Ironman Austria

Ironman Austria 2014 – Beyond The Finish Line

Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 10 so far )

Ironman Austria 2014 – The Run

Posted on July 12, 2014. Filed under: Austria, first time ironman, ironman, Ironman Austria, ironman nutrition, ironman regensburg, ironman tips, Klagenfurt, marathon, race report, race review, run |

When it comes to the Ironman, run is often a euphemism. “A euphemism for what?”, you may ask – because it is indeed a foot race after a swim and a cycle. Well, it is a euphemism for a never ending, shart stained, dehydrated hobble-waddle. But that might put people off so we soften the description.

Let me share some important statistics with you:

Number of people who say “I will swim and ride conservatively and then smash the run because I am a runner” – trillions

Number of people planning to smash the run who actually succeeded – absolutely feck all

Percentage of those that looked over the abyss but still crossed the line humbled and stripped of most of their dignity – 100%

These statistics are more directional than strictly actually factual but, more seriously, there are two types of runner in the world – those that have done the Ironman marathon and those that think they know what it is like to run 26.2miles in the sun just after cycling 112miles and swimming 2.4miles. Without spoiling the surprise too much I can exclusively reveal that it’s just not fun except, perhaps, if you are winning at Kona. Your legs feel like all the spring has been taken out of them; your stomach feels like a bucket filled with a heady cocktail of left over chip fat and all the fizzy drinks from MacDonalds; and your whole body feels like you have been put in a sauna wrapped in tinfoil. It’s only really a question of whether you feel like that at mile 1 or at mile 26.

And the really tough part is that once you have done an Ironman marathon you can’t unknow what it feels like so, although I finished the bike feeling strong, I had a sense of impending trepidation (or more accurately doom) about this particular jog. I picked up my run bag, sat in the changing tent and started the taut, laborious process of of bending down to loosen my cycling shoes. While I could get my hands roughly to my feet I was tantalisingly short of the buckle. Thereafter followed a process not unlike trying to touch my nose with my elbow. Or more accurately trying to identify my arse from my elbow. But removing my cycling shoes was quite important to me as running a marathon in cleats was likely to be uncomfortable. After what seemed like an eternity bent double, bouncing my top half towards my feet a volunteer saw me contorting like the work experience guy at Cirque du Soleil and with two finger presses released me from my shackles.

Something unexpected slipped from my sock – my right foot had a bluish tinge and was quite swollen. An elephant foot. It was unexpected as it felt fine and I had no indication on the bike anything was wrong but, hey, a bit of colour on my celtic white feet just added some glamour.

As I started on my preparations I looked up and noticed a lady had strayed into the male changing tent – she had either got lost or had some really odd fetishes. As she loosened her cycling shoes this particularly hairy, Spanish Ron Jeremy lookalike next to her dropped his tri suit and began the thorough process of applying vaseline to his entire body finishing with some particularly noisy slopping around his wee fella. Whether either of them noticed the other will remain in the sanctity of the changing tent. The Somme of the Ironman.

I popped in a gel, changed my socks and shoes, lubed, put a bottle of water over my head, handed my bag to a volunteer who gave me a sweaty hug and I set off to SMASH the marathon. Except I didn’t. I squealed like a puppy that had been stood on. My right foot had a blinding pain that shot right up my leg. Another step. Same pain. Bugger – this wasn’t in the SMASH IT plan. I’m not sure I can describe the pain but basically mid foot, on the out side of my foot the last three toes and the sole of my foot felt like they were somewhere between an inferno and a bruise. I assumed I had swimming goggles or something in my shoe so I took it off but there was nothing there. Something was wrong with my foot. This was going to feel like a long 26,2 miles.

Leaving T2 I reset my ailing Garmin and changed the display so at least I could see time and distance in the 4mm of screen that was visible. This meant that I could stick with my tried and tested 4min run, 1 min walk strategy. I did a kind of awkward walk/limp for the first 4 minutes which took me out of transition, over the bridge at swim exit and into the park. At the end of 4 minutes there was no chance I would walk as the well beered crowd was three deep – pretty much the first group of people we had seen since the swim exit. Every time you contemplated a walk the crowd went wild so I pushed on. With a kind of one legged, limp, walk, hop I was already developing the fear that my Ironman shuffle was going to develop into the sideways run so often seen in the latter stages of an Ironman. I suspect that I looked like someone who has tripped and then pretends to run as they look over their shoulder. I was that awkward. About this time I also discovered that it was unadulterated agony to turn right. Which left me in a bit of a pickle as the course was a double figure of eight WITH EVERY TURN BEING A RIGHT HANDER.

In 2011 I rattled like a pharmacy as I ran, stocked up with all manner of helpful narcotics (immodium, ibuprofen and salt tablets) but for 2014 I had made the conscious decision to run “clean”. That seemed a twat of a decision in that particular moment. I am pretty sure some pain relief would have made the ungainly gait more bearable but, hey ho, no-one ever died of a sore foot (googles sore foot fatalities).

