Late London report

London marathon race report

NB I wrote this ages ago but forgot to post it... D'Oh.

I had a GFA place for London from my time from Barcelona last year but because of two bouts of flu and a ridiculous workload I decided to withdraw on the grounds of insufficient training. I was just getting back into IM training when the Boston bombs went off. I was really upset. The next day I went for a  run that was meant to be 16km but ended up as 24 and had a good think, got home, rang the VLM to see if I could reverse my withdrawal, and they said yes. I set up a site to raise money for two funds that will help the victims of the bombings and went into a rather short five day taper. By race morning I had over £1600 raised so couldn’t back out.

I arrived at Greenwich Park at about 8 AM on a lovely crisp morning. Had a coffee, sat around, eventually went into the Fast GFA start enclosure. Went to the loo three times, more for something to do than anything else. Felt like a bit of a fraud because I didn’t think I was in shape for much more than a slow jog round. Had a chat with Martin.

Eventually 10 o’clock was approaching and we got lined up. The 30 seconds silence for Boston was amazing – not a sound from the assembled 37000 people, just the traffic noises in the distance. Then race start and I was over the line in about 1 minute and 15 seconds. I had no plan at all so I just set off at a pace that seemed comfortable, and after a Km was surprised to find that I was going at 4:09 pace. Immediately Sensible Rob leapt up to shout at me: “Whoah, steady on, better drop that pace”. Less Sensible Rob countered with “this feels fine, you aren’t pushing it too hard, this is OK, just stay steady and see how it goes, you might be in better shape than you thought”. I ignored Sensible Rob. 5km rolled past in 20:17 or so and I was surprised to still be feeling fresh so I decided to keep the pace up until 10km. I came upon Mr Gilkes and we had a chat, and then I headed off. The 5-10km split was only a few seconds slower and I was still feeling good as we zoomed round the Cutty Sark. My goodness there were a lot of spectators.

Going through Rotherhithe Sensible Rob was getting really worked up. “You’ve hardly trained, you’re in no state to run like this, this is a rookie mistake and you should know better. You’re going to blow hard and early and have a really horrible day. Just knock off the pace, take it easy and enjoy yourself”. Less Sensible Rob, however, noted that I still felt surprisingly good so I decided to see if I could keep the pace up until halfway. I slowed a bit on the climb to Tower Bridge but that was all, over the top turn right and there was halfway with 1:27 on the watch. I was feeling OK but had lost a bit of the earlier spark and now it was decision time. Sensible Rob was on his knees with tears running down his face begging me… take your foot off the gas, run easy, it’s what you’re here to do. Alternatively, whispered Less Sensible Rob in my ear with a grin, you could go for it, keep the pace up and see if you could manage a decent time. Sensible Rob slapped me round the face: I might, just might, pull something off, but given that my preparation had been designed so cunningly as to include not just hardly any training but also hardly any taper the more likely outcome would be a crash and burn somewhere around twenty miles. Less Sensible Rob pointed out that I hadn’t put myself under any pressure to run any specific time and if I did blow I could just jog or even walk it home and still finish in a not – too-embarrassing time.

All through docklands, then, I just kept a solid, reasonable pace going. I dropped to 4:15s and some 4:20s from the early 4:07s and it was hard going. I wasn’t feeling good and my legs were sore but I didn’t feel bad enough to knock off the pace. I passed Mitch as he pulled over to stretch and then surprised Richard G who was standing around with his back to the runners doing I don’t know what. I didn’t really have much feel for where I was or what was going on all the way through docklands, I was just focussed on running my pace. Finally through 20 miles and I started doing the maths in my head. Just keep it this side of 4:30 a km and you’ll be under three. Now I was on the long run for home I started feeling better than I had for a while and the splits kept on coming out where I wanted them. There are some minor climbs over bridges and the like and I was struggling on the ups but rolling nicely on the downs. 4:07 4:22 4:23 4:18… Sensible Rob was still vainly trying to persuade me to slow down but the noise of the crowd kept on drowning his voice. Finally got to Blackfriars and things were looking really good. I chucked a half drunk bottle of water at Sensible Rob and left him sitting sadly in the gutter.

I slapped down a 4:02 km on the ramp down to the Blackfriars underpass and enjoyed the heavy concentration of cheese that had been assembled there – apparently it was called the “Lucozade Sport Tunnel of Yes” and featured illuminated balloons with messages written on them and, I was delighted to hear, a PA playing “Don’t stop me now”. Out of the underpass and into the light and it was just the drag down the Embankment and right into Birdcage Walk. I was feeling sore, exhausted and sick, so about as good as I ever have at this point in a marathon. The splits were down to the 4:20s again but that was fine. Finally got to the right turn at Big Ben and the never-ending run down Birdcage Walk. I was making an effort but having trouble going at any speed and my pace was yo-yoing up and down as I came round the corner onto the Mall. The clock on the finish was reading 2:59:20 and just like in Barcelona a year ago I ended up sprinting (or at least running as fast as I could) to try to get my gun time under three as well as my chip time. I think I managed it but it was all a bit of a blur. I forgot to turn off my watch but given that I had taken more than a minute to cross the start I knew my time must be 2:58.xx. Cue stumbling around the finish grinning like a loved-up clubber thanking all the volunteers I could find.

After the race I walked back to Waterloo. I had to take my shoes off because my feet hurt so much and I walked across Hungerford Bridge in the sun, barefoot on the warm paving slabs, above the runners streaming West along the Embankment. What a beautiful day.

Notes:

1)    Clearly training isn’t necessary. Last year I trained properly for Barcelona and finished about a minute slower.

2)    Turns out that sprint for the line was a good idea. I had a total chip failure and currently have no results at all recorded. I rang the marathon office and they found me on the finish line video but I suspect I’ll end up being given the time from the clock since they have no way of knowing how long it took me to get over the start line, so my official time is likely to be 2:59:58 or so.

3)    Now up to £1712  raised for the victims of the Boston Bombs. Thanks everyone who chipped in.

Cozumel meltdown 2013

Following my excellent last-minute trip to IM Coz in 2012 I resolved to go back this year and enjoy the experience again. Training went well in the lead up to the race and I was skinny and feeling fit, with good times in the races I did in the couple of months beforehand and the right sorts of numbers coming out of the training sessions. One big difference from last year was that this time I went to the correct airport, which led to a pleasingly relaxed flight to Cancun. 

Into Cancun and we found the car I’d booked with relative ease. On the drive from Cancun to Playa del Carmen, where the ferry to Cozumel island leaves from, we could see a thunderstorm hammering away over the sea. This was the beginning of a big cold front rolling through (what the locals call a “Norte”) which was to set the weather for the next few days, meaning that the weather in Cozumel was cool (20-23 degrees C rather than 26-30) and there were very strong Northerly winds. The swim practices at Chankanaab were cancelled because of the wind and we spent a nervous few days watching the weather forecasts. Fortunately there was plenty to keep us busy: John’s daughter had spent some time doing research and had organised what was essentially a gastronomic tour of the best restaurants in Cozumel (I particularly recommend Kinta, Kondesa and best of all the lovely Guido’s, with a gorgeous courtyard and really good food). When we weren’t stuffing our faces there were always lots of Very Serious Triathletes In Compression Socks to snigger at.

