The Failing Triathlete. The Reality of Doing an Ironman and Does it teach Resilience?

The journey to Vitoria Gasteiz began almost two years ago after one too many red wines at Christmas. It’s the perfect time to book your first Ironman as we all know. After a couple of Half Irons in Donegal and Marrakesh (its awful .. please see previous blog) the joy of a full was, when full of the bongo juice, too difficult to resist.?

And here I find the merry VG band – two years later, 7 cancelled flights, lockdown training gremlins, a full dummy run finishing in a car park in Fermanagh, event date moved 3 times, the small matter of Covid, the usual injuries, and the whole palaver of testing, vaccination, airport shenanigans and so much more. Ended up having to fly Dublin to Madrid then renting what could only be described as the vehicle the Americans decided they would leave in Afghanistan as it would kill too many people if they brought it home – a Basra scarred Fiat Tipo Estate in Navy. Be still my beating heart. Bike Box, what looked like Jennifer Lopez’s baggage and off I head to Madrid – 3.5 hours of genuine bravery as the Tipo started to wiggle (on the wrong side of the road) at anything over 100kph and passing lorry’s resembled playing Russian roulette with an Uzi. Maybe give InterRent a miss if you’re hiring a car in Madrid.?J.

Following the lighting of multiple candles, praying to Buddha and making a deal with Satan finally reach Vitoria Gasteiz. I’m three days early – it’s a cracking place. Stunning in fact. Being a ‘failing triathlete’ the decision to come a few days early has pro’s and cons – yes you can get adjusted and rest a bit but if you have selected one of the Event Hotels (Silken was very good and staff lovely) you spend three days having to look at real Ironman – like seasoned, lean gazelle like creatures who appear at breakfast like focused meerkats surveying the carb value of the breakfast on offer - as I gently nudged my third chocolate croissant under the napkin. There is a big step up in seriousness, and attitude from a half Iron… most won’t engage in any form of craic… it’s like … ‘I need your boots and your motorcycle’. I don’t judge this BTW… its just scares the bejesus out of me.

Race day – usual craic about 3 hours sleep with legs cycling most of the way through the night. Up from 4am. Official start time of 8.20am late for an Ironman. But things were about to go completely tits up. The finish cut off at VG is 15 hours 40 minutes – this is fine until you read the small print on the cut offs at like 124km into the bike – again all looked fine until fog killed the swim – devastated …as it’s the only thing I’m any good at and expected to bank some time with a 1 hour 6 min swim and a decent transition. Not to be… but don’t panic you can’t fight the universe. To be fair you would have needed a golden Labrador, a floating white stick, and some tarot cards to navigate the swim. Decision taken for a rolling start – it’ll be grand we all thought – but even in the back of mind I started to think.. these ‘eejits’ might apply the same cut offs irrespective of where you start… at 802 of around 1040 on start line the panic set in. I’m a 6 hour 30 on the bike on a good day… and after about a 90 minute wait I got the go… if I didn’t push a 30kph plus for the first 90 the chances of??getting pulled were actually fairly high… god love the weaker cyclists behind me .. it’s a fast smooth course (1490m of climbing not 1000 as per athlete’s brief) but in 30 degrees heat things can go pear shaped. And so, I pedalled like as fast as my little crow legs would allow and did my fastest 90km (about 2.56) by some margin … but at 87km on a climb my foot came out of cleat and I did a full revolution hitting the tarmac… the pain went from just inside the old dingles right down to my calf.. Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Little Donkey it was worse than childbirth .. but with no gas or air and it stayed for the next 90km of the cycle. Genuinely thought race was over and resorted to use the bottom cog for any sort of climb … the only thing going through my head was ‘I’ve already bought a Finisher t-shirt and I’ll look like a dick if I stop now’. Dumped the Tailwind and moved to water and gels… Tailwind is the devils wee and I’ll never consume it again… not enough salt for the heat and tastes like an oak table with woodworm. Ate enough salt tablets to de-ice the roads of Derry during November. The support through the villages was excellent .. but not a patch on the run.

