...and so it arrived. Finally after months of preparation the week of Ironman had arrived. We had decided to drive down on the Thursday, stopping overnight in Albury before completing the rest of the journey on the Friday morning, arriving in Melbourne just after lunch.
Deciding to head straight to rego, we parked in St Kilda and completed the formalities of weighing in, signing up and being given our free bag of basically useless freebies.
As with checking in with most events, the nervous energy at check-in was palpable with lots of finely tuned, chiselled athletes, complete with shaved legs (still no idea why they do that) athletes wondering around the place looking fit and ready to smash things up on the Sunday. None of which helped our virgin-ness at this distance.
After retiring to our abode in Mornington for the night, Saturday morning was bike check in at Frankston. Arriving mid way through the check-in period, we were greeted by quite possibly the largest selection of carbon framed penis extensions the world has ever seen. Zipp wheels seemed to be the order of the day with literally every other bike demonstrating "speed weaponry" of some sort. My 4 year old P2 was definitely in the lower echelons...
After racking our bikes, checking out the transitions tour and re-checking that our bikes were still there 20 minutes later, we decided to head to the foreshore to check out the water for the swim. Big mistake number 1! With a strong northerly wind, the chop blowing in off the bay was creating surf that resembled Manly, never mind Port Phillip Bay! Not the pre-race reassuring view of the swim course that any of us wanted...we also learnt that the swim course had now changed to a two lap course - which sounded like chaos for 2000 swimmers!
After walking to the end of the pier to check that things we as bad as they looked (they were), we decided enough was enough and jumped back in the car and drove back to Mornington again...now full of race nerves and nervous energy.
Rest assured, Saturday was a very long day spent trying to rest but not really succeeding.
After an early dinner and to bed, we were up at 5.30am. With a leisurely 7.30am start, transition would be open until 7.15am, which in turn meant we didn't need to leave Mornington until 6am at the latest. Perfect.
As predicted, the wind was still blowing (despite annoyingly dropping overnight, thereby giving us all false hope that conditions would have changed...) and the journey to Frankston was undertaken in silence as we all pondered what the day had in store.
After parking, we sat in the car for a while, deciding to delay our entrance into transition for as long as possible! We had enough nervous energy amongst the three of us without spending 30 mins in transition winding ourselves up even more.
Eventually, we bit the bullet and decided to make the move and made our way to transition. On our way in, some guy who was coming the other way told us that the swim had been halved and that the start time had been put back half an hour because of the conditions in the water...! Things must be bad.
After checking the bikes, loading up the nutrition, re-checking the bikes again and generally doing not a lot, and with time to kill, we found a spot to sit down while we waited for the start. At this point, no-one seemed to have any idea about what was going on with the swim - apart from it still appeared to be on given the number of wet suits that were being put on.
Eventually, after a further delay we put the wetties on, dropped off our 'street bags' and joined the penguin shuffling towards the beach and presumably the swim start.
Once on the beach we huddled at the back while we took in the sight of 2,000 wet suit clad ironman athletes waiting to be unleashed into the choppy abyss. By this time, the start had been delayed again and so eventually, and after waiting around for what felt like ages, the pro's were sent on their way leapfrogging into the water.
Deciding to move forward a little, we were now standing about half way back on the beach and about 2/3 back in the field. We spent most of this time trying to listen to the swim instructions as no-one around us seemed to know what the course was. Because of the wind, all we could hear was pier, hard right and two buoys. Still, it wasn't as if we would be first so I just figured I would follow the masses and take it from there.
After a quick handshake and wishing each of us the best of luck we were on our way into the water.
Deciding to take things easy at the start, Roly and Tim quickly moved off as I walked into the water, trying to avoid as many flailing limbs as possible. Eventually it became necessary to swim and I dived in and started windmilling my arms as much as possible as that appeared to be the approach of everyone else around me.
The amended course basically had us all swimming into the oncoming swell before turning around two buoys, around one more and then back into the beach.