If you’ve ever been worried about weather you’ve probably found out that online weather forecasts are surprisingly variable: for the 1st December, however, there was an encouraging consistency and all of the forecasters were predicting that the front would be gone by race day: right up to the Saturday the forecast was for very good conditions on race day. One thing that couldn’t be left until race day morning was the swim, though: the strong winds had apparently made the current in the Cozumel channel stronger than usual, and I guess the race organisers were nervous about a repeat of the previous year’s swim difficulties. I think they were also under pressure from the Cozumel Port Authority as well, who seemed to have some serious concerns about safety, so on the Saturday they announced a change to the swim course, which would now be a 3.1km point-to-point starting from a hotel North of the usual swim start. I must admit I wasn’t happy about this, but what can you do?

Race morning and the usual 4AM start. I met John T at breakfast and after he’d got his gear on we went out to get one of the buses to the race start. This being Mexico our bus broke down and wouldn’t start, so we bailed and jumped in a taxi. The taxi was a minibus and about 10 other people jumped in, got a ride with us and then jumped out without paying. I view my $20 fare as my own contribution to the communal good and am able to sleep more soundly at night, safe in the knowledge that I have contributed to fulfilling the needs of the many. Following the broken coach event everything went very smoothly, including the coaches which the organisers had laid on to transport everyone to the swim start from T1. Once there we spent most of the remaining time in the queue for the loo, and then it was goggles and swim hat on and into the lovely warm water for the swim start. There was almost no wind at all but as soon as you started swimming you could feel the current pulling you: we trod water but everyone was moving along past the start line… as I floated there all the nervousness and stress drained away and I started grinning like an idiot. It’s on, and here I am in my happy place. I shook hands with John and then there was a kind of slow, building race start: we heard shouting from the back of the swim start, people started to move and only then did we hear an air horn.

There was surprisingly little aggro in the first part of the swim, and because we were just following the shore there were no navigational problems. A few rocky outcrops were a bit too close to the surface for comfort but for most of the swim we were suspended in about 8-10m of beautiful gin-clear warm water, with fish and the occasional diver to look at. After a bit of swimming I did get involved in a bit of argy-bargy as I tried to move out and stick to the buoy line to make sure that I had a nice straight swim with the best possible current assist. Everyone else wanted to be there too so there was a bit of nudging and pushing but aside from that all was civilised. Finally we got to the concrete dolphin enclosures at Chankanaab, round the end and up to the swim finish. 51 minutes dead: 34 minutes faster than last year so I already had a huge deposit in the time bank.

I took T1 reasonably easy, stopping under the showers to desalinate myself and taking time out to get a sunblock topup, and then out onto the bike and onto the road South towards the tip of the island at Punta Sur. The quick swim meant there were a lot of bikes in the road and a whole bunch of people wobbling around in the middle of the road who really shouldn’t have been there. I snuggled down on my aero bars and with the benefit of a mild tailwind took it up to a steady 36 kph. Down to Punta Sur and round the corner to the 20km stretch up the Eastern side of the island. This is the stretch that had the headwinds in 2012 and once again, defying the BBC forecast (how dare they) the wind was full into our faces. There was also a rain shower in the first few kms but nothing to write home about.

Stay aero, keep going and don’t let the speed drop too much. The road is right by the beach and the pain of riding into the wind is tempered by the glorious views, with low lying trees and bushes on the left, white sand beaches with big breakers coming in on the right, and coming past on your left the first big packs of drafters. Cheating losers. Eventually I got to the right turn at Mezcalitos and onto the Transversal, the road back across the island, where I came across one John Taylor, who’d had a faster swim than me and was now going quite nicely thank you very much. Shortly after that the same rain shower that I’d already met once showed up again on its transit across the island and this time got a bit more serious with a good old tropical downpour which had the side effect of raising the humidity up to “really sweaty”. Through that and back into town, John and I were riding at about the same pace and went through San Miguel almost together which made for an easy spot for the families outside our hotel.

Lap two and onto the southerly road again and here the drafters started to get ridiculous. Big packs, 30 to 40 people, riding in pacelines and shamelessly cheating. Far worse than last year. Not only are these people breaking the rules and gaining an unfair advantage over competitors who ride clean, they are also very annoying and off-putting. They do things like overtake you and then for some reason the pack will slow down a bit, meaning that you have to either back off and ride more slowly than you want or burn a load of matches trying to overtake them. They also make it very difficult to get what you want from the aid stations: trying to get a bottle when a pack of 30 drafters has gone through an aid station like a plague of locusts and picked it dry is not easy because all the volunteers are scrabbling to get new bottles and you can miss out completely.

John and I got caught behind a particularly large group, and after a few kms of this I was annoyed enough to try to get away, so I rode around them and put the hammer down for 10 minutes or so, after which I looked over my shoulder and there they all were, strung out behind me in a nice line. All I’d done was to give them a free ride. I pulled off the front and drifted back, suggesting to some of them that they should tell their mothers that yes, they did an Ironman but that it doesn’t count because they cheated on the bike. They all stared at the backside in front and pretended not to hear me. Then I came across John who had acquired his own personal leech who I gave a bit of a mouthful to. He actually acknowledged my existence and claimed to be “just looking for some space”: I pointed out that we all know there’s a difference between riding a bit close because there are a lot of bikes in the road and sitting six inches off someone’s back wheel. No answer to that. Bah.

Back around Punta Sur and my time for the first 90kms was 2:46 and I was feeling good and hoping for a split in the low 5:30s. The Atlantic weather systems had something to say about that, however, and the wind was now really strong, and definitely worse than last year. I was riding hard and only managing about 26kph, and this is where the cheating drafters really had an advantage, so I got to watch a load of them cruising on past. Bah again. Round the top of the course and back through San Miguel again, down the road south and onto the third lap. I was feeling OK and riding at what felt like a good effort but I was worried about the wind on the final leg. I also came across a couple of aid stations that had already run out of everything except water. Not good and very different from last year.

Round the point and back into the wind which was even stronger. The airport on the sheltered western side of the island recorded a windspeed of 27kph with gusts up to 40 at midday on the 1st December: we were getting the wind raw off the Atlantic and unfiltered by any island, and it was hard work. I was wary of making another big effort so I just knocked the bike into the small chainring and spun along. Everyone else (at least the honest riders) was doing the same and it felt like a strange slow-motion race as we all rode along at 22-24 kph. Of course, the inevitable group of drafters came past but this time Hallelujah! there was a marshal on a motorbike who started handing out penalties. One guy in a suit with”Guatemala” up the back and a lime-green Rudy Project helmet was most incensed at his penalty. I’d been watching him soft-pedalling at the back of his pace line and I had a quiet snigger when I saw him in the penalty tent a few kms later.

Finally, and with great relief, I swung round the left turn and onto the Transversal again. Back up to 32-33kph and a nice fast run in to town for the last 20kms. It was hot and I knew I’d lost a lot of time… once the Garmin was reading 180.5kms and we were past the roundabout and heading for T2 (the bike course is slightly long, total length is just short of 182kms) I slipped my feet out of my shoes and got ready to get off the bike. Total bike time was 5:53, so I’d lost something like 20 minutes over the second half of the bike. Oh well.

