I’ve been a bit quiet on here haven’t I! Not really been saying much or jotting down what’s been going on. Well let’s get to it….
I did Stafford 70.3. I got to the start line, I had the most awful swim in the world and more than once wondered if my race was going to be over before I had even put my helmet on but 1900metres were swam/doggy paddled/floated like a wet fish into T1. On with the helmet and shoes and off I went on my bike for the 56miles of country roads filled with pot holes, branches and more plastic (in the form of water bottles) than you get in Barbie Land. Quite the shame when my brakes failed me – again!! – and I embarrassingly went flying over the dismount line, apologising profusely to the technical official whilst dragging my foot on the ground trying to stop. Fortunately he could clearly see it was a brake failure and allowed me to carry on. Or maybe he took pity on the little women who still looked like a drowned rat and had somehow managed to survive so far. Bathroom break in T2 was followed by a heavy weight fight against my light weight tri suit trying to get the damned thing back on. I really must try out a 2 piece next time. I’m not 100% sure I actually did get in back on properly as by now I was suffering from the heat. 30degrees is not a welcome running temperature when you are Scottish. I don’t have the courage to look at my race photos to check out the result.
However. The run up the hill with the Stafford Knights at the top was amazing. They were drinking beer whilst running along side you, the kids were riding their bikes up the side trying to race you – it was just great.
And when I eventually crossed the line the next day, I had THE women commentator Joanna Murphy calling me over.
Worth it.
I knew that, thanks to the additional slots from Women For Tri, even though I wasn’t going to be anywhere near winning my age group, I had a good chance of getting a place at the Ironman 70.3 Championships through roll down.
And I did.
Totally ecstatic at the fact I was now going to be racing at a World Championship after turning down Kona last year I had clear plans to get ready for it. The first couple of weeks went well and I was able to hit most the marks. Key sessions were done and I was spending less time hiding in the garage to train and going outside. Then 4 weeks before the race I had something deeply personal and private happen and all training stopped. I didn’t want to leave the house. I had no motivation. The thought of the race was no longer at the forefront of my mind and I wasn’t going. It didn’t matter anyway because I am a back of the packer and was only able to go because of the Women For Tri slots. I didn’t belong there and there was much more important things in my life as a mother to be trying to concentrate on.
During this time my youngest also had his operation. It went quite well bar a freak out when they went to put him to sleep but he got through it. He kept focusing on the fact that after the operation he would be going on a plane to Finland (where Worlds was being held). I couldn’t tell him that we were no longer going. Not when this was happening.
So what did I do? Well, I avoided it mostly. Forgot it was a ‘thing’. A couple of training sessions were thrown in but nothing spectacular. I had no interest what so ever in the chatter around the race. Usually I would be all over the course details and memorising all the spikes in elevation and tight turns and weird and wonderful things I would be running past. But this time – nothing. I wasn’t even nervous. My head just wasn’t there. I kind of let everything just flow along whilst not really being with it. Rather than actually decide not to go (despite stating a few times I wanted to cancel) we ended up at the airport with all our stuff. Yet still I wasn’t excited. Numb is probably more accurate. I wasn’t even that bothered when my bike got carted away at the airport. I didn’t look at the airtag once.
But. I was there. And there was no point in being bloody miserable about it. Everyone was expecting me race, and, like it or not, I LOVE triathlon so to be fair it was hard to keep a smile off my face when I went to register. And I still picked up the standard hoody/hat/bottle combo from the expo whilst not even blinking at the cost of it.
I also got to meet Lionel Sanders. I’m just going to let my photo speak for itself on that one!
Was Stafford cursed? Who knows. Who cares – it’s now been taken off the race calendar so if I hadn’t done it then I wouldn’t be getting the chance to do it now. So for that, I am grateful. I would have liked to have gone back and done it again, especially as that swim really got it in my head. But I am happy I had the resilience to power through it and had practised the skills to over come the issues that arose. The run was terrible. I would definitely have had liked to go back and owned that one. My sodium tablets I use from Precision Fuel and Hydration definitely helped in that heat but I know I could have done better.
And it would have been fun to run past the Stafford Knights (and their beer) again.
There I said it. It’s out there. I can’t take it back.
Originally there were 4 of us going to be doing the race. The first person pulled out due to work commitments – totally understandable as she is making a huge jump in her career right now. The second pulled out as they will be moving country soon. Again, totally understandable. And the third… well the third I don’t think had any intention of ever doing the race and only agreed to sign up to shut me up.
Which probably still falls in the understandable category.
I’ve been plagued with a back and shoulder issue for the last couple of months. So much so it actually saw me take time off work and had me in tears of pain at one point. I have NEVER cried due to injury before but this was definitely up there.
I’ve also been really busy with my coaching and this takes priority over any of my own training. So too does family and our youngest is having an awful time at the moment and needs surgery. He’s been in the emergency department twice in the last couple of weeks. We’ve even been told to phone pediatrics direct and head straight in if it happens again before his surgery as he needs morphine which we obviously can’t have at home. Seeing your 9 year old ‘high’ is not the most comfortable thing and I really hope we get a date for surgery soon. I’m quite convinced it will be when Stafford is which obviously cancels out the race for me. And if it’s not, it’s going to be touch and go whether he is ok for one night without us.
And lastly, I also remember the year my other half did Stafford and had a mechanical which saw him lose a good 40mins on the bike and he even stopped on the run to chat to us as he had had enough of the race. (He did finish, just not anywhere near the time he had aimed for).
So yes, I do believe this race could be cursed.
If I do magically make it to the start line – completely unprepared, not caring at all and basically there because I hate the thought of wasting that money – it’s not exactly going to be a stellar performance. The hardest workout I have done so far is pouring myself into my wetsuit which I swear has obviously shrunk at least 3 sizes in the cupboard since it was last used. And to be fair, that was one hell of a workout! I also couldn’t take the damn thing off quick enough as my oxygen levels were depleting faster than you can say DNF. Obviously I got a few photo’s for the ‘gram’ before that though.
I do still have my swim endurance so I am happy with that and I’ve been working a little more on technique. I may not see any improvements at Stafford as it’s only 1 week away but it’s putting me in a better position for another 70.3 later in the year.
Cycling has been, at best, ok. There was of course the non event of Etape Loch Ness but I followed that up with Kinross Sportive and then Etape Caledonia (I will NOT be defeated!! Braveheart and all that). The broken component has been replaced and I am no longer throwing my bike into fields.
And as for running, well, it’s not easy to admit, but I have kind of fallen out of love with running. After having to be sliced and diced ‘down there’ it wasn’t exactly comfortable to go for a run so I took to the treadmill. And then I got lazy on the treadmill and my run fitness took a walk. I’m fully expecting a run/walk situation at Stafford but given I wasn’t even able to run at the end of last year when I told there was a problem, I will take it. I should get my final results in a few weeks and I have my fingers crossed they got it all and they don’t need to be doing anything else down there.
Plus, I have something really exciting coming up next year so I need my running legs back!
If I can though, I will be there. I will be on that start line wondering what the hell I am doing whilst also expecting to be first in my category (channeling the power of positivity and clearly not accepting reality ha ha). I will use it as starting post for another 70.3 that I am going to throw myself into later this year with no excuses. It will be a good mental test also just to see if I still have that strength and determination not to give up. The kind you need for full distance triathlons.
The last time I wrote a post I felt hard to write, it was about admitting when I had made a mistake. I had chosen a non branded full distance triathlon because I didn’t have enough belief in myself that I could achieve an actual Ironman. Thankfully, I went on to complete an ‘actual’ Ironman on top of the non-branded one and my self belief rose a little.
Right now I do not feel good about myself. Quite frankly I feel downright pathetic. (Or pants and pathetic if you were able to read a conversation I had with a friend earlier).
