Race Report: Bonking on the bike in Roth

By John Davie

I always knew I would do an IronMan, I just wasn’t quite sure when. Too much life in the way with both a career and family and plenty of challenges in both of them. Then my job situation got a little uncertain and I started to think about what I would do if I had a little time off. Some Piranhas started to organise a long-distance club race and I signed up on the last day possible, giving myself a 50/50 chance of applying for a refund at a later stage. I didn’t expect to make it.

I decided to run the Dublin Marathon in Oct to try out the distance. I had run half-marathons before but had never made it to the start line for the full distance due to either injury or a lack of planning. Training went very well, the race went very badly. A new foot pain on race day led to a change in gait after just a few miles and, by halfway, pretty much everything had cramped or found some other way to hurt. By mile 15 I was running like Quasimodo in stilettos and every step was a struggle. I finished in a huge amount of pain and swore I would never do something so stupid ever again. I often underestimate my own stupidity…..

By Sept it was likely that I would leave my employer of 17 years and probable that my family and I would need to move back to South East England. By Jan it was a done-deal and by Feb our 7 years in Ireland came to an end. My new job didn’t start until April so had two months to try the life of a pro-triathlete! It was at that point that I talked to my wife, Angie, about the commitment I would need to make to complete an Ironman.

An Ironman can be a selfish undertaking if you have both a career and kids. I knew I couldn’t get long sessions in during the week when my job started so there would be little time or energy for the family at weekends. It’s not just the time commitment, it’s what happens once the long session is done. It’s hard to do a five hour bike ride then find the energy to take the kids swimming. Angie knew that doing this meant a lot to me and agreed to be supportive. To her credit, she stuck to that throughout and never complained, even at my endless droning on about heart rate zones, nutrition plan, etc.

I figured it was time to splash a little cash on a nice bike ahead of the race. I had an idea that fitting an aero road bike frame with Di2 electronic gears would allow me to easily convert it to a tri-bike and back to a road bike again by unplugging shifters, swapping handlebars and reversing the seatpost, particularly as I wasn’t looking for an ultra-low and aggressive position. I bought a Specialized Venge S-Works frame, Zipp aerobars and extensions, a full Ultegra 11-speed Di2 groupset with aerobar & tt-shifters and a few other bits ‘n bobs. I didn’t need to worry about the wheels as I already had a nice Zipp Firecrest 606 wheelset. And so commenced internal-cabling-hell. Imagine trying to feed cooked spaghetti through a triangular pipe and you’ll get the idea. Finally, all was ready for the wheels to be put on when it became apparent that 10-speed wheels don’t work with an 11-speed groupset. Nothing that chucking yet another wedge of hard-earned cash at Zipp couldn’t fix and, after a mere 10 weeks of blood, sweat and tears, the thing was done. The Beast was ready for Roth glory.

As it turned out, there was more difference between me and a pro-triathlete than having a full time job. Who knew?? But during this time I did get 10 hours a week or so of training in, plus a fantastic week with the club’s Warm Weather Training camp in Portugal in March (around 26 hours of training). I very loosely followed a Don Fink training plan but deliberately kept almost all sessions slow, simply because it was more enjoyable. My goals were set as (a) get to the start line, (b) get to the finish line and (c) finish in under 12 hours. I knew some fast stuff would make it easier to achieve the latter two goals but felt it was more important not to hate the training.

I didn’t hit all the sessions but consistently managed 8-10 hours a week for almost 7 months. My approach was to do something 5-6 days a week, sometimes two sessions in a day, and to run and cycle longer at weekends. That’s it really, nothing more complicated than that. I’m an average swimmer at best, but felt that I could finish the 3.8k swim with relatively little training so only spent around 1 hour per week in the water. I’ve never been a strong cyclist but in fairness I hadn’t really cycled much in the past. I managed two to three sessions a week on the bike, although the longest ones were only 70k spins with my new local tri-club. In late May I checked in with Steven Moody and John Walnutt who both recognised this as a major gap in my training. I managed 3 x 140k solo spins afterwards but I knew it wasn’t enough. I was banking on a final long-spin 2 weeks out but was scuppered by a mechanical issue after just 50k and regretted that I hadn’t done more earlier. Run training went well though I was careful not to overdo it and risk injury. After IT band problems, groin strain, knee pains and experience of pretty much every ailment going, foam roller and stretching became my constant companions. And they worked. Taper came and went then Boom! It was time to fly to Germany.