Into T2 and I hopped off the bike, handed it to a volunteer… and found that I was unable to jog into the change tent. I’d felt OK on the bike but now I was suddenly melting in the heat and feeling horrible. I walked into the change tent and slowly got my running shoes on. There were two people lying on the floor having cold water poured over them so it could have been worse but I could feel my planned PB melting into the hot tarmac. Out onto the road, a wave to Pam and the family Taylor at the T2 exit and off I jogged. I could hardly manage a survival shuffle. With some ice down my top and a lot of cold water tipped over me I felt a bit better but I was still moving really slowly and confused about why I was so broken. I’d biked at about the same effort as 2012 and I was at least as fit as I was then, so why couldn’t I run?I kept up something approaching a run for the first half of the run but it just got harder and hotter and harder and hotter. I needed the loo and couldn’t find one: where the hell were the damn toilets? Eventually I found one a little before the turnaround and stopped off for a brief, painful and unpleasant “comfort break”. I dragged my sorry ass round the far end of the run course and then just as I got to the point where I couldn't take any more I came across John T once again, walking along and not in a good place himself. He’d had mechanical nightmares, been ready to pack it in, then been given a tube by a spectator, then (final insult) been given a penalty for accepting outside assistance by a marshal - particularly ridiculous given the hordes of cheating scumbags who were getting a huge advantage by drafting and mostly getting away scot-free. I stayed with John and we kept up a decent run-walk while the heavens opened and the roads flooded. I was so knackered that I could hardly keep up with John when we were walking -  I could jog along when we were running but for some reason the walking was murder.

We stayed together for a whole lap, and I have to say that if you need someone to share a fairly miserable grovel around the darker end of an IM run with then John T is highly recommended. I’d been very discouraged by the combination of the shortened swim, the hard bike and the knowledge that several hundred people in front of me in the race had got there by cheating and finally by my crash and burn on the run, but John cheered me up and by the time I had 7kms to go I was back in the game. Round the turnaround in the dark now and run for home. Oh dear it hurt. I managed 2kms and had to stop for a minute. I was feeling sick, the dark wet road was spinning and my legs just wouldn’t go anymore. OK, one minute and then another 2kms. A one minute walk and then only three kms to go, run it in the whole way… 800m to the finish and I could hear the announcer calling people over the line and my abs cramped up so badly I had to stop dead in the middle of the road to stick my fingers in the spasming muscles until they let me go again and then I finally made it to the finish for an 11.02 finish after a PW 4:07 marathon: 4 minutes slower than 2013 despite the swim being over half an hour faster.

So what went wrong? I was as fit or fitter than last year, I rode the bike at the same perceived level of exertion as last year, it wasn’t as hot as last year so why the problems on the run? Looking at my bike speed you can see how much harder it was on the sections into the wind, but you can also see that on the other parts of the bike I was riding at almost exactly the same speed, and conditions were almost identical in those parts of the bike course to last year. Was it just the extra hard headwind that made the difference? Possibly, but the second graph shows my heart rate for the bike in 2012 and 2013. For some reason my heart rate was on average a massive 10 BPM higher in 2013 than in 2012 (once the flaky Garmin HR strap had decided to behave). What’s going on there? Three possibilities. Firstly, the HRM was reading high this year, or low last year. That’s possible but unlikely: I certainly didn’t see any surprisingly high heart rates in races or training before the race. Secondly, I was badly dehydrated, which would cause a raised HR. Also unlikely: I drank a fair bit, didn’t feel particularly thirsty at any  and generally didn’t really seem overly dry at any time. Final possibility, I was ill and didn’t know it. I’d had a not very serious slightly fluey cold two weeks before the race which I thought had cleared up - could it be that there was a more serious lingering effect of it than I realised, or could I have picked something up in Cozumel that I didn’t notice until I made myself swim for nearly an hour, bike for nearly six and then try to run a marathon? I think this is the most likely explanation for my GRF (General Run Failure). 

So, all in all a very different day from 2012. The rampant drafting really left a bad taste in my mouth and the hard hard “run” section was testing to say the least, but by the time I finished I was smiling again and all in all I did enjoy the day (this was my 10th IM: I just have a particularly perverse idea of what “fun” means, I think). I’d decided pre-race that if I went under 10:30 I was going to quit Ironman for a while and get back into running ultras but that’s not happening now. Next up is IM Wales… 

Operation Secret Sombrero - Ironman Cozumel 2012

Ironman Cozumel 2012

Operation secret sombrero

My two “A” races for 2012 were the Alpe D’Huez Long Course and then Ironman Wales, both of which I missed: my journey to the Alpe D’Huez was sabotaged by the SNCF, and then I was sick for IM Wales and spent the weekend of the race in bed. A couple of days after IM Wales I was in a bit of a state because of the way things had worked out and I decided to see if was possible to get an entry to another IM distance race before the end of the year. After a little work online I worked out that the only races that I might be able to get into were Challenge Barcelona, which was still accepting entries, and IM Cozumel, which I could get a slot for if I booked a trip with Endurance Sports Travel. I didn’t really fancy going to Barcelona again and the date would have been very difficult to organise because of work. I knew nothing about IM Cozumel but with a bit of research it started to sound attractive: held on the island of Cozumel off the coast of Mexico, nice swim, nice flat fast bike, enthusiastic locals and easy to get to with lots of direct flights to Cancun available at reasonable prices. I checked my diary and I could manage a week off work then without much difficulty, and when I raised the issue with Pam she was surprisingly happy for me to go. I justified it to myself on the grounds that I’d had such a difficult summer at work that I was entitled to have a ridiculously self indulgent week by myself in the Caribbean, dammit, and I got on the phone to EST in the States clutching a credit card which actually started smouldering during the call when they cleared the payment. Thus was born Operation Secret Sombrero.

I had 10 weeks between IM Wales and IM Cozumel. The first week was mostly spent recovering from whatever it was had kept me from the sheep and hills of Pembrokeshire, leaving 7 weeks training with a two week taper. IM Training in October and November is tricky when you work in a university because it’s a busy time of the year with all the students and everything, but with a bit of creativity you can fit in early morning turbo sessions that finish before 7, late evening runs with a headtorch and do other things like getting your swims in while your kids are having their swimming lessons. The weather’s not favourable to cycling either, especially when you want to spend at least some time with your children and so I put in some very cold early morning rides on Sundays, including one where, despite wearing two pairs of gloves, my hands were so cold that I couldn’t get any food out of my pockets or even a bottle from its cage and I ended up totally hypoclycaemic, slumped in a car park warming my hands up in my armpits until I could manage to get the wrapping off a powerbar. I also put in a couple of (for me) epic turbo trainer sessions when it was too wet to ride, including a 3 hour steady effort which I almost needed therapy after. My average training time per week for the seven weeks before the taper was 10 hours and 40 minutes, a consistency I have never managed before.

When you’re living in a cold climate and you’re headed for a tropical race you need to get some heat acclimatisation done, because there are some important changes to things like sweat rate and salinity that come after a couple of weeks with some exercise in the heat. Not having a suitable shed or small room I couldn’t put the turbo trainer in with a heater, so I did mine by wearing thermals while turbo training with no fan. This is a really disgusting way to spend 45 minutes and you have to do a lot of laundry, but it gets the job done. Having found out that the bike is very straightforward and flat but can be windy I put in some time trying to make sure that I’d be as aero as possible: I had a proper bike fit done which made a big difference to my ability to stay in the bars for long periods, I agonised about bottle cage placements and I twitched nervously when I thought about clothing. Eventually I decided to go with a white Orca tri-top I have rather than my TTTC top because the  club one is a bit loose in places and also a bit short and I was worried about sunburn. I also picked up an Aquasphere swimskin for next to nothing from eBay, it being a non-wetsuit swim, meaning that I felt forced to do more swim training so that I didn’t look like a dick who thinks he can buy speed rather than putting the effort in. I tried to do all of this as quietly as possible because if for some reason I didn’t make it I didn’t think I could stand the humiliation of DNS-ing yet another race, but it did slip out occasionally - when the detective team of Barr and Todd noted that I had turned up for a run in Richmond Park after putting in 80km on the bike, for example, they knew that something was up and interrogated me until I spilled the beans.

