With the sun rising over the sea, 2 000 athletes gathered at Orient Beach, East London, doing last minute checks to bicycles and transition bags.
With the sun rising over the sea, 2 000 athletes gathered at Orient Beach, East London, doing last minute checks to bicycles and transition bags.
Two thousand bicycles formed a sea of gleaming machines and I soon realised that it pays to walk through the transition area to locate your bike, mark where you’ll find it, and map your route from bag racks through changing tents to the exit.
After doing all this I wandered down to the beach, where a few hardy spectators were already lining the stands, cups of coffee in hand. I sat down for a while, soaking up the atmosphere, before donning my goggles and swimming cap for a short sea swim, just to calm the nerves and steady the heart rate.
The looming shape of the cargo ship Wallenius Wilhelmson cast a shadow over us as it prepared to dock in the harbour just to the right of the swim course. At 7am prayers were offered up and the day began. A mass of wetsuit clad bodies huddled together awaiting permission to line up at the start.
I hung back, today I was going to enjoy myself, this is a race, I thought, but for most of us it is a personal goal and a finish is all we’re hoping for. At 7.15am, all at once, one thousand green caps raced into the water.
All I was conscious of were flailing arms, kicking feet and the splashing of salty water. From the beach the spectacle resembled a shoal of big fish, silver light glinting off little waves as the mass of life moves through 1.9km. I enjoyed the swim, I felt comfortable and found my rhythm.
Running up the beach toward the transition felt surreal I’d dreamed of being part of this! The cycle was fair, over rolling terrain, but is renowned for being tough.
A snake of bicycles wound its way past Hemingway’s Mall on the N2. Stopping for a friendly chat with fellow athletes helped the interminable climb. I chatted to Val, her son’s racing wheels on her bike, in training for her first full Ironman. I hope she succeeds I caught sight of her running strongly later.
About 40km into the cycle the leading men and women came flashing past on their way home – those athletes are cycling at about 45km/h average speed. It was a beautiful sight. Distracted, I watched them – allowing my own speed to reduce momentarily.
After about 70km discomfort set in but all I could do was to keep going. Small goals help, and consistent forward progress, however slow, gets you past the worst.
A volunteer took my bike from me at the dismount zone – there are hundreds of friendly, enthusiastic and exceptionally helpful volunteers, noticeable in bright orange t-shirts – the biggest challenge of the day was behind me, and I was well within the cut-off time.
In the tent a volunteer slapped copious quantities of sunscreen on me while I swopped wet socks for dry and cycle shoes for running takkies.
Down on the esplanade the vibe was electric, the spectators hoarse from yelling their support to athletes, and thousands of pairs of feet doggedly counting down the metres to 21.1km. Sponges and empty water sachets littered the road and every 2km eager hands thrust Powerbar gels, Powerade, Coke and water toward me.
I was aware that the sun was beating down on us, but a slight sea breeze helped dissipate the heat. I scanned the faces running past me for some I might recognise – serious concentration breaking into smiles when we greeted each other.
Richard Hall had his feet up and his medal around his neck before I even started running, but I passed Kevin Rafferty, Kerry Longhurst, Julie Walker, and Candice Mullins all running strongly.
My run turned to a walk as my feet burned (why? I don’t know!) but I calculated that I could still finish – I had until 3.45pm. As the pairs of feet on the route dwindled (to rest, relaxation and well-deserved congratulations) I continued, accompanied by a few surviving souls.
Adri crossed the line just ahead of me, Teresa had missed the cut-off last year and was determined to make it and Rochelle (who had completed the full Ironman in 2009) found her legs heavy, her running compromised, yet her morale remained high.
Many athletes will have finished within six hours, it’s the tail-ender who experiences the empty stretch of road, and the sight of weary volunteers sweeping up debris and packing up their aid stations.
In my final few hundred metres I was a lone ranger, there wasn’t another athlete within sight.
I thought about those I’d passed on my last descent of Bunker’s Hill…they were still heading up. I hope they made it. They were exhausted, shuffling, but still glanced up at me, smiled and shouted encouragement despite their own discomfort.
I had set out to finish the half Ironman 70.3, and as the volunteer put my medal around my neck and congratulated me, I could hardly believe it: I had done it.
