The overpriced brick session.
Trialling my new Huub wetsuit. Waste of time that was!
I was in two minds whether to even bother writing about this one.
I mean, it was a complete farce, even though there was some level of achievement involved.
I had booked Weymouth Ironman 70.3 (70 miles across 3 different disciplines – a half Ironman distance triathlon) in case, for any reason, I got sick or couldn’t do Tours in France.
It was because of this entry that I tried to get familiar with the Weymouth 90km long bike course, which had a punchy hill about 70% of the way through.
I never made it. I hit mud on the side of the road at about 40km, in December 2024 and crashed. It resulted in a broken rib, torn rotator cuff and frozen shoulder.
I had spent the summer, post MRI scan, trying to line up surgery to have it fixed. The NHS couldn’t be relied upon not to cancel last minute (costing me weeks of salary as I’d have to take time off working at sea and you can’t just take a day here or there – it is at least 2 weeks as per our crew changes, which equated to a month’s salary). The NHS would never compensate me for lost earnings so that was off the table.
I tried to go private in a local hospital and got as far as pre-op assessment when I was informed by email that the orthopaedic surgeon had “left the business with immediate effect”. I don’t know what he did but he left me and many others fairly and squarely in the lurch.
My hunch to just go abroad seemed to be correct. So, I re-engaged with Operations Abroad Worldwide who arranged surgery and a 3-night stay in Denmark for me.
The service was absolutely superb, cheaper than in the UK and most importantly, I could choose the date so I could limit the financial damage and time off work, missing just one trip if recovery went as planned.
I also wanted to time it around the Weymouth Ironman. I had paid for it after all and my running was improving, despite my swimming still being poor due to a dodgy arm. To compensate, I treated myself to a beautiful new (but very pricey) Huub wetsuit as my other one was now too baggy and causing drag. I needed all the help I could get.
I headed down to Weymouth and two old ambulance work friends came along to offer me support, which is the first time I’d ever had anyone show up at any of my races.
I arrived on site near the seafront to register for the race and spent quite a lot of time wandering round and round looking for the athlete village, where there is normally lots of cool stuff going on. It turned out there was none. Just a miserable marquee, one food stall and a shop full of Ironman merchandise. I’d seen more of an impressive set up at a village fete or even a school sports day. It was very disappointing. Luckily, thanks to the race Facebook page, I managed to find someone to put some battle braids in my hair and I was very grateful to Amy, a complete stranger, for this.
I had a practise swim in the sea. It was lumpy for sure and would slow everyone down, but not unsafe in any way and not undoable.
The swim course buoys were not yet out and the swim entry fencing was still dumped on the floor. I was sure they would fix it the next day.
Saturday came and went, the swim buoys were out, but no way was the course 1900m long. It looked to me like it had been shortened. But there was no notification from Ironman.
The forecast was set to improve on the Sunday of the race with calm seas and no wind until at least 10am, long after the swimmers were out of the water.
I kept an eye on Windy.com, which we use offshore and the forecast was looking good for the swim.
We all went for pizza on Portland and met up with my good friend Charlotte who lives there. It was a jovial evening and I was super excited about the race and happily stuffing my face with pizza when…
The message that shocked everyone.
What fresh hell??!!!
I checked my emails immediately and to my horror, it was true. But the forecast was looking absolutely fine and only the bike and the run might be a bit wet and windy but for gods sake…this is an IRONMAN….if you’re not hard enough…
I was incensed with fury, disappointment and disbelief.
All that time, all that money, all that training, suffering, struggling through an injury, a crash as a direct result of entering this race – and it was now going to be a bullshit bike-run time trial.
No ACDC on the beach, no clapping of thousands of people in unison….
The excuse was the weather but that was clearly utter nonsense.
The Sunday morning alarm went off at 04:55.
As predicted by the WEATHER FORECAST there wasn’t a breath of wind and the sea state was like glass.
Sea state on race morning. Weymouth Bay.
Athletes took to the internet to show their displeasure…
Some people simply collected their bikes and went home. I am many things, but I am not a quitter, so this was never on the cards for me.
I would do this, but I was not happy about it.
My coach gave me sensible ‘nothing you can do about it, so get on with it’ vibes.
Luckily, I had a low number so started within the first few bike waves. We set off only seconds apart and were funnelled into a road that was only half closed. Naturally riders were bunched up and immediately got a wagging finger from a marshal on a motorbike for drafting!
I mean seriously!! Fuck off already!
We set off up the first climb which strung riders out a bit and I settled down, trying to keep a rhythm and chucking gels down my neck so I had enough fuel on board to get the half marathon done afterwards.
The bike went well, no crashes for me and we avoided the worst of the weather. I was pleased for getting up the super steep hill and had kept enough in the bank that it didn’t hurt. I was surprised to see blokes getting off bikes and walking up it.
I rolled into transition after 90km and all my friends and my neighbour who had come to see me missed me completely as the Ironman tracker app was about 10 minutes inaccurate.