After a little hotel mishap (I booked the wrong Holiday Inn), Angie and I settled into Schwabach near Roth. The atmosphere was incredible with so many Piranhas in-town. We met some for dinner, drove the cycle course with others, had some great swim practice and generally hung around and soaked it up. I brought my bike over myself and found that the rear derailleur hanger was damaged in transit. Several hours were spent in panic-mode, driving between bike shops trying to get it fixed. In the end, a Specialized dealer came up with a spare hanger and I was back on track. Time for a quick spin to check it all out, rack the bike and all was set.

After a couple of hours sleep at most, the alarm went off at 4am on race morning. I could only manage a ham roll and coffee for breakfast and we were soon at swim start. The atmosphere was incredible and, thanks to the club booking codes, most Piranha’s were racked next to each other. Some light-hearted banter helped the nerves and then it was time. A final kiss from Angie and I was on my way to the canal. I always love that part of a race and every time I smell the neoprene of my wetsuit it brings back that feeling of nerves, excitement and camaraderie.

I was on the bank when the gun went off, rather than in the water, but quickly got in and going near the back of the pack. I struggle to find goggles that don’t leak and had opted for an old mirrored pair that I knew to be reliable, but which had smudged lenses and limited visibility. Having started near the back I couldn’t find any feet going fast enough and couldn’t see an awful lot, but spent the first 15 mins or so passing people. It was all very calm though and I felt comfortable and relaxed. Halfway through the second (longest) section someone swam over my legs at an angle and I immediately tried to move them out of the way, causing my right calf to go into an agonising cramp. I tried to doggy-paddle to the bank to stretch it out and managed to cut my right hand on a rock as I did so. The cramp soon went and I was off again, looking for feet where possible. The rest of the swim was uneventful and I emerged from the water on 1 hour 18 mins, a full ten mins faster than expected. A quick high-five to Angie in the crowd and off I went to transition.

The volunteers in transition were amazing. They emptied my T1 bag onto a table and began to dress and organise me. On the way out I stood star-fished as I was smothered with sun cream. I took my time to make sure I was well covered for the long day ahead, although it turned out that she missed my left hand. I paid for that one later.

I felt great getting onto the bike and was soon down on the bars and whizzing along. I had planned to keep my HR around 135 and frequently had to slow myself down to stick to this. I found the effort very comfortable so let myself go a little higher, up to 145. There was a little voice telling me to ease-up but I felt great and The Beast was loving the smooth Bavarian roads. There was some good banter with a couple of Fingal guys who I kept trading places with and I was glad not to be passed by any Piranhas. I was passing a lot of ladies from an earlier wave and I passed more blokes than were passing me so was in great form when I reached Solarberg Hill. I will never forget going up Solarberg, a 1k stretch of drums, music and crowds 4 or 5 people deep all cheering and shouting your name. The crowds are so close that there is only room for one rider at a time, with people getting out of your way at the last second á la Tour de France. I smiled from ear to ear all the way up, making sure that I took it all in.

Having struggled previously to break 30kph for a short-distance event, I completed the first 100k at an average speed of 32kph. I was flying and feeling great. One little portend of doom arrived when I passed Stephen Eustace. I should NEVER be passing Stephen on the bike and worried a little that I was overdoing it, but I felt great. I even started to think that sub-11 hours was a real possibility. Shortly afterwards however my stomach started to cramp and churn. I had experienced this in training and knew to stop taking-in calories and just sip water. Given the soaring temperatures I thought it would be wise to keep talking on salts, etc, so dropped a mixed-berry electrolyte tab into my water-bottle. Stephen soon passed me by, as did several other Piranhas.

I had grabbed an energy drink from an aid station just before the stomach trouble but planned to stay away from it and let my stomach recover. Things went from bad to worse and soon I had slowed to a crawl to try and give my stomach a chance to settle (good advice from John Staunton as he passed by). After an hour or so of gently sipping what I thought was mixed berry electrolyte, I realised I had been sipping mixed berry energy drink. No wonder my stomach had been getting worse! The damage was done by the time I realised and for the next two hours I suffered as temperatures reached 39C, trying to retch as I crept along. The second climb up Solarberg was very different to the first as I struggled to turn the pedals even in the easiest gear and I tried not to vomit into the crowd. I did finally throw up around 10k from the end and entered transition a broken-man. I simply couldn’t see how I could finish the race in my current condition, stomach cramping, suffering in the heat, dehydrated and completely bonked from a lack of calories. I grabbed my bag and went straight for the medical tent. Bike time – 6 hours, 18 mins (1st half – 2 hrs 50, 2nd half – 3 hrs 28).