So stupid that if you gave me a penny for my thoughts you’d get change

Eventually the time came to head for the subtropics and away from wet, cold England. I booked a cab to take me to Heathrow T5, loaded it with bike box and rucksack and off I went. The cabbie, I’m pleased to say, entertained me with his views on corporal punishment for children until we reached the airport and, having cravenly agreed with him I  went into the airport. I looked at the departure board - no flight. I looked again. Still no mention of my flight. I started to feel really, really bad - check the documents. The flight’s from Gatwick. It’s the return flight that goes to Heathrow. Oh dear.

Bike boxes on the ferry

I had an hour and forty minutes to get to Gatwick. That’s do-able. Maybe. Straight to the cab rank, into the nearest black cab and off we go. The cabbie commiserates with me and tells me that he gets at least one similarly stupid person per month (not his words). we have to do 40-odd miles around the M25, one of the most crowded roads in Europe, at 9AM on a Thursday. There’s a long holdup by the M3 junction and it’s starting to look grim as I sit in the back checking flight prices to Cancun for the next morning (more than the cost of the whole trip...) and trying not to look at the meter. Finally we’re through the jam and off we go. The road’s clear but the information boards are saying there’s delays between J7 and J8, just before the turn for Gatwick. I am beyond miserable. If I miss the race because of being a complete f***wit I will have to retire from triathlon and take up a hobby more commensurate with my feeble intellectual abilities, something like trying to put one block on top of another, trying to count beyond 5, finger painting, or watching football and eating pies.

Thankfully the promised delays never materialised and we sailed onto the M23 and then into Gatwick. I handed the cabbie my long-suffering credit card: when he gave it back I held it close to my ear and could hear it sobbing, but I was there with 45 minutes to spare before take off, and 5 minutes before the bag drop closed. Done. Onto the plane and off to Cancun, then a long period of hurry up and wait: the guy from EST who was picking me up was meant to collect three other people, none of whom seemed to have made it onto the flight. Perhaps they all went to Heathrow as well and hadn’t given themselves as much cock-up recovery time as I had.

Now don’t you boys go a-drinkin’ nor smokin’ weed

Finally in Cozumel I just relaxed, registered, went for a spin on the bike and did some swimming. The swim course at Chankanaab Marine Park was open for practice on the Friday and Saturday and I went both days. The wind was up and there was quite a lot of swell both days but the water was the perfect temperature and astonishingly clear, with lots of fish and other marine life to admire. Saturday afternoon I racked my bike and handed over my transition bags. T1 for Cozumel is the car park for the Marine Park and my rack was in the overflow car park with lots of sand and gravel on the floor and, although it wasn’t too far from the changing tent it was a good long way from the bike start.  

The swim course the day before the race. Changing tent for T1 and bag racks on the right.

I was still jetlagged which was a minor blessing - I was asleep by 9.30 the night before the race and wide awake at 3.45 (alarm set for 4) which made for a great start to the day. The hotel were serving an early breakfast and I had a small bowl of cereal and snagged a banana to eat later. Then a lift over to the start with one of the EST guys who bid us farewell and admonished us “Now don’t you boys go a-drinkin’ nor smokin’ weed today, you hear me?”. We promised not to.

Transition was the usual bustle. I borrowed a pump and blew my tyres up, ate my banana, taped some gels to my bars, smeared some parts of myself with vaseline and then smeared some of the non-vaselined parts with waterproof factor 40 sunblock, then wandered over to the swim start. The pros went 20 minutes before the mortals and then it was our turn. The swim start is in front of a large concrete pen that’s used for dolphin displays and contains about 10 captive dolphins that are presumably completely insane from being kept in the aquatic equivalent of a small featureless cage. To get in the water you walk out on the pier that’s built around the dolphin pen and jump in. There’s plenty of room even with a couple of thousand people and I started fairly near the front on the right hand side.

Elbows and currents

The swim is a straightforward rectangular course - you swim Northeast, parallel to the shore, for about 800m, then round and back Southwest further out for a long 1900m leg, then back in towards the shore and Northeast again to the swim finish. Normally there is a mild southwesterly current which doesn’t have much effect on the two NE legs when you’re closer to shore but gives swimmers a bit of a boost on the long SW leg when they’re a bit further out to sea, leading to a relatively fast swim. I was hoping for something around 1:10 to 1:12, but as we trod water waiting for the start there was a strong wind blowing chop into our faces and if we just trod water we would move back towards the pier with the current. Looking again I saw that there were hundreds of people hanging onto the wire mesh under the pier that keeps the dolphins in. Suddenly and without any warning the horn went off and the usual anarchy ensued. The lovely clear water turned blue-white with bubbles and a couple of thousand normally civilised people became wild animals kicking and punching to get themselves space and position. It wasn’t too bad after the first few minutes but it stayed mostly full-contact until the first turnaround, and there were a lot of people who seemed to have seeded themselves rather optimistically, including one massive group that I couldn’t get through at all and eventually had to swim around which meant a substantial detour. Nevermind.

Once round the turn buoy things were a lot cleaner and I just aimed myself straight down the buoy line and went for it. This meant that it stayed a bit physical and I did use my elbows a little (I’m not the greatest in the World at swimming straight but some people really shouldn’t be allowed in the water unless there are black lines on the bottom to follow) but I knew I was on course. Sighting was a little tricky because of the chop and it often took two or three looks before I’d get a good line once I was past each buoy but they seemed to fly past and the current was pushing us along good and fast. Once round the second turn buoy I was following a group of swimmers who didn’t go directly back up the buoy line but went a lot closer to shore. I wanted to swim nearer the buoys so I left them and tried to angle across but even though I was swimming strongly and felt good I didn’t seem to get anywhere, and being in no man’s land between the shore and the buoys I didn’t have anyone to draft off. I was finding it difficult to sight again because of the chop from the headwind but I just kept on swimming hard and slowly made my way to the steps of the swim exit, where I was dismayed to see 1:26 on the clock. I didn’t realise it at the time but the current was far stronger this year than usual and was active much closer in to the shore, so while we were getting a boost going SW, the NE legs, especially the second one were very slow going indeed. Most people were 10-15 minutes slower than usual: in total only 75 people swam faster than an hour and most of those were pros, and a considerable number of people (somewhere between 35 and 460 depending on which rumour you listen to) failed to make the 2:20 swim cutoff. I only found out about this after the race and spent the whole triathlon thinking that I’d just been rubbish.