As I stepped off the bike, both of my inner thighs cramped just above the knee. Great.
I racked my bike, changed into trainers and a dry running top and set off on the soggy run. Within 2 kilometres, my thighs cramped severely. I necked some gels, grabbed electrolytes at every aid station and eventually it subsided so long as I kept moving after a stop for a good stretch.
The rain was relentless and I swung along in my 5 minutes on/1 minute off strategy which worked really well. Not just for me either, but a lady came alongside me and said she’d been using me as a pacer for ages! Well that never happened before!
It was a two-lap course taking in Weymouth seafront which frankly had never looked so revolting. The crowds were seriously hard core to stand out in that foul weather and I felt awful for my friends who were soaked to the skin waiting for their slow mate to crawl round the course.
I met up with a lady towards the end of the first lap and we joined forces and got into a system, her joining in with my 5 on 1 off. The result was that she got a half marathon personal best – and so did I. I dropped away from her as we approached the finish line so that she could have her moment and frankly, dreadful steamy ‘professional’ photos.
It was my best triathlon running performance to date, so I guess I had achieved something. It was also my 2nd fastest 90km on a bike and considering it was officially a rolling course and not a flat one, that counted as a PB too.
The finishers tent was shit.
We were offered a slice of soggy pizza, a cup-a-soup (WTF???) and half a plastic glass of beer.
For my ~£500 entry fee I was feeling mighty pissed off. Even the medal was small!
I got the feeling that this was a half-arsed event and because 900 entrants were first timers, they didn’t know any different. France and Italy were a world apart from this shit show.
I was given a foil banket (I can tell you as a Paramedic that these are crap) and limped out to meet my friends who were drowned to the core.
I had absolutely no motivation to stay any longer and Lisa and Jo helped me and my kit back to the car which was a good kilometre away.
The first message from my coach, Russel Carter (who had been tracking me all day) was “So how was the brick session?”
He got it – and summed it up in one sentence. There was nothing about the whole experience that made me feel like I’d just done an Ironman – not even half of one!
The Ironman brand has always motivated me and my experiences of races abroad had been superb. But as usual, I had been let down by my own damn country.
Athletes took to the internet to express their anger and disappointment. There were also plenty of annoying people trying to defend the decision. The fact is, Ironman have form for making bad decisions. A bad decision the other way resulted in the deaths (indirectly) of two athletes in Ireland. So, you could understand the caution. But that is no excuse for the inability to read a weather forecast. The call could easily have been made on the morning of the race and we would have just stuffed our wetsuits into bags and lined up with our bikes. Many athletes got up early and swam the course anyway, just to prove a point.
The fact that the swim course had never been set up, tells me this decision was made several days earlier based on a moving forecast and they didn’t make a call until everyone had spent extortionate amounts of money (me included) in the Ironman merch store.
Then there were rumours of pollution in the water but again, these were unfounded and never used as an official reason.
I suspect 900 newbies, many of whom admitted online to having never even swum in the sea (how stupid CAN you get?) and a risky forecast was the real reason for the decision but as it was not part of the cancellation policy, they simply went with an old weather forecast.
The bike start was put back an hour, so any notion that it was to improve conditions on the bike was also BS. Many bikes got caught in foul weather far later in the day than they would have, had they swum first.
In my opinion, the solution for Ironman is simple. To enter an Ironman event with a sea swim, athletes must have completed at least one triathlon with a sea swim previously. This could be a sprint, super sprint, Olympic distance, anything. Ideally without drowning or being rescued. Or even ratification from an approved coach.
Patagonman insist on demonstrable capability before allowing entries, so it is not a new idea.
It would also boost support for smaller triathlon events which are currently struggling for entries. To me this is a win-win and something Ironman should be looking at.
Race over with, I took a week to chill out and had a spin down on the watt bike the next day. I was far less broken than in previous races, so my fitness had clearly sky rocketed.
I enjoyed one final weekend with a friend in my sea kayak and catching up with a long-lost family member, before taking a deep breath and flying into Denmark for my shoulder surgery.
Finally – I was going to get this fixed once and for all.
What will 2026 hold? Hint: Roll on Germany…
Lovely Loire
Château d’Ussé, Loire, France
I don’t think I’ve been on the Channel Tunnel for at least 20 years. In fact, I feel quite old as I can remember it being built!
I usually travel to France with a van full of diving cylinders, so the Chunnel has never really been an option for me.
This time though, I was travelling extremely light in comparison.
All I had was my bike, my wetsuit, a few outfits and training kit.
Being a caver, I’d never been to the Loire region of France which is pretty devoid of caves but full to the brim with chateaus. Over 300 in fact.
I was on my way to the first Ironman event that had been run in Tours Metropole. It was also the first Ironman event with an indoor finish line, and the organisers had planned a stunning bike route which took in the incredibly ornate Château d’Ussé, which apparently inspired the story of Sleeping Beauty.
The Loire is easily reached in one go from the UK and I rocked up at my hotel which overlooked the river Loire.
