Ironman UK Race Report - Rob Lines

Living the Dream

For many, completing an Ironman is a dream.  In fact for many, it's beyond a dream, it's impossible.  For me the Ironman had been a dream for a long time, just how long had the idea been festering I can't remember.  I remember the first ever London Marathon in 1981 and telling my grand parents that one day I'd do that.  I remember as a club standard teenage swimmer, with occasional county call up, of fellow swimmers who were triathlon prodigies.  I recall hearing about things in the late 80s and 90s about Ironman and about Hawaii.  I started running in 2002 and in 2003 did the London Marathon and recall only too well the thoughts of "You've got to be kidding, swim 2.4 miles, then cycle 112 miles and then go through what I've just gone through in the London Marathon.  No way".

So by 2003 the dream was already firmly planted, and the set-back of my first marathon possibly only served to fan the flames of aspiration.  Later that year I bought my first bike, though it was four years before I become an Ironman. To me the label is bigger than what you do on the day, it's about all the things you do in your life that get you to race day.  Running a marathon is such a stupid thing to do.  Didn't it come about during a Greek war when the messenger conveying directions between generals and front line troops ran backwards and forwards to a total of 26.2miles and then died.  So as an Ironman you need to be able to cycle a distance that's not far off the length of a stage of the Tour de France, as a solo time trial and then run a distance that the first person who succeeded died from.  Oh, and there's a small matter of a swim before hand. And you as the athlete need to be get your body and mind into the state where you can achieve all that.  So that means you need to a strong swimmer, a decent runner, a decent cyclist, and/or stubborn. 

Race day is the day that you get to strut your stuff, prove you've done the work to get yourself to the start line physically and mentally prepared. By the end of the day you get to the finish line and hear those words "You are an Ironman". The acclaim, the pride, the sense of achievement and the joy is immense.  Closing in on that finish line, coming down the finish straight and hearing those words is a moment to savour.  A moment that you'd happily take longer over.  A moment worth re-living.

And in that I hope I've captured why I was going for Ironman number 3.

Ironman UK

So why Ironman UK?  Is it like a mountain to a climber, in that it is because it's there? I fancied it because it was close.  I fancied it because our members in previous years had posted fast swim times and I figured if I was going to get close to the club swim record it was going to be here.  I wanted to do it, to support such an incredible event and to ensure we kept one in the UK.  Then in South Africa earlier in the year when quizzing a couple of American's as to the nature of the courses of their Ironmen I knew I needed to do the UK one so as to answer the obvious question that came back at me.

Okay, so that's why I entered UK.  But what did I want out of it? I clearly wanted the finishers medal.  I wanted to put in a performance that I was proud of.  I wanted to enjoy the day.  A PB at any of the disciplines or overall would be a bonus, and the icing on the cake would be club records, Hawaii slot and age group podium positions.  I knew long before the start that I wasn't going to be quick enough to get onto the podium or qualify for Hawaii, but hey, we are allowed our fantasies aren't we?

Guess I ought to get to the race.  But where does it start?  With entering? With the training? With the planning?  With the traveling to the venue? With course familiarisation? With registration? With the pasta party on the Friday? With the packing of transition bags on the Saturday morning? With the checking in and racking of bike and transition bag mid day Saturday? With the Saturday afternoon Competitors Briefing?  With the Sunday morning checks of bike? With the donning of wetsuit? When you are being shepherded across to the start line?  Or is it really when the gun goes?

The Swim

It was so cloudy on race morning that the 6am start was delayed due to poor light. After 20 minutes of floating around with 1,295 other starters in the Lake at Sherborne Castle we were off at 6:30am. My hands were cold, I couldn't feel the water and was instantly overtaking people who'd pushed to the front of the swim start - I know people do this at running races, but why oh, why do it at the start of an Ironman swim, it's one thing having people push you and run round you but another in the water when you take up more space. Anyway I soon found myself with pink and silver hats around me in addition to blue hats. The silver caps were being worn by the Male Pros, the pink by the Lady Pros and the rest of us wore blue swim caps.  Matt Spillman had been in the water near me at the start, but once the swim starts you've really no way of checking on your mates. 