A doctor gave me something to settle my stomach and kept me supplied with water and cool sponges while I lay hyperventilating on a stretcher. My breathing took a long time to calm down and, as it did, I started to wonder whether the marathon could be do-able. Casso’s “Death before DNF” t-shirt (also mentioned in Moody’s race report) came into my mind and I decided to run the first 4k to where Angie was waiting and see how things were then. The doctor asked me how I felt and I said “ok, I’d better run that marathon”. He smiled, rolled his eyes and off I went. T2 time – 36 mins.

The first 4k were rough but I went easy and tried to take on a little energy drink and water at each aid station. It was great to see Angie but I had to keep moving. I decided to aim for the first turnaround, another 8k or so ahead and again, see how I felt. Whenever I run an out-and-back I always feel that the return section is downhill so getting to the turnaround was the only thing on my mind, the rest would be easier. I ran most of it but walked each aid station and any small inclines. It seemed that every time I did walk a Piranha would pass going the other way. Damn, why couldn’t they pass when I was running?

At the turnaround I saw John Staunton who had apparently been in the medical tent as well. John was walking and I took the opportunity (excuse) for a little chat and walked with him for 5 mins. John urged me on and I set off for the run back. Downhill my arse! This was my darkest part of the day and I really struggled to run, with the walking sections becoming longer and longer. I was constantly calculating whether I would finish within the 15 hour cut-off if I walked the rest of the course, although I really couldn’t imagine being out there for that long. My walk was turning into a stagger and my eyes were actually closing as I went. By the time I made it back to Angie I had half the marathon still to go and was in a bad way. She walked the aid station with me and I told her I’d be back in anywhere between 2 and 4 hours’ time. She was looking worried and I was regretting having gotten myself into this. I didn’t feel that I could finish, but I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I quit. First half of marathon done in 2 hours, 24 mins.

As I started walking the next out-and-back a spectator said “come on John, you can run”. I told him I really couldn’t (my mental response was a little less polite) and I continued to zig-zag along the path. I then thought about my plan to write a couple of messages on my hands, which I had forgotten to do in the chaos of race-morning. One was simply “HTFU” and the other was too cheesy to mention here but I thought about them and realised I was wallowing in self-pity. I decided to HTFU and start running.

Once I had banished the demons I started to feel ok. I still walked through aid stations, mainly to take in some much-needed water and energy drink, but other than that I just ran. My pace started to pick-up and soon I was passing a lot of people. The heavens opened and I found the rain really refreshing after such a long, hot day. Before I knew it (a small exaggeration, it still felt like a lifetime) I was at the turnaround point and only had to run “downhill” for the last 11k or so.

With around 9k to go I caught up to John Walnutt and stopped to ask if he was ok. He stared blankly at me then, after a long silence said “what?”. I asked him again if he was ok and he started to babble about someone stealing his bike in T2 (the marshals take your bike from you and rack it). He clearly had no idea who I was, no more than a vague idea where he was and was clearly in a lot of pain. I decided to walk with him for a while as I was really concerned that he could collapse or even fall into the canal. If I’m entirely honest it was also a bit of an excuse to walk for a while. I tried to engage John in conversation about various things and much of his emotional babbling will stay on tour. He urged me on to finish my race and I decided to go look for his wife Mags at the finish line and recommend that she make her way towards him. As it happens, I bumped into Mags a few hundred metres further along and I told her he wasn’t far away. In my book it’s how a person deals with adversity that counts and it amazes me how John found the mental strength to continue. Serious kudos.

I ran the last 8k or so at a proper race pace of under 5 min/km, my smile getting wider and wider as I came into the town. I had even regained my wits enough to give a couple Fingal lads some friendly slagging and sped by others as if it was a 5k Parkrun. The atmosphere was incredible as I entered the finish stadium and I sprinted past an older guy to make sure my finish line photo wasn’t blocked. I’ve lived to regret that as a number of friends have commented on me just-beating a 60 year old man (hey – he started earlier)! Second half of marathon done in 2 hours. Finish time – 12 hours, 45 mins.

Although delighted that I was finally an Ironman, the day obviously could have gone better. I clearly hadn’t done enough long bike rides and as a result my nutrition plan wasn’t quite as fine-tuned as it should have been. I think I simply took on too many calories too early and pushed the bike a little harder than I should have (but not much). The mental side of things was a big lesson also, learning not to let myself get so demoralised. That said, I finished on a day when 790 people DNF’d and I’m immensely proud of doing so.

The whole Ironman journey was amazing and it was an honour to complete the race with 27 other Piranhas, every one of whom made it to the finish line. Would I do it again? On race day I said ‘never’. The next day I said ‘maybe’…..