The 4:1 strategy worked a treat for the first 10k. Just before 3k, I ran across Michael (@smoker2ironman) walking. I knew he had started 15 minutes before so he must have been suffering. I walked with him for a minute – his knee was bothering him and he was weighing up the DNF with the intake of voltarol. I could have mugged him for his voltarol at that point but he needed it more than me. I gave some painfully gibbered words of encouragement and then jogged on.

The first part of the figure of eight was hard work. It was a really exposed flat section out to Krumpendorf and, when I started, some of the speedies were on their last lap. This meant that it was harder than it needed to be with lots of jostling and maneuvering on a really narrow path. As we arrived in Krumpendorf there was a short grass section that went down to a lakeside lido. It was short and semi-circular and, you’ve guessed it, continual right hand turns. I died a thousand deaths as this was at the start of a 4 minute run interval. The thought of gnawing my foot off with my teeth crossed my mind. I swore inside my head like a sailor at the folly of not packing a couple of ibuprofen.

Somewhere around the top of the Krumpendorf loop I started to run out of steam. I am Scottish. Despite the factor 50 I had run an hour without any shelter in a temperature somewhere above 25c. I had actually dessicated. I was sweating salt crystals. I was literally at the point where my own tongue was uncomfortable in my mouth and my head felt like it had been microwaved while wrapped in a damp towel. At the aid station exiting Krumpendorf I started Operation Desperate Measures. 4 sponges over my head, two tucked in my try top, 4 cups of water, a slice of watermelon and two handfuls of ice. I walked until I could feel my core temperature start to come down. As the ice cubes started to slip through my fingers I shoved them in my shorts. From that point on I just survived between aid stations.

Back into the park area the crowd were getting really unruly as beer and sun took it’s toll. My walks were now always coinciding with a group of English lads who now knew my name and shouted increasingly “motivational” encouragement every time I passed. The shout of “come on Pirate” were receiving less and less enthusiastic “arrrrgggghs” as more and more moisture leaked out of me.

The run out to Klagenfurt old town was again completely exposed and I found a line just along a high wall that provided some shelter as I watched my shoulders turn from blue to white to magnolia to scarlet. In the old town everytime we rang a bell in an arch money was given to charity. Three times in one pass I jumped to get that fecking bell. At the turn there was another sharp right hander through a square that was set up with a huge screen for the evening world cup games. The crowd were fun but still on the right side “Magaluf bar crawl”. I got the bell again on the return and noticed a photographer. I mentally checked my face and was happy to realise that I was still smiling.

By now the strategy was run 90 seconds, walk 60 seconds and always walk the aid station. Thankfully my stomach was fine (compare that with the Ironman Regensburg run) but my feet continued to get sorer and hotter. I managed to stay one step ahead of the dehydration as the day finally started to cool.

I knew mentally that hitting the half marathon would be significant and, from the first lap through the park area, I knew exactly where the half marathon point was. As I returned to the Iron Dome area alongside the Lend canal in the relative shelter of the trees I became aware of the casualties. There were a number of sideways runners, a man that ran like he had developed piles the size of watermelons and the chap nonchalantly face down in a grass verge. Like he was dead. But he wasn’t. Yet.

Just before half way I saw Pam and Roar in the park and gave them the thumbs up. Feedback afterwards was that I looked WAAAAAAY better than Regensburg. I went through the half marathon just under 2 hours 40 minutes which was considerably better than I thought it might be as the liquid leeched out of my body earlier in the lap. But now it was just one more lap to go. 5 hours was gone, the finish was in the bag even if I crawled it, the last 21km would just be about moving forwards while smiling.

About three kilometres into the second lap I saw shady goings on up ahead. A tall hairy yeti skulked out of the woods. Not spectacular in itself but that particular yeti had come past me very fast on the bike about three hours before.

Me: “What’s up Nick?”

Nick: “Everytime I run I shit myself”

Me: “Hey, it could be worse. Come on run with me for a bit”

Nick: “I’ll give it a go”

Nick’s innards: *gurgle, splutter, backfire*

Nick: “maybe I’ll just walk”.

Gastro trouble is never far away in the Ironman and that afternoon I learnt something I didn’t know about the Ironman run. In Regensburg we did 10km laps so you only saw the few people you were running with but in Klagenfurt there was often two and sometime three way traffic. And what became apparent with all that traffic was the noise. The noise of The Farts. I remember seeing a sign at Kona last year “Never trust a fart in an Ironman”; well I can testify that the whole of Klagenfurt were putting their trust in the sphincter. It was like everyone had squeaky shoes, like McCartney had given up on Hey Jude and was conducting a perpetual dulcet Frog Chorus. Whatever the Ironman run is, I can confirm that it IS NOT pretty. Or fragrant.

Pushing on for 30km I saw a scarlet heided paddy coming towards me. Nessie was out on the run. Cue an exceptionally sweaty, coke and gel stained hug. We stood and caught up for the first time in 10 hours. In the middle of a tight path, attracting grumpiness from the shuffling men on the death march, farting their way home.