I had managed to get a last minute place at Etape Loch Ness. 66miles of closed roads around the famous Loch with views you just know instantly are the Scottish Highlands. Joe was away for the weekend but as usual my mum stepped in to help with the youngest and the dogs. I then discovered I had said I would work at an event on the Saturday before but I would be able to get away fairly early. Signing up to volunteer at a club race on the Friday night added a spanner to the works but it was done now and I will always help where I can.
So I was set for a busy weekend but, if I planned it right, it should all be fine.
Friday night went fine, a lot later than I had planned but nothing too drastic. Saturday showcasing the bikes was absolutely freezing but an overall success and I managed to get away at a reasonable time. Forgetting my cycling bib was a pain in the arse (although not as big a pain in the arse as cycling without them would have been) so a 30mile round trip was added to my evening. Still, I had several podcasts to keep me company and I was able to find the hotel easily enough by myself.
To say the receptionist was less than impressed with my arrival is an understatement. I’m not sure if I disturbed his peace, he was at the end of his shift or if he just generally didn’t like people. Maybe my face or just my actual being offended him. Maybe it was the fact there was a wee scottish women standing in front of him trying to control her bike and not drop her bag – either way he couldn’t get rid of me quick enough. Unfortunately for him, I couldn’t hear a damn thing he was saying other than the gym and pool were both closed. ‘Well yes, it’s 7.30pm’ was the reply after the third time of me saying sorry, I can’t hear you. I picked up the words ‘breakfast’ and I think ‘6:30am’ so I said unfortunately I would be leaving before then so I wasn’t going to book breakfast.
When I eventually got a key that worked and was able to get into the room I found the window wide open and a mini tornado circling the room. Any hope of a relaxing and peaceful night to myself was now well and truly gone with the wind. Not sure why a hotel would leave a window open all day in the lovely wet and windy Scottish downpour we were having but there you have it. I headed back downstairs – via the outside fire escape as that was the only option if you didn’t want to take the lift (?) – and across the road to get something to eat.
I was feeling a bit lonely by now and the abundance of testosterone was rife so when I spotted a fellow women I took the opportunity to talk to her. She wasn’t doing Etape, her husband was, but she did tell me the hotel was putting on a special breakfast at an earlier time for those of us doing the race.
Back to Mr Friendly and Approachable I went to enquire about said breakfast.
‘Oh, you’re doing the race??’.
No pal, I was just standing here with my bike earlier for fun, thought I would take it away for a romantic night just the 2 of us you know.
How I wish I had had the guts to respond with that.
Instead, it was a very weak ‘uh huh’, and a very fast scuttle away back to my room.
On the scale of 1 to Pathetic I was coming in at a solid 7, you’re pretty weak right at that moment.
I slept for half an hour that night. I’m not exaggerating. I am embarrassed to admit I spent a large part of what was supposed to be my peaceful night riddled with anxiety and hating myself. I even messaged a friend who I knew was doing it asking if he would meet me at the car park in the morning so I had someone to talk to and help get me to the start line. Unfortunately he never got the message.
At 4:30am I messaged Joe to see if he was awake. Surprisingly he was – he was just about to go to sleep. I told him I was thinking of bailing. I expected a barrage of name calling (in jest before anyone gets their knickers in a twist) but he just asked why. After telling him how cold and wet it was (excuses, really) I admitted I was lying there crying (pathetic). Only once did he say ‘get it done’, I think he knew. I don’t think he believed I would be able to drive up there myself. To be honest, I was surprised also. That was totally out of my comfort zone. Maybe I could do this?
I headed down to breakfast and filled up on hot tea and toast. It was all men again. Not a single female. I don’t know why this was bothering me so much but it really was getting to me. It just made me feel so out of place. Don’t get me wrong the other people staying at the hotel certainly were not rude or threatening or condescending or anything negative at all. I got a ‘morning’ off at least one of them. But I was really uncomfortable and I’m afraid to say I just wasn’t in the mind space of flying that ‘vagina’ flag that day.
I headed out to the car with my stuff, packed it all in and tried to have a stern word with myself. Break it down in to little steps. Car is packed. Check. Cycling clothes are on. Check. Nutrition is ready. Check. I put the starting line post code in to the sat nav. I can do this. Once I’m cycling it will be fine. Ok let’s go.
I drove straight home.
Sometimes it’s just not right. No matter what coping mechanisms you use or stern words you tell yourself, it’s just not your day and you have to admit defeat.
But the defeat is only for that day. Not forever.
Yes I am embarrassed that I drove all the way up there, stayed awake in a room for less than 12 hours and then drove all the way back in full cycling gear without having actually cycled.
But I am also pleased that I managed to actually drive there by myself in the first place. Do I think I made the right decision by DNS?
Let’s talk recovery. It’s taken me a bit longer than I had thought it would to recover from Copenhagen. Admittedly I have a few other things going on that have undoubtedly affected it but I have to be honest, I have been knackered.
My first few bike rides I had no power what so ever in my legs. So I stuck to short sessions on the turbo just basically spinning. I didn’t have any big sessions planned obviously but it did surprise me just how drained the muscles in my legs were.
Speaking of cycling, I had to go to the hospital for a few checks and, well, for those that don’t cycle, you can get a bit battered and bruised down there from hours in the saddle. Given this appointment was only a week after my Ironman I decided to wear my finisher t-shirt to try and explain this and avoid any awkward conversations. (Any excuse ha ha).
Well. Let me tell you. I was deeply insulted! Not a single word, not even once, was my t-shirt mentioned! How bloody rude! Completely focused on their job they were. 100% commitment to the cause. I left quite disappointed I have to say.
Any whoo – running has also been quite slow and I’ve had a niggle in my right calf for as long as I can remember but again I have stuck to shorter distances since the race. I’ve also taken the opportunity to go and run a few of the trails I’ve had my eye on for a while but have avoided because they weren’t ‘long enough’ for a decent session. Well, the opportunity came about recently when I was on my way home. As usual my gear was in the boot and I decided a little 30mins of fresh air and nature were just what I needed after a client had spent a good 20minutes insisting on telling me the Queen (who had recently passed away, was only in her 60’s and not her 90’s like I had said…
I needed to change but I was parked on a quiet country road and if I’m honest, my opinion is it takes longer to think about getting changed and wondering if anyone will see you than it does to get on and just do it. So that’s what I did. Then naturally turned round and saw the big ’24hr CCTV’ sign. Ah well.
It was a roasting hot day so I was glad to be in the woods and covered in shade. I chose not to put the headphones in and headed out along the path. I was using an app on my phone that shows me where the paths should lead and there was a small loch nearby so I aimed for there which was just over a mile away. The path soon came to an end though and I was picking my way through the woods and muddy ground when I came across it. Completely focused on where I was putting my feet I suddenly heard a very sharp, unusual sound. I looked up to see the most gigantic swan I had ever seen. I swear it was bigger than me! I slowed down to a very timid walk, not wanting to stop altogether and then have to start moving again – I’m sure I have read somewhere not to do that. The swan turned it’s head sharply, and menacingly towards me.
Absolutely freaking not, I am out of here! Fastest my heart has ever beaten, I turned on my heel and got the hell out of there.
I ended up on a very prickly path but decided running through thorns was safer than a killer swan. 2 miles later I had lost count of the thorns I had had to pick out of my legs (and by now you could almost see bone I was scratched that much) so headed back to the car.
This was not a route I have any intention of re-visiting. It astounds me to later discover there are Strava segments on it! (One of which I got second… )
So that’s running and cycling. Swimming has been generally ok in comparison. I had actually signed up for the 3k Go Swim Loch Morlich event. Last year after Outlaw I had done the one in Loch Tay so quite fancied this one. The 5k doesn’t peak my interest and 1500m doesn’t feel far enough. Joe suggested taking my mum with me for this one as he is really busy with work so we headed up the night before given it was a 2hr drive. The hotel was surprisingly warm and I can’t say I was looking forward to the fact the water temperature was being reported as 13 degrees but I would see how I got on. I made the sensible decision to get in before the swim and flood my wetsuit. The marshall wasn’t too impressed though as he needed to write my number on my hand which was now wet. Whoops. 2 swim caps and ear plugs in and I couldn’t hear a thing but managed to detect there had been a change to the swim course. Something about the loops. I was going to be back of the pack so I didn’t fret too much.