Sun and wind

I was through T1 in 6:41, not fast but I had a long way to go after unracking the bike, plus I had to do things like clean the sand off my feet before I put my bike shoes on. Onto the bike and off down the long straight road towards the southern tip of the island. No problems until I rounded the bend at the Southern tip of the Island and started the 20km stretch back up the East coast. The prevailing wind in Cozumel in November is an Easterly to a South-Easterly, but today we had a brisk North-Easterly which meant that we were going full into a headwind for this section. Nothing to do but stay aero, shift up and try to keep to a reasonable cadence. Aside from the wind, this section of the bike course is lovely: the road is very close to the sea and there are white sand beaches, lagoons with lily flowers, palm trees and packs of drafters to look at. Towards the end of the windy part I was overtaken by a peloton of about 40 riders in a double paceline. I really hate this sort of thing - I’d have to burn too many matches if I wanted to get away in front of them so my only option was to sit up and let them go past. I took advantage of the break to tell them exactly what I thought of their cheating ways, and they all ignored me and stared at the wheel in front. I’m pleased to say that there were quite a few people in the next penalty tent that I passed.

Me heading into the wind. This must have been taken on the first or second lap because I don't have anyone from Argentina glued to my back wheel.

I found it hot on the bike, even though some of the people from Texas and Florida laughed at me when I said it was near the upper limit of what I could tolerate. I’d like to see them do some of the races in the UK in April or October (or June and July for that matter). The temperature in the shade was in the upper 20s but we were out in the full sun most of the time with the heat radiating back up to us from the blacktop. I was glad I’d put in the disgusting trainer with thermals sessions, and also that I’d really made a big effort to get my weight down before the race so I wasn’t carrying any excess lard for insulation. There were a lot of aid stations, roughly every 10 kms on the bike and I was snagging bottles of water and Gatorade at all of them. The Gatorade mostly went down my throat and the water went over me. They were doing a super job of keeping the drinks cold and some of the bottles of water I got even had ice in them. Because it was hot and I was thirsty almost all the time I didn’t feel like eating anything: I had a couple of gels but that was it. I estimate that I drank somewhere between 5 and 8 litres of fluid on the bike and I didn’t need to pee at all until a couple of hours after the race so I must have been pumping out a lot of sweat in addition to all the bottles of water I dumped over myself.

Finally through the wind and onto the road called the “Transvasal” which goes Northwest across the island back to San Miguel, the town. In past years this is where the Easterly or Southeasterly wind has provided a helpful push but this year it was blowing across the road, although not strongly because we were sheltered by trees. Back into town, round a few bends and I was off onto the second lap. The wind was picking up and the leg back up no the coast was no fun at all this time because the headwind was full-on and an effort to ride into. My backside was also starting to complain but not too badly. The flat, straight roads you ride on mean that there’s very little opportunity to get out of the aerobars and if you’re aiming for a decent bike split you just have to stay as aero as possible for the whole time. The only respite I found was on a couple of small rises on the coast road where I got out of the saddle for a few turns of the pedals just to shake everything up and let things move around a bit. Onto the third lap and I was feeling good - no sign of my heart rate creeping up, which meant that the rate of fluid intake must be about right, pedals still turning nicely and getting some good speed up on the parts of the course where there wasn’t a headwind. Back around the bottom of the island and into the wind which was now really whistling around my helmet. Stay aero and spin and I was staying left most of the way because of the slower riders, some of whom I was lapping and some of whom I guess were just having a hard time on their last lap.

Of course, if you don’t want to stay aero and put in the effort into the wind you can always just draft. After the first lap I didn’t see any more big pelotons but there were some people taking advantage of the low numbers of draft marshals to catch a ride on that last leg into the wind. I picked up my own personal leech, one Jorge from Argentina (according to his number) who would sit on my wheel until I realised he was there and slowed down until he was forced to pass. He would then ride a little way up the road and sit up, waiting for someone else to come past that he could stick himself to. This happened several times and the last time I gave him a bit of a mouthful, after which he rode up to a group of three that were all riding very close and, as far as I could make out, sat on the back and asked them if he could join in. There were also some of the faster AG women sitting on any wheel they could find, the most shameless being one Isabella from Nicaragua who I don’t think had her nose in the wind for more than a couple of seconds for the entire 20km stretch. There were quite a few bikes in the road, sure, but it was perfectly possible to ride clean and I made sure that I was doing it the whole time. Fortunately after we’d made the final turn onto the Transvasal most of the drafting stopped, except for Isabella from Nicaragua who I saw several more times, each time about 30cm from someone’s back wheel. 

I went through 100 miles in 5:01, fractionally off 20 miles an hour, and my average speed went down a little more because of the wind, but overall I was very pleased with my pacing throughout the bike which was nice and even for a final bike split of 5:43.49 (NB according to Mr Garmin the bike leg was about 1.5 km long). I kept the speed up all the way into T2, took my feet out of my shoes a few hundred metres before the dismount line, zoomed up and leapt off my bike and almost fell over. For some reason my toes on both feet were incredibly sore and cramped up and I could only hobble into the changing tent. I ditched my watch into my transition bag so that I could put on the Garmin that had been mounted on my bike, checked the time and went out on the run which is three laps of 14km each, up and down the road that heads North from the centre of San Miguel de Cozumel. I knew that I wasn’t going to make my target time of 10:30 by quite a long way: the currents in the sea (although at the time I thought it was just my bad swimming) and the wind had put paid to that, but I was still in with a chance of making 11 hours and I knew from my last check of my watch that I needed to run a 3:40 marathon to do that. I’ve gone 3:27 for an IM marathon  in the past so I was hopeful that I’d manage it. I started at what felt like a comfortable pace and after a hilariously fast first km (4:11) I settled down to a steady pace of around 4:45 to 4:55 per km  and started to build a buffer against the inevitable slowdown that would come towards the end of the run.

Peanuts from heaven

The first lap went by relatively easily. It was still hot but there were a lot of aid stations mostly manned by local kids who were shouting “Pepsi! Agua! Hielo!” at us as we went past. I wasn’t sure what “hielo” was and was wondering why they were shouting “yellow” (it means “ice”). I kept on throwing water over myself and, despite not having the word in my Spanish vocabulary also went for the ice down the tri-top and under the hat option a few times. Back into town where there were a lot of people and a load of drummers who seemed to be powered by Duracell because they must have kept on drumming for about 6 hours solid, and out again onto the second lap. I started feeling a bit rough towards the halfway mark and my pace slowed to about 5 minutes per km. I was through halfway in 1:42 but was feeling bad and had to walk slowly through an aid station almost immediately afterwards. I felt as though I needed to eat something having been going on nothing but liquids all day so I scarfed down my emergency double-caffeinated gel and had a bit of a graze. They had some salted peanuts at the aid station and I ate a handful which tasted amazingly, astonishingly good: if Heston Blumenthal could work out how to recreate that sensation he’d retire weeping because he’d achieved culinary perfection and it was never going to get better than that. I got back up to speed but then had to walk for a couple of minutes again just before making it back into town, during which time I treated myself to more peanuts, which tasted nearly as good as the last lot. I got myself going again but then as I came round the turnaround for my last lap I went past the big screen for the finish and noticed that the time it was showing was 9:59. At the same time the announcer was congratulating someone on a sub-10 finish so I concluded that I’d got my time calculations wrong - I needed about 1:10 for the last lap if I kept up a good pace and there was no way I could run it in less than an hour to make the sub-11 target. Wham. That was demoralising and I was now finding it really difficult to push myself along. I couldn’t manage more than 5:30 a km for about 10 minutes and I was feeling really bad until at about the 30km mark, as the sun set behind me I stopped running and started walking. I walked for about 5 minutes and then felt able to start running again, albeit slowly.