At the top end of the Krumpendorf loop I needed a pee. I could have gone into a bush. I could have held onto it. I could have peed my tri-shorts while I ran. But no, I went into a portaloo. I can truly say I have never seen anything quite like it. As I nod at the trough I often like to rest my head on the wall. I am just shy of 6 foot and THIS WAS NOT AN OPTION. What hell had occurred in here? How did someone’s bowels get sprayed quite so high up a wall? As I stared at the small urinal feature in the portaloo I tried to pretend there weren’t two GIANT jobbies on the toilet seat but I couldn’t. I wretched constantly for my whole visit and even if there was a huge family sized packet of ibuprofen, hell even morphine, in there I wouldn’t have touched it. If I ever pee myself in public I will trace the public john phobia back to Trap 2 in Krumpendorf.

Back in the park I saw Pam and Roar again and heard that Ness was on her way back in from Klagenfurt. I pushed on and about a kilometre later saw her in the other direction – “Nearly there paddy, you’ve got this now”. Just before the old town some young chap on roughly the same walk/run plan as me. Eventually we agreed to go it together. From this point on, about 7km to go, we mainly walked. We both probably could have run more but some social connection was important to us. We chatted about anything and everything – he was from Ottawa, the airline had lost all his kit and his wife was also doing the race – we saw her during our march.

In the old town square the football was in full swing. But plenty of the crowds backs were turned to the screen. They had rearranged the beer hall bench to create a channel for the runners. A drunken guard of honour. The Gauntlet. But by now the crowd were calling us Ironman, there was no doubt any more. The thoughts of a smash and grab on the pharmacy were passing. The grin got wider.

With 2km to go I suggested we run it in. The final kilometre sign was a lying bastard. I estimate that is was about 8 miles long with 40 right hand turns, an underpass and the only uphill on the course. Pirate Happy Chap cheered me from her balcony. The lights shone, I passed under a gantry, I high 5’d a million people, I turned into the finishing chute, I ran until I wanted to vom.

“Dougie, from Great Britain, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN”. 2 years and 11 months later it was as sweet as the first time.

And just when you thought it was all over there is one more episode to make the Ironman Austria Odyssey complete. And that will answer the age old question – what happens when you finish an Ironman.

Until then, have a beer and embrace the fact that you can fart without fear.

THE ENTIRE IRONMAN AUSTRIA ARCHIVE

Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 8 so far )

Ironman Austria 2014 – The Bike

Posted on July 8, 2014. Filed under: Austria, bike, cycle, first time ironman, ironman, Ironman Austria, ironman nutrition, ironman tips, new ironman tips, nutrition, race report, race review |

Take a gel. Grab a gulp of clean, fresh water. Put on some comfy shorts. It’s time for 112 miles of Austrian bike ride.

I used 1,700 words to describe a 67 minute swim where my head was largely in the water. On that basis I will need 10,147 words to describe the basic cycle before I even start talking about the scenery. (Joking!). (Probably not joking).

Firstly, let me come back to the swim. I got a lot of feedback that people were deterred from Austria by the description of the swim. DON’T BE. Sure, ANY Ironman swim is tough, a beach start particularly so. The mass beach start is an absolute spectacle but it is not a huge amount of fun. And the canal would be thrown out of The Hunger Games for brutality. There are no cuddles once you are in the water. But, tactically I made an error that put me in the middle of the bosh for a prolonged period. You can avoid it altogether and hopefully if IronNessie writes a race report she’ll explain how she totally avoided the stramash. It is completely possible and I coached her how little time you lose if you choose your start strategy carefully. Unfortunately I am too dim to heed my own advice.

The Aero Pump Arrangement

Anyway, I walked through the long transition zone, stripping off my wetsuit, picking up my bike bag, re-lubing, carefully drying my feet and putting my shoes on. I had to loosen my helmet to put it on and then again when I was on the bike which seemed really weird at the time but, with hindsight, I suspect that whatever had happened in the swim had caused some temporary swelling. There was certainly an unusual pain in my head, neck and shoulders for the first 50km or so and after that I can’t really remember any discomfort. Post race the helmet was loose again so who knows? I fetched my bike, walked out of transition and headed out for 180km (112miles) on the road.

Now, the bike course was the main reason that I chose Ironman Austria in the first place – it is famously quick. Ness’s calculations and the race briefing were that there was 35km of ascending and 55km of descent or flat on the course. However, the more I researched it the clearer it became that while it was quick it was certainly not easy. Austria is kind of standard ascent for an Ironman but what makes the difference is long, straight, smooth descents. It was surprisingly difficult to get ascent data for training – from various sources I saw 1200m, 1400m, the race briefing said 1600m and my own dying Garmin said 1814m. I think the correct answer is somewhere between 1600 and 1800 but it certainly didn’t feel like it. But this was not new news. By the time I put my toes in the Wörthersee I was very familiar with the profile of the course and my training had sought out similar hills in preparation.