In I went and as predicted it took a fair few strokes to calm the breathing and get my face in but once it was done it was just a case of settling in for the duration. Also as predicted I was at the back of the pack. These events seem to attract the really fast open water swimmers and then people like me. There rarely seems to be many in between. 2 laps of the big course later and I was glad to be getting out. The water was your typical lovely loch water but it was also your typical Scottish cold water and my ankles did not appreciate this.
I looked around for my mum who had all my gear – most importantly my towel and warm clothes. I couldn’t see her so wandered along the shore a little bit but the beach was really painful on my feet so didn’t walk far. Still I couldn’t see her and then I began to question if I had actually come with her or if I had come myself because Joe was busy and had somehow imagined that she was there – because she quite clearly wasn’t. I looked around again and then at the place I had gotten changed. Did I leave my stuff there? Nope. Back to the finish line and then I see her coming across the beach with a cup of tea in both hands.
‘Oh no have you been out long?’
‘Nope, just a minute or two’.
The woman next to us looked questioningly at me knowing full well I had been out a good 15minutes.
A quick, shivery change and many cups of tea later and we headed back down the road. It was a good trip.
It’s been strange dropping the training hours but it’s definitely been needed. I know my body is screaming at me to chill out right now so I am. And whilst I certainly don’t have the same post race blues I had after Outlaw, I don’t have the desire in me to throw myself in to something new and big. I’m quite happy ticking along right now and taking a break.
So. Ironman Copenhagen. The full distance, no messing, real deal of a race I have had my sights set on for a few years has been and gone. So I’m going to give it it’s dues and tell you all about it. The good, the bad and the straight up ‘eugh that’s actually disgusting, wish you hadn’t mentioned that’ moments.
The run up to any big race is always stressful and tense. The tiniest of things can get to you. It has become very clear in the last few years that I am indeed a panic buyer. In the last few days before we left I bought a full box of co2 for my bike (despite knowing you are not allowed to fly with them), enough nutrition to fuel every athlete taking part, I had my mum running round all the shops looking for a specific sweet I use on the bike and run, Joe received a panic call because I needed 6 more spare inner tubes and I lost count of the number of padlocks I acquired for the 1 bag and 1 bike box we were checking in.
My dad was giving us a lift to the airport thus taking me swiftly to Defcon 1 in the matter of seconds.
‘What’s this twat doing on his by-cycle’ (he doesn’t say bicycle, he says by-cycle). ‘Ooh look at me, in all my gear, holding up the road, twat! Bet he caused that accident we just passed’.
Yes, this is whilst he is driving his daughter and her bike to the airport so she can cycle. Don’t. Just don’t.
Check-in was easy apart from losing my favourite tool at security because apparently a set of allen keys with a screw driver attached and a semi sharp blade is classed as a weapon – whoops.
Registration was also easy. The volunteer insisted on giving me 2 different caps for swimming as she didn’t believe me when I told her I was a slow swimmer. Apparently my insistence that a sloth can – and I’m pretty sure has – beat me in the water bared no belief from her so to be polite (and get the heck out of that situation) I just took the caps and hot tailed it to the expo tent.
One bad thing about this race was unfortunately the merchandise. They had somehow only printed the names of the people who’s surnames started with G. Given mine starts with a ‘W’ my name was on there but I am also part of a collective team and we had 5 ladies racing, and one of their names is missing. Not great.
I decided not to join the official practise swim for fear of being outed as an intruder and sent to the paddling pool to put arm bands on told to practise blowing bubbles. Instead I went out earlier with Joe and took a little dip to the buoys that had been laid out. The water was warm, a little reedy, very salty (well it is the sea) but really nice to swim in. I even stopped to chat to 2 ladies who were also out for a swim and doing the race. They lived in the area and gave me a few tips on the course.
Race Day
I didn’t sleep a wink. You would be lucky if I got 20minutes if that. What if I didn’t make the cut offs? How horrendous of a mood would I be in then?! I would genuinely be so upset. Joe and I had already had the conversation of cutting back on training next year so when would I get the chance again to hear those words and get that photo?
After far too much tossing and turning (and snoring from Joe) we headed down to breakfast before the very short bike ride to the start. I located my bike and got to work taping a couple of energy bars to the top tube and putting my bottles on. I then went to pump my tyre’s up and hit another snag. The track pump provided was, to put it bluntly, shit. Try as I might I could not get the air in. I considered wheeling it over to Joe at the fence and getting him to do it but there was a ditch in front of him and didn’t think I would manage. I glanced at the other side, maybe I could ask him to move there? I text him to say I couldn’t get them blown up. ‘Ask someone next to you’. Oh god back to this again. There were a good 4 or 5 guys around me (no females) so I did what I did at Outlaw. The guy I picked seemed nervous though. The fact he didn’t know how to use the pump in the first place should have been a huge warning sign to me. But he was somehow managing to get air in. He hadn’t done more than 4 pumps when he asked if that was enough and commented he didn’t want to be responsible for ruining my race. I panicked. Thanked him for helping, gave the tyre a squeeze and desperately looked around for someone else I could ask. The queue at the mechanic was huge. I had no other option but to leave it and pray.
Of course I had options!! But at this point I was really panicking and not thinking straight. I could have used one of my co2 cannisters. I could have asked Joe to move to the other fence. I could have just waited for the mechanic. I could have just asked someone else for crying out loud! But we all make mistakes in times of pressure. And this wasn’t going to be my only one. Admittedly kind of a huge one but they felt pretty solid and trust me when I say I will NEVER allow this to happen again.
Bags hung up, I walked the transition route and then headed to the start..
The Swim
There’s actually not a great deal to say of the swim. I naturally entered it looking like I wanted to be anywhere else in the world and like I was about to throw up my breakfast I had forced down my throat. Fortunately just a couple of minutes in to it, neither of these things were true. I had chosen to start in the faster group, still fully doubting my capabilities of making the half way bike cut off, so I spent a good 10 minutes expecting to be swam over. When it never happened, not even once, I began to wonder if I had somehow missed part of the straight line course and cut a non-existing corner. Finally realising I was actually swimming at the same speed as those around me I settled in to it. Far too often I had flashbacks from the day before when we had gone to the Aquarium and watched the BIGGEST eels and other slithery creatures, many with gigantic, protruding teeth just swimming around literally on the other side of the road over there! Note: I will never forgive my family for making me do that the day before the biggest race of my year. There are moments in life when their enjoyment vs my survival should not always end up in them having fun I’m afraid and this was on eof them. You can only imagine the levels of fear I had when swimming through the reeds at the top of the swim. Without doubt this was the closest I have ever had to having a ‘Karen’ moment and freaking out.
Ok final turn and other than that one person who grabbed my leg and tried to pull me backwards it’s been a pretty uneventful swim for an Ironman. My focus is still on that half way bike cut off so I put in a last surge and head to the gantry. I’ve not looked at my watch once – mainly because there are distance banners on the bridges we swim under – but as I clamber out and click on to transition I see what I can only describe as what has been a magical unicorn to me in the past.
It’s only a bloody PB swim!!
I’m so ecstatic about this that I fly through transition – talking to myself the entire time about getting a move on – and head to my bike. Off the rack and I’m on my way to the bike out when I decide to stop and check those tyres.
Shit…
The back one is noticeably easy to squeeze. Fuuucccckkkkkk.
I glance at the mechanic station…..
And then promptly get on my bike and decide the best thing to do right now is ignore it.
Seriously. What goes through my head when I am racing?!?!? I shouldn’t be allowed to race. Or make personal decisions. I clearly haven’t a clue. I would be yelling my head off at someone in that position to change their bloody tyre. At the very least pump the damn thing up!! It will surprise no-one if I do a Non Stanford and try to swim with my bike helmet on one of these days.