The swim consists of two laps of an out and back course shaped like a reverse letter "S".  I still had pink and silver hats with me at the quarter way turn, along with a fair few blue ones. Held my place in a small group on the heels of a silver cap to the half way point. The thought going through my mind was "Must be doing okay, just keep it controlled". 

On the third quarter, the outward leg for the second time I opted to follow closer to the curving edge of the left hand bank. Partly because it made for a shorter distance but more so because in the race literature the narrator had implied a current through the lake heading the other way, which meant that I'd be out of the current.  It had worked on a trial swim in the lake, it hadn't seemed to cause any problems on the first lap, so was a little unsure when I found just myself and another blue hat on our own.  We did get clean water though and just before the left hand turn to take us to the turn buoy I I felt a tapping on my feet.  Another silver cap, this one with red strips on his black wetsuit,  - so clearly still doing okay. Maybe my course strategy had worked. 

In the final quarter I lengthened my stroke, figured I must be putting in a good time I'm up with the Male Pros.  I felt I'd conserved plenty of effort, but of course, you've no chance of looking at your watch to see how you are getting on.  In fact, you're not even sure if the press you gave it as the gun sounded was even enough to start it. So with energy in the tank and a red-stripped silver hat nearby and the potential for a club record still in mind I was pleased to be over taking groups of swimmers.  It's always reassuring to be feeling strong at the end of the swim and I could now feel my hands, A couple of groups that I went past I'm sure contained at least one Silver Cap, but still seemed to have a silver cap with red strips on his suit beside me.  Felt obliged at the end to put in the sprint to get out of the water ahead of at least 1 Pro, to give me something to boast about here in my report if nothing else. Later looking at the results I was 58th out of the water, the Pro who was 59th finished 3rd overall and there were 2 more male pros behind him. If only I was as quick on the bike and on foot.  Something to work on. 

So club swim record? Afraid not.  I'd taken just over 57minutes, but less than 90 seconds off Louis' club record.  Turns out Matt Spillman got out of the water just a few seconds ahead of me. We'd have both been struggling in transition together, not that I saw him.  I nearly got cramp whilst changing out of my wetsuit.  I felt my calf tighten so quickly I feared I would be out of the race there and then.  Fortunately I'd reacted quick enough in taking the weight off my left leg and I then sat down to complete the rest of my change into cycling gear. 

The Bike

I tried to get some food into me.  A turkey bagel had been stashed in my cycle jersey and I was taking on fluid every 10minutes. The course was undulating and windy, but felt I was making good progress. There were some seriously quick people passing, but generally I felt I was going okay. It was great being out on closed roads and so pleasing that some events in the UK can still convince the local authorities to allow this.  Such a shame that Wessex Water then used the occasion of an international sporting event to dig up part of the road, I really hope it was emergency work. My bagel and religous10 minutely fuel intake meant that by 15 miles I had a stitch and really needed to attend to some bowel movements. In fact I was becoming quite uncomfortable and it was affecting my cycling.  A 43mph descent of Revels Hill just before the second aid station was exhilarating and once relieved I felt fresh and ready to make progress.

But then a siren went off as I went down the next hill at 23mph. I thought it was squealing brakes on the bike next to me or a siren from the nearby spectators, so ignored it. But it then occurred again. Gosh, perhaps that noise was my bike.  Then it started to become more frequent. I couldn't work out what it could be.  I pulled over to check the bike out - all looked good. I had found a slow puncture earlier that morning when in transition which had taken two inner tubes to repair.  The first inner tube proving to have a faulty valve.  Fortunately due to the amount of rain we'd had on the Friday I'd decided to take four inner tubes with me on race morning, so still had 2 on the bike.  But due to taking the front wheel off, I figured I must have just put it back in wrongly.  But it wasn't that.  What else could it be?  I'd just had some replacement bearings put into the wheels and I'd had Mick Madgett check it out and change the cassette body.  But it seemed every time I went about 20 mph the siren would go off.  It then started to happen at 17mph.  It then seemed that once it started the noise wouldn't stop until you came to a standstill.  My progress was now getting bad.  My mood not particularly good.  Plus I was getting worried.  Was something going to happen to my bike whilst I was on it?  Was it going to fail?  Was I going to suddenly find I didn't have a bike beneath me?  Was I going to find I didn't have a bike beneath me on either of the next two 40+mph descents of Revell's Hill? Was I being a danger to myself continuing?  Was I being a danger to my fellow competitors in continuing?  Where would I find a mechanic?  Could I get away without disqualification taking external assistance if I did find one?

