Well it was deja vue, standing on the beach at 7am in the pissing rain. Exactly the same as last year.
My age group was absolutely stacked. It read like a Who’s Who of AWA athletes. Over 20 of us. Many of these girls I know to be really fast and specialise a bit more at the 70.3s so I was hoping it would come down to endurance. Speed is not really my best asset but I seem to have the endurance part down. A bit like a Duracell centipede. Not quite the bouncing bunny but I’ll get there on me legs eventually.
I took my position to the left side and waited for the klaxon. A wide ribbon was held across the front of us by volunteers also waiting for it. Then it was up and we were off charging into the sea. It was pretty dark and the swim course is an M shape so there are buoys and all over the place and people swimming in every direction. I was swimming well and catching the men from the wave in front of us. Then the wave before that as well. After the first half of the M, we have to get out of the water, run up and along the beach and hurl ourselves back in through the breakers for the second part of the M. At the exit point it was really crowded and a bit like swimming through a canal of floating whales. There’s a lot to be said for a rolling swim start, you don’t get held up as much. I exited with a 1:03 swim time. This is a new PB by 2 mins for me. Happy days, off to a good start.
There’s a really long run from the beach through a car park and across a road, along a blue carpet and then into transition. It was still pissing with rain. I made my way to my row of bike and run bags, stood infront of them and my mind went totally blank. I forgot my number. I looked at my wristband and I couldn’t see the numbers on it, they’re so small, then I remembered it was on my arm, ah yes 1721, I took my bag and then promptly ran into the mens changing room. I thought ‘oh bollox’ and sat down to get my cycling shoes out anyway. Then a man poked me in the arm and pointed to the exit so I got up and ran out the other side and just put my shoes and cycling helmet on outside the tent. I ran to my bike and was off.
The heavens absolutely chucked it down, it was really hard to see the road and the many pot holes were covered by water. I hit a couple and swore loudly praying not to get a impact puncture. I really couldn’t handle another puncture again.
And then very shortly , another PB. I play little games along the way to break up the monotony and one game is to see how soon I can spot hairy ass crack guy. There’s always at least one. I don’t know why men wear trisuits that are white. They should take note that when they’re wet (like after swimming in the sea in them and also when it’s pissing with rain, they are see through. So if you persist in wearing them, they ought to have a back, sack and crack wax. Or actually just the crack bit will do)
So there he was, hairy ass crack guy at not even 21 mins into the bike. Another record. The day is going well. It was quite hard to see my little bike computer with the rain, actually it was quite hard to see the road with the rain and for a while I thought I was at 87 miles and then 88 miles for quite a long time. I thought these last few miles seem to be going slowly now. Then I realised I was looking at the cadence. Okay I’m on 95 miles. That was one of the very few lovely moments on the bike amidst the torrential, persistent rain and wind. I saw a few guys go down on the wet roads and one went down right behind me coming into the last corner before transition. I thought that was quite unlucky. If his bike was damaged, it was close enough to do a Johnie Brownlee and just pop it on your shoulder and run in with it.
The people of this lovely little part of Brazil are amazing. The Ironman circus rolls into town and totally shuts it down for the day. Florianopolis is like an island only connected to the mainland by one bridge. It is surrounded by beaches all around and we cause gridlock on the only motorway running from one end to the other. Instead of shouting abuse at us or throwing things at us like they would do in England (cos of course everyone owns a part of the road in England), they get out of their cars in the long jams, clap enthusiastically, film us on phones and shout encouragement. It;s just so lovely and heart warming how they accept us. Even getting out of their cars in the pouring rain, this year and last year to cheer us on when they;re at a standstill for hours. The people of Henley and Weymouth could learn a thing or two from these fantastic people who welcome the athletes of all abilities and acknowledge the immense efforts that we make in their back yard on one day every year. At the last hill on the way back into town, at the top there were about 20 people holding rocks banging them on to the motorway metal barriers in a rythmic beat that you could hear for about half a mile beforehand. I actually though someone had music going. It was amazing and really helped me to get up the hill on tiring legs.
Bike time 5:16 (PB is Barcelona 5:07)
Into T2 and promptly back into the mens changing tent. Oh dear, what is it with me and why can;t I find the exit into the womens tent. I go straight through this time and outside again putting on my gutties. (or ‘trainers’ for English people)
Onto the run and it finally stopped raining. The legs felt alright and I was taking it steady. The big hills come 6km in and one is so steep I was doing what I call ‘the monkey walk’ up it. Big strides, pushing down on my thighs. Actually monkeys don’t walk like that so I don’t even know why I call it this, it looks pretty ridiculous but its actually quite effective. I reached the top of the hill, oh dear god there’s a photographer. There may well be some very dodgy pics. Ie the weirdest photo ever taken of an ‘athlete’ on the run course, looking like an extremely pissed spider.
At the end of the bike leg I had been overtaken by the girl who came third last year. I came 4th here last year. I had kept just behind her coming in on the bike but she had taken off on the run.
The run part is where you start to realise that this is a stupidly long and amazingly dumb distance of a race. You just have to keep running even thought you want to waIk but that would just prolong the agony. I truly believe the key is just keep running and never ever walk. I end up with coke all down my front as I just can;t seem to be able to get drink into my mouth when I’m running. Maybe this is something I should practice. My neighbours already think I’m a nut job.
Anyway, Its a three loop marathon. One big long loop of 21km with all the hills in it and two shorter flatter loops of 10km and 11.2km.
I had no idea what number position I was in. My friend was out here with me to give me information but the ironman athlete tracker which is notoriously crap anyway, in Florianopolis where absolutely nothing appears to work, was totally useless.
I had no idea I had closed the gap so much and I didn’t see the girl in front of me at the last turnaround point. Now I reckon that she hid behind some men so I wouldn’t see her as she was obviously on her last legs and she knew I was closing in.
When I finished the run in a time of 3:40 (my run PB is Florida 3:35) She was just on the finish line collapsed. She had finished about a minute ahead of me. There’s my vacant moment not remembering my number in transition and then my two forays into the mens tent. It goes to show that every second really does count. I believe this so much that for the last half of the marathon I really needed to go to the toilet but there was no way I was stopping. I thought one of two things are going to happen. Either I’m going to make it to the end and find a loo really quickly or I’m going to crap myself. I was quite prepared to accept this rather than venture into a portaloo on an ironman run course, loose about 3 mins getting my race belt off and trisuit down probably losing a place or two in th event standings. I couldn’t risk this. Thank god it was the former but by the time I finished funnily enough I didn’t need the loo for a while. I think I’d held it for so long.
Then I discovered I was fourth place again. I must admit I was disappointed and a little upset for a while. I walked back to the house that Ken was renting for us near the finish line in the pouring rain crying. I just thought to myself I don;t know how I can beat these girls. My time would have won my age group comfortably last year. It’s just so difficult every time you race and think you’re doing well only to discover actually it’s just not good enough again. Even a PB for me still doesn’t make the grade. But after some hours now I’m happy with my race and have gotten over the disappointment. I had a good race, I went the fastest overall time I’ve ever done in an ironman (10 hours 07 mins, beating Barcelona 10:14), I got a swim PB and set a new record for hairy ass crack man. And I got unlucky number 13 out of the way now.