Later I learned people were getting pulled at 124km – but had started like 2 hours behind the??first cyclists – nothing short of disgraceful. Can’t say any more than that because if it had of happened to me I’d have been in a Basque prison this morning writing this like Tri Oscar Wilde. I finished the bike in 6 hours 17 (my fastest??time), checked watch and realised even a 6-hour run would be enough to be home safe. Again though.. its now 33 degrees (at one point my Garmin had it at 36 degrees) and the heat is mental. Remember the Irish only like three things – rain, booze and gingers. We can’t do 33 degrees. Met an Italian guy in my 20-minute transition and shared my hotdog buns and Nutella with him – that’s not innuendo.. it wasn’t that kid of tent. Tried to pee in the immaculate toilets (cleaner at every toilet bless them) but sawdust came out.?

The run became a war of attrition - the bike push had hurt and the quads were on fire. Every KM was a prisoner and it was always going to be a run walk… but when I ran it??was like around the 5 min 40 sec mark and the walking was at around 8 min 30 sec… and this endured for the entire 42km… pulling me home in around 4 hours 56 minutes… again the fastest marathon I’ve completed at Iron distance. Stomach went at about 26km and just about made one of the pristine attended toilet blocks – the gels and coke had done their work – I don’t think I’ve ever done a faster shit in my life as it came out like a rocket propelled grenade and resembled the Aliens blood. Sigourney Weaver would have shot me – upside, stomach better and off we batter again.??The run broke an awful lot of people.. there were bodies strewn across the course.

It was on the run though that you realised what this event could be … the locals and volunteers (Ironman grumps you really need to thank them on your final lap even with a game face on.. it costs nothing) on the aid station are absolutely incredible. The run course had been pulled out of the town centre because of Covid and to reduce the crowds. It didn’t matter as they came out anyway and the shouts of ‘Animo’ (thought they were shouting ‘animal’ at me for a while which was great ‘n’ all but I wasn’t going fast enough to be an animal other than a slug) which I remembered from a blog actually meant ‘Courage’… every child and adult were shouting ‘Animo’ and ‘Alle alle’ at a number of key spots.. my favourite spot was at the two bars on??the two long straights which got louder on each lap as they got drunker and more terrific as each lap was ground out. When I clapped them on my last lap to thank them for the support I thought they were going to adopt me… it was mental … quite emotional for the ‘Failing Triathlete’. The Basque people are just class. At this point about 5km to go and it was time to ensure a 4 hour marathon (when I did the full 12 weeks before it was a 5.35). Big boy pants.. suck up the pain and make sure you beat the guy dressed as a f@@king banana (lol he was lovely actually and one of the few who was happy to chat for 20 secs.. fair play my friend). I thought I was going to miss the 5-hour mark by about 30 secs with run walk so pretty much sprinted the last 2.5km and went up the red carpet like a writhing Gollum (see picture). It was everything I hoped it would be .. relief to finish, wee bit of pride that the day hadn’t beaten me … anyone saying they aren’t an Ironman after VG 2021 is insane. This was an Ironman of the Ages and if you got there you are a bloody legend. 566 finishers from 1040 starters. That must be a record and not a record Ironman should be proud off. 11 hour 35 minute finish for me.

You will note I finished the run in a ‘Pieta House’ top – it was a privilege to pay homage to the Iron ‘Decaman’ and my Coach Danny Quigley (Danny recently did 10 Ironmen in 10 days for mental health and suicide awareness and has almost raised ￡100,000?

https://uk.gofundme.com/f/DannyQuigley10). Thank you to my Physio Martin (I was literally legless without you brother) and all my fellow supportive triathletes from the NW Club. A big thank to you my family and friends who followed me on the Tracker (for proof of life) and put up with all my shit over the last two years.??Am I content now about ticking the Ironman box.. yes I think so .. just have to stay of the bongo juice on New Years Eve. Did I learn anything about resilience in business… yes… everything. ‘Animo’ my friends.

PS?Recovery: I still look like I’ve been in Josef Fritzl’s basement for a month too long.