But nope. I decide that because it’s technically behind me and I can’t see it, I’m going to ignore that flat tyre.
The Bike
I cycle past Joe and have every intention of telling him my tyre is flat but instead, with my rose tinted sunglasses on, shout ‘did you see my swim?!?!’. Up the coast and I see the first aid station. I also see the table with tools and a track pump. Someone stops in front of me and shouts looking for a mechanic. There is no mechanic. I briefly stop and consider trying to use that track pump in the hope it actually works. But I don’t. I’m too concerned about the cut off. I cycle off.
(I’m writing this weeks later and still haven’t gotten over what I did – or rather didn’t do – on this bike by the way).
After the coast we head in to the country and I thought I would like this but to be honest, it’s dull. It’s not hilly or flat but it is undulating. I would call it boring. I didn’t like it. It doesn’t look as good as the country roads I’m used to but the surface is smooth. Maybe that’s what was missing – the fear and entertainment of having to watch out for pot holes and whole chunks of road missing.
I’m keeping to my nutrition at this point and – other than the tyre issue – everything’s going well. I make the half way cut off with ease and grab more bottles so I can fill up. In goes the maurten and I take a good few gulps before admiring the coast line again.
I will spare you the gruesome details but this is the other monumental mistake I made on race day. Until this point I had only drank bottled water in Copenhagen. The water they hand out is obviously from the tap. And whilst I don’t doubt it’s perfectly fine in normal circumstances, it wasn’t fine on my stomach under these ones. I spent the second half of the bike fighting with the need to take on more fuel and water in the hot sun and aggravating my stomach in to more twists of pain. I’ve never been that close to quitting before. And I still had the run to do! There was no power whatsoever in my legs and anytime I even tried to up the pace the stomach saw to it that I sat my ass back down. I was feeling very, very sorry for myself on that second loop.
About 100 miles in, a woman passed me and asked (in a thick american accent) ‘is the swim/bike cut off 9hrs or 9 and a half hours do you know?’ I told her it was 9 and a half and she smiled, saying good because she wouldn’t make the 9hrs. She was tiny and in a pretty cool Betty Designs tri suit. I couldn’t help but think how cool it was that she was so chilled even though she was close to her cut-off.
When I eventually made it back in to T2 I had a pounding headache and was in the most pain I have ever been in during a race. How the hell was I going to run a marathon? Somehow – despite walking out – I had a pretty damn fast transition. Clearly just wanting to get this over and done with. I asked the medic for a painkiller but she told me she wasn’t allowed to give me any (WTF?!?) so my plan was to try and get one from Joe on the run at some point. Needless to say he didn’t have any. Or I didn’t ask. I can’t remember.
The Run
I love running. I love the fresh air, the opportunity to see new things you wouldn’t see if you weren’t out there, just the overall general feeling. Having walked out of T2 (and receiving pelters from my support crew for this) I forced my legs to move faster and run. I decided I needed to suck it up and deal with the pain so I took the water from the aid station. It was too hot not to at this point and I also wasn’t carrying my own fluids for the run so needed something to help wash down my sodium tablets. Any aspirations of a PB at this race were long gone but I had a Little Mermaid statue to go and run past. After the turn back I saw my support crew again who were a little more supportive now I was actually running.
At the next aid station I decided to try the gatorade in the hope that it would be better on the stomach. Risky I know as I have never had the stuff and the golden rule is nothing new on race day but there comes a time you’ll do anything to try and prevent a bathroom accident in front of thousands of people.
Gatorade is disgusting.
What do they put in that stuff?? It was vile. Like drinking diluting juice that hasn’t been diluted. I could feel the acid dribble all the way down the inside of my body. But… it didn’t seem to add to the cramping and pain. So new plan – dilute the gatorade with the water.
Next time I see Joe and the kids I’m back in the city centre. I have somehow missed the Little Mermaid on my first lap but there’s more laps to come so need to panic. I’m now running behind 2 ladies who are chatting away about training. One asks the other how they manage with children and a job. ‘Oh I have a nanny, I have to. And my husband works. You can’t do this and work all the time, not with children as well.’ I would like to point out that she also looks like she is about to start a very easy 5k run. Her hair is perfect, she’s wearing make up (?!?!?) and I’m pretty sure there’s not a drop of perspiration on her.
I on the other hand look like I’ve been dragged behind a car for 112 miles, dipped in the local reservoir several times thanks to the cups of water I’ve been throwing over me and could undoubtedly give Wurzel Gummage a run for his money (well, a walk at this point). Fair play to you love. Fair play.
Heading towards the fountain we need to run up (it’s a 5meter long incline at most but at this point it’s base camp at Everest) and my race changes.
I hear the heavenly, throaty tones of one my favourite ever songs being blasted out at a cheer spot…
‘Everybody….rock your body….. Everybody….. Backstreets Back Alright!’
Never has anything cheered me up so much as that song at that moment. Obviously I break into the dance moves – would be incredibly rude not to. And I can’t control what my body does. (Thankfully I can still control my bladder though at this point). A guy comes past me and says ‘nice dance moves by the way’. ‘Aw thanks, they are the actual dance moves as well by the way’ I reply with the biggest grin on my face. He laughs. I don’t care. I am in heaven for these few short seconds I am running along and that song has now made my race for me.
Unfortunately, as does happen on an endurance race, especially when it’s not gone to plan, my mood dips quite badly. I’m deep in the fight to the finish stage. It’s dark. I have blisters thanks to the puddles of water from hoses we have been drinking out of. (Oh, did I not mention? They ran out of cups so the volunteers were doing all they could to give us water. This was fantastic, but it also undoubtedly contributed to many, many people suffering with illness.) I see Joe and the kids again and this time I have to stop and sit down. It’s not looking good. I’m not crying, I’m not quitting, but I’m not in a good way. I’m starting the last lap so I begin telling myself I will never have to run here again and start erasing it from my mind as I go. I see the American girl in the Betty Designs tri suit and try to use her to keep going by keeping her in my sights. I’ve not once seen the bloody Little Mermaid but I did get a lovely wave from a woman draped in jewels on the gigantic cruise ship we have been running past.
I see Joe and the kids again and he tells me what I have been waiting to hear for the last few hours – he is heading up to the finish and will get me there.
I’m coming round one of the last corners and the American girl is there. She’s stopped to give her family a cuddle before going across the line (how has she been so chill this entire race??) and her kids are chanting ‘Kona, Kona’. Possibly the cutest thing I have seen all day.
The very last corner and the lights are so bright I can’t see a thing. But I can hear it. I finally hear what I came here for.
‘Ella Webley, You Are An Ironman’.
Somehow I manage a little dance once I get my medal. Clearly didn’t leave it all out on the course then! (That’s a lie. I can assure you I did. 2 stops at the portaloos can confirm that).
So yeah. Ironman Copenhagen completed. A proper fight to the finish too. DNF was never an option in my mind but knowing now that I can keep going like that makes me feel quite good. Lots of lessons, as per usual, but some good as well as some never to repeat. I’ve been slow in writing this up because I am always conscious that people are reading it and criticizing me because I’m a coach and I make mistakes in my own training and racing. BUT. I’m human. I’m not claiming to be the best coach there is or to know everything. I’m honest. And I’m honestly a back of the packer when it comes to triathlon and I’m happy to be there.
I also had the chance of a roll down slot to Kona after Copenhagen. KONA!!!!! Actual Kona!!
But the family has asked no more full distance in the near future – they want me to leave it at least a year. And Kona, for now, isn’t my dream. It’s not the right time. I will be watching, of course, and I really hope to see the American girl there!
Ok technically I’m pretty much 3 weeks in to my training plan for the big one this year but much like a Boris Johnson speech it’s not exactly going smoothly and contains a fair few trips and spills.