Tours Metropole evening vibe
I always try to stay in comfort for Ironman races as I can usually hardly walk the next day and need some degree of comfort. This was never more important when I went down with covid during and after my race in Venice. The thought of being on a campsite or in my van would have been extremely miserable.
I spent the next few days doing some recce shake down rides and inspecting the stunning Château d’Ussé.
I didn’t risk a pre-race swim in the river, which was actually a tributary to the Loire, as I have quite a delicate stomach and didn’t want to get sick so close to the race. My arm since my bike crash was dodgy anyway, so I saw no value in stressing it before the race. I was already 10 minutes off my 1900m swim time due to my injury, so my aim was to just finish before the cut off and go from there.
The night before, I managed to find a hairdresser to do some battle braids. This was a serious test of my French as nobody in this region seemed to speak any English at all. This was followed by a shopping spree for race snacks in the local supermarket which was probably the most epic French supermarket I have ever seen. There was a cheese aisle about half a kilometre long and a ‘boutique de canard’ which was just as well, as foot and mouth disease on the continent had meant a £5000 fine at the port for anyone found importing meats or cheeses from anything with four legs.
But nobody said anything about wine, duck or coffee - so I filled my trolley.
There was a pizza and pasta place in the same complex and many athletes had the same idea. The place was half full of ironman T-shirts stuffing their faces with as many carbs as possible and steering well clear of alcohol.
The worst part about Triathlons is the early start. They usually kick off at 7am, with transition areas closing at 06:30, so most athletes are up and at it trying to force breakfast and coffee down at 04:30.
I always buy some sort of bagel and juice from the supermarket to eat in the car on the way to the races. Hotels are never guaranteed to do breakfast early. Not that I care, as I struggle to eat anything so early in the morning. Since the age of 14 it was ingrained in my soul that horses got fed first, mucked out first (all 6 of them) and one got ridden on the gallops before anyone even thought about breakfast. My body got used to it, so rolling out of bed and eating straight away is a huge struggle for me.
Even now, at work on my ship, I get up and do an hour’s admin and some yoga first before I set foot in the galley.
I nibbled on some dry bagel and a bit of yoghurt and decided to rely on gels, jelly babies and Nutella biscuits for the race.
The swim start was the usual queue of athletes all wearing the same-coloured swim hats. We chucked our flip flops, car keys (those of us with no supporters) and ‘after race’ bags in huge collection bins to find afterwards.
The professional athletes go off first and the rest of us inched our way down a blue carpet towards the river’s edge. We all missed the usual athlete’s prayer and ACDC send off, as we were all queuing behind a huge boat shed. I was a bit disappointed, as that was the best part of Ironman. A surge of swimmers set off up the river on the 1900m Roka sponsored swim course. It is a fantastic sight to see. With my dodgy arm, I seeded myself one group slightly faster than my expected time so that I could draft off anyone who came past me, whilst avoiding those who couldn’t swim. Even with one arm I was better than them and after Venice, knew now to stay well clear of breastrokers and doggy paddlers and those that liked to stop dead at random and ‘meerkat’.
Ironman now let athletes go in groups of 6, several seconds apart. The ‘gates’ are volunteers with outstretched arms. Every few seconds they drop their arms and it’s go!
The start was a floating pontoon, so there were various methods of entry, and I hadn’t really thought mine through. Whilst I can dive, it usually entails a bit of faff putting goggles back straight and pulling my swim cap back on. I opted to sit on the side, slide in and push off the pontoon. I was away.
River swims aren’t as buoyant as the sea, so I was grateful that it was still cold enough to wear wetsuits. I held my own on the swim, got into a nice rhythm down the back straight which went with the gentle current and it wasn’t long at all until we were turning at the last huge yellow buoy and heading back upstream towards the exit. I felt I’d had a good swim, and my damaged shoulder had coped, despite holding me up and adding 10 minutes onto my Venice time.
I got out of the water, refusing assistance as someone tried to help and grab my left arm. Oh no, no thank you….
I trotted along the blue carpet unzipping my wetsuit as I went, slowing only at the marshal’s request to walk across the temporary pontoon which bridged some sort of stinky creek. It was a bit like a bouncy castle and several of us were giggling as we laughed at ourselves doing this ridiculous sport. We trotted down the blue carpeted road almost a kilometre to the Exposition centre and the indoor transition area.
Transition is where you change from one sport to the next. As quickly as possible.
Plenty of athletes had been ahead of me and the bike racking was almost empty.
The indoor hall stank to high heaven of urine as clearly the porta loos weren’t coping and presumably blokes just peed wherever they wanted.
I went straight to my blue bag (B for Bike) and kicked off my wetsuit, flicking aside two ‘man spreaders’ who took up an entire gym bench by themselves, leaving no room for anyone else to get changed.
They moved.