On the run and feeling the heat.

Not long after the 31km mark I was suddenly struck by the thought that the time on the big screen might have been the time since the start of the pro race, which would put it 20 minutes faster than the age-groupers. I checked the time of day on the Garmin which was on a different screen to the main run one, which I keep set to pace, distance, time elapsed and HR. The time was 5 pm - sure enough, assuming we started on time at 7 I still had an hour to finish and make it in under 11 hours. I had 10 and a half km to go. I pushed myself a bit and managed to take the pace up a little and started feeling a little better. Just stay at this pace until the turnaround. Then you’ll only have 7km to go and you can decide whether to go for it or not. The sun had gone now and the sunglasses came off as I ran through the dusk. I went around the turnaround with 38 minutes to run 7km - just under 5:30 per km pace. I can do this. I was feeling really good again - I don’t know if it was the salt on the peanuts or if I’d just found a bit of adrenaline that gave my system a kickstart but suddenly I could run properly again. I just focussed on each km, making sure I didn’t go too fast and kept the pace at a little over 5 minutes a km. The aid stations were like obstacle courses with plodding runners and walkers all over - I blew through them, grabbing the occasional cup of Gatorade and resisting the urge to shout “Out of my way slow people”. 7km became 6 and then 5 and I started pressing the pace. How can I suddenly feel so good after feeling so bad half an hour ago? Two kms to go and I put the hammer down as much as I could, taking the pace up into the 4.50s. Not fast for me but at the time it felt as though I was flying. I overtook two or three other people who were running hard, presumably all also racing the clock to get in before 11 hours. The turnaround in town is right by the left turn that takes you to the finish and the organisers had put a big spotlight at the turnaround shining down the road, so now I was running through the dark heading straight for the light. The last few hundred metres before the turnaround were clogged with people leaving only a metre wide strip to run down, which was occupied by slower moving runners. Because I’d been surprised by the start I was worried that the race might have started a couple of minutes before 7, so I wasn’t taking any chances by easing off. This meant that I had to dodge round 4 or 5 people but fortunately I didn’t knock any children or old people over or run full tilt into any nuns. Past the spotlight at the turnaround and I turned left into the brilliantly lit finishing chute and there was the clock reading 10:58:30. I slowed a little and finally crossed the line at 10:58:52. Job done.

Pizza and margaritas

Made splendid recovery nutrition - in particular the combination of salt (electrolytes), lime juice (carbs and vitamins) and tequila (ummm, tequila? Perhaps I should have asked for a shot of mescal with the worm for added protein) found in a margarita. I was planning to head back to the finish post-food but I fell asleep sitting up and decided it was more sensible to head for bed. Next day the talk was all of how tough a day it had been, and now if you look online the 2012 IM Cozumel seems to have entered the record books as One Of The Hardest IM Races Of All Time (one online race report tells the story of how the person in question HAD to draft in the wind because it was SO STRONG that NO-ONE could have made it through riding by themselves). I think this is an exaggeration - sure the swim was hard when everyone was expecting it to be easy, but although the winds on the bike were worse than expected it wasn’t like we were riding into a hurricane. I suspect that a lot of the hype is being generated by people who were expecting a much easier race and who hadn’t prepared properly. I trained expecting a hot, windy bike, that’s what I got and I coped. I went looking for a 10:30 but I ended up delighted with a 10:58 - overall this was one of the most satisfying races I’ve ever done.

Would I recommend IM Cozumel? Absolutely, especially if you like hot, windy, flat races (I do). The organisation is good, the swim is beautiful, the bike is lovely (in parts - the long straight that goes SW is a bit tedious) and more challenging than might be expected from the lack of hills and the run is good, with enough going on to keep you entertained. The locals seem to be all thoroughly lovely people and are absolutely behind the race and the island itself is, well, an island in the Caribbean with all that goes with that.

Knackered of Tunbridge Wells

The Tunbridge Wells half is a tough, hilly half marathon that takes place in late February. Way back in the early noughties I ran it three times, each time as prep for a spring marathon, with times between 1:22 and 1:27 and a 23rd place when I managed that 1:22. This year I'm entered for the Barcelona marathon in late March, and so I found myself lining up for my first proper running road race since 2005. Because I missed a few weeks with an injury I trained right up to the race and foolishly ran an 18:20 5km in Bushy Park the previous morning so I was a bit tired to start with: coupled with not having done something like this for a while I had no idea what sort of time I was likely to do.

I got there in good time, mooched over to the start to get a coffee and realised that I had no cash at all apart form a few foreign notes that were kicking around in my wallet. Fortunately the man selling the coffees was willing to exchange a double espresso for a five euro note so I managed to get my fix. A little bit of stretching and I lined up at the front of the 2100 competitors and some bloke started talking to the assembled runners, including a strangely convoluted description of the course as something like "challenging, hilly yet reasonably fast" - you can't have your cake and eat it mate, it's either hilly or it's fast, and this course is hilly. The race was started by none other than local Olympic golden girl Kelly Holmes and as a sign of the times the start was slightly delayed while she took a picture for twitter. Here it is: I'm about 4 rows back wearing my bad-taste orange Oakleys.

After the twitter-fest we were off. Tunbridge Wells is on the Weald of Kent, a series of low hills, and the river Medway forms a valley next to it. The race heads Northwest out of town, drops into the valley after about 5km and then climbs back up in the second half, so it can be divided up into a series of distinct sections.

The first 4km or so are in rolling hills, with some fast downhills and some short sharp climbs. There is then a series of long downhills from about 5km to 9km, followed by the two big climbs, the first, in Penshurst, being shorter than Spring Hill, the second, which is hard and a couple of kms long, topped off with a long false flat. From 14km to 19 or so there is a series of false flats and rolling hills that are quite tough to maintain pace on, then the last couple of kms into town are mostly slightly downhill and a bit faster.

I didn't really have a plan, since I didn't have much feeling for what sort of shape I was in, but I had what you could call a vague feeling that the best thing to do would be to try to gain plenty of time in the first 10km because the second half was going to be hard. For the first km I just ran at a comfortable speed and was surprised to split it in 3:38 (downhill). The next one had some significant uphills and that went in 4:01, and then it was all comfortably under 4 minutes a km until km 10, including one at 3:34 which included a steep 11% downhill grade. I was through 10km in 38 minutes and some change, then it was onto the completely different second half which is mostly just a case of suffering through. The km splits grew and going up spring Hill I managed km 12 in the miserable time of 5:24. Not many people overtook me, though and I guess most people were in the same boat. My expensive sunglasses kept on fogging up but I didn't really mind because I didn't really want to see what was coming.

Finally over the top of the big hill and things were hurting a bit and I was not sure if I could keep a reasonable pace to the finish. I just kept on plugging away and managed to keep things at somewhere near 4 minute per km pace for the stretch from 13 to 20 mms, with a few deviations when it all got a bit much. Two little girls were counting the runners at about 15kms and seemingly having a great time (is this the solution to the nations numeracy problems?) and I found out that I was in 49th place, which was better than I expected. The last few kms were than just a matter of holding it together and I managed to dig up some speed from somewhere for the last stretch into town, then into the finish, didn't trip over any of the speed bumps and finish in 1:25:44, 53rd place. Kelly H gave me my medal: I wanted to tell her how her 800m race in Athens is one of my all-time favourite sports moments but I couldn't because I had no breath left. I did notice that she's a bit shorter than I would have expected - for some reason I expect all olympic medallists to be at least seven feet tall, rather than about five eight.

