IM Acknowledgements
First let me thank everyone that helped me getting to the finish line of this race. It’s not a task undertaken lightly and impossible to do by one’s self.
Thanks to Siobhan for putting up with the cranky “Ironman in Training” for the year, and for the support at the race. Nothing but candlelit dinners and housework for me from now on.
Thanks to my Family for telling me I looked too skinny and force feeding me at every opportunity.
Thanks to Rory for the lend of his “jinxed” bike, Bobby for the “bling” wheels and the Brian Moore Foundation for my pointy hat. There was no way I could blame equipment out on the bike course.
Thanks to Brian, Bobby, Rory, Andrew, Danny, PO, Burkie, Gary, and everyone in the Club for the shared training sessions, advice and support.
Thanks to Pat O’Donnell for keeping me training smoothly and Maeve Mitchell for putting me back together after my encounter with Seanie the Sheep.
Finally thanks for reading on, assuming you are not asleep by now. It’s a tough and arduous journey but one I would recommend.
5:50am Sunday 19th August 2007
The queue for the portaloo’s was still 15 deep when I exited and signaled that the one I just occupied was empty although a bit smelly. The next nervous looking athlete grimaced and made for the door. A lot of folks were literally shitting it. I made my way back to the blue and white Cervelo marked with “344” and started the process of getting into my wetsuit. Carefully does it, the last thing I wanted was a ripped suit minutes before the start.
By now the sky had brightened enough to see the lake. A slight shiver of blue hugged the skyline past the Castle. A hint perhaps, that the day might be favorable after all.
1500 nervous competitors lined up inside the caged bike park. Spectators shouted best wishes, seemingly to no-one in particular. Over the loudspeaker they announced that the race start would be delayed due to parking difficulties, some arriving cars were getting stuck in the mud of the carpark. Bummer, I was glad I was in my wetsuit and ready to go.
The queue starting shuffling forward through the row of barriers and down to the lake entrance. I carefully put on my goggles and placed the new blue IM swim hat over them. At last, the time had come to start this bloody thing. This kicked off a brief wave of emotion, which I suppressed with a gulp and instead tried to avoid the duck shit as I jumped into this bog hole of a lake, give me Dangan or Blackrock any day.
The start line was situated about 200m out from the entrance/exit point so I swam out to there, warming up along the way. The lake was definitely colder this morning and visibility was so bad you could make out nothing but brown. Quickly swimmers lined up beside me and out 200m either side. The start boat and canoeists held us there for ages, everyone getting colder and getting irate. A couple of Oggies kicked off and then 1500 swimmers started yelling “Come-on”, it was a pressure cooker of blue hats.
6:20am Under Starters Orders….
I hoped Siobhan had a good vantage point up on the hill. All around the lake supporters lined the banks, flashing cameras giving away their positions. The starters rib sped out in front of the line-up. I opened the arm of my suit and started my watch. Deep breathe and felt ready to go. Bang.
6000 limbs went into motion, all headed towards a remarkable innocent white buoy about 200m away. I drove at the water, sprinting for space and rounded the buoy wide with about 300 swimmers on my inside. Down the back straight of the course and when coming up for air I received a nice punch in the eye. Totally accidental or so I hoped. The crowd was still pretty thick by the 1000m mark and in my head I figured either I was having a bad swim or the competition was very hot. This soon turned to a chuckle though when the crowds dissipated into a lactic burning frenzy and I was left with clear water.
Lap two of the swim was pretty unremarkable. I discovered I was leading three or four swimmers so I pulled to the right and stopped, letting them go by so I could sit on their feet. Subsequently I discovered none of these guys could swim in a straight line so the little pack parted ways. The final 1000 meters I concentrated on turning on the immersion in my wetsuit. Incredibly difficult to do but a furrowed brow and a long pause in kicking got the hot tap on, pity the dude drafting me.
After what felt like forever, I arrived at the swim finish point and was un-ceremoniously hauled out of the muddy water. A quick check of the watch crossing the timing mat and I was stoked with a time of 56:20, a great start to the day.