I always worry about the bike. It is so important to overall performance in the Ironman but it is my weakest and newest sport so typically I feck something up royally. The biggest and most surprising news about Ironman Austria was that I didn’t. As soon as I got on the bike it felt different from 2011; I was comfortable; I knew what I was doing; I was confident. More importantly the whole ride was on Plan B and it worked perfectly. Plan B was required for 2 reasons – firstly, my Garmin was absolutely jiggered so I had to go on feel rather than data and secondly, I knew I couldn’t stomach Powerbar in the heat so I immediately switched to bananas. Everything had been tested – not as thoroughly as Plan A – but IT JUST WORKED.

Coming out of T1 the congestion was incredible and the referees, sensibly, ignored the drafting distances. Pretty quickly, I was down on the aerobars and pushing 40km/h on the flat without puffing too hard. And for the first 50k or so I would describe the going as gently undulating. With the fogged up garmin I could see current speed and lapsed distance rotating every 10 seconds or so. Cadence and heartrate, which I had used for training were completely obscured, and total race time was absolutely waterlogged. So, trusting the plan, and letting the day develop as intended I didn’t even ask anyone the race time – I just focused on how I felt and tried to constantly ride *just* within myself.

There are two main climbs on the course – Faaker See and Rupertiberg. From the altitude map Faaker See looked 6.5km long but in reality other than a short spike at the start it was unremarkable. Rupertiberg looked pretty benign – short (2km) but stiff (150m); but became my absolute nemesis as it climbed over three sharp rises with an aid station perched at the top. As I read in previous race reports lap 1 was a cruise and then Rupertiberg really nipped on lap 2. If my Garmin had the decency to record my heart rate this would have been the only time I red lined.

One of the things I found remarkable about the Ironman Austria bike course was how quiet it was. There were long stretches when all I could hear was the the tweeting of birds and the click of many, many, many freewheels. In Regensburg, the course felt like a constant party but in Austria with the exception of Klagenfurt and one other town in the course there was a lot of quiet time. Sure there were people on Rupertiberg on the first lap (and an exceptionally irritating, borderline sexpest DJ – “GO IRONGIRL, GO IRONGIRL”) but the weather must have deterred the advertised “Tour de France” style crowds.

Also remarkable were The Randoms. Often on a random stretch of hill were a couple of random people on camp chairs, off their tits on beer and schnappes, blowing whistles and horns with no obvious means of getting to or from the apparently random place they were at. To be honest they seemed bemused by the bikes going past them so it may have been their standard Sunday afternoon and we were just getting in the way.

I had been thinking about Ness’s swim, hoping that she had followed advice and stayed out of trouble. After the smaller loop of the bike course there is a brief section of two way traffic and pretty miraculously I heard my name shouted in the dulcet paddy tones. I looked up and she looked well; I was happy that she was out of the water and I estimated that she was about an hour behind me. If she could hold that pace on the bike I knew she would beat cut off.

I can’t really remember the order of events now. At some point, I think towards the end of lap 1, it rained. And it properly rained heavily. There were police and marshalls in the towns on the descents slowing us down. One building was covered in red crash matresses against the wall. Some aero-alpha-clown decided to overtake a long line approaching that sharp right hand greasy turn, locked his brakes and just about took me out. He probably saved 3 seconds. I damn near lost 3 kilos.

Subsequently, I discovered that I went through 92km in 3:09. I didn’t know it at the time but that was on target pace for my original plan of 6:30 and my final estimate of 6:40. I also finished lap 1 in Regensburg in a similar time so I’m kinda glad I didn’t know as I unraveled rapidly after the halfway point in Regensburg and thinking about that would have been wasted energy.

My nutrition plan was metronomic – at each aid station I launched both bidons, I took on 3 pieces of banana, a fresh bottle of Powerbar and a fresh bottle of water. Between aid stations which was about 40 minutes I aimed to finish the banana, the Powerbar and as much water as I needed, drinking to thirst. I can honestly say that I never suffered any GI problems at all and I even needed to pee on the bike. (If you like gruesome detail – in Regensburg I peed in the lake and then didn’t pee again until Monday lunchtime. And that included a lot of beer consumption. Dehydrated doesn’t begin to describe it.).

Lap 2 was more of the same – short, sharp uphills, long flats and straight downhills. The scenery was nothing short of stunning apart, of course, from the gaudy triathletes. Now, at race briefing they said there were lots of toilet facilities on the course. I have no reason to doubt this but if it was true they were stealth portaloos, camouflaged by the CIA. Pretty much round every bend was some musclebound chap indulging in some dirty protest, stripped to the waist launching a golden stream into the undergrowth. Every woodland area had half a dozen bikes dumped in front of it. But not everyone was so frivolous with time. One particular pointy helmet bellend, not wasting a moment to protect his flimsy dignity, took the time to balance his billion euro bike against a road sign, squat and take a dump by the road side while assuming an aero position sideways on to the incoming traffic on the grass verge. From the side he looked like he was riding a tiny, invisible bicycle in his pointy helmet and half a tri suit…….until you noticed the exhaust discharge.

