. I relied on the aid stations for bananas, but they were a bit hard to come by. Bananas were chopped in 3 at most aid stations, so you had to grab multiple bits at a time. Some competitor had left bars on the frames of their bikes, where they had melted in the heat. They just peeled them off during the race as required.
About 15km into the cycle I came caught up with batman. Batman is an English guy who does ironman triathlons dressed in full batman suit, cape and mask. He raises a lot of money for charity year after year. I stayed about 20 metres behind him for a while just to watch the reactions of spectators. A few kids did double takes as he cycled up the road. Rumour has it that batman will be appearing in the Kenmare half ironman this year.
The wind was fairly fresh at this stage, as we climbed up-hill into the breeze. Eamonn soon passed me after we exchanged some friendly insults. I was awaiting the first aid station. Not really sure how it would be set up. I saw a bunch of cars at bottom of a short downhill. As I approached I realised that it was not an aid station, but a competitor who had maybe gone too fast and been caught by a cross wind. It was a harsh reminder as to how quickly the fun and games could come to an end.
The day continued on as we headed up hill and down hill, into the wind and against the wind. As we approached Timafaya (sp?) National Park the wind seemed to stiffen, and the roads worsened. There was no where to hide up here cycling in the midst of the lava fields.
Some of the road surfaces were absolutely cat, not fit for a mountain goat. That’s a light exaggeration but you get my drift. They gave the road bikes, with their thin wheels, a decent jarring. I thought that Irish roads were bad. One good way of spotting when the road deteriorated was the cluster of assorted debris from bikes, such as bottles and pumps, littering the road. One of the advantages on not being first.
In general I drank a bottle of energy drink and a bottle of water. I would generally wash my bars down with water, and drink energy drink at other times. As it got hotter I drank more water to avoid dehydration. I stopped to pee about 3 times in seven hours and fifteen minutes. My pee was clear. This was a good sign that I was drinking enough.
The highest peak of the day was mirador del haria, which wound up to 600m against the wind. I spotted a Limerick Tri Bottle on the side of the road. Eamonn’s calling sign. The climb itself wasn’t as bad as I had expected. I had done a lot of training in the Wicklow Mountains, but it did sap your strength. Especially as the dodgy road seemed to have knocked my gears out of sync and I couldn’t use my easiest 2 gears without the chain slipping every so often.
The bike special needs station was at the top of mirador del haria, about 100 m before sharp down hill descent. I stopped to load up all my food and drinks. My water bottles were still partly frozen. Food and bags littered the ground as competitors had quickly tried to stash food before the hair pins.
The last major climb of the day was at mirador del rio. The view was spectacular. The road was on the edge of a ~400m cliff with deep blue seas blue and the small island of Graciosa. My gears gave me trouble up this climb which was again into the wind. But as I reached the top, I felt the back had been broken on the cycle. It was mostly with the wind from here.
There was still 60km on the bike though, and it wasn’t yet over. I consciously held myself back at this point, knowing the day was not over. In the last 30km my balls started to hurt. I loosened my shoes a bit and it they a bit better. I am of course referring to the balls of me feet. I had done very few 150km plus cycles over the previous few months due to injury. And I hadn’t done a continuous 180km cycle.
As I started the last 20km, I was still holding back, I surveyed my remaining food to see what I had left to eat. I knew it was going to be a long ‘run’ ahead and that I would need all my energy. So I picked up my eating. I ran out of water, so ended up having to wash my food down with sports drink. It felt a wee bit rich but not too bad.
I arrived into Puerto del Carmen feeling good. I had kept my heart rate relatively low for most of the cycle, and I didn’t feel like a spent force. The crowds were on the promenade cheering and lots of people were already on the run. The sun was strong and direct in this sheltered part of the island, but I felt like I would make it.
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T2 went fairly well. I changed almost all my clothes here, putting on my Tsunami top. No nudity allowed, so I followed the rules. I paid special attention to making sure my feet were clean and dry. You are only as strong as your weakest link. A nice young man rubbed sun cream on me. I put on my cap and sunglasses, a quick trip to the toilet and I was off with my energy drink in hand.
The plan was to start off slow for the first part and then keep it slow. Carrying the drink would help keep me slow. There was still along way to go. The sun was beating down. Sponges were on offer at the aid stations. Also ice was available here too, to put inside your hat. There were big crowds awaiting the first finisher. When I passed the second aid station, the leading man was on his homeward straight. He had just passed out the second place man. Their pain was coming to an end mine hadn’t yet started. At this point Ciaran, Eamonn and Brian were still going up and down, the looked like they were hurting in the heat, but they were still moving.
About 15 minutes into the run, my stomach started to feel a tad queasy and not long afterwards I was holding up a wall while I emptied the contents of my stomach on the promenade. It was mostly liquid and the remains of a few bars, but no carrots. This wasn’t the first time I had thrown up at the start of the run. Last year in Kenmare the same thing had happened on the run. Maybe there is a lesson to be learned here.
This had all happened beside the third aid station, so I got a cup of water, tried to clean my stomach out and continued onwards. Running to each aid station, and walking while I drank what I could, then onwards to the next station. This got me to first turn around point but I had been unable to get any calories into me.
You burn about 12,000 calories over the course of the race, and if you don’t continue to consume calories, then crashing and burning is inevitable. So I knew that I had to get something into me. I tried some energy drink at the next aid station. It turned my stomach almost immediately. I mixed a quarter energy drink with three quarters water. I could keep that down.