7:20am “Chill out, Boss”
A squelchy run in the mud to the transition tent where I grabbed my bike bag, took a chair and started to get changed. An over-enthusiastic volunteer first wanted to pull my suit off, which I declined, and then in trying to be helpful started freaking out pulling all the gear out, firing questions at me. I had this part rehearsed in my head so I told him to chill the beans, before putting on socks, shoes, jacket, arm-warmers and pointy helmet. All took a while longer than normal but it was a cold morning and I wanted to be comfortable on the bike. Thanking the volunteers, a quick run to grab the bike, over the timing mat and out onto the bike course.
Immediately bikers started passing me including some foreign athletes who must have had all their winter bike kit on. The course started with a 2 mile climb up to the bike loop before the relatively straight run down to Dorcester, marked by one major climb at Lyon’s Gate. I was riding the course blind, I knew the general descriptions and had seen pictures but I did not ride or drive it previous to the race. This was a subjective move but I decided it would keep me a bit slower on the first lap, which I had planned to ride very easily. I was hoping to ride mainly between 130 and 140 heart-beats per minute, and avoid going into the red at all, which for me meant keeping it under 148.
A steady stream of fast bikers was passing me on tricked out machines. I was expecting this after the good swim I had so I let each one go knowing I’d be seeing them later in the day. The climb at Lyon’s Gate was a bit of a calf-buster but I spun up it knowing it would be sapping by the last lap. This part of the course was all slightly downhill so the speed was high and I reached Dorcester in no time where we turned north and back to Sherbourne on a different road.
I took water on board at each of the aid-stations and filled up the front aero-bottle while supping on my own high calorie feed bottle. The road layout now changed with more open fields and less hedge-rows. A strong northerly wind meant the going started to get pretty tough and a series of sapping climbs dropped my average speed significantly. I keep my HR low, spinning and in the aero position while the steady stream continued although the bikes were less tricked out and the body shapes started getting bigger. I stuck with the plan and made it to the steep descent where the Cervelo topped out at 75km/h with a white knuckled passenger onboard. The final ten miles in the lap were horrific, lots of false flats and the now very strong head-wind meant keeping up the speed was very difficult, although not seemingly to everyone that was passing me. At last the turning point and lap 1 finished. A bit longer than expected but I was riding very easily so I expected the lap times to drop.
9:30am The fox, the rat and the frog.
The second lap started with a burst of speed brought on by the support from the crowd at the lap finish point. I started overtaking a long line of cyclists feeling great. Unfortunately my HR started climbing so once again I backed off and let everyone overtake me again. Better to save it for later. The next half hour I felt great, loving it and biking strong. At the Dorcester turning point I stopped for my special needs bag and filled my second high calorie feed bottle. This took all of 3 minutes, grabbed some Gatorade and bananas at an aid station and continued on the course back into the hills and the wind.
At this point I passed the dead fox on the side of the road, the wind had picked up from the first lap and now the rolling hills were starting to take a toll. Still more cyclists overtook me and my previous letting go turned more into random expletives. Doubts starting creeping into my mind, and my positivity went downhill as quick as the road went up in front of me. F*ck these hills, f*ck this wind, f*ck look at the size of that dead rat. By the time I passed the squashed frog I was similar IM roadkill, my pointy head rapidly filling my pointy hat. I passed the turning point to a slightly slower lap time. The support only depressed me more, I wanted off this bike now.
I started the third lap in turmoil. My projected time for the bike was blown away, I was starting to hurt and mentally I was crushed. Add to that the bit of sunshine that briefly appeared was long since gone and it turned cold and started drizzling. I got up over Lyon’s Gate for the last time and focused on getting to Dorcester. That passed so I focused on getting to the fox, then the rat, I’m sure the bugger moved since the last lap, and finally the frog. With them behind my wheels I crested the last steep hill, down the descent, where I got a speed wobble at 80km/hr. Shaken but still alive I got to the 100 mile mark, another century in the training log, probably my last one for a long time. The anticipation of getting off the bike pushed me on and I started to feel a bit more positive. By now I had settled with a group of similar riders, all suffering. I learned the guy on the Trek had a sore back, the lad in the Serpentine club gear was hurting, and the American lad was freezing. Five miles to go and the American had a puncture. I immediately started a decade of the rosary, praised the Koran and knelt to Budda to avoid the same cruel fate. The final junction came with the six hour mark on my watch. Disappointed I descended the hill back into Sherbourne and the castle grounds. I dismounted and my bike was whipped away and I ran through the mud once again to the transition tent. Only the simple matter of running’s signature event lay ahead, 26.4 miles of pain or glory, the marathon.