Just before Rupertiberg for the last time I felt like my hands and triceps were cramping so I stopped for the first time in about 5 hours and wolfed down two salt tablets. As I stood there at the side of the road the overwhelming urge to pee came over me. Following the lead of the aero-shitter I would not waste one excess second on mere ablutions – so I did it right there – over my bike frame, bidons and into my shoes. “No worries”, I thought, “that can be my dirty secret”. At which “DOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE” as Nick shot past. I shook my urine soaked feet, squirted a full bottle of water over my lower half and bike and set off again in distant pursuit. About two kilometres down the road Nick, obviously inspired, had cycled right up to the edge of the woods and was leaving a trace of his own sugar spiked DNA on the Carinthian countryside. This was far from the last time that I witnessed Nick dealing with matters of a sanitary nature. I should mention that, ballast expelled, he overtook me again. Just a bit of toilet jockeying for position.

At the summit of Rupertiberg I could turn my attention to the run for the first time. Unusually, I felt good. While the thought of a marathon wasn’t thrilling, it didn’t make me involuntarily vom all over my pee stained bike. A quick body scan suggested everything was in working order – back was tight but not sore, a twangy nerve on my right hip was twanging but not crippling, knees felt as supple as 42 year old knees ever feel. Although I wasn’t sure of race time or progress, I certainly felt like a 5 hour marathon was do-able.

On the descent of Rupertiberg and the final 35km the wind picked up. The last 5km into T2 were brutal against an unrelenting headwind. For the first time I was in the small ring and really struggling to push forwards against the wind. For each push of the pedal I swore – quite the most foul profanities I could think of. I’m not sure whether it helped forward momentum but it was cathartic. About 1km out I saw Pam for the first time and sat up off the bars to wave. Disaster almost struck approaching T2 as the dismount line was immediately around a blind corner and the marshalls were looking bemused at the triathletes concertinaing into each other as they rounded the corner. A bit of frantic, maybe even panicked waving would not have gone amiss.

Al was right at the bike dismount and, having seen Ness at the end of lap 1, shouted that she was about 90 minutes behind. I didn’t know my own speed at this time but it felt like she was going to make bike cut-off with time to spare. My mind was calm.

6 hours and 33 minutes. 50 minutes faster than Regensburg and bang in between my expectations set last October and two weeks before the race. Happy as a pig in shit but blissfully unaware until after the race.

Again, I walked through transition, deposited my bike in the rack, popped into the portaloo, grabbed my run bag and readied myself for the run. As you should, because it will be properly epic.

THE ENTIRE IRONMAN AUSTRIA ARCHIVE

Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )

Ironman Austria 2014 – The Swim

Posted on July 7, 2014. Filed under: first time ironman, ironman, Ironman Austria, ironman regensburg, ironman swim, ironman tips, race report, race review, swim |

Toes grasping at cool sand, a priest reads a blessing “may the lord see you all return home safely today” or some other holy chuff. F’sakes. The rather jolly Austrian national anthem draws to a close. 2,500 stand shoulder to shoulder cocooned in rubber suits, latex on heads, making imaginery final micro-adjustments to well loved goggles. It should be a ludicrous sight but we are immersed in the moment; the final seconds before a long training journey is put into practice. The announcer calls 10 seconds to go and the silent stoicism is broken as 2,500 rubber clad gimps turn to the stranger next to them, tap them on the back, shake hands, offer a hug and wish each other, and no-one in particular, good luck in any of 50 languages. We face forwards, the cannon booms, red and white fireworks explode over the still, milky blue Wörthersee in an ethereal Austrian flag. En masse, without words, 2,500 people step forwards. Ironman Austria is GO.

Of course, Ironman morning doesn’t start on the beach. It starts hours before. Days before even. There is a theme with Ironman Austria that I won’t labour. It is a fantastic race, deservedly considered one of the best in the world but it is all, well, it is all very vague. There appears to be a huge amount of assumed knowledge and, as the site is vast, that results in a huge amount of unnecessary walking. There is no signage, there are huge crowds and nobody really knows what is going on. So bike racking on Saturday afternoon (I was given two different racking times) through to the swim start there was just a general level of confusion. It just didn’t have the slickness that I would expect for such a huge event.

Anyway, with that minor gripe aside me, Nessie and the Sherpas – Al, Pam and Roar ate pasta on Saturday evening and the grown up Sherpas drank beer. Due to the general vagueness we decided to go early and as in Regensburg 3 years ago I took control. “The car will be leaving at 5am. Don’t assume I’m joking”. And so we retired and I pretended that I was going to sleep in the 6 hours before my alarm went off. I guess I did, but not nearly as much as I didn’t.

At 4am I went into auto pilot. Up, porridge, last check of bags. Shower, P50, lube, optimistically spray some Lynx, suit up, warm layer on top. 4:45 wake up Pam. 4:55 lift Roar from his bed. 5:03 Give Ness the 3 minutes late death stare. 5:03:30 the car departs. 5:04 Roar starts singing “let it go” by repeating let it go in increasingly unintelligible octaves until the car windows shatter. 5:15 Parked.