The swim out to the end of the pier was chaos. Quite literally. With the swell rolling in, there was no time to get into any kind of rhythm whatsoever, and it took most of my energy just to stay afloat in the mass of flailing limbs and bodies that were pushing past, around and about in the washing machine. Eventually I made it to the end of the pier only to find out that there was no "hard right" but instead a slight turn towards the 2 x buoys which were apparently ahead. I say that as I simply couldn't see them in the mass of bodies, arms and swell. In hindsight, all the surf training we had done battling our way out of Manly to get to Shelly was proving invaluable as I continued my way just basically following those in front of me.
Eventually I sighted the first white buoy ahead...just as the leading swimmers started coming back through the pack. At this point, the disorganised chaos stepped up a notch as swimmers literally swam head first into each other. It was at this point that I also started seeing other swimmers turning around and heading back to shore before they had reached the buoys. They were cheating. Such a shame - I mean with a shortened swim, why cheat yourself out of 50m of swimming? No excuse in my book.
Eventually rounding the first buoy, I headed towards the second which was only 50m away. It was about now that I was actually able to get my head down and crank out some kind of organised stroke without being molested. Rounding the buoy (giving it a wide berth as normal), I set sail for home, knowing that the second half of the swim should be with the swell and therefore a lot easier.
As it turned out, this was entirely correct. I'm not sure if the fact that there was a lot more space around me by now also helped, but I was able to get my head down and focus on my stroke and finding some sort of rhythm.
Despite the best endeavours of one particular swimmer who literally swam over me (and a lady behind me apparently), I eventually rounded the final buoy and headed for the shore. At this point I was swimming with the swell directly at my back which, while felt great, was actually pushing me further down the beach and away from the pier where the run to T1 started. Looking up, it was clear that this was the case for the majority of swimmers who were all heading to shore, but at an angle.
Quickly re-adjusting, I set sail for the quickest route to the beach which, while not exactly with the swell, still had me standing up closer to the pier than a lot of others who ended up with a 3 or 400m run along the beach.
Standing up and stopping my watch in 35 mins dead, I started what was still a 200m trot along the beach and into T1.
Reaching T1, the chaos level went up again as what felt like 2,000 swimmers were all trying to get changed in what was basically a large tent. I grabbed my gear and luckily managed to grab a seat, emptied my bag in front of me and put on my cycling gear.
Wishing the guy next to me all the best I then ran out of the tent, threw my swim bag in the large bin and headed for my trusty steed, unracked it and headed to the ride exit, jumping on and heading off on the longest ride of my life.
The ride comprised what was supposed to be a short ride through Frankston and out onto the Eastlink Freeway, heading north for 45km before turning around and heading back to Frankston and doing it all again.
With the shortened swim, I quickly re-adjusted my nutrition plan such that I would start taking calories onboard once I had been racing for an hour and every hour from then on. The plan was to start off on PPT for the first hour before dovetailing with 1 x bar and 1 x gel an hour with another hour of PPT when I felt like it. In addition, I would sip on the water in my Aero Drink bottle and take 4 x Endurolytes per hour to get the electrolytes in.
Once onto the Eastlink, I quickly went aero and headed north. As I expected, people were flooding past me from an early stage...probably those who had swam half way to Mornington I suspected. Not that this bothered me...I had read that 80% of all Ironman athletes went too hard on the bike and then paid for it on the run. Knowing that the run was my strength, I was determined not to fall into this trap. But they kept coming by. Packs of cyclists all drafting off each other in another obvious display of what was basically cheating. While there were more cyclists on the road than expected at this point, and maintaining the 12m gap was virtually impossible, some riders didn't even try and keep a gap between them and the rider in front. Bad form.
Once onto the Eastlink, I quickly went aero and headed north. As I expected, people were flooding past me from an early stage...probably those who had swam half way to Mornington I suspected. Not that this bothered me...I had read that 80% of all Ironman athletes went too hard on the bike and then paid for it on the run. Knowing that the run was my strength, I was determined not to fall into this trap. But they kept coming by. Packs of cyclists all drafting off each other in another obvious display of what was basically cheating. While there were more cyclists on the road than expected at this point, and maintaining the 12m gap was virtually impossible, some riders didn't even try and keep a gap between them and the rider in front. Bad form.
Still, on I went, taking my first drink of PPT with just over 1 hour down in the race. Everything felt ok and I was travelling well. Past the first aid station, I was surprised to find that I had virtually emptied my Aero Drink bottle, so grabbed a bottle and filled up.