Week 1 coincided with my first negative test for covid after picking up the virus and since it had decided I was the chosen one in the Webley family I wasn’t exactly the picture of a healthy athlete donning small patches of Lycra that barely cover my defining gender whilst my muscles stand glistening in all their glory.
Nope. Think more hunched over feeling sorry for myself, eyes half closed wearing a baggy jumper that’s 4 sizes too big whilst being unable to speak a sentence without having a coughing fit.
And the award for the sexiest woman in the world goes too….
So running didn’t happen. Not for the first week anyway. My first run outside saw my heart rate reaching numbers I have only ever dreamt of. Confirmation that it does occasionally beat though so that’s a positive! But my word did that feel weird. Think I will stick with the close to dead, frighten every nurse and doctor who decides to do an ECG on me non rhythm heart beat I usually have. Much more fun.
Cycling has a limit. And of course I’ve tested that limit but perhaps a little too much. I was left with absolutely no doubt where the death zone was last week when the coughing turned in to wheezing then very quickly turned in to ‘holy shit I actually can’t get any breath in’. Luckily I’m amazingly fantastic at not panicking – (other wise known as always having my phone to hand in case my kids need me…wait…is that panicking?) – and my brain went straight in to solution mode. If I had to I could phone the other half and if it got seriously bad I could go next door and undoubtedly give them the fright of their life but hopefully save mine.
See. No panicking.
Obviously I was fine, but it was a bit of a warning. And I’m not sure I would get over the embarrassment of collapsing at Gill and Grahams door whilst wearing what looks like an adult diaper and just a sports bra covered in sweat. So I will be heeding that warning.
Pretty accurate depiction of me
Swimming is where it’s at. That’s the big one right now. My first swim the lifeguard genuinely thought I was drowning by the utter noise I was making and gave me a stern talking to. ‘Ella, I am not jumping in! I will poke you with the pole and you can grab it but I’m not getting wet’. I think one of the other swimmers also complained they couldn’t hear the music over my breathing.
But I didn’t drown! I also didn’t die and nor was I capable of more than a few lengths at a time but let’s stay positive. Since then it’s come back fairly quickly. The best part about my swimming is I am very good at controlling my breathing. In fact, I probably focus too much on it and not enough on actually swimming. My form isn’t great. As pointed out by said lifeguard who refuses to save me. (She’s lovely really, honest.)
So cue the other half who came with me this week – week 3 – to watch and preceded to take notes.
And more notes, and more notes and even more notes.
Right ok Mr Webley – I’m the coach not you.
It all helps though. As I always say, I can help anyone swim but I can’t see myself swim so how can I help myself? A coach needs coaching too sometimes. (All applications welcome by the way).
Since swimming seems to be going ok I’m going to focus on that right now. The running will be fine and it will come back when it’s ready. It’s what I do, it’s what I enjoy. The cycling clearly has limits at the moment so it’s a case of gently gently easing it up. As for the swim, the plan is quite simple. Get the endurance in, do a mix of short sessions (hello lunch swim) and long sessions and make sure technique and speed make more than a fleeting visit.
So basically for the next few weeks I will constantly be smelling of chlorine and my hair will never be dry but always tied up and no doubt hidden under a hat.
The biggest challenge in doing this though? Will the element that is water finally win our legendary battle or will it be this small fry in Lycra?
Not exactly known for ‘always being on trend’ the Webley family have eluded the latest must have virus for almost 2 years.
But not anymore.
We have been brought right up to date and in true Webley style we have done it as a family. First it was Lucie. She was tired mostly – although some of that can most definitely be put down to being a teenager – and had a bit of a sore chest but she was ok. I was at about a 7 on the panic station monitor. What if Joe caught it? What could happen to him? You can’t make him do anything but I had made him get the booster on Christmas Eve (such romance). He seemed fine though.
Then Oliver started coughing. After one day at school and a good 5 days after a negative PCR. Up his nose that cotton bud went and sure enough, positive. Moving on to a solid 8 on that monitor now Joe took extra precautions to distance. You couldn’t tell Oliver had it though other than a very occasional cough and sometimes slightly tired.
4 days later and my test was positive. Constant coughing, difficulty breathing sometimes, temperature up and down and sleeping all the time. Joe was now camped out in the sun room and out the house as much as he could be. It got him though. Just a few days later.
And he was fine. Absolutely bloody fine.
Not even a cough.
Now obviously I am happy that he has not ended up on a ventilator in the hospital (I’m still not sure researching all the medications he is on has done me any good – I 100% look 40 after reading all that) but on the very rare occasion I am ill he’s not exactly known for his empathy. This has been slightly different though give him his due. Just slightly.
So where does that leave training? I’ve swam once this year so far. Once. I am concerned about this. I will need to assess what is going on when I get out of isolation and in to a pool. It’s a worry. Especially with the effect this virus has had on my breathing. But I will have to wait and see on that front. (Maybe the element that is water will finally get me…..we all know it’s going to happen)
My training program officially starts on Monday. The same day I officially get out of isolation. No early exit for me as I am still testing positive. (Joe has tested negative on the lateral flows all week). My plan is to try a very gentle run but I get the distinct impression it’s going to include lots of walk breaks. And I don’t know if Monday is going to be the day for that. The bike will be similar – no intense workouts until I know my body can handle it.
I say all this but am I going to listen to myself or am I going to go at it hell for leather because I’ve just ‘lost’ almost 2 weeks of training…..
Well doing my latest triathlon qualification is almost keeping my head on right. Almost.
What probably hasn’t helped though is researching my race. After discovering the whole ‘jellyfish’ situation (genuinely just had a shiver down my back as I typed that) I decided reading the athlete manual would be a great idea. 8 months before the race. Naturally I went straight to the cut off times.
And threw up.
2hrs 20 to get in and out the swim and on to the bike. Pretty standard. 7hrs 10 to get through 112 miles on the bike, changed and out on the run.
7hrs 10
Takes me that long to bloody unclip sometimes!
Good thing I have a new bike. Wonder if it is electric…..
And then 6hrs 15 for the marathon. On a very beautiful route from what I can tell that goes past many amazing statues and things to stop and look at. (Note to self: Must NOT stop and look. Keep moving.)
I stopped reading at that point. The only negativity I need right now is that which relates to a lateral flow test.
Now is not the time to obsess about it though. It’s been a very rough start for our whole family this year and we need to get a bit of normality back. Priority at this time is not whether or not I will get a PB at this race. Don’t get me wrong those tantrums will come, they will just come a lot later than normal.
I wasn’t going to do the whole ‘reflection on the last year’ post this year because at first I didn’t really feel there was much to reflect on. There wasn’t exactly many races and lockdown and restrictions were present throughout. But even though there were very few new medals to add to my collection I still have lots of photo’s and those photo’s gave me a jolt to say ‘actually Ella, you did achieve some things last year and you learnt a heck of a lot more as well’. So a reflection post this is – as a sharp reminder it’s not all about shiny bling and new race t-shirts.
What happened – or didn’t happen – then in 2021?
The year started with another lockdown. We had moved just before Christmas in to our temporary bungalow expecting to only be there 3 or 4 months. (And what a life experience that bungalow was!) However a new place to live means new regular training routes albeit we were still in the same city. January though also brought with it another collapsing episode and unfortunately a pretty bad one so the purchase of a treadmill was completed at my fathers insistence. ‘At least you can collapse in a safe place then’ I believe were his words….
Training had started for the ‘big one’ though so long rides were on the agenda as well as longer runs. Discovering my friend Carole really doesn’t like squelchy mud was a definite highlight of the early months. She was sooo angry and all I could do was laugh (until I tried to run through a freezing river and couldn’t move because my ankles were in so much pain). That was a great day of running!
Then the first heat wave hit. Fantastic for long cycles and some swimming but not great for running. My bike needed work though so I took every opportunity to get outside and go. More often than not it was just me cycling along singing away and then stopping to have a conversation with myself trying to figure out where I was. Maybe learning geography should be my next goal?