At each station I increased the ratio of energy drink. A little more than half energy drink was the most I could tolerate. This was about 35 calories per aid station, it wasn’t enough. I knew I was on the slippery slope. I smelt a banana at one stage, it didn’t smell good. All I could do was keep going and hope my stomach improved. It didn’t.
As you did each lap of the course you got a different colour wrist band to show how many laps you had done. So you could see who was miles a head of you and who was miles behind. The focus of course was my own pace, and keeping moving. As time passed the walks at each aid station got longer, and the pace I ran between them got slower. My energy levels were dropping.
The sun cream that had been applied to me, didn’t seem to be working. Maybe the sponges that I had squeezed over my head had washed it away. I could see my arms starting to burn, but that was the least of my troubles. By the half way point I knew I was in trouble. I had no energy left.
But I continued on. I didn’t think about 21km left. I thought about getting to the next aid station, which I continued doing. The support was great. Particularity when the crowd realised I was Irish. There were plenty of Irish on the Island, and they were only delighted to cheer on a fellow country man.
Frank Sinatra came back to haunt me. I couldn’t get the tune out of my head. ‘and that is why the lady is a tramp!’. I wasn’t overly surprise; My feet were a lot heavier than Franks but I sang along for a while, but soon it started to annoy me. I tired humming ‘3 blind mice’ in my head to see if that would get rid of frank. It worked.
As I ended up the third lap, I could feel my energy levels had dropped further, I decided I would not run between aid stations. I would now walk. If I had any energy left on the last part I could run that, but for now I would walk. I had about 12km to go, and about 4 hours to get to the finish line. Plenty of time.
I saw my mother at the finish line, I shouted that I would be about and hour and a half and gave her the thumbs up. “No need to make her worry”, I thought. My mother had twisted her ankle badly and grazed her knee crossing the road earlier in the day. She had been given 4 X-rays, 2 crutches, and some pain killers. They hadn’t told me. I guess they thought “No need to make him worry”.
Thankfully the sun had started to weaken at this stage. It was a small mercy. Despite the pain I was under I was still able to spot the local chica’s along the course. It was Saturday night and I could see that they had gone to effort to dress up. My reactions had slowed at this point, and I was caught a few times. Given that I didn’t have much energy to do a whole lot else, it did strike me that testosterone was keeping me going. But then there were women still women running passed me and I wasn’t so sure.
At this point every thing started to hurt, and tingle, I started to feel that I was putting my health at risk. There wasn’t any thought of giving up. I did need to go to the toilet badly though. The Porto Loos along the course were an absolute disaster. I wasn’t sure if I could hold myself fully up, and didn’t know what I might land in. Thankfully at the turn around point on the final lap, there were some proper public toilets. I didn’t know if I would be able to stand up again once I sat down. There was a disabled cubicle, which thankfully had handles with which I was able to pull myself up to a standing position again.
The last 5km were the hardest physical, emotional and mental thing that I have every done. I knew I could make it. It wasn’t about getting to the next aid station; it was about putting one foot in front of the next. It was about 100% total focus on getting to the finish line, getting that medal, getting that jersey.
This was all about toughness. As a kid I played tennis day in, day out, and I was fairly good at it. But I never considered myself the most skilful tennis player, I was the guy who never gave up, who hung in there and eventually wore the opposition down. Little did I know that I would draw on that toughness to such an extent 20 years on.
I approached the finish line a little before 9:30pm, the grandstand cheered. I could hear them cheer, but from a distance. I was in my own world. I stopped my watch. I held onto the race director and said I need help. Two volunteers grabbed me and walked me to a medical tent, put me on a bed and covered me with a blanket.
My mother arrived. I told here I wasn’t good, I told where my health insurance details were, where my wallet was, the pin number of my bank cards and showed her how to work my phone. I stopped short of organising my will. My body was tingling all over, I I felt like I was going to go into a fit of some kind at any moment.
They guy in the bed opposite me was brought off to hospital. I figured I wouldn’t be long after him. The medical staff was great. Very professional and caring. I was given 4 drips one after another to get me back in some kind of shape. My father was sent off to collect my transition bags and bring my bike back to the apartment.
I was still on the bed at mid-night when the fireworks went off to mark the end of the race. They started to clean up the medical tent and I was told that I got to go home. Thankfully my father was back. He part carried me, and I part walked. My mother hobbled behind with her twisted ankle. He helped me up as I went for a pee in the toilet and again held me up as I had a quick puke on the side of the road.
So that’s it; the end of my adventure, all self inflicted, far more drama in one day than I could ever have imagined. I am glad I did it, but will I do it again?
There is a part of me that wants to do it again. I would like to feel the exaltation of crossing the line. I would like to do a better time. But I can’t say for sure either way now, the training takes a lot of effort, and the race takes a whole lot out of you. But what do you get back in return. It’s hard to explain to myself, let along anyone else.
I wore my ironman finisher T-shirt into work this week. Down in our canteen a girl sniggered at me. I think she pictured me wearing an apron doing my ironing. I just looked her up and down, told her hair was nice and sniggered back. It was easier than explaining.
I AM AN IRONMAN.
You can find pictures at the following locations:-
http://www.galwaytriathlonclub.com/images/lanza05/lanza.htm
http://www.limericktriathlon.com/html/eamonnpics/index.html
PiranhaTri
http://www.piranhatri.com/article.php/20050526223520928