Once past the first aid station, things got a little tougher as the wind that had played havoc in the swim started to hit the peloton as we headed north. With the Eastlink basically exposed to all elements, and the wind coming from the north, this meant that we were now cycling into a 40 km/hr headwind, literally down our throats. As a result, my speed dropped. Again, I wasn't too concerned as I kept one eye on my cadence, keeping it over 80 if I could, with the other eye on my HR, trying to avoid pushing too hard.
At about the 35km mark, the pro's came steaming past on the other side of the road which gave us all a lift. From there to the turnaround though things were just a hard slog as my speed struggled to get over 25 km/hr. Despite this, I focussed on what I could control, taking in my calories, water and pills on schedule.
About 5km before the turnaround, the route took us into the Eastlink tunnel and the only real lengthy downhill section of the course. It was at this point that I started passing people, probably as they were sat on their brakes. It was about this point that I topped 65 km/hr - my quickest pace of the whole leg.
Back on the Eastlink again, I got my head down and tried to focus on just trying to maintain some kind of form and rhythm. The cadence wasn't a problem, and I was consistently higher than 80, but the HR was starting to be a concern as it nudged 140. Normally on the bike I am around 120/130 so I needed to be careful that I didn't push myself too hard on the return leg and ruin my run.
Eventually I made it to the tunnel again, figuring that the hard part of the ride was now nearly over, and I should fly back to Frankston...
Rounding the turnaround only 1.30 minutes slower than my outward leg (1.51.30 versus 1.50), I turned for the last time towards Frankston.
Knowing that my aim of 6 hours on the bike was probably gone, I still figured I could give 6.15 a good crack with a good last 45km and with the following wind that would surely greet me at the end of the tunnel...
Past the drinks station, back into the tunnel and back out of the tunnel I started to crank things up a little in anticipation of the tailwind. Just one problem...there wasn't a tailwind anymore. In fact, worse than that, what was effectively a 40km/hr head wind on the way out had now become a 40 km/hr head wind on the way back, in other words, the wind had now swung around 180 degrees!
It actually took me a while to A - realise this, B - accept it and C - appreciate what impact this would have for the last hours on the bike.
To make matters worse, it was about this time that I also started to struggle with my nutrition. Knowing that I had to keep eating every hour, I was now starting my 3rd or 4th Torq bar and it wasn't going down well. In fact it wasn't going down at all which wasn't good news. I needed to keep eating if I was to survive the marathon. The only way I could get the bars down was with big gulps of water - and that wasn't normal. I was forcing myself to eat - big mistake.
Not really thinking a lot about this at the time (probably due to the 40 km/hr headwind), I just concentrated on keeping my head down as much as I could and surviving the last km's of the big leg.
Eventually passing the last aid station , the wind seemed to get even worse, and it was becoming hard to maintain any kind of speed. Regularly I would look down and see the speedo registering only 18km/hr as I furiously pedalled in the bottom chain ring.
By this time the wind seemed to have got worse. Which probably wasn't the case, but it certainly felt like it.
Again, my recollection of the final 15/20km of the bike leg is a little hazy, apart from wishing it to be over. There were only a few cyclists around me at this point including one elderly lady who pedalled past me like I was going backwards!
With about 10km to go, one guy rode past me and suggested that we drafted go get through the last section. Despite the wind and not feeling the best, I declined his offer - despite the fact that the TO's had probably all gone home by now, I wasn't about to start to cheating to get through, and so I let him go...watching as he systematically asked everyone in front of me the same question...eventually finding a willing ally with whom he then rode off into the distance with.
It was also about this time that my stomach started to feel dodgy - not bad dodgy, just gurgly and I started to fart like a trouper as I rode off the Freeway and into Frankston - again, not a bad sign I though, probably just the result of being in the aero position for so long.
Having said that, I didn't spend a lot of the last 20 or so km aero in any instance with the headwind just too hard to maintain forward motion while being down on the bars...
Eventually, and after what seemed like hours, I made it into Frankston and into T2, gave the bike to one of the very helpful volunteers and made my way into the change tent, grabbing my bag and finding a seat.
After a relatively quick change and a forced pee I was out of T2 onto the marathon. Time to fire up and give the marathon a good shot. Put the bike behind me and concentrate on what I had been waiting for all day!