Swimming was slowly coming along too. It was a 20 minute drive to the nearest pool but the people there were fantastic. The lifeguards kept great control of the lanes so everyone got the swim they wanted. I met a really lovely man who also did triathlons and it was nice to be able to have the odd chat whilst training. My pace was nothing to report home about but the distance was creeping up and that’s what I needed.
Middle of the year and I hit my first 100 miler on the bike – a huge milestone. It’s easy to forget now how hard that was coming from being so scared on the bike and having the pain of my QL muscle when I first started riding. Just a couple of weeks before this I had met up with Beth with the aim of cycling about 80 miles. I don’t think I even got to 40 before I had to call it a day and limp home, tail between my legs because my back just said no. That was a hard fail to take. Not only had I not achieved what I set out to do but I had wasted her day of training too. 2 weeks later I was back out and this time Jennifer joined me for 40 miles then it was a solo ride for the last 60. I made it this time. (and the next, and the next.)
With the better weather came the outdoor swimming. Joe came with me for this as my safety cover. Many hours he spent saving bees on that Loch and watching the dragonflies whilst I was swimming in the same spot, unable to get out of the current. (Yes there IS a current in Loch Clunie! ha ha).
Unfortunately the middle of the year was also when I got the call to say Carole had come off her bike and was in Intensive Care. It was bad. You know it can happen and it can happen to anyone but you don’t ever expect it. We grouped together to raise money to help her and her family and did a night cycle round 2 lochs. Shona was originally cycling with us but developed an injury. We are a team though so she provided car support (and painkillers at a much needed time – lessons in dehydration were made that night). I also discovered just how petrified of bats I am but also how much I love speeding down hill on a bike when the roads are clear. Carole thankfully is on the road to recovery now.
There will be no forgetting Ivan’s ride of the many miles. I don’t think I have ever sworn or grumped so much before in my life. He knew the race course and knew the hills so planned a route to make sure it suited. My back played up. I had to stop way too often. I was slow. By the end of it he looked like he had been out for a casual few miles with a toddler on their first bike. I looked like I had had the worst paper round in history and still had a 3 mile run to do!
We moved house. A few weeks later it was race day.
My main goal of 2021, other than not to die obviously, was to do an Ironman before I hit 40. That gave me 363 days of 2021 to achieve that seeing as my birthday is at the butt end of the year. I won’t beat about the bush, I did technically hit that goal. Thanks to the friends and family that helped me along the way. The race I chose however, was not an Ironman branded one but it was the same distance and it was an official race. I made my decisions on what race to do based on what I thought were the right factors but as we now know I was in fact too much of a wimp to go for my actual goal. Or too stupid to realise what my true goal was.
After Outlaw came Starman and Aberfeldy. I ran the half marathon of Starman again this year for Carole. She was up and on her feet and also out running but that would have been too much. It just naturally felt the right thing to do. Shona swam and Jennifer did the bike section. The biggest thing though was that Jo did the whole thing. Her first 70.3. No easy feat let me tell you!
I was too late to enter to Aberfeldy Middle Distance (yet again not confident in myself) so I went for the 3k swim. The day after I headed back up to Aberfeldy to support a number of people in the race and even exchanged words with Fraser Cartmell. He may not be known to everyone but I really liked him on GTN. He also confirmed that our group – The Performance Edge Coaches – were indeed the loudest supports on the course. Yes. We. Are.
The remainder of the year was spent moping about until Joe had had enoough and I eventually signed up for a branded Ironman. Am I a brand junky? Yeah I guess I am. Would I do another long distance that wasn’t Ironman branded? Absolutely. But I know what I want for 2022 and that’s what I am going for.
What else happened in 2021? I did a couple of more races, ran a virtual marathon around where we live now and I turned 40. We had plans to go away for it but thanks to that virus they got cancelled. We had a great time in Glasgow though. I’m still shocked at the twist I never saw coming in Spiderman and my daughter nearly killed me dragging me round the shops. I also had a couple of relaxing nights in Edinburgh with my mum. The best thing though was my friends from the tri-club coming round and surprising me. I had no idea. Still a little embarrassed about how much I went on about a bracelet I had received for my birthday only to find out later they already knew as they had bought me something to add to it!
So on reflection I achieved my goals, but I need to have bigger goals. I need to get out my comfort zone and stop being so chicken (god that’s so cheesy!!). I have a really great circle of friends who I would like to think I have helped as much as they have helped me. The year wasn’t ‘bust’ just because there weren’t many races. But it was a great learning year.
I will never be a ‘swimmer’, and I’m ok with that. Just like I’m ok with never being able to reach the top shelf (or in many cases the middle shelf and sometimes even just the shelf). I’m also ok with never being the one who is always early – although I’m pretty sure my sons teacher is going for the age group win in that category the number of times she lets his class in before 9am..
What I am not ok with though, is jellyfish.
Nope, nuh uh, I am out.
My own imagination which just loves to get on that rollercoaster ride of ‘what’s lurking under the water today’ is enough for me to contend with without seeing posts like THIS 8 months before your race.
I just can’t. Honestly, just, can’t. I don’t think I’ve slept once since seeing this! Why do people post this kind of thing??? To me it looks like a giant placenta and that then makes me think I’m swimming around in someone’s ‘inside juices’ and now I’m throwing up. And I’m swimming in that as well. Placenta, inside juices and puke.
Nope.
Thankfully my local pool has none of those things. At least they don’t to the best of my knowledge. They do however have really quiet swim sessions which has meant so far I have had a lane to myself every time. Heaven! And I think, fingers crossed, I’ve now been accepted by the regulars. The ladies in the changing room have certainly been happy to have a chat afterwards which is always nice.
It’s 2 weeks before Christmas though and this is my husbands busy period as well as all the Christmas festivities and traditions so in all honesty, this is a quiet period for me for training. I’m only swimming twice a week, three if I am lucky. Child care is extremely limited and since he’s point blank refused to put the pool up in the garden, it’s swimming that causes the biggest issue there. I’ve tried the tears and tantrums but he just looks at me like I look at jellyfish and he turns in to Alan Sugar in the firing room – pointing his finger at me and telling me to go do one.
I can usually fit in a good turbo session 3 or 4 times a week though, even if it does mean wearing a jumper and my overshoes to keep warm despite being in the garage. It’s so cold even without technically being outside. Makes me wonder though, can jellyfish survive in the cold? Man I’m getting the shivers just thinking about that.
And running tends to be mostly on the treadmill. I have my eye on a few trails around here though so my gear is the boot of the car ready for that spare free 45mins that will one day come so I can do the now accustomed strip in the back seat and head out for some exploring/getting lost/panicking I won’t be on time for the kids/having a meltdown run. But oh will it be worth it! There ain’t no jellyfish in the woods!
So will these squidgy, squelching, soggy, sucking killing machines still be around in 8 months time? I really don’t know, I really don’t know if I want to find out. Google is doing nothing to alleviate the many, many possible deathly scenarios going around my head right now. Maybe if I could just sleep I could at least try and forget about it – for a minute or two.
To say the last 9 months have been difficult would be like saying covid is no worse than the common cold. But is there ever an easy time of life to train for your first iron distance triathlon?
Probably not when you move house twice in that time and change jobs, but hey, life giving you lemons and all that.
I’ve decidedly been quiet on here for many reasons but now it’s time to settle in, put your feet up, and laugh at the stupidity of an almost 40 year old grandmother who thought she could take on The Big One. (Yes you read that right, I am a grandmother now).
Pre-Race
A few months ago my lovely parents sat in the living room of our rental bungalow and proclaimed they had no idea I was doing a full distance triathlon. ‘You’ve never mentioned it!’ They both exclaimed. ‘Not once!’. I duly checked them both in to the local hospital for a full MOT and we are awaiting the results but in the mean time they booked a hotel and said they were coming down to support. Awesome. That meant we didn’t need to hire a big car to take the kids down with us and Joe could leave the kids with them to get me to the 6am start.
