It is Monday 24th May. I can't walk properly, seem to get a "stitch" every time I stand up, and am still eating as if the world superpowers are about to outlaw it. Different foods have different alternative effects on my digestive system...but none of them can remove the warm, satisfied, sense of achievement I feel from head to toe. Yawn. Must be time for another nap..
It is Saturday 22nd May. The alarm clock ends the all night insomniac wriggle-athon at 4.30am. I start to cram the calories in. My nutrition plan suggests 1000 kcal before 5 am - I'm lucky if I manage 600. I smear myself in P20 sun cream (providing all day protection) and have a last look over my pulse monitor settings and my race plan.
I try to relax and joke with the other Chester Tri members on our way down to the start. The general mood is good; I think all 14 of us are glad the day has finally come, for better or for worse. Puerto del Carmen is still in darkness at 6.00 am. The transition is set up along the road that runs along the beachfront. The multitude of cafes are still closed, a caffeinated gel and water will have to suffice. I stretch and wriggle into my wetsuit, pose for a final photo with the rest of the gang and then make my way down to the beach.
Although it IS only my second year of triathlon, I had a fairly full season last year and I don't remember so many people pushing to get to the BACK of the holding area before the swim start! It is approaching 7.00am and the sky is getting visibly brighter. The gun goes off and I can hear bare feet running on sand, presumably the hero "fish" were sprinting down the beach. Us cycling/running "bricks" amble down to the water's edge and eventually join the foaming white-water for the wrestling match to follow. I had had no saliva to spit in my goggles - so they were a bit foggy (rather like my brain) for the whole of the first lap. I never thought swimming could be such a contact sport....but at least the horizontal scrum that followed took your mind off the distance you were swimming. After 37 minutes, I was up on the beach again, grateful for the opportunity to clean my goggles. The first 1.9 kms (and the majority of the competitors) have gone. I enjoyed the aquatic scenery a lot more on the second lap, with the exception of one larger black/silver Snugg-clad swimmer that I seemed to be continually bouncing off. I hadn't noticed the fish or the scuba photographers on the first lap.
I was delighted to get out of the water in 1hr 16mins. A week ago I had dreamed of going sub 1hr 20mins and realistically decided I'd do well to break 1hr 30 mins. A short jog up the beach, through the showers, grab the blue bike bag and into the transition tent. I had planned a complete change into comfortable bike shorts (180kms on a carbon saddle in a pair of Speedos is not my idea of fun, thank-you) and it suddenly dawned on me I'd be stark naked in front of the ladies applying sun cream (and the female competitors) before I could get my bib shorts on. I dismiss this fear (they're all professionals, right ?!!) and get into my bike gear (They were polite enough not to laugh out loud, at least!). A quick encouraging "Hah haaaaaaaarrrrrrr" in a piratical kind of way to Captain Morgan on the way out of the tent and I'm on the bike before 1hr 25 mins shows on the race clock.
The bike course is 180kms of long drawn out climbs and loopy steep descents, but at least I'm 10 minutes up on my dream schedule.The pace strategy for the bike was to take it very easy (Zone 1 or pulse sub 150 bpm - about 28kph on the flat) for the first 90 minutes. This was incredibly hard given the multitude of nutters (were there really THAT many triathletes slower at swimming than me?) zipping past me in the first 20kms and my bike racing habit. I consoled myself with images of them all hobbling on the run later. The nutrition plan at this stage was to drink only water (with electrolytes) until the first support station. I feel this worked exceptionally well - letting my heart rate and stomach settle and giving my metabolism the best opportunity to burn fat for fuel. With the first climb over the island out of the way I upped the pace (Zone 2 or pulse about 155 bpm) and started on the energy bars / bananas and anything else the enthusiastic local kids were thrusting at me at every aid station. It still took me almost three hours to catch the next familiar face. I had to wait over two minutes for my Special Needs bag at the top of the Haria descent. I would have left it but it contained a bag of Jelly Babies and a cheesy sandwich. I was so fed up of sweet stuff I decided the sandwich would be worth the wait. The descent was great fun. I made up a dozen or so places down here, because we had driven the course the previous Wednesday and I had memorized the corners. I went through a really bad patch at about 110kms (although on reflection - it probably started at about 85kms) when I couldn't eat anything without feeling like I was going to explode. I had read so much about one's digestive system "shutting down" and feared the worst. After taking it easy and drinking only water for a while, I decided to try and make a serious toilet stop. The relief I felt was almost worth the worry I then had that the leaf I'd used to wipe my butt was some sort of weird tropical species that would now be disolving my innards from the ring-piece up !! Memo to self: Carry bog-paper in future!
With only one seriously steep climb keeping us away from the run, I got back on the gas pedal, heading South with "Vamos a la Playa" playing over and over again in my head. The 140km mark saw a return of the dodgy stomach. Maybe Jelly Babies weren't the best nutrition after all. I couldn't possibly need another toilet stop, could I? Maybe this time the dreaded digestive problems had really arrived. I procrastinated (and decelerated) until the final climb above Puerto del Carmen. The dodgy stomoch turned out to be just gas - it cleared and I plumetted down the descent into the run transition.