I got to the second aid station having been passed by Graham Pigg and Paul Robson to where Jennie, Isla, Nena, Cathy and Woody were supporting in the car park of a pub.  They were banging saucepans and doing a sterling job of encouraging participants.  I really don't think they were expecting me to slow down and ride into the crowd and stop.  "What's up Rob" Jennie asked. 

"I fear I have a faulty set of wheel bearings." I replied.

"In words of one syllable, what does that mean?"

"I fear it means my bike is ..." I hope I didn't swear, I try hard not to.  I do hope I said "bust" or "broke", but fear that I might not.

"What you going to do?"

"Two options really.  Limp it round the cycle course hoping it doesn't fail altogether or quit".

Russell Clarke had confided that he regretting withdrawing from IM UK in 2005 when he suffered an injury on the run.  It haunts him that he didn't walk the remainder of the run.  So quitting wasn't an option, but getting hurt or causing a crash wasn't terribly appealing.  Nor was the idea of not cycling above 15mph.

A mechanic wasn't to be found at the water station, but someone did take a look and offered a second opinion.  An opinion that was the same as mine, in that there wasn't anything obviously wrong.  So off I went, leaving the Tri-Anglia Iron Supporters making their encouraging noises and I headed towards decision point with my discouraging noise..

Being a three lap course, if I was to retire I'd be best to do it at the end of the lap.  The thought was playing heavily on my mind but as I climbed the hill to the turn and spotted the crowds blocking my exit route the choice was made.  The test for me on this day wasn't going to be about setting a time it was going to be the resolve and determination to over come the setbacks in my way to get to that finish line.

Still couldn't work out what was wrong with my bike.  I was trying all kinds of tests.  The noise would now come on at 14mph. It was not only frustrating but embarrassing.  I was getting strange looks from riders and spectators.  The thought that I was a being a liability was still a worry.  But I was making headway in identifying the problem, or at least I was working out when the noise occurred.  In the big chain ring in the small sprockets it would come on at 23mph.  In the little chain-ring in the smaller sprockets it would start at the lower speeds.  What if I kept to the big sprockets?  Seemed to work for a few minutes but no.  Was it when I hit a bump in the road?  Not going to be easy avoiding jolts on an uneven road surface, but nope, didn't seem to be that either.  Did I always have to slow to a halt to stop the noise? Would reseating the rear wheel help?  Then it came to me.  Only took 25 miles.  It was related to the freewheel but at different speeds in different gears.  Relief.  At least I could produce the noise when I wanted, and similarly I could avoid making the noise if I didn't want to.  All that remained now was to ride 100km as if the bike was a geared fixed wheel - so much for the time lost, and so much for conserving my legs for the run.  But I was going again and able to make up some lost places even if I was still being cautious on the descents.

A huge sigh of relief when I completed the second lap without being lapped by any of the leading pros.

A huge sigh of relief in completing the bike course in it's entirety without Steve Rush catching me.  I know he would have been concerned, but I also know that he would have enjoyed it. 

The bike course was never going to be easy.  It was just too undulating with numerous leg sapping short sharp assents. The wind and inclement conditions added to the difficulty, and whilst I didn't experience any rain the road was definitely wetter on the third lap than on the first and the Wessex Water boys were out of the way by then.

The Run

The run course involved 3 convoluted laps, an understanding of which wasn't helped by the official website showing it on two different maps and the official program only showing one of the two maps.  The lap was a distorted figure of eight.  A lazy eight or infinity sign if you like with the larger part being within the castle grounds and the second part an outing around Sherborne town centre. This layout mean that spectators at the entrance to the castle would see each runner twice per lap, so great in that regards.  It made spectating more interesting for the IronFans and more encouraging for the runners as it meant more of the course had cheering supporters to urge you along.