Then they got nervous about the whole pandemic and were not so sure. And with my dad being more Scottish than Rab C Nesbitt he isn’t that keen on England anyway (despite my mum being English) so plans were changed. It was now just Joe and myself going down. Not a problem. I had really wanted to cross the line with my daughter but restrictions weren’t allowing that anyway.
And then 2 weeks before race day we almost lost our big dog. £1000 and an emergency operation later and she’s in better health than me now. Isn’t life fun!
We take a leisurely drive down on the Friday in the basking heat, car absolutely crammed full of anything I could possibly need but mostly things not required. The journey is also frantically spent trying to get a funding application for new bikes for work in but I guess that was a good distraction. After checking in to the hotel we pop along to the swim start which was built as a rowing lake.
It’s frigging huge!! I can’t even see the end! I’m to do one loop of this ocean sized pool of water. I’m going to be an actual tadpole in there! Joe naturally loves the look of it. I’ve never seen him so excited. As I question if this could be a reason for divorce I quickly turn on my heal and head back to the car. I don’t need to keep staring at it.
Saturday and we head to registration where I am to rack my bike and pick up my transition bags. Our hotel is about 20/25 minutes away so I decide to take all my stuff for the bags with me and rack them too. That way if I’ve forgotten anything I can bring it on race morning. It’s also practise swim day and I know I need to do it to get rid of the nerves. This has never gone well for me in the past. Edinburgh 70.3 I chose not to do the practise swim because I didn’t want to get my wet suit wet (could I be any more girl?!) and Weymouth 70.3 I couldn’t even get past my waist in the sea without almost being killed by the waves. I will say it again – the element that is water hates me. I’ve brought my old wet suit this time though and as Joe is trying to knead all my squishy bits into this tube of neoprene a woman goes past commenting ‘that’s like me trying to get in one of those things’. It’s not pretty. I’m back to not divorcing him because let’s be honest, who else is going to take this mess of a human on?
As soon as I’m squeezed in to the contraption he buggers off to the car. What the f…! What if I die?? What if I need pulled out? Actually, what if I need pushed in?? I walk along the pontoon of death trying to breath and making a mental list of divorce solicitors in my head. I look up at where I am about to go. I still can’t see the end of the lake but I can see the tower quite clearly I am to aim for. Wait a minute. It shouldn’t be that clear.
‘Joe!! You’ve got my goggles!!!’
Could you imagine if I had gotten in that water with no goggles..
I disgracefully slide in off the pontoon – goggles in place – and do a few breast strokes before getting stuck in. It’s warm. It smells a little but it’s ok. Round the little loop I go and only have one moment of ‘you’re about to meet your death Ella’ before I am climbing out. That was easy! My confidence level soars as I get changed at the side and I start to get cocky. Everyone’s commenting on the chop and the wind but I didn’t find it choppy in the slightest. And as for the wind? Well, it was no hurricane let’s put it that way.
I don’t even get back to the car before the confidence and brazen attitude depletes though. Still, it was nice while it lasted. Bike gets racked, bags go in and we head off for a drive round some of the course before an early night.
Race Day
Surprisingly I actually get some sleep on Saturday night. I eat my breakfast, get dressed, refuse to look in the mirror as I don’t want to see Casper’s granny staring back at me and we take the drive to the start. We get very lucky with parking as they open a new car park as we get there. I head in to check my bike with the plan being Joe is going to meet me by the fence with the track pump. I stand waiting, pretending to check things. I know the basics of bikes, in fact, I know more than the basics, but when it’s my own bike I turn into a complete idiot. I pump the front tyre back up to 100 but I can’t get the back tyre up. After a few minutes it’s quite clear Joe isn’t allowed to the fence. I need to suck it up. I approach a man nearby. ‘Excuse me, can I ask you a very girly question and get you to check my back tyre – I can’t get it pumped up.’ I feel like an absolute tool but the alternative is worse. Ride on a flat back? Nope. ‘Course I can love’. Bike sorted I head back to Joe.
Pigtails at my age – honestly…
Somehow the next 45 minutes pass in only 45 seconds and it’s time to head to the swim start. It’s at this point, for some unknown reason, I suddenly realise I won’t be wearing any underwear all day. I’ve got a sports bra on obviously but a pair of knickers will at no point be pulled up over my knees until tomorrow. This makes me chuckle a little as I walk up the pontoon.
‘Someone’s not nervous’ the lady next to me says. I’m about to tell her what’s just crossed my mind but quickly decide against it. ‘Absolutely bricking it’ I say, and she replies with a small smile before we both slide in and get to work.
I head slightly left before taking what I hope is a straight enough line so as not to add any distance on. Being knee height to a grass hopper doesn’t make for a great swimmers body so I need to play tactics here. This is by far the easiest conditions I’ve ever swam in but I’m bracing myself for impact as it’s surely going to come. I keep checking behind me and as soon as I see an arm I move over to allow them to pass without going over the top of me. A group goes past and I get a mouthful of water – it’s bloody disgusting! I don’t have nose plugs in either and the smell isn’t exactly roses. This may be easy weather conditions but it’s no Scottish Loch.
I’m about half way up the first long straight and have settled in to a rhythm. I just need to keep it together and keep going. I spot one of the kayaks to my right and check it again as I breath. All of a sudden it takes off at speed in front of me and it’s gone. Someone must be getting pulled from the water. Fingers crossed they’re alright.
Round the turning buoys and it’s on to the home straight. I start singing to myself ‘just keep swimming’ and picturing Dory and Nemo but then Shark Tale comes in to my head and the image of the grinning shark and I practically drown on the spot. I need to change my focus! Quick, think of something else! How about the no underwear situation? I laugh a little and get a lung full of water. Yup, I’m going to die.
I manage to empty my head and I’m just wondering how much further it is when I get an almighty whack to my left eye and I genuinely think I’ve been knocked out for a minute. I look to my left and there is this whale of a man in a red hat just going past me. He had kicked me bang in the eye and now my goggle was stuck in my socket! I take a few more strokes but it’s very clear I’m now stuck between trying to swim with one eye or stopping and trying to pull it out and risking leaking goggles for the remainder of the swim.
My body takes over and I stop and pull it out. It’s frigging sore and the loud suction noise it makes has me wondering if it has taken my eye ball with it. Goggles back on and I start off again. There’s a small leak but I can battle on with that. I eventually see the exit chute and the relief of finally being able to take my goggles off for good is one of utmost euphoria. Nothing has ever felt so good.
Everyone is walking through the half mile transition which is a bit irritating if I’m honest because it’s a long way and there’s still a lot of work to do. I locate my bag and start stripping, repeating the steps in my head. Forcing down my nutrition I then head out on the bike. I see Joe just as I get going and I’ve a smile on my face because I’ve made the first cut off.
Happy to be rid of those goggles!
I’m barely a few miles up the road when I start seeing people at the side with what looks like punctures. The fear descends like the blackest of clouds in a thunderstorm. I know how to change a tyre – I work with bikes for crying out loud – but I can’t risk wasted time. I’ve got 8hrs to do 112 miles. My legs are chunky fat not chunky muscle. Like it or not I’ve got cankles and no amount of exercise has (or is) going to change that fact.
I make a start on the first southern loop and concentrate on making sure I get my fluids down me. It’s a hot day and it’s only going to get hotter. I keep trying to eat my jellybeans too but honestly, whoever came up with the green one needs shot because it’s the most vile thing ever. Next time I need to remember to remove them.
I see a fair few pelotons go by and I’m acutely aware of how often someone decides to draft me. I try my best to ignore it because we are on open roads and I’m experiencing some of the unique driving skills you often see on Jeremy Vines Twitter page. At one stage I have a car deliberately try and push me off the road and then go past blaring the horn at me. He got that close his wing mirror was infront of my handlebar. ALL my effort went in to not reacting to the absolute prick for fear of compromising my race.