Pass my faithful carbon steed to a smiley face, grab the red run bag - another trip through the transition tent (the fastest peep show in the world?!) and I was into my first ever marathon, psyched to be running before 8 hours was showing on the race clock. I was still just inside my "dream objectives" and hadn't needed any "reality adjustments" yet (I had 4 different levels prepared to drop to). The run course consisted of a 5.275km leg on roads and pavements along the beachfront, to be completed 8 times, 4 times in each direction. Each time you returned to the finish area you were rewarded with a coloured bracelet, to identify which lap you were on. I didn't worry about pace or pulse until I had established some kind of running (jogging?!) rhythm. At about 4kms I felt reasonably comfortable and stole a peek at my pulse monitor. I was delighted to find my pulse comfortably within my moderate zone - and ran the rest of the first leg at the same pulse / pace. I reached the first turn in about 29 minutes. Heading back into the heart of Puerto del Carmen I was greeted by this incredible raucous racket from the grandstands making up the last 200 metres of the run. The first three pros had already finished, Gerrit Schellens, was in the home straight. However, the din was not for him. The ladies that ran our complex's bar (Angie and Gena) had made a banner with "Come on Swaz" and were screaming my name like I was some kind of celebrity. I would find out later they had raised over 400 Euros for the St Thomas' Lupus Trust, going round the bars on the beachfront!
I collected my yellow coloured lap bracelet and almost sprinted back out onto the next 10.5 k lap lifted by their support. Next time back there, I would only have a half marathon to finish. I'd done five of them already in training this season - no problem - each step was really taking me closer to known territory. The turn came at 1hr 24 mins - I was still inside a 4 hour marathon, and a 12 hour overall - my dream objective. For the first time, I sensed a whiff of achievement - and confess I had to choke back a few tears. It was great to see all the other club members on the run. The out and back format meant that I saw the other 13 troopers twice a lap. I got a big boost from the high 5's and smiles - and the other Chester Tri support - team Nagle, Tali, Lucy, Jan Morgan and Sue Haslam. The noise was deafening again at the half-way mark, I bounced away from the finish with my blue bracelet and 09:54 showing on the race clock. A few kilometres later my right Achilles started to remind me this was approaching the furthest it had ever run. I didn't want to start walking. I tried to adjust my stride, using the cushioning on the heel of my trainers to soften the blow as much as possible and eventually I took an Ibuprofen from my bottle belt too. I don't know whether it helped, or if it was the sight of Jeff starting out on his last lap walking; but towards the end of the third lap I seemed to be able to stretch my stride out again. This turned out to be my slowest lap - but it was still less than an hour. The usual finish area fanfare and my final lap bracelet - orange. Just ten kilometres to go. My personal best for 10k is a smidgen over 40 minutes. That was in no danger whatsoever today although I did up the pace a little as I enjoyed spending some more of the energy I'd been jealously guarding all day against the unknown. The last 5k leg home was a blur of air punching and cheesy grinning. Crowds, more noise, arch, tape, medal and handshake.
11 hours 45 minutes and 11 seconds. The sense of achievement was immense. Angie, Gena and friends, now a little worse for wear from their all day drinkathon in the sun, made sure they cried enough for all of us. Chests swelling, finish medals proud. Post race massage took 40 minutes. I went to the medical tent too, wondering if I should be plugged into a saline/glucose drip like the dozens of runners around me. A pretty Spanish doctor gave me a sandwich, a cold coke and wrapped me up in a blanket. It took me about half an hour to eat the sandwich. When I said I needed the toilet, the doctor probably decided all internal functions were returning to normal and crossed me off her likely drip recipient list. I went out and collected my tee shirt and checked my bike had not been neglected.More Chester Tri members were finishing. Hugs and stories abounded. We stumbled towards the Paella tent, where rumour had it there was beer on tap...
It is Thursday 27th May. We are still in Lanzarote. All the weird stitches have gone. My sunburnt skin is starting to peel (wetsuits and salt water would seem to negate the protection normally offered by P20 sun cream). I can walk normally. I am eating normally again. I had decided on Tuesday I would take the next step towards my PADI Divemaster qualification and enrolled for a Rescue Diver course. This course teaches advanced scuba divers how to deal with emergency situations and is described by PADI as "very physical". With the exception of a short cycle along the beachfront to the dive centre every day, and a few gentle swims, I have done no exercise since the race. We have been in a bay near Costa Teguise for about an hour practicing drills used to rescue panicking divers and she is warning me about how "physical" the next day is going to be. I think about reminding her that I had just completed a 3.8 km swim in the Atlantic in a thinner wetsuit devoid of scuba equipment and fins with 800 other crazies trying to drown me every 3 or 4 strokes; but I remain quiet. This is her gig and although we are still both divers, I'm different now...
..I'm an Ironman......
Results:
Place Group Pl.Sw. Swim T1 Pl.Bk. Bike T2 Pl.Run Run Total
241 Keith "Swaz" Fraser 35-39 493 01:16:37 05:56 325 06:31:14 04:37 146 03:46:51 11:45:11
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