Ness and I went to T1 to ready the bikes and “perfectly prepared IronNess” asked me if I would come to her bike and pump up her tyres. Dumbass. As I aero-tape my pump to the frame I met Michael (@smoker2ironman), a long time twitter buddy who happened to have a handy track pump so we chatted as I inflated and then he introduced me to Nick (@thehisknibs) the other man that had been along for the twitter ride since we signed up. But, after talking about it for 3 years I wanted to spend the last hour with my real life buddy. IMG_20140703_190544

So, as I found Ness in the ladies section she was already to go, but with flat tyres. We had been assured that there would be mechanics and loads of track pumps in T1 so I never took mine but with all the Austrian vaguery loads may have translated into absolutely none. Anyway, in what I thought was very un-Ironman behaviour I asked three people to borrow pumps before a passing chap eventually did. The whole time the pumps that had spurned me sat next to me unused. Iron ladies can be rude.

Anyway, we refound the sherpas and the next 30mins were a blur of (more confusion), rubber suits, lube and my banana in a wetsuit jape. And then it was time to head to the Strandbad to start the longest day. As we turned, Roar shouted “RAINBOW” and, right enough, in clear blue skies over the Strandbad building was a double sided rainbow. As if the Wörthersee was not beautiful enough it was framed in the most perfect rainbow to welcome us to the swim start, only my bicycle turning into a unicorn would have been more magical. We followed the stream of rubber clad morphs towards the Ironman arch, wading through spectators experiencing general, well, confusion. And then we popped through security in a blur of paparazzi and we were on the water front. I had stressed to Ness that getting in the water for a quick warm up was critical. But we couldn’t get to the water. We wasted minutes squeezing through the crowd, all similarly dry and confused until eventually we were told we had to leave the secure area to get to the warm up area. OK. 10 mins to go. The crush was unbelievable and there was no chance we could get out, warmed up and back in. So, I looked at Ness and said “you’re going to have to trust me on this one”. We headed to the cold showers and had 5 mins getting chilled down and wet and made it back just in time for the 3 minute countdown.

“You’ve got this buddy. Hang back, take it easy, keep moving forwards”. Hug. Steamy goggles. Separate ways.

Cue dumbass decision #1.

I woke up on Ironman morning knowing that I needed a perfect swim to hit my 1 hour target. I am an experienced (some would say grizzled veteran) swimmer so this should have been basic stuff. I was doing 400m repeats in the pool comfortably coming in at 1:02 pace and on Saturday I did 2700m bang on 1:03 pace. If the Lend canal was as quick as everyone said for the last kilometre I could do 1:00. But it was tight, and the last thing I needed was a schoolboy tactical error.

IMG_20140706_074239 The only explanation I can offer for lining up on the beach 5 back from the front just to the left of the centre pier is that I was flustered by the warm up confusion. I had intended to be front row towards the left pier. In the final 30 seconds I took 4 large sideways steps but never moved forward. In the picture I am at the top of the balloon shadow. Yip, where ALL the people are. Then BOOM, the cannon set unstoppable forward motion in progress.

It was 5 steps into the water. I was in the most congested part of the lake. I was up to my neck wading before there was any point in taking my feet off the bottom. Even then there was only space to swim at a 45 degree angle. And then BANG.

I’m not sure what happened. I have no recollection of the swim for the first 1200m or so and after that it was a case of remembering “water side down” as my brain rattled in my head. I had no facial bruising so I don’t think I took a kick in the face but i was tender on my neck and shoulders for days and I struggled to look forwards on the bike. My best guess from forensic bruise poking was that a hand came down on the back of my neck. I have no idea whether I swam the first straight or whether I was just carried by the draft but my first clear recollection is pretty much hitting the first turn buoy. And that recollection was that my timing chip felt loose on my ankle – I have no idea what kind of mauling we took on that start but I struggle to remove a timing chip at the best of times so it was a rough old swim start. The back straight had loads of space (or I was off course) but as we turned for home I was completely blinded by the sun as expected. The thing about the Lend canal is that it sounds big but really we would probably call it a waterlogged ditch so even without the rising sun it was a practically invisible target. The swim down the home straight to the mouth of the canal was the ultimate zig zag swim as the buoys seemed off course and some flags that seemed to obviously mark the canal were the decorations on some bloke’s decking.

IMG_20140628_183524 Even 5m from the tightly gripped mouth of the canal I was unclear of the route in and then, without warning, there were rocks in my face and scraping my feet in the shallows. I pulled my head up and cramped my hamstrings. The rest of the swim was done with poker straight legs.

Now, here I take issue. At the race briefing Paul Kaye prepared us for the “fastest swim of our lives”. Personally, I experienced the most brutal swim of my life. Or the most twig and leaf mouthed swim of my life. But not fast. Like the famous fish in a barrel we were squashed into bugger all space. As a waterpolo and rugby player I can hold my own in a stramash but this was fierce. Al even witnessed two chaps take it personally and stand up in the waist deep water for a square go. Literally hundreds of alpha boys and girls clawing and grasping in a shallow, grubby canal for an extra millimetre. Not fast, not fun but definitely a unique spectator viewpoint of an Ironman swim.