The second loop contains the hill that everyone talks about, roughly 50 miles in. One steep hill Ella, you can do this. It takes a gradual slope towards it and then it kicks in. Ok. Let’s do this. Gears changed I’m up out my saddle and pedalling away, waiting for the inevitable part where you wobble and struggle to get the pedal round. I go past a few people and hear ‘how the f@ck are you doing that!’.
‘I live in the highlands – nowhere’s flat’ I shout back with a little grin on my face. Naturally he goes past me once he’s recovered but I would be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling just a little smug on that section.
Back on to the south loop and I’m feeling good. Mostly because my back has held up surprisingly well. It is in reality a very flat course which in turn has its downside of you’re always pedalling but the lack of climbing seemed to be helping the old QL muscle. I get a couple of comments on my Tri suit too which is nice. Bought in a panic from Stomp The Pedal and with the tiniest of pads I was worried I wouldn’t be cushioned enough but, unlike the guy in front who was clearly having undercarriage issues, I was fine.
The last section back to transition will forever stay with me as the most ridiculous place anyone has ever made me ride my bike. The surface up until then was, in my opinion, amazing. Especially compared to what I’m used to. Many have complained about it but I honestly found it nice and smooth. That last bit though? Every curse word in the dictionary came out my mouth at that point! ‘What the actual f@ck is this bit all about? Who actually thought bringing bikes along here was a good idea?? What an absolutely f@cking prickish twat puts THIS in a god damn road race you f@cking fool!’
I didn’t like it. And it hurt.
On to the run.
I was out of fluids and had expected there to be some in transition if I’m honest. There was water for you coming out the swim (probably to dilute the sewage taste) but unfortunately none off the bike and I struggled really bad to get to the first aid station. As soon as I got some down me I perked up a little thankfully. I had to force down the high5 electrolyte along with a cup full of water and then another cup thrown on my head to cool down.
I knew there was a bridge we were to cross over and I was excited! It may not have been a viaduct or a lighthouse or a Munro summit at dawn but it was something to aim for and have a chuckle about other than the no pants situation.
Up on to the bridge I went and just as I was admiring the padlocks I felt it move. It was a suspension bridge. My head went and I was dizzy instantly. Sh!t. This was bad news. If I took a dizzy spell now it was game over. The bridge wasn’t long but there were quite a few people on it. Get to the end, get to the end, get to the end. As soon as I stepped off I was fine again. But I had to go over the bridge 3 more times. What was I going to do? I briefly considered asking if I could swim across instead but realised it would probably be a no. Fine. If I had to then I would crawl. But I was finishing this run.
8 miles in and my right calf decided it had had enough. It had been twinging a few times over the last couple of weeks and Joe had given it a good massage the night before but it wasn’t playing ball. I had expected it wasn’t going to last for 26 miles so had packed my calf guards as a back up. Of course I should have just put them on in transition but I had left them with Joe. Don’t ask. He appeared along the tow path with an array of gifts. ‘Right, what do you need, I’ve got jellybeans, chocolate, trek bars you name it!’
‘I need my calf guards – this is too painful’.
He looked at me. Blank expression.
‘I’ve not got them’.
Ding ding ding ding ding – that right there became the no 1 reason for divorce.
‘I will go get them and meet you back here’.
Our marriage was back on track.
Round the lake I went which I swear had grown longer since the morning and I was back on the tow path but I couldn’t see Joe. He will catch up, it’s not like I’m going at pace. I was by now having to have a few seconds walk every now and again. But I was still moving forward.
Back on to the suspension bridge and fully prepared to drop to my knees and crawl if need be I was wondering where he was. Surely I hadn’t missed him? And then as I came back off the bridge for the thankfully last time there he was. Out of breath.
‘I’m so unfit, I’ve only ran about a mile!’
Now. I know there is a rule of no outside assistance. But there is also a rule of no drafting, no mobile phones, there are time cut offs etc. I am NOT at the pointy edge of the field. I am a threat to no one. So yes, I took my calf guards. (Did you know Outlaw let an athlete use a spectators bike after they crashed? Wouldn’t get that at a certain other race). However having said that, when I sat down and put the calf guards on a Marshall came over to see if I was alright and I honestly crapped myself thinking he was going to tell me I was now DQ’d. I kept repeating ‘I’m sorry, is this ok? I’m just in a lot of pain and this will help.’
As I took my shoes off I was also deeply aware of how bad it was going to be when they went back on. I thanked the running gods I had remembered my blister plasters as I was most definitely going to be needing them at the end. And, true to form, as soon as I started running I could feel it. My socks and feet had been displaced back in the trainers and the burn started. Ah well.
Joe trying to tell me this was the ‘easy’ part.
Back along the tow path. Back along the white water area. Past a fair few people throwing up. Past the poor guy who hadn’t listened to the stern advice of ‘don’t trust a fart in an ironman’. And now on to the lake.
I fell in step with a group of 3 people on a walk break. ‘Welcome to the walkers!’ The lovely woman said. I laughed. ‘Is this your last lap?’
‘Nope I’ve one more to go’ I replied. ‘Oh god I’m so sorry. I hated it when someone said that to me earlier.’ It was fine. Happens on laps. Lovely woman though.
I see Joe at the far side as I am heading for what is nastily referred to as the glory lap. I am still smiling but only because I had received a message from the pro Nikki Bartlett in the days before the race telling me to remember and smile. I openly tell him I’m struggling. I even tell him I’m not sure I can do this which is an out and out lie but my calf is unbearably painful and I’m seriously worried one wrong step and I won’t even be able to walk to the finish.
My face when Joe reminds me I chose this…
He basically tells me to shut up and that if I get a move on I will beat the 15hrs challenge he gave me – meaning he was going to have run a marathon. Of my choice. This year.
I have no idea what the time is. Or how long I have been on the go. I calculate it up and with my Carol Vorderman brain conclude if I can do the last few miles in under 15min miles (I had hoped for 10 min miles in training ha ha ha) then I might just scuff the 15hrs.
And to think I was worried about not making it in 17.
Off I trundle, using the tried and tested technique of ‘run to the bench then walk’, or the life belt, or the bin, or the goose up there (wait, the bloody thing moved, keep going). it’s also still technically daylight. If I can just keep going I am not going to finish in the dark like I thought I would.
I spy the finish. It’s there. The orange carpet is there! I’m directed on to it. I am not walking this line so I pick it up and sprint as hard as I can to the finish. Done!
I’m going to be sick.
A couple of deep breaths and I grab the railing putting my head to my arms. Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up. I stagger over to the medal table and grab a much needed cup of water before heading up the ramp to my husband Joe, whom I am no longer divorcing but very grateful for all his support.
Check that swagger ha ha
The walk through transition to collect my belongings was possibly the most torture of the day. Being made to walk a mile – yes a mile! – after doing all that is a bit of a slap in the face. The only thing that made it better was speaking to the lady dressed as Wonder Woman who was out on the run. How I wish I had her confidence to wear that. It was in honour of her dad who had passed away and she looked awesome.
I’m very grateful to everyone that helped me along the way. Joe, obviously, and Lucie and Oliver for letting me have time to train. Those who have cycled with me but especially Ivan for the 100 miler. Tarsh from Stomp The Pedal for not only sorting me with an utterly amazing Tri suit after a very frantic message but for the advice she threw in as well. And my mum and dad.
How do I feel? Would I do it again? Well that’s for another post. One very, very disappointing part is not having a finisher photo. It’s honestly quite a devastating feeling. The reply from the photography company was simply ‘there is a time gap, our apologies’. I’m still waiting to hear back from Outlaw directly but what can they do? If no finish line photos were taken – on my first ever 140.6 – they can’t just conjure one up.
So I will leave it there for now. My goal of completing a full ironman distance before I turn 40 is completed. And I did do it under 15hrs – 14hrs 31 to be precise. So Mr Webley, it’s time to start your marathon training!
Tri.runner.ella 