When the gun went off I was still finding my place on the beach; queues to check in the bike and to store your post-race streetwear had taken longer than I thought. But on the whole that was probably better than having time to stand and dread the swim, and besides I couldn’t persuade myself to get up much earlier than 0430.
So I waddled forward, along with 2500 other very unathletic looking athletes. Big stones bruised the soles of our feet and wetsuits (the tighter they fit the better they work) pushed us into hunchback postures. The water was cold – refreshingly so when you’re clad head to toe in skin tight neoprene under the Provencal morning sun. Not much time to worry as we all flopped into the Med’ and began to cycle the arms, in a rhythm that even the fastest swimmer would have to maintain for nearly an hour. I am not, as I think I have made clear before, the fastest swimmer. I tried my best to stay clear of turbulence, but inevitably I swallowed some of the sea and had to puke it back up, maybe only 6 times in all. It’s all a bit of a blur until I got out. I remember feeling ok for a while, even getting to the first buoy in a decent time, but turns were crowded and slow and choppy, and the last few buoys just seemed to drift away as fast as I could swim towards them. By the time I’d been swimming an hour, the crowds (out of earshot) were welcoming the leaders ashore, but my sinuses were burning with salt and exertion. I had resolved that, as long as I finished this one, I would never do an Ironman again.
Finally, finally, it was all over. I had swum 3.8km and felt sure that everything from then on would be easy, comparatively. I staggered into T1, found my bag and took a little time to gather my thoughts while trying to apply sunblock and fill my pockets with energy gels. Mediterranean and mucous ran freely from my face, as if the seawater and urine drenching my tri-suit wasn’t enough.
Although I was a little disappointed at how few bikes were left in the park, I was glad to be on mine at last and began to relax and rack up a few km. The bike ride was, from start to finish, genuinely enjoyable, with views of the countryside, pretty villages and shouts of encouragement/offers of pastis from the locals. With hindsight though, all was not going well. I had taken on so much sea water that I was feeling pretty ill. My heart rate didn’t settle for the first 90 minutes of riding and I could only manage about half of the solid food I had planned to consume. I got up the hills OK but no better than that. I’ve always believed myself to be un grimpeur pas mal, but as I laboured steadily up Col de Vence, other guys were riding past me with ease. On top of my nutritional disorder, my rear hub had gone sticky, and although a fantastic local bike shop (www.veloconcept.com) had done their best to free things up, it was still like riding while very gently squeezing the back brake. Otherwise, a lot of things went ok: My back was able to hold an aero position for most of the time, I picked good lines in the corners, had no punctures and eventually my body sweated out all the salt and I felt healthier. There were some great moments of being cheered on by strangers, passing a guy who wore the “US Marines Tri” strip (hooray), passing a guy of 71 years old (phew), and chatting to other riders up the hills (Hi Lisa, Eve). IM France has a reputation of being the hardest IM around, mainly because of all the hills, but it certainly makes it pretty.
T2, I got to see Suze and hand her my machine, which was cheering of course. I didn’t rush too much and made sure to re-apply suncream and find my hat. But then I tried to run, and it wasn’t right. Obviously I expected to feel a bit tired, but that wasn’t it. I had done long rides in hotter weather in my training, and always been able to run for at least an hour afterwards, but here I was having to run/walk about every half a mile. This seemed like the only thing I could do in terms of damage limitation, but for the first lap (of four to make up the marathon) I had my doubts about finishing. I had to resolve that just finishing was – I mean is – a real achievement in Ironman, especially in your first attempt at the distance. The crowds were fantastic, cheering in many languages for anyone who’s name they could read. Particular thanks go to the British lady who shouted “You’re not going to die, you’re going to win!” That cheered me right up. The sun started to abate while I was running and as I drank more water and ran further I actually felt better. And to cut a long story short I should say that I did finish and was happy to do so, but deep down I know I got something wrong on the day, and that stopped me from doing it considerably faster. I thought I’d feel proud of it, I thought I’d want to tell everyone about my time, but I don’t.
So what’s the PM?
I think it was a bloating and malaise brought on by nutrition/sea water problems, but I felt awful. I was slowly improving on the bike, but then forgot to keep up the water intake during the last hour or so, leaving me bunged up with energy bars etc. So of the 4 laps of the run I am sure the 3rd or 4th was my best, I was catching up with hydration and my legs still had glycogen in them. By the last lap real fatigue was upon me, which I would have accepted had I been able to run up until then! As further proof that it wasn’t a lack of running stamina that let me down, I woke up the next day with almost no stiffness in my muscles; I have felt far worse after just a half marathon. So obviously, within about 24hours of finishing I had resolved to go back against my promises of that morning, and that I would certainly want to do another one.
I guess that makes this the final IM blog, until or unless I get back into training for IM Germany in a year or two. Thanks to everyone who has read and supported.
