Sleep was, of course,
fitful and fleeting – they don't believe in aircon in central
Europe, it seems. Breakfast was sparse – my stomach still felt sore
but was better than I'd dared to hope. I was happy to get a carton of
Ensure Plus down – so I knew there were at least 300 calories in my
system. Along with a bit of fruit at breakfast and a Gu before the
start, this would guarantee my glycogen stores were pretty full
pre-race.
The hotel laid on a
shuttle bus which taxied us down to the race start. The atmosphere
down at transition and the race village was already phenomenal.
I
visited my bike to make sure the tyres were pumped, liquids were
topped up and it was all ready to go. I walked through transition
once or twice more, just to make sure I knew where my bike and run
bags were, then I walked back down towards the race start, stopping
only for a quick loo break en route. It was already pretty warm and
sunny out.
Before I knew it, I was
lined up on the beach and ready for action. The swim start in Austria
is split – there are three piers with the outer two forming the
barriers and the inner one splitting the right from the left – the
pros actually dive off one of the peers giving them a 100m or so
headstart, which didn't seem fair! I opted for the left but near the
centre purely as it was least crowded and allowed me to push to the
very front while taking the shortest line. The local priest performed
the traditional blessing of the water, and then the Austrian national
anthem started blazing out, competing with the hot air balloons,
helicopters circling above and boats blowing in their sirens out in
the lake. My skin tingled. Not for the last time that day.
The swim: 55mins
The start was expertly
done. With one minute to go, the tape was lifted and we were told to
get into the water but not go past the start flags – suspended
above the water some 25m out. As we were slowly swimming out, the
cannon went off...
I put my head down and
concentrated on working hard, breathing every four strokes for 20
breaths, until I was well beyond the end of the pier and leading the
way for all the swimmers on the left side. I got into a rhythm,
feeling strong, and continued towards the first buoy.
Around 700m
out, I looked right to see a group some 20m away and decided to head
right and join them. It turned out it was a load of female pros,
strong age groupers, and a few male pros who'd missed the front pack.
I slotted in, found feet and battled away all the way out to the
first buoy, which felt a long way out. There was a short section left
(any time you find yourself sighting off a white castle on an island,
you know you're in for a stunning race) then we turned back for the
shore near where we started. By this point, we'd dropped a lot of the
pack and there were maybe 12 age groupers and a couple of male pros
in the pack. This section was slow and difficult as it was straight
into the sun and – my only criticism of the whole day from an
organisational point of view – not well marked. We were heading for
the entrance to the canal but, from the lake, that's just a small gap
in a tree-lined shoreline. It'd be difficult to spot from a boat with
binoculars – with the sun in your eyes while swimming, it was like
trying to play Operation while on a bouncy castle. At one point, all
of us stopped at once, skulled and looked up – having a hilarious
anglo-franco-german conversation. I didn't understand every word that
was said but imagine it translated as exactly what I said to them:
WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING CANAL? The pros were led in by kayak –
I can't help but feel that the kayak that stayed alongside us to make
sure we were all safe would have been better pointing the way.
The pack slowed then,
uncertain of the direction. “Bugger this,” I thought, as one
other swimmer and I took the initiative. I thought I could see some
crowds, and that was good enough to go on. I'd swim until I hit
something, I decided. We'd been told how fast the narrow canal would
feel. That we'd be almost dragged down by the tide of swimmers. Just
one problem: only the male pros had been through and they were a long
way up the canal, but I could sense that everyone was hanging back,
looking to be dragged up. Oddly, I was cramping quite badly in my
left quad by this point but relaxing it and not kicking whatsoever
had helped. Otherwise, I felt good and had plenty in the arms. Screw
it, I thought. I pretty much knew by now that we must have been the
second group up here and the first age groupers – I may only get a
chance like this once in my life, I decided, and so I was going to
lead it in.
Then we were in it –
in the canal – and it was deafening. And colourful. And, as someone
who comes from a swimming background, by far and away the single
greatest sporting moment of my life. The crowds were five deep on
each side, with face paints and flags waving, kids dipping their toes
in the water, fancy-dressed madmen trying to run alongside. People
waved and cheered from the bridges. It's quite hard to breathe while
smiling and laughing, but it's something I had to learn to do pretty
quickly. I'd love to see my splits for that final kilometre because I
absolutely hooned it; to the point where the pack of 12 who'd entered
were now 5 – and you have to be going some to drop swimmers when
drafting one after one in a narrow canal. The guy on my feet cut the
corner slightly and just beat me out of the water on our way into T1
but I really didn't care by then – for 12 minutes or so, I'd felt
like a rock star.
I was a little
surprised at the time getting out of the water – 55 minutes – but
I guess you'd expect a drop-off of around 5 minutes due to the
non-wetsuit swim. Everyone also talks about it being a 'long' swim –
I reckon it's dead-on 3,800m but that's assuming a straight line into
the canal. In reality, I think that added a couple of minutes on.
Long and short, I knew I'd swam well – I could 'feel' it.