1:40pm Where the fun begins.
A quick change of socks, DS Trainers laced up, grabbed my run feed bottle and made for the light. Volunteers at the exit had handfuls of “Vase” which I gratefully declined. Over the timing mat and into the crowd support, “Come on, Galway”. A long line of runners graced the castle path up the hills and into the distance. Keeping myself in check, conscious of starting too quick, I got myself into a comfortable rhythm. Heart rate was disregarded at this stage but a quick check showed I was hovering round the 150 mark, about right based on transition runs done in training. I started feeling good and reminded myself I didn’t need to feel good to do good. After ten and a half minutes I checked myself and reduced to a walk. This was part of the plan, run 10:30, walk 30 seconds, gives the body a break, drops HR and enabled me to get a good slug of my feed bottle. The seconds passed and I started running again. Damn, the legs felt good. No idea of my pace though as mile markers were few and far between.
Two laps of the castle grounds started the run course, ten miles of muddy trail and narrow path running, with plenty of support at all the corners. I fed off the suffering of fellow runners, overtaking three or four at a time, revenge for the bike. This is what it’s all about, mile 10 of an Ironman and I feel great, I soaked it up and dished it out on the course. About mile 11 this guy passed me like I was standing still. The only runner to pass me yet and I considered going with him but shelved that thought fairly lively. I discovered afterwards he ran 2:58 and was three time champion of the London to Brighton 55 mile race.
The end of the second lap signaled a change of direction into through Sherbourne town. We ran through the narrow streets, around the abbey, through a Girls School and over a Pedestrian bridge. Looking up the hill I could see the flags of the next aid station bellowing in the wind. Trouble, I passed that and rounded the corner onto a tarmac hurtbox. Lines of traffic cones separated a lane of the dual carriageway into the distance as far as the eye could see. Four miles out into the wind and over two cruel hills, and we had to do this loop twice. Nasty.
Runners were now more spread out and moving quicker, taking longer to catch. The wind was strong and cold, I started shivering under my tri-gear, not designed for these conditions. I started feeling tired by half-way and checked my watch, about 1:40 so on target for a good time. My feed bottle was empty and discarded at this stage so I started into the Pepsi coke at the aid stations, backed up with water. I limited the walk breaks to these stations now and paused only to get in the coke and water mix. Finally, the turnabout point, out of the wind and back into the hills. The going was getting tough but I still was overtaking runners so kept advancing. I made it back to town and turned about again into the wind. I didn’t know what mile I was at but only knew I had to get to the end of the dual carriageway and I was on the home straight. The suffering started, and my legs really started to stiffen, mainly as I had to reduce my stride cause the hills were so steep. One or two supporters were out there, cheering on everyone where the need was the most. Right, this is more what it’s about, mile 18 of an Ironman run and all pain. Still though, I was running, catching people, hurting but getting there.
4:00pm Two miles to go.
The wind at my back and the smell of the finish line egged me on back in along the infamous A30. More and more runners were out there now and I felt for competitors who were facing into their two laps. I spotted a couple of Midlands Tri Club gear and Irish Jerseys, acknowledging with a nod of the head. Speaking took too much effort. Off the dual carriageway and back over the Pedestrian bridge, taking it easy this time, careful not to cramp or trip. I figured I still had four miles to go until I passed two supporters who shouted, “Two miles to go.” No way. That’s when I passed the 24 mile marker with three hours on the clock, I was delighted. Nearly home.
I picked up the pace back through the town, still overtaking other runners. Finally I could see the Castle gates and the emotions were running high. So close. I caught one other runner with about 400 meters to go, apologizing as I passed him. Navigating my way through the maze of barriers that was the finishing chute I rounded the final corner to an explosion of colors and a deafening noise. 10:23 on the clock was about all I could register. I slowed to a walk and crossed the line with my arms held high.
I am an Ironman.
344 Raymond Glynn 00:56:22 00:03:50 6:07:36 00:02:21 3:14:00 10:24:05 91st/1500.
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