Ironman: He once turned to steel, in a huge magnetic field.

Who’d have thought that Ozzy Osbourne could become television’s most celebrated and endearing mumbling drunk, as well as arguably heavy metal’s most iconic frontman*, with such a flawed comprehension of atomic structures?

I am not turning into steel, more like turning into a fluid as it is sometimes impossible to tell where the sweat stops and the triathlete starts. But with all due modesty I think I’m toughening up a little. Although I don’t have the kit here to test it, I’d say that I’ve lost a couple of kilo’s and that body fat levels are now closer to my aged-mid-twenty’s 11 or 12% than my early-thirty’s 14-15%.
Incidentally, I think I have “disclaimered” these IM blogs before as probably of no interest to anyone I know, or anyone I don’t except perhaps another triathlete who has stumbled across this column. I predict that this will continue so I wouldn’t bother reading this if you are unlikely to do the whole swim-bike-run thing yourself. Speaking of which, I have been asked (although thankfully not often) the question: Why do an Ironman?
There is no answer to this. If somebody asks the question, in my opinion, they will not understand the answer. I never asked anyone why and I never had to know why. I was initially amazed/borderline horrified by the idea. Amazement gradually became awe and then inspiration, and there was a very swift transition (pardon the pun) in my head from the moment when I thought “maybe I could” to the realisation that “in that case I must”. There was and is no “why”.

So, without further ado, an update. Cycling is a delight. The roads are open and mixed providing opportunities both to practise and then challenge good technique. Drivers generally leave reasonable space as they pass – certainly no worse than in Britain – and use their horns, to my amazement, the way the Highway Code suggests: As a brief warning of their presence rather than an irate and futile audio-punishment. My mountain bike is ideal for the dust or gravel roads I am riding on, and I glide easily past most other cyclists, perhaps unsurprisingly with Hope hydraulics, ShimaNO XT/XTR and RaceFace bits which seemed cool in GB. Now they feel a little odd/conspicuous considering the bolts which hold my wheels on cost more than a local bike… The air movement over the face and body helps to keep you cool even in the heat of the day, although fluid intake is important/difficult, and when you stop or slow down you are aware of an almost constant thirst. I’ll have to get some electrolyte drink sorted for longer sorties, or Stokers’ cramp becomes near-inevitable. Yet another reason I wish our freight were here with sports nutrition products and bicycle spares, but we’ll be unlikely to see that for another month or two. Last ride I ran out of fluid and ended up stopping to buy fruit from a woman with a roadside stall. I was pretty sure she said mangoes were TSH100 each (5 pence, although not the highest grade of mango it must be said), so having a 200 coin handy I got two. She looked puzzled, and with hindsight I am not sure if I under- or over-paid for them. I guess I will never know, and it doesn’t change the fruit; which in my limited knowledge of both Swahili and physics makes her the Schrödinger’s kitten of roadside fruit vendors.

Swimming makes slow progress, in every sense, but I have learnt to love progress of any kind in this discipline. Recently had to do a 200m-ish open water swim as part of my ongoing SCUBA certificate (more of which will appear soon in the other blog sections, no doubt). This was a good chance to have decisions and worries removed for a moment and swim out into deep water under pressure. It was tiring by the end, which clearly 200m should not be, but for now I am content to finish it without ever feeling in danger, and reassure myself that I’ll have 6 months more training, and a wetsuit, on the day.

Running has become the most arduous of the three, which is surprising. I start out as a decent runner, with a half-marathon time that is out of reach of most amateurs. In theory I need only push my durations bit by bit while maintaining anything close to the same pace. In the real world, the intensity of the heat and humidity here, coupled with a “road” surface that European runners would call “cross country” make anything beyond 40 minutes seem intimidating. But to take the positives again, I do not yet need to go further in my training plan, and the humidity should subside after Feb/March’s rains.

Finally, I must mention the continuing support of the Mrs. She hasn’t asked “why” but has offered encouragement and ideas all the way. Recently she has secured access to a plastic kayak, immediately volunteering to paddle alongside me to support and reassure on occasional longer swims.

*If I ever discover that the rumours of Bruce Dickinson being an Olympic standard fencer are true, then he may outdo Ozzy in this respect, but Black Sabbath will always eclipse Iron Maiden artistically.