Ironman UK 70.3 Exmoor – Race Report

I am now in my 5th year as a ‘Triathlete’ and as part of my ongoing quest for Kona qualification I entered both IM UK 70.3 and Ironman Wales. If you remember nothing else about this blog remember never mix alcohol and on line entry. Anyhow a quick confession, these two races are funded by my work club and to qualify for funding I have to wear club colours so the blue and yellow this time was worn by Victoria. So Saturday 28th June 2015 sees me and the long suffering Victoria arrive at Exmoor in glorious sunshine and almost perfect weather for racing. Almost too good to be true and alas it was (more on the weather later). Surrounded by hundreds of compress clad ladies and gents I pondered over whether this was compulsory attire for the race briefing that I had overlooked or they did indeed enjoy dressing like nobs. I registered and collected my free rucksack, guaranteed to stay intact until you placed absolutely anything inside it. A quick trip to the race briefing in a large marquee which filled quickly with 900 or so combatants (sorry competitors). Paul Kaye (voice of European Ironman) was strangely absent and replaced by the lady who has the same tone as Ned Flanders. She rattled through the race briefings with some input from race referees about rules and other boring stuff, which no doubt would interest you greatly in the event you fall foul of any, but whilst we slowly melted in the heat these were the last topics on our minds – or mine anyway as I had spied a burger stall far enough away to eat one without being spotted.

Briefing over and time to rack the bike for a night out in transition. Ordinarily I don’t let her out on her own, but Ironman requires she be out of the usual living room spot and placed overnight under a plastic cover (arghh). The bike slot next to mine was occupied by a Cervelo Time Trial bike carved by the hand of God himself. A thing of beauty that probably bled carbon if it were scratched. Add to that the garmin power meters, HED deep rim wheels and bike bling and I was truly envious. This was one bike that would not be spending the post-race night in a Premier Inn with me and my trusty steed (unless I stole it, which would be awkward given my job). Unfortunately, that was the last time I saw it as it wasn’t there when I returned for T2 (que smug smile). Anyhow back to the event; bike racked, blue and red bags racked (que tons of what have I forgotten to put in them questions bouncing around my head). Back to hotel for rest and worry.

The following morning we arrived on site at 0500hrs for a 0715hrs start. The glorious sun from Saturday replaced with clouds, wind and rain, which was to last pretty much until I finished when said glorious sun returned! Now I have a ritual that involves three visits to portaloos, not due to any kind of plastic perversion or internal issues, but a need to ensure I am ready (and as light as possible). Visit 1 went without incident, but visit 2 was interrupted by Ned Flanders announcing there were 9 minutes to go. In blind panic I stood up, sat down again and convinced myself that it counted as two visits. Out of the portaloos and into my wetsuit for the walk to the lake edge. Being a yellow hat/number meant I was wave two as blue hats/numbers were wave one. Wave one departed and we ummed and arred as the inevitable few swam in the wrong direction whilst hoping that 15 minutes later we would not be doing the same. Into the water we went and it was actually warmer than out – well it was after you know what. Within minutes the claxon sounded and off we went. The swim was, well a swim. It’s the bit that’s in the way of the bike (apologies to any proper swimmers reading this). A few lumps and bumps, some drafting, a bit of water inhalation and before I knew it 32mins and 30secs later I was running up a hill to T1. Yes a hill, who the hell puts a hill between a swim and a bike.

T1 over in minutes and the bike was out. Now this is my favourite bit, although somewhat tempered by the constant rain and the lack of Lee Baynton’s bum. To explain: group 1 riding has provided me with an encyclopaedic knowledge of Lee’s bum. I have spent hours looking at it, some close up (when he is feeling generous and pretends we are roughly the same speed) some far away (as he disappears to claim the next Strava segment). Either way, the sight of Lee’s posterior means I am doing well. Without this I had to rely on a) my heart rate or b) how many blue numbers (who had a 15 minute head start) I could pass. In usual fashion I opted for the latter and set about smashing the bike leg with absolutely no consideration for what follows. When they say this is the toughest 70.3 in Europe, they are not exaggerating (I think even the swim had a hill). The bike course was hard and I loved it. As the miles ticked by random thoughts enter my brain (many of these make it to my strava titles) and I recall at mile 40 my LBL partner James Bunn saving me from certain failure 130 odd Belgium miles into the hardest bike event I have done (to date!), the Malta training crew with Richard and Smiffy, EETC LBL crew, Richard Fullers face at the end of our sub 2hr ride from work to home, Richard Fullers bits hanging out in Cardiff, Dave Butler and the EETC Velothon crew, Group 1 Sunday pain sessions with Captain Paul, Alpine training with Mr Butler and Lee’s Bum and the many EETC athletes who raced the week before at Bridge and elsewhere all year that inspire us all. Then I nearly fell off! Cornering in the rain – schoolboy error. As the bike was coming to an end I had the faint glimmer of hope I could sub 3hr it. Having emptied a few water bottles my bladder was in need of the same and I even considered an on the go one if it gave me a sub 3hr. I could feel the trusty Tarmac looking at me with the ‘you aint serious’ glare. After about 5 minutes of internal debate over pee or flee I decided to wait for T2. If you think it utterly disgusting, read Chrissie Wellingtons book and never draft her!

Now to the run, two weeks ago I could barely walk on my right leg, a pulled calf muscle and an ongoing problem with my leg. Que Gemma Kemp, physio extraordinaire. She politely told me my right foot was deformed and I needed orthotics and 10 days of no running. Not exactly the best preparation for a Half IM. So in the lead up to the event I had run exactly one 10k and one 5k with new orthotics. I had no idea whether I could make 21k. Now I would like to say that my pace was slowed due to this dilemma, but I would be lying. My pace was slowed as I was knackered having beasted myself on the bike. What followed was the half marathon from hell. There were only two flat bits, a short out and back across the lake on a concrete bridge and the finish line. Everything else was mud, gravel, hills, mud, gravel, hills….. I had one objective, no walking and I am pleased to report I achieved it, and a 1hr45 half so pretty happy about that. And the orthotics lasted, which is great news as it means science can cure my strangely shaped lower limbs.

The finish line of an Ironman provides an injection of pace and speed that you only know when you’ve done it. It is however immediately followed by an inability to speak, stand or perform any kind of bodily movement – well most and you don’t want to hear about the others. And that’s it, 70.3 miles of pain, suffering and enjoyment is over in 5hrs 30mins.

When I first started this crazy sport I was averagely ok. I used to finish at roughly the same time as the free gifts and water ran out and my name was buried in amongst many others somewhere down the pages. Over the years I have improved a little and now occupy the higher end (9th in my Age Group this time) of the table. What doesn’t change is that wherever you finish it hurts the same. And what’s more, it doesn’t matter, finishing is winning and the only person you need to beat is yourself. Thanks EETC for helping me get to where I am today, a club of fantastic people, loads of opportunity and Lee’s bum.

Next stop Ironman Wales where the quest continues and if I qualify, great. If I don’t see you next year somewhere on an Ironman start line.