Overall not a bad race for me at all, I think, especially given the complete lack of any sort of taper. Obviously I had a big positive split with the second half several minutes slower than the first but that's mostly a consequence of the terrain and I was still running well at the end, although it was pretty tough for the last 5kms or so. The last time I did this race it was OK but nothing special in terms of organisation, but they've made some big improvements and it's got a good "big race" feel with bands applying along the route, great traffic management and everything running smoothly. Next up the Ballbuster Duathlon.

Thames Turbo take on Challenge Copenhagen

The aftermath

This was my 6th ironman distance race and like all the others was a roller-coaster ride of emotion and as always a fight with myself to speed up, slow down or just keep going at all. Do other people fight with themselves as well as with the water, wind and pain? For me the voices started the day before the race, doctor. There was a strong wind in T1 and looking at the dull skies and grey water and the bikes being blown over I was thinking “You don’t have to do this. You could pretend to have a cold, or fake a sprained ankle. No-one would know, and you wouldn’t have to do a stupid triathlon in the cold tomorrow”. This happens every time I’ve got something big to do the next day and I shrugged and went back to the building site formerly known as the Park Inn. Dinner was the special meal the hotel had laid on for us and it was good practice for open water swimming with 40-odd hungry race-ready triathletes all trying to get to the pasta at once. By then my mood had changed: I was shockingly relaxed about the upcoming race and really didn’t have any trouble with pre-race nerves at all.

4.45 the next morning and I crawled out of my pit. The hotel’s breakfast was available from 5, and I went down at about 5.10 to find it buzzing. I joined in with the final carbo-load, then it was off to the race. I walked over to T1 by myself, but as I walked down the racks it seemed that every second bike had someone in a red-white-and-blue top who would stop pumping their tyres or arranging their helmet and shout out a greeting. Thames Turbo had 36 people doing the full distance and another four or so relay teams and we really were all over the race like an embarrassing rash. It was lovely and all of a sudden I was grinning all over my face. I sorted my gear out, lubed all the bits that needed lubing, then it was wetsuit on and here we go. Lining up with everyone I was straying into the land of the really stupidly happy: race on! The pros went off at 7 AM and we were all in the next wave at 7.05. Lots of manly handshakes as we lined up wearing our manly pink hats: this was officially the ladies’ wave to which they’d added team turbo, and they’d allocated hat colour by wave on the basis of some crude sexual stereotyping. The start was on the shore and I got a telling off when I disobeyed a marshal who was determined that everyone should start the race dry by stepping forward and rinsing out my goggles.

Yours truly smiling (in the background with the pink swim hat: Mal James is the cameraman and Kim Rowe is the happy looking fellow without the latex headgear.

My crackingly good mood lasted until about 1 minute into the swim. The water was cold and because I hadn’t had a chance to get used to it before the start I was having trouble getting my face down and my breathing was way too hard. I also got a fair old ice-cream headache to make me more cross but I just kept going. Round the first turn buoy and then… where? My state of extreme pre-race relaxation meant that I had been very casual over things like working out where the swim went. I had a rough idea of the course layout but when viewing it the previous day I’d assumed they’d put a few more buoys in to mark it but no, I think there were a total of three on the course as a whole. I did the mental equivalent of a shrug and just followed everyone else, but I wasn’t happy without much to sight on. Still, I got on some feet for a while until the first turnaround, which was marked by a big white pointy buoy with people on it, I think they call those ones “boats”. For the long straight back under the three bridges I was in a loose pack of swimmers that churned around a fair bit, plus the occasional faster swimmer from the next wave moving through us. Round the turnaround buoy in the canal and then back to the swim finish. Why do those last legs of open water swims always seem to take as long as the whole rest of the swim?

I wasn’t wearing a watch and as I got to the swim exit I looked for a clock to get a split from, but there was nothing, or at least nothing that I could see, and I had no idea how long I’d been swimming for. Judging by the number of blue swim hats from the next wave I thought I’d been quite slow and I was a bit dispirited. In fact my split was 1:14, slow for some but for me towards the faster end of my target times, but I only found that out after the race. T1 was fine but delayed by a minute or two by a stop in a portaloo then out on the bike. That felt a lot better and I whizzed through the twisty bits heading out of Copenhagen and then onto the coast road heading North. This road is a time-triallist’s dream: silky smooth surface, mostly flat but with the occasional bump to break things up and just to make it even nicer a bit of a tailwind. I settled down in the aerobars and kept my heart rate on or below 140 and tried to enjoy it. Something was wrong though. My shoulders were hurting just keeping me on the bars and I kept doing the “Contador shuffle”, sliding forward on the saddle and having to push myself back up it. To start with this wasn’t really a bother but after about an hour my triceps and shoulders were really painful and I was forced to get out of the aero position regularly because of the discomfort. I finally worked out what it was: at the Antwerp race a few weeks before my saddle had shifted a bit going over a speed bump and perhaps I hadn’t got it level enough when I put it back afterwards. I’d ridden the bike since but I hadn’t spent an extended time in the aero position. What to do? By the time I got to the aid station at 50km I knew that I absolutely had to stop and adjust it. That and a second quick visit to the portaloo took about 6 minutes in total. There’s nothing more demoralising than standing by the road trying to sort out your tools while listening to the whooooosh of bikes flying past. Bah.

Not sure when this was taken on the bike

By this time we were off the coast road and heading through windy narrow back roads through rural Zealand. I got back to business and rode on, eventually coming to the stretch on the highway heading South that makes up the last section of the loop. This would normally be a great road to ride on but with the tailwind from earlier now being a fairly strong headwind it was just a case of grinding it out into the wind. Eventually I came to the big hill with the food station on it, crowded with supporters and spectators including a vocal group of Turbos who lifted my spirits. Thanks for staying at the bottom of the hill guys, that meant that I could zip past at speed looking as though I knew what I was doing. If you’d been near the top of the hill, well let’s just say we’d have had more time for a chat. Over the section of pave after the highway and back onto the coast road for the second loop. Up to now I’d been riding well and my average speed was something like 33 kph, but now I started to feel really bad. I had no energy and was finding it hard to stay aero. My cadence was dropping to below 80 and I was not a happy camper. I think the problems with my saddle earlier and my attempts to stay down on the bars despite the pain had made my shoulders quite sore and now they’d stiffened up, but I’m not sure why I was feeling so flat aside from that. I ground my way back up the coast and once I turned West again I had a bit of an assessment of my position. OK, I’m feeling really bad and I can’t get aero. I’ll sit up for this section until I get to the highway, ride comfortably and eat as much as I can. Forget about times, this is just a training ride.

The highway and the big (for Denmark) hill. This photo was taken in 2010 but it was the same in 2011, but with many more supporters there.

For the next 30km or so, therefore, I was that guy. The one you pass on the bike at 120km or so into an ironman, riding a flash carbon fibre bike, wearing an aero helmet, sitting up and looking miserable. I always feel a smidgen of schadenfreude when I pass them, so perhaps this was payback time. That little voice was there again “What do you think you’re doing here? You haven’t done anywhere near enough training, you don’t have the discipline to do this properly, why do you waste your time pretending to be some sort of triathlete? Your swim was rubbish, you’ve got a long way to go on the bike and then you’ve got to run, you’re going to have a really bad day because you’re already knackered”. Muttering words I won’t repeat I ground along, making a point of getting as much nutrition in as I could stomach. I was tucking my used gel wrappers into my shorts leg so as not to litter and I wasn’t doing too good a job of slurping the contents out of some of them so I now had sticky pink yuk running down my right leg to add to my grumpiness. Bah.