I quickly towel dried my feet, got my socks on, gloves and helmet and stuffed everything back into my bag. I opted to run in just my socks to the bike mount line as I was now using SPD cleats and running in these clippy-cloppy bike shoes was just stupid. I was much quicker without them and put them on just before the mount line. I’m not yet good enough to leave my shoes on the bike and put them on in motion. Over Ironman distances the risk of falling are far greater than the time benefits you gain. Even Lucy Charles-Barclay doesn’t do flying dismounts!
I set off, glad to be on my bike and soon settled down into the aero bars, but my arm couldn’t tolerate them for very long. Once the pain crept in, I’d sit up and have a break. Then go again for a few minutes then repeat. I gain about 2mph extra for the same power output on my aero bars so they are worth the effort, but I just couldn’t make enough use of them when my arm and shoulder didn’t like it.
As the bike went on, I started to fade a little, perhaps through lack of fuelling and perhaps because some sneaky rolling hills crept in towards the end and they made me feel like I had hit a brick wall. I’d gone from an average of 30kmph to feeling like I was crawling.
I rolled back into transition well over my 3-hour target, racked my bike and changed into my running gear.
Running is my worst discipline. If you want to create a racehorse you don’t mate two Shetland Ponies together. But that’s exactly what my parents did, and the result was anything other than an athletic conformation. But it has never stopped me from trying. I’ve always loved sport and it has always transcended keeping my weight down, though clearly it has been lifesaving in that respect.
The heat of the day was in full force, and I made a nutritional mistake of finishing up the race with only water instead of electrolytes. The result was cramp in both feet at the same time if I ran, from 5km out.
After 15km my tank was empty and it was too late to refill it. I limped home and finished with about half an hour to spare. A very disappointing result considering I’d really seen an uptick in my fitness, and I had the experience of one Ironman 70.3 under my belt already.
The finish line was one huge party, with indoor fireworks, everyone with flags and glowsticks and cowbells all up the runway. It was like one big disco!
It was a fantastic atmosphere.
I was given my medal and went straight to the bar to grab some food and a pint. I was somehow adopted by Jersey triathlon club, and it was nice to have people to talk to after the race.
I went back to the runway to grab a flag and see the final finishers over the line which was huge party atmosphere.
Once I’d limped round to transition to collect all my bags and the bike, like buckaroo I staggered back to the car and tried to get changed before heading back inside to watch the awards presentation.
A British lady in her 70s had knocked 2 hours off my time. I was in awe of some of these athletes but in a way, it seemed a bit hopeless. No matter how hard I worked, training on a boat, training alone mostly, travelling to get the weather all through the winter and not being able to swim due to my injury, I was still almost last. Never actually last, but always thereabouts. I decided then that something had to change.
I had already lost 20 kg, but I need to shift another 20.
I could run a half marathon, but I needed to run more and get faster. No two ways about it. I needed to do longer bike rides, which is easier said than done when you only have an hour in the gym on a ship. So, my rides at home would need to increase significantly.
I had been doing everything right, but I couldn’t blame my injury alone. I had been training to finish. To just complete. To be miss average.
But now I wanted to be competitive and something in my brain shifted.
I was back on my bike 2 days later, cruising along the banks of the Loire.
I had enjoyed my time in the region and loved the Tours vibe, with the cosmopolitan bars gently lit along the riverbanks and the Al Fresco restaurants in the town.
Trams and bikes were the way to travel, and the air was fresh and the vibe relaxed. They were clearly very proud to have the Ironman come to town with the tri-dot banners everywhere and the entire exposition centre at our disposal.
There is a full ironman distance race at Tours in 2026, but with such limited training time on my vessel and being not allowed to swim at work, that is going to elude me for a bit until I work out a plan.
Race results.
2024 Mash Up
2024 left me gobsmacked. So many things I’ve always wanted to do, a bucket list of joy and so devastatingly interrupted by the passing of my Uncle Phil. I needed sport more than ever to keep me going.
Sitting around doing nothing is not a good way to recover from loss.
Not for me, anyway.
I trained in #lanzarote and #mallorca , climbed #sacalobra (again) completed my first #ironman 70.3 in Venice (when sick!) raced #annecy #triathlon olympic distance, went paragliding over #lakeannecy climbed #alpedhuez for real, learned to fly a drone @djiglobal sea kayaked the length of #menorca camping on sandy beaches with just the best people @muchbetteradventures raced Weymouth 10k, circumnavigated #portland by kayak with @channeleventsuk and saw a dolphin, learned to roll my kayak (work in progress) Dived with #lundy seals and bought some shares in racehorses!! I don’t think I’ve been caving or cave diving once, but there is more to life and I’ll get back to it when the mood takes me.
People keep trying to get me to slow down. Why would you do that? I like my life how it is. Why would I want to slow down? Life is too short, so make the best of it now. It’s not a dress rehearsal....
Ironwoman Part 3
I felt fit, but my lungs had other ideas.
The lady marshall held her arms out to create a barrier for my group of 6. Every time an athlete ran into the water her shoulders got hit as they barged past her. She just smiled and propped herself back up for the next 6.
I mouthed ‘Thank you’ – these volunteers do an amazing job and have a very long day. She smiled and gave me a fist bump before the count down.