Compared to the change
of clothing, snack, chat, nap and after-swim drinks I must have
indulged in during my transition in Wales, my T1 here was simple,
quick and efficient. I put some extra bike shorts on for comfort, the
helper shoved the swim stuff into my bag while telling me it could be
40C on the bike and lathering me with total sun block, to the point
that I must have looked like Phil Graves' albino cousin from Ireland.
Fortunately, I had total game face on otherwise the fact that the
transition girl was smoking hot and rubbing me down might have led to
an uncomfortable moment when I had to shuffle out with my aero helmet
strategically placed.
The bike: 5:41
Helmet and race number
went on during the long run to the bike, then I was straight out,
feet into the shoes as I made the u-turn to head out to the football
stadium.
In spite of the bike
being the longest section, it's probably the hardest to write about
in detail. There's basically three sections: first 30km is lovely
rolling terrain along the lake, the next 30 goes inland and is pretty
hilly, the final 30 is a mix between tough, steep hills and long,
super-fast sections.
I'd heard Austria was a
pretty fast bike course but nobody out on the course that day really
agreed. Sure, conditions played their part but, apparently, the extra
loop down to the soccer stadium that we did at the beginning was new
for this year, adding an extra few kilometres so the record-breaking
times of the past were unlikely to be repeated... In terms of total
climbing, Austria is on a par with IM UK, which is actually
considered a pretty hilly course.
What I would say is
that there are some very fast sections. And there are no
kilometres-long hills that take 15 or 20 minutes to scale. But there
are lots of short steep hills – two long and very steep hills –
that tax the legs. If you're a great rider, as a lot of guys were,
you can probably mash up these very quickly indeed. For the rest of
us, they were energy-sapping and it was disheartening to see the
average speed plummet as you fought up a steep incline at 9kph. Of
course, it's not meant to be easy – I'd just say that Ironman
Austria is a good, honest bike course, but if you expect it to be
easy, then you're in for a hell of a surprise.
What I'm most proud of
from this race was my ability to think on my feet and make changes
accordingly. Realistic, actionable changes too. I zipped through the
first loop of the course quickly, and allowed my heart rate to go
above the limit I'd set. This was for one simple reason – making
hay while the sun didn't shine (quite so much). I also knew that my
tummy tends to shut down in the heat; I therefore concentrated on
getting around 1100 calories down me (a Snickers after 20 minutes,
and 600ml Ensure Plus) – way more than half my total calories –
by the halfway point.
That first loop was a
lot of fun – the course is jaw-dropping beyond description, and but
for a couple of short sections the roads are in excellent condition.
Plus, there's barely a moment when there's not a spectator shouting
for you. The sound of cow bells, hooters and screams of “Hoop,
hoop, hoop...Bravo, Suuuper!” are still ringing in my ears. I
laughed, waved and shouted my way around.
The other highlight came
after just 15km or so, passing the first aid station when ironman
superstar Chrissie Wellington cheered me up the hill. I'm neither the
biggest Wellington fan nor easily impressed by celebrity, but if I
had the breath I swear I'd have giggled like a schoolgirl and
screamed “I love you Chrissie”.
I hit the turnaround in
2.45 and have to admit that, for a second, I allowed myself to dream
of a 5.30 bike split. But only a second – it was now sensationally
hot, and I'd expanded more energy in the first loop for that reason.
A 3 hour second loop was the target, I told myself; a 5.45 bike split
would be something to be proud of in these conditions and on this
course and would leave me with a chance of that little finish time
target I still hadn't quite admitted to myself.
The second loop it was
like a different course. The little bumps turned into hills, the
hills turned into mountains. The big two main hills were long, slow,
painful deaths. More and more riders went past but I just looked at
the heart rate – always the heart rate. I was taking on a 600ml
bottle of water at every aid station (every 20-25km), and dumping
another bottle straight over myself. Yet I was still overheating and
thirsty. I managed to find myself in a couple of pace lines here and
there but would invariably get left behind when hitting anything with
an uphill. There were a couple of groups out there and a few times I
saw two riders working together, taking short turns... really
pathetic and sad to see, but I thought the marshals did a good job on
the whole. They looked at every situation – I was passed at one
point and sat up to slow down just as they came past and they
indicated I needed to drop off an extra metre... totally fair. There
could just never be enough of them, I guess.
I lost my chain twice
on this second loop – slight issue with the front derailleur –
but this probably cost me a couple of minutes and a little momentum
at most.
I have to admit, I was
happy to find myself steaming down the fast final few kilometres into
Klagenfurt and getting off my bike. The 5.41 bike time was fantastic
– and I felt pretty good all things considered. It's amazing that,
while out there on the bike, it felt like an endless chain of
uber-bikers had powered past me; I must have been towards the back of
the field by now, I thought. Yet, arriving in transition, it was
still pretty much empty. Looking at the results, only around 400 of
the 2,800 total entrants were actually out on the run course before
me, so I was still relatively far up the field. That's another lesson
I'll take into future races – you're almost always doing better
than you think.
