The big day begins
So. It's 02:45. I get out of bed,
jump into my tri suit and calf guards, and head off to the bathroom
to stare at my bleary face and apply my tattoo. Hold on, is it left
arm or right? It's right. After a minute or so I have “1234”
going down my right arm. I pop on a T and some Ron Hill legs, grab
my car key, and white swim bag with wetsuit, bodyglide, and goggles,
and head off to breakfast. The only people eating at this time are,
of course, IM athletes, so I sit and chat to a nice guy called
Michael (all the way from Copenhagen) about the day to come and stick
a plate of porridge down my throat. He's got previous experience :
Challenge Copenhagen. That looks like a franchise to watch. Sitting
in the restaurant, looking out of the window into a still-very-dark
Bolton night, finishing the race seems a long way away. We wish
each other luck, and I go down to the car park, find my car and drive
the 15 minutes to the Reebock Stadium where the buses are lined up to
take us to the swim. I quickly fill my two bike bottles with water
(on top of the SIS powder already in the bottles), lock the car, and
head off in what feels like the dark of Mordor to join a short queue
of, to be honest, not very happy-looking people lining up to be
marshalled onto a blue double decker. Five minutes later and we're
off, mostly in silence, bumping our way thru the Lancashire night to
the Swim start.
Twenty minutes or so, later, we all
troop off the bus, and head off in completely the wrong direction.
Great start to the day. A shout from a marshall and we are then
walking along a wooded path to the swim start. Sound of generators,
shadows from arc lights start to appear, and then T1 becomes
familiar. A grey dawn gently drops down from the sky, and my first
stop is T1 to get my bottles on my bike, check that I can remember
where it is. Those nice people at IM have covered the bikes with
plastic sheets, and finding the bike's initially a challenge. The
bike is fine, and I walk back out to look out at the water, and
sample the atmosphere. I suddenly realise that my nervousness has
mostly disappeared. I sit down by the water on a bench and watch
people and their partners arrive, and go thru preparations. I am
just wondering when to start putting on my wetsuit when I see other
competitors doing just that, and also realise I am not completely
sure where the start is, so a marshall helps me out. I get my legs
into my suit, apply Body glide as liberally as I can, get swim hat
and goggles out of the bag, and give the bag in at the truck, which
will take it to the finish. It's 5:50, 30 mins to go ,and the
announcements and motivational music are starting. A line of white
hatted, wetsuited IM competitors starts to build up at the water
entry point : this is a mass start, in the water, and most people
don't want to be at the back. I find someone to help me zip up my
suit, and we chat about the day ahead. General laughs as a few spots
of light rain fall, cheers when it stops. Then we start to filter in
towards the start, professionals at the front, and a big cheer goes
up for the injured vets competing for Team True Spirit and their
companion athletes. At 5 to 6 we are mostly not in the water; I
idly wonder how we can get in in five minutes, and realise it will be
a late start. Getting in the line in the last 200 or so, we troop
under the start banner, and slide off a red carpetted platform into
about 4 feet of pleasant water (16 degrees). Under keen urging from
the marshalls, we swim out about 20 metres, about 30 metres behind
the official start where the professionals are churning it up in
their warm up. I do a few strokes get accustomed to the warm temp,
and stretch out arms, and then roll onto my back to look back at the
start; swimmers still sliding in and then suddenly everyone is off
the start platform. What seems only seconds later, the start is
sounded. I am not sure now if it was a klaxon, gun or both, but
suddenly we're off, and its 06:10. The washing machine starts off
ahead of me, but, as a weak swimmer, that's not my concern : I am
looking to get into a good rhythm, treat the swim as a chance to
relax into the event, and see if I can catch a draft.
The swim
Even at the back of the group, it's
pretty crazy, but I stay out of trouble, and my technique for the
first 750m to the first buoy stayed good. And – good news – at
that buoy I manage to catch a few tens of metres of draft from
another swimmer, and then another at the second turn around. By this
time we are turning back to the shore for lap one, and one mental
milestone passed, but my luck runs out when a breast-stroker
accidentally hoofs me in the ribs at a bad part of my stroke, causing
me to take in a lot of water – as it was swallow or choke, I went
for swallow. At this point I really have to focus, and look for
clear water, and concentrate on good technique. Fifteen minutes
later, I have recovered well, and am being helped out of the water at
the end of lap one, before trotting back along the 30 or so metres to
the start platform to begin lap two.
Lap two is a lonelier experience. All
the half-way decent swimmers are well out of my draftable range by
now, so I settle into a rhythm and start to think about how the day
is going so far. In fact I start to relax and swim more easily.
Rolling, I can see a bit of blue sky breaking through the grey, and
the turnaround buoy seems to come reasonably quickly. By the time I
am half-way back to the shore, fatigue is setting in a bit, and my
stroke is starting to break down a little, but I get out in
reasonable shape in what turned out to be the expectedly poor time of
1:42. Wetsuit down to waist, hat rolled off : next stop, T1.
Transition 1
Good marshalling gets me into the
transition tent in no time at all. I grab my blue bag and head over
to the seating area; I am actually reasonably pleased to see that
there were other bags uncollected – so I am not last. In the bag
I had placed a detailed list of things to do - I really didn't want
to head off without nutrition, or getting all the comfort factors
sorted out : I put on cycling shorts and my gilet over my tri suit,
load the gilet up with enery bars and other items to munch, and spend
a good 30 seconds drying my feet, and getting some comfy socks on
before my cycling shoes, and lastly slapping on some sun stuff, which
seemed an odd thing to do in the dark and glooming tent. Seems like
a long time (11 minutes so it was) but in the light of the whole day,
a bit of decent care and feeding in transition goes a long way. Then
I get my helmet and gloves on, stuf swimming stuff into the blue bag,
and shuffle out to the bike racking area. I find the Look pretty
easily(well, there aren't many bikes left by this stage). Rules
state no riding till the official mount zone so I trot out, swing a
leg over in the mount area, and head off out to the roads of
Lancashire.