Of course, and just as I had been telling people the previous day when I was doing my “experienced ironman veteran” act, bad patches come and eventually bad patches go. By the time I got on the highway again I was feeling a bit better, and the wind had changed a bit so it wasn't so much of a horrible grind as before. Once over the teeth-chattering pave and onto the road heading back to the city I was fine again. My speed was back to something acceptable and the closer I got to town the better I felt. Into T2 for a final bike split of 5.42 which was far better than I was expecting an hour before and I was feeling perky again. Hat off, shoes on, bit of banter with the other guys in transition and then out the tent. I handed my bag to the volunteer and she helpfully pointed out that I was deficient in the small matter of my race number. I just dumped out the contents of the bag on the floor, number on and off I trotted while the very pleasant and helpful volunteer re-packed the bag. I felt as good as you can having just biked 180km and had to make a big effort to slow down. The run course was quite twisty and there were lots of buildings so the Garmin was not much help in pacing, plus the distance markers were placed at apparently completely random distances and at least some of them were in the wrong place. Still, after a couple of kms I knew that I was doing around 4.45 to 4.50 a km and feeling nicely relaxed. Just keep tapping it out, don’t overdo it and don’t stop. As always the psychological games about the marathon have to be played. The thought of running 42.2 kms is too frightening, so you have to just focus on the smaller things. I told myself to just get the first lap done and concentrate on that as a goal.

Coming into transition right in the middle of Copenhagen.

I caught David Spencer and we had a bit of a chat, then Mr Crews who told me the tale of the idiot who’d run into his back wheel and broken three spokes. After about 6km I came across the Little Mermaid. I’m going to be here 3 more times, I thought… I wonder how I’ll feel.

Keep it going, keep the pace steady. The run course was clogged up with people doing the ironman shuffle and I spent a fair amount of time weaving in and out of them. My clubmates were everywhere and most of them seemed to be in front of me and going fast. Don’t chase them, just keep to the same pace and they’ll come back to you. At the turnaround at the far end of the run was one of the pros on the deck next to an ambulance and with an IV in his arm. Keep the fluids coming in, you don’t want to end up like that. Tap, tap tap. The 1st 10k went by in about 47 minutes: I’ll take that. Now I was starting to think about finish times, but I wasn’t sure how I was doing because I didn’t know my swim split or how long I’d spent in T1. The run course went by the finish at the end of each lap, I can look at the clock there and see how I’m doing. Got to the bit nearest the finish and no clock in sight. Oh well.

The number of people out supporting or just generally spectating was astonishing. The end of the run lap nearest the finish in particular was just rammed full of people, four or five deep by the course and then sitting on bridges and overpasses. The organisers say there were 125,000 people there and I can believe it. Of the 125,000 the noisiest and most welcome were the endlessly enthusiastic turbo supporters who always brought a smile to my face and gave my tired legs a boost. It was really great having you there everyone and thanks for everything.

Lap two and now it’s getting into the grimmer part of the run. The first 10km are great because you’re so pleased not to have to cycle anymore, and if you survive intact to the last 10km you know you’re heading home, but 10-30 kms is just a slog, especially on multi-lap courses where you’ve seen it all before. Head down and keep it going. Through 20kms and I was just about holding pace but the 4:45s were tending towards 5:00s and I’d started walking through some of the aid stations. I needed to answer a call of nature and ducked into a portaloo. It was so nice to just sit down, locked away from everything in my little blue box. I seriously considered just staying there for an hour or so. Maybe a little nap. No! Get back out there and finish it off.

I still don’t know what time I’m looking at. With a 5.42 bike I should be looking at being well under 11 hours so long as I keep up a reasonable pace, but it would be nice to have a better idea of what I’m looking at. I suddenly remember that I can get the time of day simply by pressing a button on my Garmin. Durr. The time is 4:11 PM. We started at 7:05 so 11 hours is 6:05 PM so I’m going to be well under it. But is that time Copenhagen time or UK time? I haven’t reset the Garmin to local time, and if it’s UK time then it’s really 5:11, is that possible? I have to force my exhausted brain to do the sums, which takes me a while, and I conclude that either I took over two hours for the swim, which is not likely, or it must have set itself to local time automatically. Back to business.

From 25 to about 35 kms is just nasty hard work. I overtake a lot of people even though my pace has dropped to between 5:00 and 5:15 per km. I can keep going but my legs are now really painful and I am feeling horrible. My main struggle is with that inner voice which has popped up again. I’m going to be nearer 10:40 than 11:00, and my target for this race was just to go under 11 hours. I could just stop and take a good long walk and still make it in under 11 hours. No-one would know that I was slacking off,and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Or you could just walk for longer at the aid stations. Just walk for a minute at this one. Aaaaaargh shutup. I keep going, one thing that helps is the thought that the 10 or so clubmates I’ve passed in the last 15kms would overtake me again if I started walking.

I catch Mark B at about 35 kms. He’s been looking good every time I saw him on the run course but he’s just slowed down a bit more than I have. We run together for a while, then he tells me to just go because he’s really slowing down. He tells me that Straggler’s just ahead. I know that John (Straggler) is a bit ahead of us on the course but he’s surely a lap behind us? Having left Mark at about 38 kms I know it’s in the bag and I don’t have to hold back anymore. Time to run it in and leave it all on the course. I put the hammer down as far as it’ll go and I’m heading home. I can only manage about 4:30 a km but by comparison with most people on the course I’m flying. Finishing an ironman strong is a great feeling. I blow past Jennie and Brian at a drinks station then I’m about 2m behind Mr Taylor as we turn into the finish chute. Since the finish isn’t clearly marked and I still believe that John must be a lap behind me I become confused and stop to check with a marshal whether this is indeed the finish. Yes it is. OK, back to the running as fast as I can. I pass John about 15m from the line and finish in 10:37.

What a great result, for me at least. I’ve known for a while that with the stars in the right place I can go well under 11 hours for an ironman and this time I managed to combine a reasonable bike split with a good run and there it was. I’m particularly pleased given the ‘flu that I caught in December which meant that couldn’t do anything for the whole of January and February and when I managed to get back into training in March I really had to start from the very beginning.  Overall training was sparse as always for me with an average of about 6 hours per week not including the time out at the start of the year: with my job and my family I do as much as I can and I try to make as much of it count as possible, so probably a lot more in the way of hard runs and short, nasty turbo sessions than some. This year I managed to avoid injury and for the first time for 3 years neither of my Achilles tendons was causing trouble, probably accounting for my good run.

A final word about my clubmates. You could easily put together a buzzword-riddled management consultancy seminar about the Thames Turbo group that went to Copenhagen. I think what gives the quality of the team away is the casual acceptance of the extraordinary by the end of the weekend, from the numbers of people finishing in eye-popping times, to stories like those of Jon Crews and Nigel who both had bad crashes on the bike and finished strong all the way to the people who had a hard time but who toughed it out on the run and still made it in. Probably the best triathlon club in the World.