3…2…1…
She lowered her arms and I trotted off down the sandy beach into the sea. As soon as it got to hip height, I started to swim.
The water thankfully wasn’t cold enough to take your breath away and I settled in steadily towards the first buoy.
Well, I was off.
I tried to find a reliable strong swimmer to draft but honestly, it was carnage. Most people in my pen couldn’t actually swim very well. One guy was doing backstroke which apparently is legal – but because he couldn’t see where he was going, he zigzagged all over the place, going just fast enough that I couldn’t get past him.
Another woman kept stopping every couple of minutes to ‘meerkat’ and doggy paddle then set off again, carving everyone else behind her up. As the swimmers got more strung out, I found some feet to follow but they didn’t stay straight, and it was more of a hindrance than a help.
I decided to stay wide at the final few buoys as the ones who couldn’t swim decided to use the buoys as a safety float and there was some significant congestion to go around.
Despite this, I found some free water and concentrated on having a clean exit.
The guys at Channel Events who had got me started in sea swimming, advised that as soon as your fingers touch the sand, it’s time to stand up.
I waited for that first touch of the sand then got up to waddle out of the sea. 44 minutes. Considering I was trying not to get out of breath and start coughing, I was happy with that. I was well inside the swim cut off too.
Swim exit. One job done.
Deciding that playing it safe was the order of the day, I walked to transition as did many others. I took off my goggles, swim hat, ear plugs and unzipped my wetsuit as I went.
So far so good.
I went straight to my blue bag and kicked off my wetsuit. Grabbing a towel I tried to dab my feet dry and pulled on my cycling socks, pre-loaded with talcum powder to make them easier to get on.
Cycling gear on, I stuffed my swimming gear back into the blue bag and shovelled down half a sandwich and stuffed some goodies in my jersey pocket. I trotted off to find my bike.
“Lane C, just past the parking sign on the right”. I found Orro and popped my bike computer on before wheeling her to the mount line. I was delighted to see others taking their time and not running. I’d learned my lesson about getting out of breath in T1 at the start of the bike. I wouldn’t let that happen again.
I hopped onto Orro and set off, starting the eating and drinking early. My plan was a 3-hour bike. This would leave me lots of time in the bank for the run, which I already knew would be a disaster.
I tried to reach 30kmph without getting out of breath and trying to keep my heart rate down. I rested on my tri bars and tried to settle down. The first 3rd went well and was quite quick. I soon found that any time I tried to put any power down my lungs protested.
As the bike went on, I just felt weaker and weaker as whatever I had started to really get hold of me.
Despite this, I didn’t stop until my planned wee stop at the final aid station which had porta loos likely to be less busy than transition.
I pulled in and the marshalls held my bike while I sorted myself out. My legs felt like jelly and I still had 20km of cycling and a half marathon to go!
I had timed my fluids so that I had just one small water bottle remaining. This was to save some weight in the last 20km. When I came out of the porta loo, a young volunteer with a big grin informed me he’d filled all my water bottles.
Bless him.
I thanked him, got back on the bike and when I was out of sight, poured 3 of them away. He meant well.
The last 20km was on rough tarmac and into a headwind. Drafting isn’t allowed on the bike part of a triathlon and getting too close to another competitor can lead to a disqualification. So, we sat and suffered, taking the full brunt of the wind. I started to flag but kept the peddles turning and concentrated on saving my legs as much as I could for the run.
I got off Orro at the dismount line and thanks to my recent loo stop, my legs weren’t too bad. My 3-hour bike was 3 hours 38. It was a 90km personal best for me, but I was fuming. On any other day I’d have smashed 3 hours.
I racked Orro in disgust and set off to my red bag. Helmet off, jersey off, cycling shoes off. I changed into running socks which was a good plan as I didn’t have a single blister afterwards. Trainers on, sun visor on, shades back on. I always leave my cycling gloves on to make wiping my nose easier!
Cycling gear got stuffed back into the blue bag and I put on my camelback which had some nutrition and was part filled with water.
This turned out to be a godsend. The sun was out and it was getting quite hot. The aid stations only offered small cups of water and cola. The ability to swig off my camelback whenever I wanted was a huge comfort.
My plan of running 07:30 minutes, walk 03:30 minutes went out of the window pretty early on. My lungs and throat were audibly wheezing and if I even began to get out of breath, the coughing started.
This was damage limitation now. My 7 hours was gone. I just had to finish and even that was looking necky at one stage.
I jogged when I could and walked when I couldn’t.
The run was three laps and psychologically this was awful. As time went on, more and more people finished and just assumed I was on my final lap. One guy shouted “Come on, only 2km to go”. Bless him. He was completely unaware that I actually had another 9km to go!!
The assumption must have been that I was just fat and slow. Nobody knew I was sick as well!
It was the worst feeling in the world.
As I passed the car park for the final time with 7km remaining ahead of me, I did consider just walking to the car and driving home in disgust.
It took all the strength I had to keep going in just an attempt to finish. I jogged when I could and walked when I couldn’t – and repeat.