The bike
By now it is about 7:50 on a lovely
bright morning and – joy of joys – closed roads. So straight
over roundabouts, left turns, through junctions, with the police
holding up traffic so we can keep going! Amazing, all the day long.
The first part of the ride is to get north-east, up to the start of
three hilly laps, each starting with the infamous Sheep House Lane
(SHL) climb. And the first 30 km or so turn out to be basically a
lovely spin up thru quiet roads, saying hi to other riders and
thankin people who had turned out to support (and there were
thousands, over the day, of those!) My bike plan was : 25 km per
hour, no red zoning, high cadence – just as I had trained. After
about an hour however, it becomes clear that the terrain will not be
letting me maintain that average speed without significantly more
effort – or “beans” as we call them – than I have trained
for. Worse still, I have some concern, with my “leisurely” swim
performance, that I won't make the cut off time at the pace I was
riding. So : nothing for it, but to burn. On the three hilly laps, I
go pretty hard, using my cyclometer to report average speed; on the
hilly start of each lap, my average speed drops, and I plan to use
the back part of the lap, with some lovely country/moorland
downhills, to make time back. But other factors affecting this were
the wind and sun; it's a hot and sunny day, and a headwind that makes
riding on the flat pretty draining. So the bike, lovely though it
was, becomes the most tiring part of the day. It is a beautiful
ride; SHL is an epic climb. The start is fantastically
supported, a series of curves covered by trees, lots of people
cheering, ringing bells, pots and pans; then it straightens, climbs
goes through a gate, and rears to the top of the moor at its
steepest, then bears left and goes AGAIN before a fine decent into a
village. First time up ; no problem, relatively easy spinning,
although I was in 34/25. Second time ; feeling it, but still under
control. Third and last time : a total grind, but I am determined
not to walk it like others were by this time. Pre-riding the course
is something I really should have done...but you can't be everywhere.
Bike time 7:42 – under the circumstances, a good effort, and I
roll into T2 at ten to four in the afternoon.
Transition 2
Sitting in T2, changing into my run
gear, I am feeling pretty good, considering. I know I have been on a
loooong ride, but my mood is perky, people around are in good spirits
(all VERY pleased to be off the bike...the last link up to T2 seemed
to take an age), and I know I was going to make it...at some time.
Once again, a ten minute transition : got to look after those feet,
so new socks, plenty of Vaseline in all those chafing “hotspots”,
some more sunblock, on with the shoes and hat, and off we go. The
main question in my mind was : how long will the run take?
On the run
Running out of T2, on the slight
downhill to the road into Bolton, my legs are definitely a bit shaky,
but a bit of support from the lovely local folk, and the thought that
the day was nearer the finish than the start really picks me up. My
run strategy was basically shot : I knew I'd been too into the red on
the bike to run anything close to 4:15, so I was settling for a
consistent performance, and let's see where we are after an hour.
The sun is still beating down, and I was starting to feel a raw patch
on my right shoulder where I had clearly missed with sunblock. I
like to run with others and in about a kilometer, I jog up alongside
a guy called Peter, who has a similar run pace and overall race
aspirations in mind – plus, he'd done the race last year so could
offer some good tips. We run and chat for an hour as we ran the
first 6 miles down to the start of the laps into and out of Bolton
city centre that constitute the marathon. I feel pretty good on this
six miles, but there's a feeling that a run/walk strategy was looming
is starting to emerge. We turn off the canal, up a steep track and
at last arrive (another mental milestone) on the laps section. So
just 3 of these laps, collecting a different coloured band each lap
as evidence (though there are timing mats for your leg-attached chip
all over the course), and then a final run back into Bolton. After
another hour, and by this time, we had worked out a walk the
feed-stations/run the gaps approach, we had our first band, and the
sun was starting to set, providing some relief and deeper shade. A
woman in a house along the road has a hosepipe turned on over the
runners which is really refreshing. I wasn't feeling too good as
this point : digestion problems mean that each time I have a drink
(was drinking flat coke/water in a 1:3 ratio), I have to walk for a
few minutes to keep it down. Peter is suffering too, in his case
with calves. As with the bike, hundreds of people are out and
supporting, and cheering friends and complete strangers with equal
vigour.
On we continue, through lap two and
then lap three at about 8 pm. I get a big buzz from seeing my wife
and son each time we pass through central Bolton, and my mood never
really deteriorates, even at the the end of each lap when, instead of
heading off down the finish funnel to the nirvana of Ironman-ness, we
have to go right, along Le Mans Crescent and out for another lap.
Starting lap three our pace is reasonable and some quick calculations
tell me we'll make finish by 9 pm : giving me a sub 15 hr finish.
But as we proceed through the lap, our pace drops, and eventually I
run on from the end turn, and (very pleased with myself) put in a 30
minute final 5 km, with good pace and control and some pride in my
running style. The support all the way back into Bolton is amazing,
and for the first time in the run I feel strong, passing other
finishers on the way. Coming down the final hill, though the last
feed station, right into the main street, and then into the finish
area in front of the Town Hall : a quick look up and YES....14:55!!
“Peter Greaves, you are an Ironman!”
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