Final thoughts

It’s now more than a week since I crossed the finish line and ‘became an Ironman’ and it’s taken me that long to get all these race reports written due mainly to how emotionally exhausting it is to remember and relive the day.

I wanted to write this blog post as something of a round-up, to tie up some lose ends, answer a few questions and appraise my own performance.

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of my performance – both in terms of training leading up to the event and the race itself. As a self-coached athlete, I think I did OK with the training programme I set myself, and showed amazing discipline in sticking to it in far from ideal conditions during a sizzling Dubai summer. I think back to where I was athletically (or, more to the point, non-athletically) just four years ago and I can’t believe what I’ve just achieved.

However, I would say that I made just one mistake, and it was a biggie: I should never have chosen to do Ironman Wales. Now, that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t have done an Ironman or that I’m not immensely proud to have raced in the inaugural Ironman Wales event – a race that is destined to become a real classic – but that I chose this race with my heart rather than my head.

Any Ironman training book worth its salt emphasises how important it is to pick the right race. The fact it was in Wales and I’d have friends and family there to support me (which did mean the world to me - thanks mum, dad, Harvey, Chris, Pete, Zo, John, Jamie, Bobby, Cez and Rach...) clouded my judgement. Looking at it logically, I should have done a race between January and May, to fit in with the optimal time for training here in Dubai. Being an excellent pool swimmer with limited opportunity to practise open water swimming, a lake, canal or river swim would have been best – anything but a rough sea swim! With very little elevation here in Dubai, a flatter, rolling bike course was what the doctor ordered – certainly not one of the hilliest ironman courses, with much the same true of the marathon, as all my distance running experience (Dubai Marathon, RAK Half etc) has been on pancake flat courses. If I’m being utterly honest, choosing Wales, for those reasons, was a bit of a gaff, but one I came out of OK.

I think I prepared as well as I was able, there are aspects of training that I'd change in hindsight, but that I really couldn't have done much about given the heat. There are aspects of race day that I can definitely learn from but I don’t think I got it too wrong, and I was really happy with my nutrition and hydration plan. What I was most proud of was my ability to roll with the punches on race day and, as conditions worsened, I reassessed my race strategy and target times – allowing for the slower race while also setting myself goal times that kept me pushing hard throughout.

So, the big question that many people have already asked: would I do it again? The answer is simple: beyond a shadow of a doubt. But probably not Ironman Wales, or certainly not IM Wales for a few years. The first reason for that is that I’d like to experience other races, countries and atmospheres. Secondly, though, as I said, it’s not a course that currently suits me so I’d look for one that was a better fit. Having now done an official ‘Ironman’ branded race, I’m also less bothered if my next iron distance is an official M-dot one or not – some of the other races look lots of fun and are also much more affordable with a different sense of camaraderie.

But I definitely would do Wales again in time. If I’d moved back to Europe and was training in the right ways, I would like to go back and see if I’d improved and test myself over the toughest of courses. Put simply, I didn’t have the legs for the bike course this time round. I’d have to be doing a couple of 3-6 hour rides in hilly terrain each week, or taking part in tough sportives every weekend all season…I think the IM Wales course is just one that demands a lot of hill time in the legs, pure and simple. I’d also want to drop at least 5kgs and would probably use a road bike rather than a TT bike.

So, which one’s next? That decision hasn’t been made and I think I’d like to do a couple of Half Ironman distance races first, but I’ll keep you posted when I do decide.

Finally, there was one huge winner on the day – and that was Wales. Ironman UK has become something of an also-ran in recent years, with little reputation, mystique or allure. It’s a race that mainly Brits do as it’s nearby and therefore more affordable, but overseas athletes don't exactly have it marked down as a must-do. 

The message from UK and foreign athletes alike this week has been that finally the UK has an Ironman to be proud of, and one that people from all over the world will come to tackle. The difficulty of the course will give it huge appeal to those who want to test themselves on the ultimate course, but it’s the people of Tenby, the volunteers and those who lined the streets in all the towns and villages on Pembrokeshire that make me want to come back and race one day. 

Afterwards, some of the locals said that they didn’t quite know what Ironman was before the weekend, but it was the best day of the year and that they were already making plans for next year – if the welcome and support they provided this year was what they could do with only a loose handle on it, future races are going to be really special indeed.

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!

How do you know when you're ready for Ironman?

There's one question I've been asked by almost everyone I've met for the past three weeks now: 'are you ready?' My standard response - '...as I'll ever be' may end up not being true (should IM Wales not put me off for life, the potential of entering an IM that doesn't require training through a Dubai summer, doesn't boast more altitude than a tough Tour de France stage and simply having the experience of already having done one, will no doubt make me more prepared), but I'm now as ready for this race as I can be, is what I mean to say.

The big problem is that nobody tells you when you're ready. I've done the training and feel relatively confident. But, back when I entered IM Wales, I had the romantic notion that a day would come when everything would click, and I'd just know...like a prize fighter in a Hollywood flick, there'd be that one turning point as I cyclle to the top of a hill that beat me at the beginning of the film or something equally awkwardly contrived. 'I'm ready,' I'd whisper portentiously straight to camera.

But it doesn't work like that. I don't really feel any fitter, stronger or more streamlined than I did six months ago, even though I know I must be. The taper period just muddies these waters even more.

Yesterday, I had a full day off. I took advantage of it to go to the cinema and head to the local outlet mall, where I was chuffed to pick up a pair of Nike Frees for just 30 quid – as I'm sure you'll have noticed, I'm a geek when it comes to tri gear and training types, and I take my running shoes very seriously!

Today, it was a 2 hour bike ride over hilly terrain, followed by a short 25 minute run straight off the bike. The ride felt pretty rubbish – my legs ached, my glutes are in agony and I generally felt fat and unfit...welcome to the taper! Part of me wishes I'd just carried on training super hard right up until this weekend and then rested for a week. But I know that, with thousands of metres of climbs to look forward to in IM Wales, a taper was completely the right call.

The run? Meh...it felt fine, I guess.

I've a similar session tomorrow, but I'm going to keep to the flat and take all intensity completely out of the ride, maybe even stopping for lunch at the halfway point. The next week it's very, very short stuff, tho I'll definitely be heading for a couple of massages before the big day to work out some of these aches and pains. Fingers crossed that works.

Part of me wonders how much of these aches, pains and tiredness in my legs are, if not psychological, then latent worry, stress and nervousness. We'll find out soon enough – in reality, the question 'are you ready?' can only be answered in the sea and on the roads of Pembrokeshire next weekend.

That's right, folks: 8 days and counting!