Realising that my Garmin is as useful as a packet of bacon crisps for an OW swim

A sharp right turn of slack water. And then we were out. Volunteers hauling us up the steep bank and on our way to our bikes. As I am normally a little, ahem, confused as I look for my bike after a swim I made the decision to walk the long transition. Glancing down at my garmin I had no idea how long I had swum as the screen was completely fogged up. But, ultimately, it was a disappointing 1:07 versus my downside time of 1:02. However, with a throbbing head and shoulders I was just glad to make it onto the bike.

It was 21 centigrade at 8:10am. I am Scottish. The suffering was starting. The day was on.

THE ENTIRE IRONMAN AUSTRIA ARCHIVE

http://instagram.com/p/pwjYOuwrFl/

Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )

Ich Liebe Dich, Österreich

Posted on July 6, 2014. Filed under: escape from alcatraz, escape from alcatraz 2012, first time ironman, ironman, Ironman Austria, ironman regensburg, Klagenfurt, race report, race review |

I have a purple security bracelet on my right wrist. I haven’t needed it for 6 days but taking it off is final acceptance that my Ironman campaign 2014 is done. And I’m not ready for that yet.

This isn’t my race report. It is the prelude to a race report. An amusee bouche, if you like. The fluffer.

Now, as a prologue to the prelude I should make something clear. I like detail in a race report. When bloggers recommend taking a seat and pouring a coffee I get excited. When I say pull out a case of rioja, your biggest glass and many tubes of Pringles, I AM NOT JOKING. I have previous with multi-installment epics from Ironman Regensburg 2011 and Escape From Alcatraz 2012. Just to read this blog in it’s entirety will be a herculean effort – I recommend wearing your HRM and having gels at hand.

Back in July 2013 I kicked off the journey to Ironman Austria explaining the reasons that I was coming back for Ironman 2. As I travelled across the North Sea I finished the pre Ironman story making peace with what would come. Que sera, sera. But this is the story of the main event – converting a year of training into a long day out in southern Austria.

There will be details as there will be revelations. Some mundane, some shocking stuff – what dumbass idiocy did I manage to do in this Ironman? What is Ironman Austria REALLY like? What does the inside of a portaloo look like 13 hours into a hot, steamy ironman? What is the darkest secret that the Germanic countries don’t want us to know? Also, there will be human stuff. I helped my buddy, formerly known as Shakey, to prepare for Ironman Austria. I think we can now call her Iron Nessie. But what is it REALLY like for a first timer who has just learnt to swim? And cycle. And is barely competent at staying on her feet.

But most of all it is the start of a love affair with bella Austria. Possibly the fairest of them all.

So, the literal road to Klagenfurt started as we rolled off the overnight ferry from Newcastle. The journey took the same route down the Rhein as Regensburg before it with stops in Bacharach and Dinkelsbühl before crossing into Austria at Salzburg. As this isn’t some kind of travelogue, I’ll leave the details for another time and another place but three things on the journey are worth mention:

I love the Dutch. They are incredibly polite and great fun but those crazy, doped up hop heads need to stick to bicycles and get off the motorway. From Scotland to Klagenfurt and back covering over 1,800 miles I can safely say the Dutch are the loon drivers of Europe. Erratic speeds, no indication, random changes of direction. Put down the spliff and get on the bike, guys. Unless, of course, you build hills.
With the notable exception of Amsterdam, Holland is dull. From Amsterdam to the German border there is nothing of interest. The Dutch are the masters of reconstructing the land – why they stopped at the polders I’ll never understand. Now, Nederlanders, you have done the difficult bit by reclaiming the land from the sea. It is time to take your finger out of the dyke and build some hills, and maybe plant some trees. Just anything but flatlands and motorway gantries.
Autobahns are terrifying. When sitting at 90mph in a very heavy 4WD and a car coming past shoogles your fillings out you know the going is fast. My favourite moment however, was when a Ferrari came past at 110mph with a painter’s Transit tailgating him at about 6 inches distance from his ass. Not sure that impressed the much younger chick in the passenger seat.

Anyway, it is safe to say as Europe transitions from north to south it becomes infinitely more interesting and as Germany runs out of miles the mountains get higher and the lakes get bluer. Somewhere in mid Bavaria, Europe evolves from pretty to downright sexy. It’s not always an easy journey – I am a fan of Germany and the German people but sometimes a commonplace road sign, like Dachau, chills the soul and causes a moment of quiet reflection. As Hartley said, “the past is a foreign country”, and for me it is difficult to reconcile that distant land and those distant people.

As we ran out of Germany, Austria started. Magnificent Austria. We visited Salzburg which was twee and genteel. Home of Mozart and all that. But the high alpine pass we took through the Alps, the Großglocknerstraße, was like The Sex Pistols to Salzburg’s Mozart. I can’t explain in words the majesty of the mountains, the jewel like lakes, the high alpine meadows or the bowel churning, arse clenching near vertical single path roads. Let’s just say we broke the car.

http://instagram.com/p/pwctHwwrI0/

http://instagram.com/p/pyDc3hQrP_/

And then we were there. Iron Village, Klagenfurt. Nestled in the mountains, perched on the edge of the milky blue Wörthersee, spliced by the leafy Lend canal. Populated by loons. I was conspicuous by my denial of compression wear. And Vibrams. And full race kit three days before the race. All the weird and wonderful of the Ironman world were there, in their armour, ready for war (registration).

