Race report part 3 - the marathon

My second transition may not have been hasty enough to trouble the pros, but compared to my swim-bike transition, it was positively speedy. I took off my helmet, peeled off the extra pair of bike shorts I’d worn for the ride (highly recommended!), emptied my rear pockets and, after quickly slipping on my Asics DS trainers and visor, I was out to take on the Ironman marathon – the destroyer of men and slayer of egos. The reality of this struck me briefly as I left transition – the sheer ridiculousness of it…after 8 hours of non-stop graft and the hardest, hilliest bike ride of my life, I was now heading out to run a marathon!

Frankly, I was so damn happy to be of the bike, I felt pretty good heading out of town and on to the main section of the course. Now, since I started doing endurance races, I’ve noticed something of a correlation between how a course looks and how it races. In the UAE, for example, courses are dull, lifeless, colourless and flat as you like – they’re also damn fast. The Tenby run course was beautiful…d’oh!

After all the hills on the bike, you’d have thought the race organisers may have taken pity on us poor would-be Ironmen and offered up a nice flat run course – but then that’s not the stuff that ‘hardest course in the world’ Ironman legend is made of, is it? 

Instead, we ran around one kilometre out of town to discover a 4km climb of 4% or more, all the way out to New Hedges. There, the course came back downhill for a moment before turning and climbing another sharp incline. The next 4km were, therefore, downhill but, once we reached town, the route zigzagged up and down the sloping cobble streets and looped around the castle – this section featured a climb in excess of 20% which even the pros had to walk up. In total, the run course climbed almost 1km, which is a lot even when compared with most the world’s pure marathons…Ironman marathons are usually pretty flat affairs in comparison. What had I got myself into?

My first lap, I shortened my stride and took on the incline well. Halfway up was an aid station where I slowed to a walk, downed coke and water, and started running again – this was my strict strategy for all the aid stations (whether I felt like I needed to walk or not) and I grabbed a Powerbar gel, a salted cracker or a half banana when my tummy felt able. Heading back downhill on the first lap, I made the mistake of trying to use the easier terrain to make up some time – big error as the most difficult section was the part back in Tenby town centre. This part just sapped all energy just before we turned and made our way out for the next lap – and the 4km long hill!

I followed the same strategy for the second lap but used the downhill as a chance to hold back, rest the legs a little and recharge ready for the tough town section. Unfortunately, heading back into town, the quad cramp came back with a vengeance and made both my left quad and hamstring all but useless. My legs were seizing by the second but I knew I just had to finish this second lap. Passing my friends and family (who were holed up outside a town centre pub – how tempting was it to throw the towel in there!?), I signalled two more laps to go. But I was suffering as much as I had done all day.

I was lapping at around 60 minutes per 10k and I decided that given the course and the conditions (the wind was now howling, the heavens had opened a few times and it was getting very cold towards the top of the course) this was fine even if slower than anticipated, so I steeled myself for the third lap by telling myself it was the only lap that mattered – if I got through the third lap, I’d definitely be able to do the final lap, even if I had to walk it…it was all about that third lap. The people of Tenby were out in their thousands and I managed a few high 5s, thumbs ups and smiles in order to soak up some of their energy.

The hill was incredibly tough but I just concentrated on the next aid station and allowed myself to walk through each a little longer – stretching my dying quad as I did so. The 25k mark is traditionally ‘the wall’ in marathon running and one piece of Ironman advice I’d read said that the 25k point was all that mattered – the rest of the day was just about getting you to the wall in the best shape possible to tackle it. I knew that 25k was at the top end of the course and that, if I managed the long climb up, the hill would bring me back down to town – 28k in and hopefully past the wall. It did the trick, and I passed for my third lap.

I used exactly the same technique for the final lap – longer walks through the aid station, thanking every one of the amazing volunteers out on the course as I went past for the last time. At one point, as I summited the top of the second peak, it hit me – I knew for absolute certain now that I was going to become an Ironman.

I now felt great, considering (feeling good is a relative thing at the end of an Ironman), and the quad pain had even eased a little. Not everybody else could say the same – it was like a battle ground out there, people sat down looking dejected or in tears, others throwing up everything in their stomachs, some were shuffling unconventionally but it was getting them there slowly…others just limped along.

At the second to last aid station I swigged a coke and it came straight back up – my stomach had done a sterling job and just about lasted the day, but now it was starting to revolt – so I ignored the last aid station altogether. Finally, I was in town and rather than making the turn back out on to another lap, I could head down the Esplanade where thousands were watching and cheering. Channelling the spirit of Macca at Kona in 2010, I straightened my visor, zipped up my tri top, took off my arm warmers and put them in my back pocket and made for the finish, lapping up every sweet second of it. In case I was only ever going to do this once in my life, I wanted to look OK in the pictures doing it! I hugged and high 5’d my family and friends and fist bumped everyone all the way down to the finishing chute where I heard the six words that had motivated me in my darkest moments ever since I signed up to do this race: ’Matt Warnock…YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!’

12:50 – it may not be a time that threatens pros or top age groupers, but considering the course I was happy with it. In fact, with a third of racers either dropping out or not making the various cut-off times, I was happy to finish at all. Even the winning pros were more than an hour over their predicted times, with male pros still coming in after the 10 hour mark - something that really doesn't usually happen in Ironman and serves as testament as to the course's brutal difficulty.

The next hour was a blur – getting warm clothes on (the heavens opened for the night as I hit the athlete’s village), trying to eat the fish and chips provided but my stomach not really letting me, massage from the great on-site physios, and then home. I have to confess that a few minutes after crossing the line I went to a portaloo and had a little sort of weep for 10 seconds or so – for no reason in particular, but the emotions of the day had been so huge I guess they just needed to come out somewhere.

But it was done. I was an Ironman. An IRONMAN. On the toughest course, on the toughest day – I felt like I truly deserved that finisher’s medal and t-shirt. But never again. Well, not for a while at least. A year at the absolute least. Oh man, let’s check the calendar online – I‘m well up for another try!