I kept an eye on the clock and made sure I was always in a position to finish within the cut off time of 8 hours 30 minutes. Beyond that, I would be listed as ‘DNF’ or ‘Did Not Finish’.
Over my dead body was I going to do all that, only to be listed as not finishing!
I jogged when I could, walked when I couldn’t….
I was really starting to feel quite ill.
Pain is only temporary.
You only have to do this once.
I started to worry about getting back to the car and the hotel. I didn’t think I’d be able to collect my bike. Would they sell it if I didn’t go and get it? Could I afford another Orro if I just left it there? It would save packing it for the flight home…
If only my ‘friend’ who said she’d come and support me had actually turned up. If only my family cared. If only my Uncle was still here…
Thoughts whirred around in my head and I tried to block out the comments from people as I passed them. They had no clue.
The finish was in sight. I was going to make it, albeit my aim to have a 7 in front of my finish time had gone. But only just.
As I turned into the red carpet, I managed a jog. The finish line marshalls were amazing and I ran through a Mexican wave of arms and lots of cheering.
The tears came immediately, and they kindly waited for me to gather myself before presenting me with my medal.
People I didn’t even know came up to say well done and all the way back, during my VERY slow walk back to transition to collect Orro, people high fived and clapped.
Now I was barely able to speak. My voice was hoarse and my cough worsened.
I loaded the car which was trashed and drove the 10 minutes back to the hotel.
On arrival they had already reserved me a table and I feasted on all my favourite things hurriedly, before I could no longer taste them.
Scallops, steak and champagne later, I was ready to turn in.
The next morning was like the black death in my room. I wouldn’t let the cleaner in in case she caught whatever I had, so she just posted boxes of tissues through the door and said to call if I needed anything.
Hotel Atlantico, Jesolo are just the best.
I desperately wanted to look round Venice so after some rest and when my cough had cleared up, I headed to the water taxi stop.
Venice was even more incredible than I imagined, and I couldn’t have picked a better venue for my first Ironman.
Almost 3 weeks on, I’m back into training but my lungs are still struggling and I feel weak. With Annecy Olympic distance triathlon (half a half Ironman) looming, I’m desperate to maintain and even increase my fitness, but it will be one day at a time.
I cannot thank those people – they know who they are – for taking time out of their personal lives to support me, coach me teach me, advise me and inspire me.
I apologise now to anyone I have forgotten.
In alphabetical order…
Adam Raines Sports Massage
Andy Sparrow
Caroline Bramwell
Caroline Lance Sports Massage
Cath Pendleton
Dan Brice & the Channel Events volunteers
Ed Collins
Hotel Atlantico
Jason PDQ cycling
Jayme Fraioli Harper
Joan Woodward
Kelli Coxhead
Lisa Page
Louise Minchin
Mark Julier
Maxine Bateman
Mendip Cycling Club
Michele Reed
Mint Cycle Works, Priddy
Nienke Hensbroek
Paul Duckworth
Redd Rises
Russel Carter
Sheena Warman
Steph Dwyer
West Country Triathletes
Click here for a flavour of the day.
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/EGoou5ofe7eq4pJC/?mibextid=KsPBc6
Ironwoman Part 2
Training at work is unique. Running on a treadmill on a moving boat is an art form. Seven Kestrel is 125 metres long and 24 metres wide. There are not many places you can go. You can’t pop back to land when you fancy and the amount of mileage you can clock up in a day, mostly spent at the computer, is very limited.
The boat is always moving, even in the calmest of weather. The diving bells are up and down, the 120 tonne crane is always busily leaning over the side, lifting and lowering things and the ship’s heading changes regularly.
In rough weather, despite being quite stable, the vessel lifts, rolls and heaves and sometimes the bang of a wave against your porthole makes you jump out of your skin.
Seven Kestrel working at a windfarm. Image: Subsea 7
Russel and I use Training Peaks combined with Strava to track my progress. We converse mainly over WhatsApp which is the offshore communication channel of choice. Our schedule has to work around weather, port calls when the medic (me) is super busy, and crew change days which move multiple times over one week.
The great thing about having a coach is they do all the number crunching for you. It wasn’t long before Russel got the measure of what I could and could not do and he was soon dialled in to giving me training sessions that were spot on. Hard enough to get me fit and faster and stronger, but not so hard that I couldn’t finish them.
Jesolo 70:3 came around and I’d planned the whole thing meticulously to perfection. The hotel was superb and had a nice spa to relax in. I rented a car so I could get about easily and run up and down to the Ironman village for registration and shopping.
Oh my word – shopping!
There were so many lovely things in the Ironman village I had to restrain myself from buying all of it!
Registration was painless and I took the time to write a little note for my uncle Phil who I’d lost only a few weeks before. He was basically the Dad I never had.
I was going to miss his funeral. But I’m certain he wouldn’t have wanted me to throw away all that hard work on his account. I knew he’d be watching and behind me all the way.