Registration was teutonically efficient. We checked into the dorms of the Catholic Boy’s School. Ness and Al arrived. Stiegl was drunk. We were ready for Iron Weekend.

Now is an opportunity to recharge your gel flask and maybe have a massage while I write up the swim.

http://instagram.com/p/pyRAQawrOv/

THE ENTIRE IRONMAN AUSTRIA ARCHIVE

Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 7 so far )

Auf Wiedersehen Pet

Posted on June 22, 2014. Filed under: Austria, brain training, first time ironman, ironman, Ironman Austria, ironman tips, Klagenfurt, motivation, new ironman tips |

Whether Neville, Dennis and Oz took the DFDS ferry from North Shields to Ijmuiden en route to Dusseldorf is lost to the mists of time and a fading memory. But, as I chugged on my first beer in 35 days, I was definitely humming Living Alright as we effortlessly glided down the Tyne and into the North Sea.

I’ve been quiet. It surprises some people, but it’s not that unusual for me. Although far from an introvert, I am an introverted thinker and the closer to an event I get, the greater need I have to sort stuff out in my own head. I don’t need affirmation from others that I’m doing well – not because I am arrogant or ungrateful – but mainly because it embarrasses me and makes me feel awkward. Well meaning support is wonderful to receive; but training data that corroborates my intuition is a more powerful motivator for me. I need to have a confidence in myself that comes from quiet introspection.

A bit deep for me on a Saturday evening on a ferry to Europe? Maybe. Nah, not really. Just a preamble to what I worked out while I was thinking.

I have let my 13 hour goal go. “WHAT?”, you exclaim, “choker, quitter, underachiever, surrenderer, DEFEATIST”. Again, not really. My goal is still to achieve 13 hours or faster but the purpose and the benefit of the goal has passed now. I needed that goal to focus a year of training, to provide my north star from the day I signed up for Ironman Austria. I needed that goal to get up at the crack of dawn, to suffer on freezing cold nights in the garage, hell – I needed that goal to force me to wear lycra in public. But I don’t, definitely don’t, need it to get me round the Ironman course as fast as I can.

Contrary to popular stereotypes I am not a tight Scotsman and this is no declaration that I am aiming to get my money’s worth from the Ironman by loitering out on the course, munching gels, for 17 hours. I am still going out there to finish as quickly as possible but with the caveat that I enjoy the day.

I have a year’s preparation in the bag. The cake is cooked. The only thing that is left within my control is race day execution. The only thing that can derail my race day execution is being dumb. The main reason I would be dumb is over-attachment to an objective. I know in myself that I can be unhealthily competitive – that served me well when all I had to do was sprint 50 metres of freestyle or butterfly – it gave me an edge to win. In an event that lasts longer than the average working day it is my fast track access ticket to the med tent (and I picked several of these dribbling, hallucinating alpha uber athlete folks up off the floor in Regensburg). I need to focus on cool, steady progress until at least 20k into the run and, by then, the die will be cast and my brain can go totally primal, batshit crazy and swing from the trees like a baboon. But until then it needs to be controlled and measured.

My relationship to sport has changed over the years. I have bucketloads of medals, trophies and national jerseys to prove the early years and, in the past, nothing would have turned me on quite like a sub 10 hour Ironman and a Kona slot. But, in my 30s I set a course that was heading speedily to an indolent and corpulent, premature checkout.

I have vices, mainly beer and burgers – like a Scottish Elvis, and I discovered that if I ran I could get away with my vices. But crucially, I needed focus. Therefore, I see it like this – I love to live life, training allows me to live life to the full, and Ironman provides the focus and desire to train. People often comment that I smile the whole way round an event and always chat to and thank the volunteers. Enjoying the event is crucial to me because that is the catalyst in a whole virtuous circle that keeps me fit, healthy and strong. It’s just a hobby I love. It took me a long time to realise what sporting success looks like for me as I get older and mellower; but it sits very comfortably with me now.

But the main reason I can be so at peace with letting the 13 hour goal go easily is the most important one. I am a role model to someone very important. I have a curious little three year old who watches and emulates my every move. If I smile when I compete, he will too. He knows about the hard work – he has seen me suffer in the turbo in the garage in deep mid winter, but I want him to see sport as fun. If I go full chimp and chase a time that is slipping through my fingers then that little boy gets to see daddy on a drip with his eyes rolling about in his head and his tongue hanging out. And that’s just not being a positive role model. When he does Ironkids at Bolton in a few weeks I would love to see him do it with humility and grace, grinning like a loon and enjoy himself to the max, following the example his daddy sets.

I’ve done the training, I know how to execute the race, I’ve hit all the distance and pace milestones in practice. I just need to do that once more and stay smart. It might not be the most exciting race strategy but it is smart, safe and proven. And that is all I really want from Ironman.

7 days to go. My arse cheeks are now in a permanent state of clench.

THE ENTIRE IRONMAN AUSTRIA ARCHIVE