The marathon course was essentially a point to point course with a short 2km out and back loop at the start.
Quickly into my stride I looked down at my Garmin to see I was cranking out 5.15's. Perfect and I felt strong! And clearly smiling too....!
Onwards and still feeling strong, I decided to take my first swig of PPT at about the 4km mark. Bad idea. Literally as soon as it had passed my lips, my stomach threw it back up again, along with the water I had taken on in T2. Realising that everything wasn't as it should, I stopped by the side of the road, bent over and dry retched for about 30 seconds. By this time, my stomach had started cramping, convulsing and wasn't in a good shape.
Some guy ran past at this point telling me I would be ok and that this happened to him last year. One of the girls from the aid station I had just passed also ran up to me to ask if I was ok. I wasn't, but I said I was.
After about a minute, the retching stopped and I started to walk, slowly at first, just to see how the stomach would react. While it certainly wasn't right, the retching stopped and I was able to break into some kind of run.
On I went, scared to take anything on board for fear of retching again. In fact just the thought of PPT made me want to vomit anyway, so that wasn't an option.
About 8km in, I passed through another aid station and decided to try and take some flat coke on board. My body was clearly craving the sweetness so I figured I would give it a shot.
However, by the time I reached the end of the aid station, my stomach clearly wasn't happy with the decision, and I jumped into a handily placed portaloo and did what my stomach had clearly been wanting to do for a while and let it all go.
Feeling better, I made my way onwards towards the next aid station (the aid stations were placed 2km apart).
Half way to the next aid station, things again took a turn for the worse and my stomach immediately started to cramp and churn again. Luckily, there was a random public toilet just ahead and so after about 100m of shuffling, I crawled into the toilet and again emptied my bowels. Twice in fact.
Deciding at this point that the fuel I was carrying with me was more than likely going to be effectively pointless, I dropped my belt in a bush, remembering the location so that I could hopefully pick it up the day after (which I did!). Another positive of this move was that I removed another pressure from my stomach which was still doing cartwheels at this point.
Back onto the Nepean Highway and I again broke into an apologetic trot as I made my way to the next aid station, repeating what was becoming the now familiar routine of walking through the aid station, taking on water, then flat coke and then visiting to the portaloo to empty what I had just put in!
I figured by now that my stomach had basically shut down and was refusing to retain anything I put into it. I was now contemplating a marathon with no fuel, and worse, no ability to retain any liquids.
Realising that any race goals were now long gone, I shuffled along the Nepean Highway for the next 10km or so, passing those who then passed me while I was in the toilet at each aid station. At one station I enquired if there was any first aid available to which I was told that there wasn't and that I should probably pull out if I couldn't keep any liquid down. No chance I thought, as long as I can still walk, there is no way I will be pulling out of this event.
Some aid stations necessitated two visits to the portaloo, in fact on a couple of occasions, I had to return back having made it 100m down the road!
Still, I was now able to run between the majority of aid stations which was good (albeit I did need to walk a bit to avoid disgracing myself by the side of the road). I was also regularly passing people when I wasn't emptying my bowels (albeit the same people over and over again - so much so that the middle 20km of the marathon felt like groundhog day).
The route wound its way down to the beach at one point with a customary aid station. Still craving the coke fix, I requested the bottle to take with me...only to spend the next couple of kms splashing warm, flat coke all down my front. I eventually handed it to someone who very kindly agreed to dispose of it for me.
Into the night and on I went. Consistently averaging around 7 min/kms, and consistently dropping the kids off at the pool at every aid station. Getting to know the inside of a portaloo in the light is interesting...but once things got dark, made things even more interesting. Luckily I was into a routine by now so could navigate by feel more than anything else. At one particular portaloo I have to admit I let things get the better of me and broke down and started crying...why had my race gone so pear shaped, what had I done wrong. The grief, however, soon turned to 'pull yourself together Chris you have an Ironman to finish' and I quickly moved on...
What the night did do, however, was make the aid stations more enjoyable. Whereas in the light, the aid stations sprang up on you, by night you could see them in the distance. In fact with some of them, you could actually hear them. One in particular stands out (probably as I needed to pass through it twice) with dancers, music and lots of encouragement being shouted out. Unfortunately, this was followed by a period of walking as the stomach again got the better of me (probably the excitement), but at least I enjoyed the aid station!