I popped my wetsuit on and walked down the pristine sandy beach to the water’s edge. It wasn’t as cold as expected and the waves had gone away as the weather started to settle. I didn’t really feel like I had much energy, so I just did a slow 400m swim and got out.
Russel said I was likely to feel sluggish during tapering week, so I put it down to that. Then I went and changed by the car and jumped on my bike.
My Orro venturi went beautifully with her new tyres and tune up at the Ironman village. The Italian traffic though was a little scary, so I bailed early and ran for safety back to the car.
The evening was spent packing the Ironman specific bags for transition.
Transition is considered the fourth discipline of triathlon. It is where the athlete switches from one discipline to the next, dumping swimming gear for the bike and then the bike for running gear. There are two transitions; T1 is from swim to bike and T2 is from bike to run.
For the professionals, races can be won or lost in transition. In regular triathlons, your bike, trainers, helmet, shades, cycling shoes, towel, race belt which holds your race number, all reside in a neat pile under your bike which is ‘racked’ on your numbered station, usually hanging on a scaffold railing among hundreds of other bikes.
At Ironman events, things are done slightly differently, otherwise the transition area would look like a burglary at a jumble sale.
Athletes are given coloured and numbered bags: Blue for Bike, Red for Run. They hold all your equipment you need for the next phase of the race.
Transition opens the day before the race and athletes started to congregate at the entrance to the two huge transition areas.
Blue bags are hung on pegs with your corresponding race number and the same for the blue bag rack. They started to fill up, with 2800 athletes taking part. I racked Orro on number 721.
I planned to walk the triathlon routes the next morning as it would look very different once all the bikes had been racked. It is imperative that athletes remember how to find their bikes or you could be in transition a lot longer than planned!
My next job was to go and find some food. I don’t have a sweet tooth and anything sugary or sticky will go untouched, so planning my nutrition for something useful to me that I would actually eat, always proves difficult. A mouthful of sandwich and focaccia seemed the way to go, along with some dried papaya, mini pizza crisp breads and tasteless carb powder for one of my water bottles.
I cut everything up into bite size pieces and put them in ziplock bags ready to stuff into my cycling jersey and transition bags on race morning.
As I walked round transition, I felt lethargic and had developed a dry cough. It seemed to come out of nowhere and initially I just put it down to the hotter climate. As the day went on, my voice changed and the coughing became more regular. I started to feel wheezy in my upper chest. I prayed it was an allergy of some sort but deep down I knew I was getting sick.
I forced a pizza down the night before the race but didn’t really want it and couldn’t really taste it. I drank full fat coke in an attempt to stifle my cough, but it didn’t work. I headed to bed early, struggling to get to sleep as I kept on coughing.
I woke the day of the race before my 5am alarm. The hotel Atlantico Jesolo amazingly had laid on breakfast super early for the athletes and the volunteers staying there.
I was still coughing. I just didn’t know what to do. I had to get on that start line in the hope that this was all a fuss about nothing. Better to start and not finish than to not start and find out it was just an allergy.
I stashed my food in transition, checked my bike tyres and changed into my wetsuit. Any bubbly excitement was killed by the incessant cough and generally feeling rubbish.
The party atmosphere was electric, and I desperately wanted to enjoy it, but I stood in the heat of the swim pen knowing full well I was getting sicker by the minute.
I figured I could only really die on the swim, so planned to get that part over and done with and the rest would be just academic.
For various reasons, the traditional spectacle of a mass start had been curbed to staggered starts. Swimmers were initially divided into ‘pens’ according to their swim speeds and then let go 6 at a time, 10 seconds apart.
Marshalls held the swimmers back and we were standing around in the heat for a long time as 2800 athletes started the swim, 6 at a time.
I should have started in a faster pen, but knowing I was sick I decided to play it safe and go in the slowest group.
That was a mistake.
As I got closer to the start line, we filtered into lanes on the sand. I felt quite emotional at this point. I was on the start line of an Ironman 70.3. This was real.
In a few seconds I would start swimming and would not let up racing for another 7 or so hours.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6mDHmIitMx/?igsh=c2hhN2k5eXJ0aDd5
Ironwoman - Part 1
“Everybody put your hands in the aaiiiiiirrrrrrr!!”
The tannoy boomed across Jesolo Lido beach, Venice, Italy as 2800 athletes dressed in wetsuits and wearing yellow swim caps, raised their arms in unison.
Stomp stomp clap - stomp stomp clap…it went on.
I wanted to join the party, I so badly wanted to join.
Instead, I stared into the abyss, knowing I was doomed to failure. I had started coughing the day before the Ironman 70:3 triathlon race – a dry, hacking cough and I’d started to feel ‘achy’ and just not right.
I’m in that lot somewhere….
My voice had gone hoarse, and I was getting breathless doing nothing, with my heart rate refusing to budge from 106. It was normally 56 at rest, owing to the 8 months of intensive training I’d done for this very moment.
Now, I was staring out to sea, looking for the distance between jet skis in case I needed to hail one for help. This was not how it was meant to be and the situation I had dreaded.