Transition was fairly
speedy and, after almost seven litres of fluid, I even managed my
first pee of the race... a sign of just how hot that bike course was.
The run: 4:14
Heading out on to the
run, I looked at the race time. Let's first see how the legs feel, I
thought.
The first section took
us over the canal and into the main park where the Ironman village
was located. Once again, the support was overwhelming, with hundreds
and hundreds lining the route. I ran fine until the first aid station
at 2km into the run at which point I realised that I was overheating
like never before, my asthma was playing up to the point of
hyperventilating and I could barely open my mouth to drink. You'd
think that somone who lives and trains in Dubai would be used to
this, of course, but that's not the case – I really don't get on
too well with the heat and, if I've learnt to cope with it to some
degree, it's through avoiding the hours of direct, strong sunlight.
Now, it was very hot and very sunny.
The plan had been a 30
minute/5 minute run-walk strategy, basically timing the walk to
coincide with every other aid station. I really, really wanted to get
close to a four hour Ironman marathon – I felt like I had it in me
and was sure that I could get there with this strategy. But right
then, walking through that first aid station, I knew I had a decision
to make. If I ran a 4.14 marathon, that was my sub-11. Any faster, I
might blow up trying... decision made.
So, the strategy
changed to a 25/5 run-walk, with a minute to walk through every aid
station. What's disappointing, looking back, is that I was
comfortably able to run 5.20-5.30 pace when I was running, and that
it was heat rather than fatigue that was the limiting factor. I was
stopping to cool down rather than rest the legs; but conditions were
what they were and I had to find a solution.
Chrissie Wellington
again popped up after a few kilometres of the run. Say what you like
about that girl, but she was the loudest, most encouraging spectator
out there (and that wasn't an easy contest to win) and it gave
everybody a lift to see her.
The first section of
the run headed along the lake to some of the neighbouring villages,
looped through the villages and actually passed through a beach
resort, before coming back to race village and heading out on the
second section, into town along the canal (and then do it all again).
There was basically no shade on the first section and it was a hot,
hot mess. Even on the first loop, people were being carried,
stretchered and ambulanced off the course. Up in town, the course
took in the main town square and there was a bell there that – legs
allowing – everybody jumped up to ring. Every ring of the bell saw
local businesses donate a Euro to local charities... just another
example of how the area has embraced Ironman.
By the time I got back
to the main park ready to head out for the second loop, the aid
station pattern had been established. Sponge in tri suit, water, sip,
pour over head, coke, more water sip and over the head and – in the
few places they had it – ice down the front of the tri suit... then
time to run again. My pace rarely deviated. I was bang on course. The
quad strain from the swim (felt a little during the bike but not
enough to cause pain or discomfort) was now very stiff and painful.
There are a couple of underpasses and steep slopes out on the course
and I had to walk up and down them – no point blowing a quad for
the extra few seconds of running that they'd bring, I decided.
I was also
hallucinating, it seemed... thinking I'd seen two helicopters land in
the middle of a playground. Turned out they were real, whisking
people off to hospital – by this point, emergency medical services
were being drafted in; after 9 hours, there were already more DNFs
than at the end of any other running of IM Austria.
The last loop of the
run I was entirely in my own head space. Just kept plugging away.
Some friends I'd made at the hotel said they'd tried to call as I'd
gone past – I didn't hear a word. The 30km marker is a big one –
that's when you know you've made it, I think. You know that, by hook
or by crook, you're going to finish this race. The next, for me, came
at the very top of town – final section, 37km marker, 5k left and
32 minutes to do it. I had it. I was going to go sub-11 but, to make
sure, I stopped the walks (other than the quad-saving underpass walk
and 30 seconds through aid stations). I'm glad I did – the markers
had been placed wrongly, it turned out...
I hit 41km in 4.04 –
10 minutes to go, I should make it easily. I was running 5.25s at
this point...and I kept running, and kept running. Then, with horror
and frustration, I realised exactly where the turn towards the
finishing chute was and that I had to pass through the special needs
section, through another underpass and along the lake first...
Funny what you can find
deep down when you need to, isn't it. My Garmin shows a last
kilometre at 4.40 pace – something I'd have thought impossible but,
after all that, nobody was going to take my sub-11 (no matter how
minutely 'sub' is was) away from me. Turning to the finish line, it
looked so far away and I could see 10.59.32 on the board – the
announcer was even counting down the seconds. There were huge
bleachers and big cheering crowds either side, but I saw none of
them. Head down, sprint. Two guys were crossing the line just ahead
of me, milking the moment – I basically ploughed them down to get
over the line. But I was over the line.
I grabbed for my
finisher's medal and saw a couple of helpers come over towards me...
and that's all she wrote. Legs went, the fire in my head exploded and
down I went... I was dragged along into the shade and, briefly, over
the road and into the medical tent. All I needed was fluid and shade.
10 minutes later, I felt 100% better and was grabbing a shower, then
a massage. That's when the big grin first appeared – not sure it's
left since.
Part 3 - post-race thoughts
Part 4 - thanks