After what seemed like ages running along dark parks, through alley ways and then back along roads, I made it to the 38km aid station, deciding this time not to stop and to push through to the end...at 7 min/km pace, I only had to keep going for another 30 mins and then I was done after all...so I did, and it worked - i.e. when I say it worked, the need to go to the toilet stopped (basically as there was nothing to get rid of). I also figured that by this time, I wasn't going to get any worse and so I just powered through. What did start to happen about now was that I was getting quite bad chest pains...which I ignored (incidentally when talking to a paramedic friend some days after the race he reckoned that this may have been the first signs of the heart straining at having to effectively pump treacle around my body - i.e. heart attack territory - luckily I didn't find this out at the time!).
With about 2km to go the lights of the finish line appeared in the distance, and after passing though the amazing Giant aid station I was onto the home straight, past the check in area and towards the finish.
By this time I was running at a fair lick and passing a fair few people while high fiving those who had stayed to cheer in us slow coaches.
Eventually I swung around the final bend, complete with camera in the face (good shot for the website apparently!) and made it onto the home straight, and what a home straight it was. The atmosphere was truly amazing. I don't know if it was the darkness, but it sounded (and felt) like there were thousands of people cheering me on - the feeling was incredible. I am surprised I didn't break down there and then to be honest.
Spotting Tim and Roly at the side, I high fived both of them only to immediately cramp up in the calves...my first cramping of the day!
As a result I didn't make the most dignified crossing of the finishing line, but I remember being called an Ironman (despite the very incorrect pronunciation of my surname....).
Into the medical tent and a nurse asked me to get on the scales.. only to find out that I weighted 69kg and had therefore lost 12km during the race. The nurse seemed a little startled by this, and proceeded to tell me that I probably should be put on a drip - but unfortunately, due to the fact that I was lucid, could stand up and requested to come to the medical tent (as opposed to being carried) I was probably not a high risk. In any event, that guy (said pointing to the unconscious guy on the floor next to me) probably needs me more than you!
At which point I was told to go on my merry way and drink lots of electrolytes...and to seek medical assistance in the morning if I still wasn't well.
Wandering out of the tent, I found Tim, told him of my predicament, at which point we decided it was probably better that we went home...so we found Roly and went (calling in on some more public utilities on the way to the car!).
Eventually we made it back to the hotel, and I showered and got changed - at which point I decided that I needed to get something solid into me, so munched on some dry, burnt toast for a while, washed down with some of Tim's electrolytes...
The morning after I felt a lot better and the stomach had started working again - we made our way back down to St Kilda to pick up the bikes, the car and the fuel belt I had dropped off by the side of the road.
Both Tim and Roly had superb races, Tim smashing the course and Roly not far behind.
The next few days were spent reflecting on the race - what had caused my stomach to fail on the run? To this day I have no real idea what caused the distress, but figured it could be a few things...Catherine and Alice both had gastro after I left Sydney...maybe the event caused this to flare up on the day? But then again, if it was gastro, how come it disappeared the day after? Maybe I got rid of everything? Was my nutrition plan correct? The fact that I was forcing Torq bars down me on the second half of the bike suggests that my stomach wasn't handling them very well...was I de-hydrated and therefore my stomach couldn't properly digest the bars? Had the unscheduled introduction of Gatorade on the bike caused my stomach to react? Did I prepare myself properly on my training ride with the race day nutrition and in particular the frequency of bars during my long rides (I hadn't), or did I just rely on the fact that it would work on the day.
Either way, something went wrong but I am determined not to let this be the focus of my race. The truth is that I managed to finish well under the cut off point and despite my body partly giving up with 5 hours to go. Sure, I missed my goal time, but who really cares? I am an Ironman and nobody can take that away from me.
Post race, I dabbled with the idea of backing up and entering Port to try and put things right, but in the end I decided that this wasn't the best plan. I was tired and needed a complete break from long training sessions. Sure, I was extremely tempted, but in the end sense ran out.
However, I am definitely keen to go again...and give it another shot. So much so that on the way back to Sydney, Tim, Roly and I have already pencilled in Challenge Roth in 2015....bring it on I say!
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