Ironman is probably the best-known brand of triathlon. Triathlon is a multisport competition, beginning with a swim, followed up by a bike course then finishing up with a run. In between each discipline is the process of ‘transition’ where the athletes must switch between sports, and this is all done against the clock as well and is included in the total time. Practising putting your socks on, with wet feet quickly, is a thing!
Triathlons have varying distances. From super sprints which are very short with only a few hundred metres of swimming, 20 or so km or cycling and a 3-5km run at the end. Then there is the extreme end such as the holy grail of the ‘full’ Ironman, which is:
Swim: 2.4 miles (3.9 km)
Bike: 112 miles (180.2 km)
Run: 26.2 miles (42.2 km) or, a full marathon.
In total, a full Ironman Triathlon covers 140.6 miles (226.3 km).
Given I work on a ship at sea 6 months of the year, a full Ironman wasn’t realistically achievable. Despite being surrounded by the ocean, it is not permitted to swim. It’s probably not the best idea to hop off a North Sea dive vessel into 160m of water with 6 thrusters going, saturation divers and ROVs in the water and currents running…besides, it would be considered a suicide attempt, and definitely career-ending.
Despite this, you can’t explain this to folk at home who just say, “Can’t you just swim off the boat?”
No, I cannot. And that is why.
My office, Dive Support Vessel - Seven Kestrel, working at a previous office, the Claymore platform, North Sea. Taken from another previous office, Boka Atlantis.
So, swim training is limited for me. I only get so much time I can reasonably spend in the gym and the gym on board is also limited. Some days, you cannot go in due to bad weather and some days other people will be using the equipment you need, and your time window has passed.
When I get home, I have to run my house and do adulting things, plus try to make time to see friends that I miss when I’m away so much. It can be a lonely existence just training all the time without having any social time with people I know. Most of them are at work midweek when I’m off on shore leave.
So, it is not as idyllic as it sounds.
I figured a half Ironman, or an Ironman 70:3 was achievable and still quite a challenge.
I was aiming at an Olympic (standard) distance triathlon (Swim 1500m, Ride 35.5km, Run 10km) in my favourite spot Lake Annecy, France, but was worried about getting registered and getting a slot. I got itchy feet and wanted an interim challenge.
It was as if Facebook read my mind. A Venice-Jesolo Ironman 70:3 advert popped up. A pan flat course for both the bike and run seemed idyllic. Without blinking, I signed up.
Then I told my coach.
Russel Carter is a legend in cave diving circles. Understated, but hard core, his mantra is well known within the Cave Diving Group of Great Britain: “If you weren’t hard enough, you shouldn’t have come!”
A significant support diver in the expeditions in the 1990s in the Doux de Coly, France, Russel moved on to Ironman triathlon and didn’t do that by half either, finishing no less than 10 full distance Ironman races. Some of these were on particularly tough courses, such as Lanzarote and Mallorca.
Russel Carter racing Ironman Barcelona. He’s in there somewhere!
He had been following my progress as I dabbled in sprint triathlon over the last few years and was always on hand to offer advice or check in on how I was doing. It was no surprise then that when I asked, as a level 3 triathlon coach, if he’d like to coach me to Annecy. Of course, he agreed on the proviso that I kept his 100% finisher record intact.
A half Ironman wasn’t on the table. Now we were going to have to get down to work.
An Ironman 70:3 is basically half the full Ironman distance. I guess it suited me, being little miss average. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Good enough, but never the best.
Given I’d limped round sprint distance triathlons finishing in the bottom 20 with no real clue about how to train for multi-sport, this would be a proper challenge.
I’d held an amateur jockey’s license in my 20s, riding in 3-mile steeplechases and raced kayak marathon, finishing mid-divison – and I won the high jump on school sports day and 2nd in the 400 metres! I was on the school netball team – always goal attack, never goal shooter even though I scored the most goals…and I was in the hockey team and went to ‘away’ school competitions. So, I wasn’t a complete slacker at sport. I considered this an achievement, given I was not blessed with athletic genes, or the sort of parents who come to watch me compete. Neither of them turned up to my first horse race.
My second race on board Clashbridane.
But athletics was another game altogether.
I mean, why be crap at one sport when you can be crap at three?
I grew up knowing how to ride a racehorse but couldn’t ride a bike. Everything I did was in the shadow of an absent father and an uninterested, unsupportive mother who said no to anything that cost money or involved any effort on her part, such as getting out of bed early or driving anywhere.
Triathlon is not a cheap sport. I could only embark on it once I had learned to ride a bike in 2020. Plus, I had to get myself a decent job to be able to be able afford it.
I spent the deep winter and early spring taking myself away on solo training camps in between my work rotation, first to Lanzarote then to Mallorca. The sea was calm and warm enough to swim in and the cycling is world class. The running through the volcanic landscape in Lanzarote was preferable to the streets of Alcudia in Mallorca, but I kept on increasing the mileage under the daily watchful eye of Russel.