Like the bike course the run wasn't flat. In fact Pensfords Hill was particularly unpleasant and the recent rain meant that the supposedly firm off road sections were actually quite muddy. The first two to three miles of the course took you up Pensford Hill to a turn point before bringing you back down passing fellow competitors.  There were lots of places along the route where you could check up on the progress of your comrades. It was on my first descent of Pensford Hill that I realised that I'd only managed to complete the bike course about 10minutes ahead of Steve Rush, and as good as it was to see Matt Spillman, knowing that he was only about 12 minutes behind me but a lap ahead revealed a very real possibly of him lapping me.  That brought a renewed sense of urgency to the proceedings.

It's not possible to run an Ironman Marathon fast.  Let me rephrase that.  It's not possible for a anyone except the elite athletes to run an Ironman Marathon fast.  The strategy is to be patient and keep it steady. Brisk walking can be faster than slow running and is far more energy efficient, but running steady for as long as possible really is the key to your success.  The fatigue will come at some point, that is inevitable, so do what you can to keep it at bay for as long as you can.  With the amount of feed stations on hand you really have no excuse for not taking on enough calories or liquid.  In fact it's more the opposite.  I find it very difficult not to accept goodies from the friendly caring marshalls at the aid station.  Whilst I knew that being a lap ahead Matt was likely to tire before me I really didn't want to be passed.  I kept my rhythm even with the undulations, muddy sections and twist and turns of the Sherborne town centre.  Made it round the first lap okay without a sighting of Matt.  Meant he was still close behind, though a sighting of Steve meant that I'd taken a lot of time out of him.  But then joy oh joy.  There was Graham Pigg ahead.  That was just the motivation needed to get me up Pensfords Hill the second time.  I was feeling strong and making the most of it running along with the very fast boys on their third lap. I think I got passed Paul Robson in this stage as well.

By the time I exited the Castle Grounds I was well over half way through the run, though now feeling tired.  It was a massive boost to hear a cheer from some friendly faces of a previous AMR London to Paris Charity bike ride.  Another boost to see Paul Hazelton of Kalaswear, who make our cycling kit, hanging over the barrier cheering me along.  National Cycling coach Andy Cook was red in the fast when I saw him shouting at me.  The Serpentine supporters were also full of voice encouraging Tri-Anglia along the road.  In fact being cheered along by members of one of the largest clubs in the country was particularly pleasing, as I took that to mean that they know who Tri-Anglia are.

I can't claim to have continued running to the end of the second lap.  I was now stopping at alternate aid stations though still running in between.  Found what I assumed to be a struggling lady pro at the end of her third lap.  At least I assumed she was a pro by the very low number she was wearing.  I encouraged her round to the finish.  She interpreted my eagerness to complete the lap to mean that I was about to finish.  I think she found the notion that I was just eager not to be lapped by a team mate amusing.

Into the third lap and final lap.  Effectively the lap of honour.  It is hurting now.  Having won the overall and women's races Stephen Baylis and Bella Comerford are wandering away from the finish along the side of the run course.  You ask if you could borrow their legs for the next 8 miles.  They assure you that you wouldn't want to borrow their legs.  You pass people on their first lap.  They ask jokingly if you'll sell them one of your lap bands.  It's pleasing to know that if you really really had to you could do an extra lap, but you point out that the price for a band would be a sizable charitable donation way beyond their credit card limit, and that they really wouldn't want to cheat themselves.  You make a point of thanking the marshalls and aid station volunteers.  The final lap seems to take forever, just when will that finish line come in sight? You stop far longer at the aid stations, but when you close in on the finish line you want everything to slow down.  Not because you are tired, but because you don't want the moment to end. You want to take in every sight and every sound.  You want to cheer loudly with every last spectator.  You don't want to miss even the smallest detail.  You know in a moment you'll hear the words "You are an Ironman" but for the next few moments with the cheers ringing in your ears you are living your dream.

Article by Rob Lines
Page created: 13th October 2008. Last updated: 14th October