Race day dawns. In the dark at 4.30am. I stagger out of my comfy bed realising it’s D Day. I love the mornings of race day. I think to myself, ‘the page is totally blank now and today the story will be written. I wonder how it will read tonight’.
The hotel puts on a fantastic breakfast for us. As usual everyone is walking about with strained faces, nerves written all over, trying to eat but the stomach doesn’t feel hungry. Everyone has their own story to write. I also wonder how they’ll do. So many people on their own journey, having overcome their own problems to make it to the start line.
After breakfast, I take my nutrition and water bottles and bike computer across the road to set my bike up. All good to go, I look at the long queues of athletes trying to get to the portaloos and I chuckle to myself as I wander back across the road to the safety of my lovely hotel room. I lie down on the bed and contemplate. Will the foot hold up? Will I be able to run?
After a while it’s time. Wetsuit on in the comfort of my own bathroom and I take swim hat and googles now down to the start.
The swim start has also changed. Last year it was big wave groups and the females were in with the 40+ males. This year it’s a rolling start but not in the normal sense with a constant trickle of athletes into the water. They release a small group of about 10 – 12 athletes every 10 seconds. This made the race very spread out in the water and drafting was impossible. In any case the large swell of the sea in SA makes it pretty hard to draft anyway. I soon realised I’d been way to cautious in my self seeding and I was behind lots of slower swimmers, but the spread enabled me to make progress through them. I exited the water in a dreadful time of 1:13. I never have a good swim here. The sea is always very lumpy.
But on to the bike and I’m in good spirits as at this point, I had no idea what my swim time was. I start my bike computer and just focus on keeping the legs going. The first part of the bike leg is always spent being passed by lots of uber fast bikers who can’t swim as well and at one point a motorcycle referee came alongside me and said I had to make an effort to sit up and stop peddling and drop back every time I was passed. I think this is nonsense because then I may as well stop, get off the bike and stand on the side of the road for 20 minutes to let all the fast guys go who can’t swim. I just nod very politely, apologise and continue thinking I’ll keep an eye out for him. The reality is these guys are so fast that in about 4 or 5 seconds they’re out of my drafting zone regardless even when I maintain my same speed. And i’ve got a Kona dream to chase.
The last 30kms of the bike, my right foot started to shout to me that it was there. It was very painful to cycle and now I’m getting really worried but I just keep going trying to push more with my left and carry the right one round.
I get back to transition in a bike time of 6.07. I had been thinking a while back I may get my sub 6 hour IM bike for the first time but I watched the clock tick on past it.
I’m pleased with my time but have no idea where I am in the race. I know I passed the girl who came 3rd last year but she passed me again and I was behind her now. I hadn’t seen anyone else from my age group.
I get off my bike and try and run through transition. Oh dear, it’s a hobble. The foot is so sore I can only limp into the change tent. Bike shorts off, run shoes on, stuff a couple of pain killers down and off I go thinking this is going to be a long walk/run affair.
But somehow as I run, the foot comes good and the pain goes away. I get a good rhythm and after half a lap, I spot my friend in the crowd. He shouts 9 at me which means i’m 9th. I think oh dear, I’ve got to keep a pace on. He yells out ‘theres a whole lot just in front’ so I run hard to catch. The IM run is the place where you realise just how long this stupid race really in and you start to wonder why you do it. But the crowd support is fantastic, people who don’t even know who you are or why you’re there in their town have come out to spend hours of their time giving us support. I see the guy who strapped my foot and leg before the race to give it support and he cheered me on every lap. It was amazing. This is why I love this town and it’s people and why this race will be firmly in my calendar every year. (The easy logistics are also a massive plus)
I’m aware I’m passing girls in my age group but I don;t know how many. On the last lap I saw my friend again and yelled ‘any numbers?’ He shouted ‘6 or 7’. I run on knowing it’s not good enough but still trying to take down as many as I can. I love the finish and for the first time I cry a little bit as I run down the beautiful red shoot. I think the knowledge that I came to race overcoming doubt and injury had a part to play in that.
After the race I see my friend and he tells me when he shouted ‘9’, that actually I was in 11th place but he thought I might give up hope if he told me the truth. This wouldn’t have happened but maybe I wouldn’t have run quite as fast as I did trying to catch them. So running from 11th place into 6th eventually, I was very happy with that.
I have come to realise that it’s my bike that lets me down. I need to work on this.
So I go to the awards ceremony and just like last year, the last place for Kona goes to the girl who came in 5th.
Arghhh! Missed it by one spot again. But I’m happy with my race, I know I pushed hard and did the best I could and you can’t do any more than that.
On to plan B now which is Kona gone for this year and try and qualify at IM Barcelona in October this year for Kona next year.
http://eu.ironman.com/triathlon/events/emea/ironman/south-africa/results.aspx?race=southafrica&rd=20160410&sex=F&agegroup=40-44#axzz49T00KMz6